Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [73]
She realized she was still holding his hand and quickly released it. “Sorry.”
He smiled and looked around. Hi§ eyes settled on the portraits of the Freemark women, grouped to one side of the entry door. “Your family?” he asked.
She nodded. “Six generations of us.”
“Handsome women. This house has a good feel to it. Have you lived here all your life?”
She was pondering whether to answer his question or ask one of her own when her grandfather appeared from the den. “Sorry to take so long. I was just looking for her yearbook, senior year, when she was president of the student council. Nest, have you met Mr. Ross?”
Nest nodded, watching her grandfather closely. It was her mother’s yearbook he was holding.
“Mr. Ross knew your mother in school, Nest. In college, in Ohio.” He seemed fascinated by the idea. “He came down to visit us, to say hello. I ran into him at Josie’s this morning and invited him to join us for dinner. Look here, John, this is Caitlin’s picture from her senior year.”
He opened the yearbook and held it out for John Ross to see. Ross limped gingerly over for a look, and for the first time Nest noticed the polished black staff leaning against the wall next to the umbrella stand. The staff was covered with strange symbols carved into wood black and depthless beneath the staff’s worn sheen. Nest stared at the markings for a long moment as John Ross and her grandfather studied her mother’s yearbook. There was something familiar about the markings. She had seen them somewhere before. She was certain of it.
She looked at John Ross anew and wondered how that could be.
Moments later, Gran called them in to dinner. She seated them at the big dining-room table, Nest next to John Ross across from Robert and herself. She placed the food on the table, then finished off her bourbon and made herself another before taking her seat. She picked up her fork and began to eat with barely a glance at her company. Very unlike Gran, who was a stickler for good manners. Nest thought something was clearly troubling her.
“Did you know my mother a long time?” Nest asked, curious now to know more about this stranger.
Ross shook his head. He took small, careful bites as he ate. His green eyes were distant as he spoke. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t. I didn’t meet her until her second year, and she went home at the end of it. We only had a few months together. I wish I had known her better.”
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?”
John Ross nodded. “She was.”
“You were a year ahead of her at Oberlin, you said,” Old Bob encouraged. “Did you stay on and graduate?”
“Caitlin could have graduated, too, if she’d wanted,” Gran said quietly, giving him a sharp glance.
“I think Caitlin was one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, Mrs. Freemark,” John Ross offered, looking now at Gran. She looked back at him very deliberately. “But she was fragile, too. Very sensitive. She could be hurt more easily than most. I admired that about her.”
Gran put down her fork and sipped at her bourbon. “I don’t know that I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Ross.”
Ross nodded. “It’s just that most of us are so hardened to life that we’ve forgotten how to respond to pain. Caitlin wasn’t like that. She understood the importance of recognizing the little hurts that other people ignore. She was always concerned with healing. Not physical injuries, you understand. Emotional hurts, the kind that inflict damage on your soul. She could identify and heal them with a few well chosen words. She was better at it than anyone. It was a genuine gift.”
“You said you dated? You and Caitlin?” Old Bob helped himself to more of the roast, ignoring the look Gran shot him. Nest watched the interplay with fascination. Something about John Ross being here had Gran very upset. Nest had never seen her so on edge.
“On and off for some of that year.” John Ross smiled, but kept his eyes fixed on his plate. “Mostly we were just friends. We went places