“How far down have we gone?” I asked.
Mellon shrugged, and I realized with a start that he had a lantern in his hand. A lantern, OK, not a flashlight or even a candle.
“I had this stashed at the top of the staircase,” he said, anticipating my outburst. “Thought it would be handy.”
For the first time, Mellon made me hesitate. I’d trusted him enough to see him alone for weeks now. His reserve and courtesy had reassured me, even as I had avoided all the people except Colleen in my usual circles.
And here we were, far enough away from the world that nobody could hear me scream for help. And Mellon was acting so strangely I hardly recognized him.
My heartbeat raced in my ears, and I felt my pulse pounding in my throat. I wiped my damp palms on the front of my pants, and waited for him to stop.
He did, and raised the lantern high to take a good look at me. “You are afraid.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’m sorry, Mellon. Yes, I am.”
He nodded in reply, slowly. “Nobody can get at you here. You’re here with me.”
His eyes flashed with electricity, and I forced myself to breathe slowly until my heart could follow my mind and calm down. I had, up until this point, found Mellon unthreatening, a safe male presence in a world of predators. But now, in the weird dappled light of his lantern, Mellon looked fierce and powerful. And protective of me.
I was no old-time damsel in distress. But I was happy to place myself under Mellon’s protection in this strange, subterranean place.
“We’re almost there, Miss Mireya Rodriguez of the Brooklyn Rodriguezes.”
He reached for my hand, bent his head over, and reverently kissed my knuckles, his eyes all the while searching out my own.
And that strange flicker of freedom from the past enticed me again. Somewhere down below a different Mireya waited for me. I didn’t know her yet, but suddenly I wanted to meet her, very much.
Mellon held my hand, the one that he had kissed, and we picked our way down the last dozen or so stairs. The flowers dotting the surface of the stairs became a veritable snowdrift of white, and the last step was completely carpeted in their strange, fragrant petals.
It was unbelievable. I took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes as if I could rub the illusion of it all away like tears.
We stood together in a brick-walled garden, trellised with climbing roses and wisteria and the strange apple-scented white blossoms blowing over the stairs. It was broad daylight. A low, rhythmic chirp sounded from somewhere inside the boxwoods planted all along the perimeter of the garden’s walls.
“Nightingale frogs,” Mellon said, his voice low.
I had never heard of nightingale frogs. Have you? Has anyone heard a song like that, anyone who lives on the surface, ignorant of the world branching away from under their feet?
“It’s beautiful, so beautiful,” was all I dared to say. “Jonathan, thank you so much.”
“My father’s people are the Mellons of Philadelphia,” Mellon said. “My mother’s people, well. . .”
His voice trailed away, and I knew better than to ask. Instead, I tilted my head back and looked far overhead, saw diaphanousclouds racing across the sky, a tiny, perfect moon hanging upside down.
It felt like coming home.
I bumped into Colleen a week later at the Hungarian Pastry Shop, where I waited with my tea for Jonathan to appear. She almost passed me by, her chocolate croissant in hand, but then she did a double take and almost dropped her breakfast on the ground.
“Mireya?” Her voice was no more than an incredulous squeak.
I laughed, a deep belly laugh that felt almost as good as sex. “That’s me. At least the last time I checked.”
“Oh, girl, you look – beautiful.”
“Different, you were going to say.” Colleen didn’t pity me now, oh no. I think I frightened her a little bit, now.
“Where have you been? You don’t answer your phone, I knocked on your door only about eleventy billion times . . .” Her voice trembled, even though a smile stayed imperfectly pasted on her face.
I emerged from my bemused haze long enough to really see her. “Oh no, you were worried.” I reached up and hugged her around the neck, gave her a peck on the cheek. “You are a good friend to me, sweetie. And an old soul.”
