Free Amaranth by Rachael Wade

it’s me and not you doing this. If you
fell in and drowned, I’m not sure I could revive you from that .” Laughing, he tossed the bloody washcloth next
to the sink.
    “Be nice. I can take care of myself.”
    “You don’t have to tell me that,” he said while we headed for
the front door, his hand leading me , my heart
racing.

* * *
    “I warned you it was too big for me,” he said while he
parked the car next to the house. Quite an
understatement , was all I could think. Gavin’s driveway turned out to be
a long dirt road that led us past enormous oak trees and rich tresses of
Spanish moss that glistened in the sunset. I’d gasped when the elegant
plantation home came into view. White with black shutters and gardens galore:
stunning, as if I’d been time-warped into another era.
    I sensed his eyes on me and turned my head to see him
watching me, expectant. “Too big?” I said. “It’s massive! What do you do with
all the space?”
    “Come on, I want to show you.” He slid out of the car and
held open my door, and led me up the polished porch stairs to the front door.
An antique plaque hung next to the door, the words “The Duval Home” edged in
age-darkened silver.
    “I thought your last name was Devereaux ,”
I said.
    “It is. Duval was my mother’s maiden name. My grandfather
put that here, before he passed. To honor my mother.” He spoke of his mother
with a reverent sadness. It made me ache for him.
    We walked into the main hall near a wide staircase and
rounded the corner to what seemed some type of living room with Victorian
furniture and long taupe drapes, a grand piano stationed in the far corner. A
dark green color covered the walls, and wood floors with deep brown hues
stretched across the room, making the light that poured in through the windows
deftly dramatic.
    “This is the only room I use besides the kitchen and my
bathroom,” he said. “I’ve left the other rooms alone since I moved in. All that
stuff is mine.” He pointed to the dozens of movies and piles of records lined
up on the various bookshelves, along with a stereo and laptop that sat on a
Queen Anne-style desk set against one wall.
    “This must be so awesome, to live in a place like this,” I
said. “It has so much wisdom. It’s beautiful. So you sleep in here, too?”
    “Yup. I have everything I need right here. I rarely venture
upstairs.” He walked back toward the doorway, gesturing for me to follow.
“Today’s an exception, though.”
    We entered a bedroom whose drapes had been pulled, allowing
no light to filter through. The entire room looked still inhabited, covers
pulled back on the bed, jewelry astray on the vanity table, awaiting its next
wearing. I could even smell the scent of a perfume, something sweet, floral.
But the room itself smelled a little musty, as if it had tightly sealed in the
scent for some time and was now finally able to breathe again. The rest of the
room was perfectly maintained: no dust in sight, the dresser and bedside tables
spotless.
    “My mother’s room,” he said, leading me to the dresser. “She
stayed with my grandfather for a while after my father died. This was hers, and
I’d like to give it to you.” He pulled open a modest wood jewelry box and
retrieved a necklace. Holding it out to me, I could see the exquisite
silver-toned vintage necklace held a crescent moon-shaped locket.
    “I am in love with you, Camille,” he declared. I took a step
back.
    “My father gave this to my mother years ago, and I can tell
you that he loved her as much as I love you. My parents had a love that I could
only hope for. And then I found you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything
in my entire life. Please wear it?” He tried to restrain his boyish eagerness
as he spoke, although his eyes sorely betrayed him.
    I realized I had forgotten to breathe. This time there was
no dysfunction with my lungs, but instead, I’d voluntarily held my breath. I
was nervous, but oddly, not