Christine Rimmer - Mercury Rising

“Here comes the waitress. Quit mangling Shakespeare and figure out what you want.”

They ordered and the food arrived quickly. Jane concentrated on her sandwich and tried not to remember….

That engagement party Caitlin had thrown here for Aaron and Celia back at the beginning of May. The place had been packed for that. There had even been other Bravos, specifically the famous Bravo billionaire, Jonas, from Los Angeles, and his wife, Emma. Jonas was Cade’s cousin and his presence had surprised every one. For over thirty years, Caitlin and her sons had lived as if no other Bravos existed. But Celia—and Jonas’s wife, Emma—were working to change all that.

“Hey, Jane.” Cade’s voice had come from behind her. It was friendly, slightly teasing, nothing in the least pushy about it. Still, she felt pushed, way down inside herself. Pushed and pulled at the same time.

She’d turned and put on a smile. “Hello, Cade. How are you?”

“Doin’ okay. Did you eat yet? I was just going to go and fill myself a plate.”

“Thanks, but I’m not all that hungry right now.”

Those strange, beautiful eyes went from molten silver to ice. “Right. Not hungry.”

She spotted her excuse to escape him on the other side of the room. “Oh, there’s Jilly. I’ve been looking for her…” She left him, weaving her way quickly through the press of people, a slight shudder moving through her at the thought that might follow her, perhaps become more insistent….

But he didn’t.

And then, a few weeks ago—she’d seen him in here again. He’d been in the game room, kind of lounging against the wall, chatting with Donny Verdun, who ran the convenience store at the corner of State and Main. She’d tried to slide on into the café without him spotting her.

But no such luck.

Two minutes after she sat down, there he was, standing by her booth, asking her how she’d been doing, those eyes of his looking into hers, telling her things his mouth wouldn’t dare say.

She’d come very close to rudeness that time, insisting she was in a hurry. Could he please send the waitress over right away?

“Sure, Jane. I’ll do that.” And he was gone.

She’d felt small and mean then—and strangely bereft. After that, she’d decided maybe it would be better if she stopped eating at the Highgrade for a while.

“Yoo-hoo, Janey. Are you there?”

She blinked and looked down at her hands. At some point, she had picked up the tube of paper that had covered her straw. She was wrapping it absentmindedly around her index finger. “What?” She yanked off the flattened tube of paper and dropped it on her plate beside her half-eaten club sandwich.

“You should see your face. Dreamy.” Jillian set down her milkshake and leaned in close. “There’s someone, isn’t there? At last, after all these years. Come on. Tell Jillian. Who is he?”

“Oh, Jilly. Eat your Swiss and bacon burger. We can’t sit here all night.”

Later, back at the bookstore, Jane kept half expecting Caitlin to walk in. But she never appeared.

Jane closed up at ten. She’d walked to the store that morning. Since Jillian, who never walked anywhere if she could help it, had driven over from the house in the afternoon, Jane rode home with her.

They stayed up till a little before two, drinking wine at first and then switching to herbal tea around midnight.

They talked about the things they always talked about. The bookstore. Jillian’s career. Celia.

“I called her last Saturday,” Jane reported. “She sounded great. I forgot to ask her about the Labor Day picnic, though.”

“Where you are playing story lady, right?”

“Right. I know Aaron’s helping out, hiring the bands for it. But I still don’t know if he and Celia are planning to be here for it—and how about you? Will you come this year?”

“Yeah. I could probably be here. I’ll let you know.”

The next morning, Jillian slept in.

Jane had to open the store at ten, so she was up at eight. She sat at her kitchen table with the morning sun pouring in the bay window and sipped her coffee and told herself that life was good.

And maybe Cade would stay away for weeks this time, the way he used to, back before his house was finished.

She smiled a sad little smile and sipped more coffee. Yes, that would be good for her. It really would. But whether he stayed away or not, she would get over this impossible, unhealthy attraction. No doubt about it. It was only a matter of time.

Jillian left early Sunday morning.

And Jane’s mother called. “Hi, dear. How about church?”

“I’d love it.”

“Why don’t we just meet there?” Virginia suggested. “I’m running a little late.”

When Jane left the house, she saw Cade’s powerful green car parked at the curb next door.

He was back.

Her heart felt like something was squeezing it. Then it started beating way too fast.

Get over it, she told herself as she got in her van and started it up. He lives here and he’s going to be here a lot of the time. Accept it.

And forget him.

“How about a sandwich and some iced tea at my house?” Jane offered, as she and Virginia walked down the church steps toward the cars waiting at the curb.

“Wonderful,” said Virginia.

Her mother followed her home.

The first thing Jane noticed when she turned onto her street was that the green Porsche was gone again. Good. She got out of her van and waited for Virginia to park.

They started up the walk together.

Jane saw the object on the porch—on the mat, right in front of the door—at about the same time her mother did.

“Jane. What is that?”

Jane didn’t answer. She walked a little faster. Soon enough, they both stood on the porch, looking down at it.

Virginia said, “Why, it’s so beautiful. It looks like an antique.”

“It is an antique,” Jane said softly, staring down at the gorgeous thing. “I’m almost certain of it. An antique mercury glass gazing ball and vase, in one.” The silvery-gold ball sat on a central glass platform, with a clever little trough all around it where the flowers would go.

“A gazing ball? Like the ones in your garden?”

“Not quite,” Jane said dryly. “My guess is that this is the real thing.”

“The real thing. How so?”

Jane gestured toward the gazing balls that gleamed among the cosmos along her front walk. “Those you can find in just about any garden shop. They’re made of a single layer of glass treated with some sort of transparent opalescent paint.”

“And this?”

“It’s an old technique. They would flow real mercury between two layers of glass. They don’t make them like that anymore, though. They haven’t in decades.” Jane had read about such treasures in the various books on rare glassware she kept in her store. She couldn’t resist. She had to know for certain. “Here. Hold these a minute, will you?” She handed her mother her keys and her small purse. Then she knelt and oh-so-carefully slipped her fingers beneath the vase.

“Yes.” She grinned.

“Yes, what?” Virginia demanded.

“I can feel the stopper underneath. They would have to use a stopper, to hold in the mercury.” She lifted it. “And it’s heavy. Mercury is heavy. That means it still has its original filling.”

Her mother was frowning at her. “It’s filled with real mercury?”

“That’s right. And that’s very rare. Most of the old pieces like this have been drained, with reflective paint injected in the mercury’s place.”

“Better not drop it,” her mother said warily. “Just what we need. Mercury all over the place.”

“I’m not going to drop it.” So beautiful, Jane thought. She stood again, carefully, cradling the precious vase close to her body.