Read Online Look For Me By Moonlight by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online Page B

said slowly.
    I stared at him, perplexed by the sympathy in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
    Instead of answering, Vincent picked up one of the puzzles my father collected and left lying around for guests to solve. It looked deceptively easy. All you had to do was separate four cleverly linked circles. I’d tried to take them apart before dinner and given up ten or fifteen minutes later, totally frustrated.
    Vincent’s long, slender fingers shifted the circles, twisted and rearranged them. In a few seconds, he held one aloft. “Shall I tell your fortune, Cynda?”
    I nodded, too fascinated to breathe, let alone speak.
    â€œThis circle is you,” he said. Flourishing the other three, still joined, he added, “Jeff, Susan, and Todd.”
    Deftly he detached Dad’s circle and joined it to mine. “How you’d like it to be.” In a flash, he reunited Dad with Susan and Todd, leaving me unattached. “How it is.”
    Using circles instead of cards, Vincent had read my mind, unearthed my secrets. Speechless, I watched him remove another circle. He held up the two still joined. “Your mother and your stepfather.”
    We both stared silently at the circle lying on the table. My circle. Alone, unattached, easily forgotten.
    Vincent swiftly reassembled the puzzle. The only sound was the clink of silver circles. When he’d finished, he crossed the room and sat on the couch beside me. “Believe me, Cynda, I understand. I know how hard it is to be an outsider, alone and unhappy, misunderstood.” Resting his head against the back of the couch, he sighed and closed his eyes.
    This close to him, I was conscious of his smooth skin, his dark hair, his long fingers. He smelled of spices, sweet and aromatic. His sweater was cashmere, as thick and soft and strokeable as Ebony’s fur. He was beautiful, I thought, almost unearthly in his perfection. How could such a handsome man empathize so completely with my loneliness? Surely he had no end of friends and admirers.
    Vincent opened his eyes and gazed at me. In the silence, the fire whispered to the logs, consuming them softly, lovingly. For a moment, I thought he meant to kiss me, but the strange intimacy he’d created was destroyed by the sound of voices. Susan and Dad were coming downstairs.
    â€œI must go now, Cynda.” Vincent got to his feet quickly. “We’ll talk again.”
    I reached toward him, wishing he’d stay, but he didn’t turn back. Passing Dad and Susan in the hallway, he bid them a polite good night. Then, head erect, he climbed the stairs and disappeared into the darkness at the top.
    Dad and Susan looked at each other, puzzled perhaps by Vincent’s abrupt departure.
    â€œI guess the poor guy got tired of waiting for us to come back,” Dad said. “We had the devil of a time getting Todd to settle down and go to sleep.”
    Susan collapsed on the couch beside me. “I hope you and Vincent found something interesting to talk about while we were gone.”
    Without looking up from my book, I said, “He’s very nice.”
    Susan squeezed my hand. “Yes,” she agreed, “he
is
nice, but . . .”
    I thought she’d say more about Vincent, but instead she asked if I’d mind fixing a pot of chamomile tea. Todd had worn her out, left her tense and worried. A cup of hot tea was just what she needed to relax.
    While I waited for the kettle to boil, I gazed out the window. An almost full moon shone down on the snowman, casting his inky black shadow on the white lawn and hiding his face. The wind plucked at his scarf. The moon slid behind a cloud, darkening the scene. When it emerged, I had the oddest sensation that the snowman had moved closer to the inn, taking tiny steps like a child playing a game.
    In the woods, the owl called three times. At the same moment, the wind rose, filling the air with a fine dust of blown snow that almost