My Mei - Part One

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Chapter Four: My Mei - Part One

Plum Blossom: (Prunus ume) Native to China, these trees are known for their winter-blossoming, five-petaled flowers. Their beauty has inspired writers and artists for centuries. Extremely long-lived, some ancient plum blossom trees are still flowering after over one-thousand years. Their flowers and fruit are used in both Chinese medicine and mysticism.

Also called Winter Plum, Ume, and Reflecting Water Mei.

Lenten

Lenten stood straight with his hands crossed behind his back, watching, as Flax led a lumbering and unstable Rowan onto the patio and toward the twisted, white wire table, plopping him down in the empty seat before the veritable feast his Olive and Calla prepared.

Shaking his head, he smiled at Olive who stifled a giggle as the inebriated Rowan fumbled with the napkin-rolled utensils. Calla, laughing raucously, snatched the cloth-trapped bits of silver, freeing the fabric and tucking the fine, forest green cloth napkin into the vee of Rowan’s shirtfront as Flax happily poured the boy a large glass of water.

“They are amazing, aren’t they?” a voice marveled from behind Lenten as he removed his glasses, opened his pale gray suit enough to reveal its shiny, sky blue lining, and dug in his breast pocket for his cleaning cloth.

“Yes, they are.” Lenten turned to face Mei, who leaned wistfully against the balcony’s rail with an ease and grace that he’d always admired.

“Not that I think I could refuse Olive anything,” Mei said with a tender smile. Her eyes held his as Lenten carefully wiped his lenses clean before polishing the silver frames. She bit her lip as she hedged a bit. “Or Calla, I suppose. If I were Rowan, I’m sure I would find her hard to resist as well.” Her brow lifted in a way that was anything but casual. Her head skewed shrewdly. “She’s very pretty, don’t you think?”

“Uh.” Lenten coughed, not expecting the question, almost dropping his glasses as he slipped them back on again.

Stiffly, he turned back to the party. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his gaze at Calla.

Smooth, tanned, toned skin along long, lithe, athletic limbs. Shoulder-length brown hair that shone like falling autumn in the sunlight. Sweet, heart-shaped face that was almost always smiling. And those eyes. They were like amber held up against fire. They flickered with her every emotion, playing with that ever-present smile of hers, making it warm or mischievous or even melancholy.

“Pretty?” He squinted. “Sure, I suppose she’s very pretty, isn’t she?” he said with a small shrug.

The corners of his lips frowned as he listened to Mei’s sharp sigh, his brow furrowing at the small sound of disappointment.

Wrong answer, he supposed.

Still facing forward, he flushed uncomfortably as he stiffened his shoulders and tentatively reached out for Mei’s hand. “For someone her age, Mei,” he assured her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “Were I some young kid, like Rowan, I’m sure I’d think Calla was very pretty for a very young girl.”

He sighed, relieved, when he heard her release the tense breath she’d held. Beneath his fingers her palm was soft and yielding, the touch of it—its singular feel against his hand and lips—as familiar as her presence.

She was the first person he and Olive had known when they’d first arrived, grieving and disoriented. She had taken the sad pair and helped them, took care of them, introducing and acquainting them to their new world.

Pretty? Yes, Mei was that, undeniably.

Her hair were strands of midnight that she often kept tied tight like a secret that would drive his imagination wild. But, when let loose, waved fierce and free as if desperate to rejoin the heavens. Her face, forever trapped in that tremulous state where character had set in but lines had not yet, was serene and steadfast, a comfort that until felt could not even be conceived.

And as for her eyes, they were endless, so dark they were almost black. They were constant, a reminder that the sadness, the pain, and, yes, even the happiness that flicked fickle across her face were phases that too would pass. But those obsidian eyes, like her soul, would always be there in a world where there was too little to hold to.

Pretty.

It was just a word. And Mei was so much more than that.

“Yes,” Mei said with a smile, “of course.” She laughed lightly and squeezed his hand before dropping it. “Of course, Lenten.” Seeming relieved, she lifted a hand to her lips as a quick giggle bubbled up. “Oh, look how much fun they’re having.”

Noting Rowan’s uncoordinated state, the merrymakers had accommodated and dispensed with silverware, delightfully digging in with eager fingers.

From behind him, Mei sighed. “I can’t remember the last time we…”

The note of longing in her soft voice as it trailed off made him turn to her again. “Mei?”

She’d turned away from the group feasting like five-year-olds below, stepping back into the hotel hallway. ”Mei.” He stared at her through the triangled, doubled glass made by the balcony’s windowed wall and thrust open door. “Are you all right?”

She was breathing heavily and her hand was clutched tight to her chest, her long black hair falling across her face. “I feel,” she paused, swaying slightly, “odd.”

“What’s wrong?” He touched her arm.

Shocked, she started, her hair flying back over her shoulders. He stepped back—afraid he’d hurt her—which allowed the high noon sun to shine bright and blinding through the dual window panes. He stopped, taken aback as the sunlight struck the makeshift prism made by the angled glass.

He squinted and stared at Mei’s image.

Hidden behind the blinding light, he saw her features blur and blend. Watching the colors and shapes merge, he inhaled sharply, choking on the sudden breath.

No, he silently cried as he coughed, his mind and heart plummeting. Mei, no.

“I’m so sorry, Lenten,” Mei’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she stepped back onto the balcony, causing him to jerk back and face her. “I don’t know what’s come over me.” Now, out from behind the glass, her face—the gentle grace of it—was as familiar as ever. “I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head a bit. Would you care to join me?”

Lenten sighed, his jaw tightening as he turned back toward the balcony. It was happening, though he would have sworn it could never. Closing his eyes, he breathed through his teeth as he adjusted his glasses.

“Lenten? Is everything all right?”

He whirled around, suddenly desperate to see what her face would show, waiting for it to confirm what he knew could not be true. But—whatever change had been there a second before—it was gone.

He coughed.

Twice.

But his throat still felt tight. “I’m fine.” He removed his glasses again, holding them up to the sun and watching the lenses twinkle in its light. “I’m fine.”

He left her there, rushing off with muttered, half-formed excuses. He’d been rude—to her, of all people—and had apologized for being so, but he’d had enough air and didn’t think that more would clear his head. There was something about this climate that did not agree with him at all. The humidity was too much, playing games with his mind. Yes, he was seeing phantoms in the sunlight. That was all, he was sure.

That was all.

“Hey, boss,” Flax called from the patio entrance as Lenten descended the stairs, “everything all right?”

Flax, the Elysium’s longest-standing guest, had a peculiar habit of intuiting—and, Lenten often felt, possibly influencing—the happenings of the hotel. It had always been a useful marvel that served the Elysium well. Between the two of them, there was very little indeed that transpired in the hotel without notice.

Odd, that particular fact seemed less comforting today.

“Why do you ask?” he asked with more edge than he’d intended.

Flax leaned casually against the door frame, his lean and lazy form conforming easily as he silently chose his words. Cocking his head to the side, Flax rolled his downcast eyes up, gazing at the stiff-spined man through the rogue strands of black hair that fell carelessly onto his forehead. “Thought maybe you and the missus might want to join us for lunch. Plenty of food left.”

“Thank you, but no,” Lenten answered, tugging on his jacket’s cuffs. “I’m not feeling well. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

“Is that right?”

Lenten’s icy blue gaze snapped up, hardening as Flax studied the hallway runner. “Yes, it is.” His clipped speech gave every consonant significance. “And please tell Olive that I expect her in her room immediately.”

Lenten turned, fully intending to leave things at that, only to whirl around again, his eyes now blazing as his voice gained both volume and speed. “And in the future, Flax, I’d appreciate it if you restricted your bartending duties to the bar. The Elysium does not permit public inebriation. It’s lewd and unacceptable and, though it should be completely unnecessary to remind you, it is also entirely inappropriate for an eight-year-old girl. I do not appreciate you exposing my niece to your—”

Lenten stopped, cutting off the more unpleasant parts of his reprimand. He wasn’t a cruel man—at least, he hoped not; tried not to be—but he felt capable of cruelties at the moment. A part of him—some dark side of himself that Lenten would rather believe didn’t exist—wanted to yell and cry and strike out at something. Someone. He needed to get rid of this gnawing rage that was stabbing away at his control.

He needed to be alone.

Turning away, he took a moment to compose himself before facing the other man again. “I expect Olive on her way to her room directly.”

“You know,” the tall, smirking man drawled as he rubbed his jaw idly, “you’ve got to be the only man I know whose vocabulary expands as his temper flares. Most tend to stick with four-letter fightin’ words.” He chuckled softly. “Can’t rightly say which I like better.”

Lenten shook his head, his anger fading even as a bitter unease remained. “And since you were so kind to facilitate our newest guest’s intoxication, escort Rowan back to his room as well.”

He paused and looked around. Momentarily disoriented, Lenten wondered exactly where he’d initially intended to go, before ascending the stairs he’d just come down. “I’ll be in my room.”

“And Mei?”

Lenten jerked to a stop, looking over his shoulder in question. “Mei?” he asked. “What about her?”

“You’d said you were feeling under the weather.” The other man moved to stand straight as he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, the action making his already broad shoulders appear wider. “I was just wondering how she was.”

“She’s fine,” Lenten replied too quickly.

Flax stood silent, his head tilted back and his shoulders soldier-straight. Holding the older man’s gaze a second too long, he said cooly, even though they could both plainly read the challenge, “Is that right.”

“She’s fine,” Lenten repeated, even though both men knew otherwise.

She’s fine, he tried to convince himself.

He needed that to be true.

He glared at the younger man, knowing full well that his eyes held an angry desperation that dared the other man to argue with him. “Is that all?”

Rocking back onto his heels, Flax simply nodded before Lenten once again made his way to his room.

Once alone inside his suite, Lenten sunk down onto his bed, unsure. It was just past midday and he’d retired to his room. In that moment, he realized his mistake. Alone in his empty suite, he had none of the day-to-day distractions that managing the hotel provided. Instead, he sat, stuck with his thoughts.

Wonderful.

Though the room was stiflingly hot, he got up and shut the open window, wishing it were really that easy to shut out the world.

As the window pane fell with an angry thud, Lenten noticed a figure sitting statuesque in the courtyard gardens, still and stately among the flowers. He touched the glass, leaning close to get a better look. Though her back was turned, he could read things in her posture, in the hopeless tilt of her head and the finality in the fold of her hands.

He wished he could look into her eyes. They had served for so long as his focal point in an unstable world that he couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing them. From inside his third story suite, he willed the woman in the garden to turn. Just a little. Just enough to get a glimpse.

But even as he wanted it, he worried what he would see if she did.

Even with her back still turned, he could see the black-haired woman sigh and shift, looking out at the garden as if for the last time.

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