Chapter 15
When the villa gate was slammed loudly, Alicia was curled up on the window seat upstairs, counting the raindrops.
The sleeping pills prescribed by the doctor were clenched into a wet and sticky lump in her palm. She stared at the couple in front of the villa, who were soaked through, their fingernails deeply embedded in the folds of their silk nightgowns.
Maria’s hair was disheveled, sticking to her cheeks, and her expensive cashmere coat was covered in thick mud. There was no trace of the elegant demeanor she once had when she held a porcelain tea cup and used a lid to open the hot soup she offered with both hands.
“Alicia! Alicia, open the door!”
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After a few days of absence, Maria’s well–maintained voice was filled with vicissitudes, along with her once jet–black temples, now hastily dyed with frosty white.
The butler opened the door of the villa for Nolan. He lowered his eyes and fiddled with the rosary beads, the sandalwood bracelet on his wrist gleaming coldly in the pouring rain.
Henry and Maria pressed their blood–stained foreheads against the blue stone steps, their eyes filled with sorrow.
“Mr. Keith, please have mercy on us and let us apologize to Alicia by kowtowing…”
“Apologize? The rosary beads suddenly caught on his fingertips as he looked up at the eaves where the bronze startle bird bell swayed in the
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rain.”
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“It’s just a cycle of cause and effect,” Nolan took a step back, “In the past, you bullied my wife out of hatred, and today you come to apologize to her.”
He suddenly chuckled, startling the white doves sheltering from the rain under the eaves. “Sow evil seeds, reap evil fruits. This is what you should bear.”
Maria’s emerald hoop bracelet knocked against the blue stone steps, emitting a clear echo in the flying raindrops.
“See you off. Nolan waved his hand slightly, and the heavy door closed in front of Henry and Maria, shutting out the cold rain outside, as well as a cold and sorrowful past.”
Nolan climbed the stairs to the second floor, and Alicia’s pale and frail appearance fell into his dark eyes.
“Let go of attachments, then you will be at ease.
The raindrops snaked down the glass window, leaving faint traces of tears. Alicia felt a warm sensation on her shoulder.
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Nolan’s palm pressed against the cashmere shawl, emanating warmth intertwined with Frankincense and body temperature.
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“Name”
There were several sheets of sketch paper scattered on the windowsill. When Nolan picked up the top one, the rosary beads accidentally caught on the corner of the paper.
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The girl outlined by the pencil came to life in the folds.
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The woman smiled, with two small dimples appearing at the corners of
her lips; behind her, large patches of tulips bloomed, creating a scene
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of vibrant colors.
Her hair tips seemed to still be touched by the morning dew, while a butterfly with wings ready to fly rested on her fingertips.
“This was my Callie.”
Alicia looked out the window, her deep gaze piercing through the rain curtain, not knowing where the memories of years gone by had gone.
“I remember…” Nolan’s fingers traced the indentations along the edge of the sketch paper, marks left by the repeated tearing of the iron clamp on the easel. “The Department of Oil Painting at the Rhode Island School of Design only accepted one early admission that year.”
Nolan looked at Alicia’s thin, pale profile.
“And you were the Oil Painting student who enrolled that year.‘
Alicia’s thick, long eyelashes cast a shadow of dark gray under her eyelids.
Outside the window, thunder roared, and she saw in the glass reflection Nolan’s Frankincense Bodhi rosary beads on his wrist, pressing against the faint red burn marks on her neck.
The damp air was filled with the smell of linseed oil, which she accidentally spilled while hiding in the bathroom to paint.
Nolan’s large hand rested on her frail shoulder, the rosary beads on his wrist lightly touching her trembling back, carrying with them lingering warmth.
“I wanted to take you to a place.”
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He quietly grasped Alicia’s spasming right hand, the calluses on his
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palm brushing against her slender knuckles, the imprint worn from years of spinning the scripture spinner medallion.
“The Festival of the Lotus Light in Colorado…”
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He lightly pressed her curled fingertips against his pulse, the misty Frankincense mingling with warmth between their breaths.
“Come with me to The Sanctuary of Silence, where the art of grinding mineral pigments has been passed down since the ninth century.”
Alicia looked at the silver butterfly in the painting, with Callie’s fingertips spreading their wings as if ready to fly, and suddenly remembered a dusk drowned in paint.
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Fifteen–year–old Callie had a sudden idea to mix tulip juice into the acrylic paint on the palette, and asked Alicia to paint two dancing blue morpho butterflies for her.
“It was just me, it was just Ally, Callie’s fingertips tapped on the paper, also stained with a faint indigo.
“The traditional drawers in Colorado could summon the sacred colors in thirty–three days, including… He paused slightly.”
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“A kind of blue between life and death, like the shimmer on the wings of a Morpho butterfly.”
