03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales by Derrolyn Anderson

I squinted to try and focus on
her. It felt as if she were backing away from me.
    “Stella?” I repeated nervously, wondering if
she was sleepwalking.
    “She had on the blue shoes? Of all the
cockamamie things…”
    “What shoes?” I asked, peering into the black
shadows.
    “Aw, he was a swell guy when he wasn’t on the
hooch…” her voice faded out, and I strained to hear her.
    “Stella?” She worried me, for she was
rambling more than usual, “Can I walk you home?”
    I wondered where she lived, realizing at that
moment exactly how little I really knew about her. She started to
walk away, and I could see her shadowy figure shuffling up the
stairs, pausing, and turning back to face me, “I need you to watch
over them. Don’t let them go hungry.”
    “Of course not,” I said, bending down to pick
up my surfboard, adjusting it under my arm before following her up
the stairs. She disappeared into the near blackness of the cover of
the trees, and I could hear her on the dark path ahead of me,
laughing to herself at some private joke.
    “Bless your soul, sweetie.”
    When I reached the top of the stairs she was
nowhere to be seen.
    “Stella… Stella?” I looked up and down the
street but she had gone on without me. I stopped to listen but the
night was as still as before. I made a mental note to pick up more
cat food in the morning, and get it to her before I left for Paris.
She was probably starting to run low right about now.
     
    The next day dawned bright and clear. It was
Friday, and the big demonstration was scheduled for the next
afternoon. I knew that Ethan was already at the site, hard at work,
setting up a stage for the speakers and performers and roping off
the parking areas. Dutch was picking up a barbeque pit, and they
had plenty of volunteers scheduled to set up tables and
awnings.
    I needed to get downtown and deliver my
paintings to the gallery, so I decided to pick up some cat food on
the way home. I scrutinized my pile of finished paintings,
selecting a nice assortment for the show, and loading them in the
Rover. I found myself reluctant to leave my studio, but I had to
get the paintings over to Susan’s gallery in time for her to hang
them.
    Before I locked up, I paused to take a last
look around the loft. Shayla and I had worked hard to clean the
place up and it was completely transformed. It looked comfortable,
and I truly felt as though I could relax here. I shivered with a
long absent happiness, and had an overwhelming urge to see Ethan. I
couldn’t wait to surprise him with my new studio, and decided to
show him after the rally. I realized we could be completely alone
here, and the thought was both exciting and scary.
    When I turned into Abby’s drive the first
thing I saw was Ethan’s truck. It was a happy surprise, for I
didn’t expect him until much later. I walked in with a smile,
lugging a large bag of cat food. Ethan and Abby were sitting at the
kitchen table. They looked at the bag and back up at me with
sympathetic eyes.
    “I see you heard,” Abby said.
    Ethan got up to give me a hug, “I just found
out… Are you okay?”
    I drew back, “Found out what?”
    “Didn’t you see the paper?”
    “No,” I said, looking between the two of
them. They exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
    “We have some bad news…” Abby bit her lip,
“You better sit down, hun.”
    Ethan took my hand and showed me the
newspaper. There was an obituary with a picture of Stella and a
headline that read, “Longtime Aptos Resident.” I took it from him
and read an article that said Stella had been found dead at her
daughter’s house… five days ago.
    “No,” I shook my head in disbelief, “It’s not
possible.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my
shoulder.
    I looked up at them, “But, seriously… I… I
just saw her.”
    They exchanged a look. “Oh honey… I’m so
sorry.” Abby said.
    “No! I mean, it’s got to be a
mistake,” I said dismissively, not wanting to bring