The Temple of Indra’s Jewel: by Rachael Stapleton

Velte’s disappearance.”
    “Velte was your father’s twin who died on the passage over from Germany, right?”
    “You do pay attention, don’t you, dear?”
    “Of course, Gigi; you never talk of your family much, so when you do, I listen.”
    The nurse returned; we both stopped speaking. She asked Gigi some questions about her pain and pulled back the blankets to check her leg.
    Gigi groaned as the nurse moved her.
    “Is it your back, Mrs. Jackson?”
    Gigi nodded, squinting in pain.
    “I’ll get you something for that. I think it’s time for a heavier dose. Just a minute.”
    The nurse left the room, and Gigi turned toward me. “We don’t have much time. I can’t think through these drugs, so listen up. Oma said the gem was cursed. She said Velte touched it and that’s why he died.”
    “Where did your Opa get the jewel set from?”
    “He got the original gem from a curator in Ireland. He had it made into a necklace, bracelet and ring set for Mama. It was accompanied by a typewritten note that warned of a curse. The answer lies with the curse.”
    “A curse?” I asked just as the nurse returned. I wanted to ask what the curse said, where the note was, but I knew Gigi’s pain was bad. She was starting to shake, and I figured I could wait until she was better.
    I never left her side. I woke with every IV and shift change. Sometimes she was lucid, but she was never as clear as the first time. More and more she confused me with her sister, Zafira, and mumbled incoherently about the family curse. That alarmed me, based on everything I had been through. Could she know something more? I rocked back and forth on my feet, needing an outlet for the energy that was rumbling inside my bones. I tried to question her further, but the nurses told me I should let her rest, that the drugs created hallucinations and the patients were apt to ramble incoherently. I had trouble accepting that, but what more could I do? It was like she had a million secrets to tell, and I would never hear any of them.
    She died two days later. I went into a numb state. My grandmother Greta and Great-Aunt Addie had been notified, but no one had arrived yet. My friend Leslie picked me up from the hospital and took me home to Gigi’s. I cried for hours, and I just couldn’t sleep. Every time I tried, I had a horrible nightmare.
    I was tired, too tired to concentrate on firing my engine back up and yet too restless to continue watching the TV program I’d switched on. Leslie stayed with me all evening, attempting to comfort me. She finally put me to bed in Gigi’s room, where I insisted on sleeping alone, and she retired to the guest room.
    I slept for a bit, but it was hard to ignore the scent of her ghost that hung in the air. On impulse, I walked to her closet and pulled her fur coat out. I wrapped it tightly around me. From behind closed eyelids, I could picture her ensconced in the bed the first night I came to live with her. Her room reminded me of a pillow—so peaceful with all its soft greys and muted creams. At the far end were two banks of diamond-paned bay windows, half-veiled by gold-and-cream brocade shades and valances. The windows looked out over the dark, still lake. Chairs and loveseats were arrangement in front of the windows. Against another wall was a large fireplace; across from that was a king-size bed with a large trunk at the end of it. She’d been wearing a sage green peignoir, reclining against a mountain of satiny pearl pillows. There was a tea tray on one side of her, and she had been engrossed in a book. I had been terribly homesick and lost without my mother’s embrace. As I walked in, she had turned to face me. A bright smile lit her tired face.
    “Sophia, darling. What’s the matter? I thought I tucked you into bed an hour ago.” Her words rang in my ears as if she’d just spoken them yesterday. She’d held out her arms for me to come to her. Of course, I climbed on top of the giant bed, and she