Mikah didn’t know how to make it go away. But then, there was a part of her that really didn’t want to. Those memories kept Ian alive. In her mind. In her heart.
And if wanting to torture herself like that wasn’t completely nuts, she didn’t know what was.
The few trusted friends she talked about it with afforded honest sympathy but in the end they all said the same thing.
She needed to let it go. Date. Have fun. Live a little. Mikah had even gone to see another psychologist who told her the same thing. Not in so many words, obviously, but the gist of their sessions had been the same.
Only her best friend, Kris, agreed that Mikah was a few bottles short of a six-pack.
Brutal honesty; she loved that about Kris.
Acceptance. The first step in conquering any obsession. Mikah was dragging herself to the second step just as she did when she hauled herself to work each day. The snow and bitter winds of early winter weren’t all that was holding her back.
Those first days after she woke in the hospital, she’d dreamt of Ian again and again, reliving those finals moments on the balcony. Never the tender moments or the sensual ones, like those she’d experienced before any of this started. No, just the terror and pain. Reliving his death over and over until she would wake screaming, her heartache tearing her to pieces.
Now there was nothing. She hadn’t had a dream of Ian in weeks. It was as if the narrative that had been playing out in her mind her entire life had run its course. It was over.
All she was left with were the memories and she hoarded them as if they would be ripped away from her as well.
Getting a cup of coffee and carrying it into her office, she sat, elbows on her desk, and buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes. She couldn’t go on like this. This obsession was starting to affect her work. It had to stop. She knew it but still she couldn’t let him go.
Picking up a pile of mail, she thumbed through them with half a mind. Flyers for estate sales, letters of small country museums closing and looking for a home for their exhibits, catalogs, and so on. Mikah worked through the pile, and about half way through, pulled out a thick nine-inch by twelve-inch envelope. Slicing it open, she pulled out an auction catalog, only to drop it with a gasp as she pushed away from the desk.
Scrambling to retrieve it, she stared down at the image on the front of the catalog with astonishment. Dùn Cuilean? Impossible. The castle was a figment of her imagination. It wasn’t real.
Yet itwasDùn Cuilean. Too familiar to her to be mistaken. How was that possible?
Clutching the book, Mikah grabbed her coat and purse and ran from the museum, ignoring Bernie’s anxious questions. She slipped and skidded across the employee parking lot until she was in her car.
Starting it, steering wheel gripped with a white knuckled grip, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Through the windshield, the museum’s arcing white spines winged out. They were opened wide today, giving the impression of a bird or glider ready to take flight. Her heart racing and blood pumping, she thought she was ready to soar as well.
* * *
“Mikes, come on in!” Kris called from the sofa when Mikah simply opened the door and entered without knocking. She flung her purse and coat unceremoniously into a nearby chair.
“Well, Kris, I think I’ve finally truly lost it.”
“Again?” Kris answered sarcastically. “Color me surprised. Come, have some wine.”
“It’s eleven in the morning.”
“And I’ve been up since five shopping, honey. I need a drink.” Her friend looked over the top of the glass at Mikah. “You look about ready to explode. What’s up?”
“Okay,” She paced the room. “I know you thought I was going completely cuckoo there for a while, and I was right there with you. A believer.”
“And something has happened to change all that?”
“Yes. This.” She tossed the catalog into Kris’s lap.
“And this is?”
“That is Cuilean, Kris. Dùn Cuilean.MyCuilean!” She was nearly panting with excitement as she tapped the picture on the cover.
“You do need a drink. Or two.” Kris flipped through the first few pages of the catalog. “So, it’s similar. A castle is a castle, right?”
“Not similar,” Mikah insisted with a shake of her head as she dropped down next to Kris on the sofa and took the book, opening it to a random page and pointing. “The same. Look at this. Item twenty-seven. That’s the painting that hung next to the window in the dining room. Item forty-eight. That’smymusic box. The one Ian and I danced to.”
“Mikes…”
