Tell Me I'm Dreamin' by Eboni Snoe Read Free Book Online Page B

about her portion of fresh fruit, cheese, bread, and honey, making her feelings about sharing obvious.
    Rodney Sharpe put forth his most engaging smile, ignoring his cantankerous neighbor. “Thank you, Catherine, I would love a cup of coffee. By the way is Ulysses back?”
    â€œNo, he is not,” Madame Deane responded in a refined, mature voice. “We are expecting my nephew back tomorrow.”
    Her tone was completely different from moments before, and Rodney looked at her as if he expected to see someone else. And in a way she was. Madame Deane’s posture now appeared regal, and the wild look in her eyes had been replaced by an almost genteel glow. Rodney sat down in the chair across the table from her. He appeared unnerved by the change, as if he were more comfortable with her initial persona.
    â€œI am truly beginning to miss him.” She looked up from her plate wistfully, her back arrow-straight in her wheelchair, her frail chin holding an aristocratic tilt. “And now that all the roads are blocked, there is no telling when he will return.”
    â€œWell,” came a deep voice from the doorway, “you can stop worrying, Aunt Helen. The most beautiful woman on Eros should never worry.” The words reflected Ulysses’ admiration for his only aunt. “And with the way you look this morning, even Cleopatra of Egypt would be envious of you.”
    â€œUlysses! You are back!” Madame Deane’s frail shoulders seemed to straighten as he bent and kissed her withered cheek. Her eyes twinkled as she followed his movements, watching him fold his six-feet-two frame into the chair beside hers. He was taller than his father had been, taller than most of the people on Eros, but height wasn’t the only thing that made Ulysses Deane unique.
    His bountiful black curls brushed his neck in a virile, disorderly fashion. One curl managed to escape and hang provocatively low on his forehead. Madame Deane recalled when he was a child how she would twirl it on her index finger, tweaking it repeatedly to watch it spring back and forth. She had always loved his curly hair. Her lips turned up in an attractive smile as she thought of how Ulysses blamed her for training the stray curl whenever it materialized at inopportune times.
    Helen Deane continued to look at her nephew. His eyebrows were uncharacteristically arched as if drawn with a fine hand. The word “uncharacteristic” came to mind because there was nothing about his character that was not explosive, even unruly. He was his own man, and all of his life he had paid the price for it.
    It was hard for her to see her heritage, the British heritage, in Ulysses’ face with his strong nose, mouth, and jaw. But his mother’s heritage, Egypt, was quite obvious in his skin color and his hair, setting him apart from the group at the table. His hair texture was curlier and coarser than her own, and to her, his complexion was a most interesting hue, for his skin was decisively darker, a deep caramel. Because of Ulysses’ coloring, his perfect teeth shone brightly as he surrendered an uncommon, but nevertheless melting smile in his aunt’s direction.
    Ulysses had always been fond of his aunt. When Helen Deane was completely present, like this morning, it reminded him of the times before her accident. Her Greek dress and the artificial band of olive leaves were the only obvious signs of her eccentricity.
    â€œCatherine, bring Ulysses his favorite, coconut water and conkies,” Madame Deane called. “And check on our guest as well, would you please.”
    â€œOf course,” Catherine replied and went back inside the house.
    Catherine opened the door to Nadine’s bedroom and peered inside to see if Nadine still slept. She saw the bed was empty and made up, and she announced herself in a proper manner.
    â€œMiss Nadine, it is Catherine. May I come in?”
    â€œOf course, Catherine. How are you this