drive blew clouds of dust from the loosely wrapped mirror. The dust spun around the truck bed in little eddies making both of us cough and conversation impossible.
I led the way up the staircase to my place while Emmie brought up the rear. Between us Keith and Max struggled to heft the large mirror up the narrow staircase. I took the stairs backwards watching them.
“Keys,” Max said jarring me into my position as hostess of this erstwhile group.
“If I put this thing down, I’m never going to be able to pick it back up,” Keith said. I unlocked the door and stepped out of their way, pointing out the direction of the bedroom and trailing behind Emmie and the struggling men. They tilted the mirror to get through the door and avoid scraping their knuckles on the frame.
With a thunk they placed it at the foot of the bed and stood it where I pointed. The quilt the old man had given us, for a small price, to shield the mirror in its transition slid off with a plop, revealing the large old-fashioned mirror. Both Emmie and I were reflected in the dust-covered lens we stared at the reflection for a minute. I stood at an even five-foot and my sister at five foot one. We both had a petite, somewhat athletic build and short brown hair. Mine brushed my chin in a bob cut while Emmie’s barely brushed the tips of her ears.
“I think the old man was right,” Emmie said with a grin. “We do look like the pixie brigade.” The mocking of the old man in the antique store set both of us off into giggles again.
“That would be the pixie brigade making off with a magically haunted mirror,” I reminded her with a laugh. It felt good to laugh. Keith and Max went off to the kitchen to forage for water while we giggled.
“Mind if I use your bathroom,” Emmie said when we had quieted.
“Sure,” I said to the back of her head as she closed the bathroom door. I stared at the mirror. What had possessed me to buy it? It was huge and old-fashioned with an ornately carved frame. The wood may have matched my bed frame but overall it looked like something out of a fairy tale. In my bedroom it looked even more fantastic than it had in the store. I could almost believe the old man’s tale.
“And he was never seen or heard from again,” I whispered the last line of many an old fairy tale out loud. I could almost believe it. The heavy mirror did look like something out of one of the darker tales. “Mirror, Mirror on the wall,” I said to it in a somewhat louder voice.
“If it actually answers you, I don’t want to know about it,” my sister said, returning to the bedroom. I rolled my eyes. What had I been thinking?
“Why did I buy this?” Emmie shrugged.
“Because it’s pretty and it matches,” Emmie got a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Or maybe because you have a kinky fetish for watching you and your man get wild in the sheets,” she said. I snorted and thought of Quinn.
“Well my man took off with a stripper so I don’t think that is going to be on the agenda for awhile.” Emmie’s smile dropped from her lips.
“He was an asshole Kay,” She said giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“I know,” I said. I didn’t want her to worry. Besides it had been over two months since he collected the last of his things from my place and he was now more or less washed out of my system. “Besides,” I told her giving her a big grin to lighten the mood. “He had a very hairy butt, and no one really wants to see that reflected.” We both laughed as the alarm went off on her watch. Emmie sighed.
“Time to head to the bakery to taste test wedding cakes,” She said. Keith heard her and quickly made his excuses of other plans. With a wave and a quick kiss for Emmie, he dragged Max out the door as he was still trying to say goodbye. Emmie hooked her arm through mine as the door clicked shut behind the men and led me back out the door.
“You can’t let me pick the red velvet one even though we both know it tastes the best,” she continued with a grin.
“Keith still thinks it looks like a raw wound?” I asked. Emmie nodded.
“And the yellow lemon one he thought looked like urine,” she said with a sigh.
“Charming,” I said. “The baker must love to see him coming.” Emmie shook her head.
“By the time we left the woman was shaking. That is why I’m bringing you. He has been banned from the premises.” I thought of my soon to be brother-in-law with his massive bulk and sympathized with the shaky baker.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of wedding related activities. The cake testing, wine tasting, color combinations and gown fittings pushed both thoughts of Quinn and my new mirror completely out of my mind. I returned to my apartment exhausted by the minutia that fancy weddings seemed to require. I made a mental note to run off to Las Vegas and seek out the sequined Elvis should my life ever turn in the direction of wedded bliss.
Still it made Emmie happy. She had always been a more formal person than I was. As children her Barbie dolls would always wear ball gowns with the matching shoes while mine tended to have clothes I painted on because nothing in the box of clothes suited me.
With a minimum of fuss I undressed and crawled into bed. Sleep claimed me quickly and dreams seemed to come almost immediately. My new mirror was prominent in my dream. Its reflective surface glowed a light blue, like a sapphire held up to the sun. Small tendrils of smoke began to drift from its surface and snake their way onto my bed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I knew that when the smoked touched me it would hurt me. I whimpered softly, an injured animal sound that was all that would pass through my frozen lips. I was cold, so cold, but I couldn’t shiver. The smoke reached the bed and began to slide up the sheets.
The phone rang and I shot up from my bed, wide-awake and vaguely surprised that there was no blue smoke. The mirror was just a mirror in the darkened room. For a second I caught sight of a reflection that wasn’t my own pressing against the mirror as if it were window glass. I rubbed my eyes and I could only see myself reflected in it. I dismissed the image as dream residue. I was pale and sweaty and my eyes were wide with fear. My heart beat rapidly in my chest. The phone rang again and I jumped.
2:35am. I grabbed for the phone blindly almost knocking it to the floor as I answered. My heart almost stopped. Something happened to Emmie.
“Hello, I’m here, hello,” I said rapidly. Visions of hospitals danced in my head. I pushed the images away. “Hello,” I said again struggling for calm. Heavy breathing met my ear. Oh god. It was just a crank call. My heart started to slow. Nothing was wrong.
“It’s two in the morning, go bother someone else,” I said crossly.
“Kay,” my caller said before I could hang up. “Kay it’s me.” I knew that voice. Just as I knew from the sound of his speech that he had been drinking heavily. I sighed. Hanging up would do no good. He would just call back repetitively until I answered. It would be best to get it over with.
“What do you want Quinn?” I didn’t hide the weariness from my voice.
“Are you there baby?” he asked.
“I’m here Quinn what do you want?” I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I could not sit here and watch myself talking to Quinn. Luckily it was a cordless phone. I slid out of bed, went to the kitchen and made myself some tea as he began his rambling monologue. As I listened I began to wonder what I had ever seen in him to begin with. I sat on the couch and drank my tea. My only comments were bare affirmative sounds every time Quinn asked me if I was still there. Finally, he seemed to wind down. His words slowed to a trickle and stopped abruptly.
“I guess I just miss you baby.” There was silence after this pronouncement and I wondered what I was supposed to say.
“I think you need to get some sleep Quinn,” I winced. That had sounded cold even to my own ears. I shook my head and didn’t soften the words.
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Your right baby, you’re always right. I’ll sleep and call later. Night.”
“Good night, Quinn,” I said and hung up the phone. I set the phone down on the co
ffee table. After that call my gut was wound too tight to crawl back into bed. Instead I flipped on the television and put an old movie on the screen. I pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and curled up with my mug of tea, letting the mystery of The Maltese Falcon soothe me.
I woke up the next morning curled up on the couch and thinking about Quinn. I ran a hand through my hair and straightened up the couch.
“Damn,” I said aloud to the empty room when I realized that Quinn was not going to leave my mind. I did my best though. I blocked him from my thoughts with lists of household chores. I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, even giving the wood of the mirror frame a good dose of lemon pledge and the mirror’s surface a spritz of glass cleaner. I spent quite a lot of time digging the dust the wind had missed out of the cracks.
The design of the wooden frame was more intricate than I had thought in the store. Actually the cleaner it became the older and more ornate it appeared. I was certainly no judge of antiques but to my untrained eyes this mirror looked much older than the man at the junk store had thought. I smiled to myself