Miras - Nora Roberts <Exclusive Deal>
She expected him to see nothing. A blank stone. He wasn’t a sensitive. But when Caleb looked into the obsidian, his face went pale. “There’s a woman,” he whispered. “She’s holding a candle. She’s saying a name.” He looked up, and his eyes were full of something Mira had never seen there before. Recognition.
Their courtship was slow, tender, built on shared silences and the smell of sawdust. He restored her shop’s sagging floorboards. She found him a perfect set of antique brass drawer pulls for his farmhouse. He kissed her for the first time in the rain, under the eaves of her porch, and she felt not a single ghost between them.
Mira’s skin prickled. “I don’t buy mirrors.”
No hand mirrors with pearl handles. No gilded trifold vanities. No cracked bathroom medicine cabinets. If it reflected a face, she wouldn’t touch it. Miras - Nora Roberts
It wasn’t vanity. She was, by most accounts, easy to look at—honey-colored hair that curled at the ends, eyes the deep green of a stormy sea, a smattering of freckles across a nose that turned up just slightly. No, the hate went deeper. It was the knowing she hated.
That afternoon, over coffee at the diner, she told him. Not everything. But enough. I see things in reflective surfaces. Memories. Feelings. Pasts that aren’t mine. She waited for him to laugh, to back away, to call her crazy.
“My mother gave me this,” the woman said softly. “She told me never to open it at night. I never knew why. But last week, I did. And I saw—I saw a room. A fire. A child screaming.” She looked at Mira with haunted eyes. “I can’t unsee it. Please. Take it.” She expected him to see nothing
His eyes—those bourbon-warm eyes—narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Mira’s hands trembled as she reached for the locket. The moment her fingers touched the obsidian, a flood of images crashed over her: a woman in a green dress, weeping. A locket snapped shut as a door slammed. A name, whispered in the dark: Isabelle.
Mira looked from his face to the locket, then to the rain-streaked window behind him. In the glass, just for an instant, she saw a reflection that wasn’t hers. A woman in a green dress, standing in a doorway, one hand pressed to her heart. And she was smiling. But when Caleb looked into the obsidian, his face went pale
Liza rolled hers. “You need a vacation. Or a man. Preferably both.”
He smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the storm. “Mira. That’s a name that means ‘wonder’ or ‘look.’” He tilted his head. “Which is it for you?”
“I believe in what I can’t see,” he said simply. “I believe in wood grain and the memory of trees. Why not mirrors?”
“Mira Delaney. And you’re welcome.”
“I need you to look at something,” she said, and opened the locket.