Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?
I’m not cut out for all these cynical clones
These hunters with cell phones
Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die
I don’t belong, and my beloved, neither do you
Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry
I’m setting off, but not without my muse

---

July 2002

The rolling green hills rising over the crystal blue lake could have been a painting — and in fact, they’d been memorialized on canvas by many a famous artist over the centuries. The sunlight hit the water like diamonds, though the mists and clouds were just as beautiful in their own way.

Every day Elizabeth woke up in her cozy little cottage only a few minutes from Lake Windermere, she took a minute to be grateful for her escape, for the world she’d left behind. And on this day, she gathered her sketching supplies, tucked them in her satchel, then stepped out of the house. She stopped to check the lock, and when she turned back to the street, she stopped dead.

A few feet away, parked against the curb, a motorcycle sat. And its driver was leaning against it, his arms crossed. A driver with a face she hadn’t seen in more than a year.

She clutched the strap of her bag, looped across her chest, more tightly. Swallowed hard. “Jason.”

“Funny thing happened when I went home a few months ago,” Jason Morgan said, tipping his head slightly to the side in that way he had. “You weren’t there.”

She cleared her throat. “People move. You did.”

“But no one seemed to know where you went.” He straightened to his full height. “Sonny thought you’d gone to Florida after you left the island last December.”

“You know about the island?” Elizabeth made a face.

“Are you asking if I know you were there or if you took poison to fake your death?” Jason asked.

“Uh—”

“Bobbie thought you were in Colorado, visiting with some old friends.”

“Yeah, I’m a little disappointed she believed that one so easily,” Elizabeth muttered. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in Boulder in five years. Who am I looking up? Friends from middle school?”

“Your grandmother wouldn’t answer  the door when I knocked.”

Her lips twitched. “That’s a shame. Gram knows where I am.”

“Nikolas thought you were in California. Lucky said Arizona. I left while they were still arguing.”

“You asked Nikolas? And Lucky?” She bit her lip, trying to hide the smile. “That’s hard to believe. I’m dying to know where Carly thinks I am.”

“I can’t repeat what Carly said in polite company,” he said dryly, and now she didn’t bother to hide her amusement. “Emily said you were traveling. That you’d come into a trust fund from your grandfather on your last birthday and decided not to come back after things with the Cassadines were settled. But she wasn’t sure exactly where you were. You never get specific even when she asked.”

“And yet, you found me, so I guess I didn’t hide all that well.” She started down the street, heading for her usual spot by the lake. After a moment, Jason fell into step next to her. “How?”

“Had a guy pull your passport,” Jason said as if that statement alone wasn’t admitting to anything illegal. “You came into Heathrow in January, but there wasn’t any other hits. Looked at the bank accounts — you opened one in London, but the bank had branches all over the United Kingdom.”

She slid a glance to him out of the corner of her eye. “And so you tracked me down when I went to the bank here?”

“No.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’d wanted to disappear. And it’s none of my business what you spend your money on. I didn’t want anyone else looking at that either.” Their arms brushed as they headed down towards the water. “I thought you’d want somewhere for your art. The Lake District is good for that.”

“It’s the fact that I picked a town called Bowness-on-Windermere isn’t it? I knew Windermere would give me away,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She dropped her bag on the picnic table. “And I used my real name.”

“And you used your real name, so once I got to the area, it didn’t take long before I heard about Elizabeth Webber, the American artist. You had a show last month. At a gallery.”

“In Keswick, so it’s not much for a start, but I did well enough to qualify for an extension on my tourist visa.” She smiled at him. “What made you go to all that trouble to track me down?”

“Why did you go to so much trouble to be lost?” Jason leaned against the picnic table, folding his arms.

“You know, it really wasn’t so much trouble. I booked the first international flight I could, and it was going to London. I’ve never been to England, so I figured I’d stay a week and figure out where to go next. One of the travel books talked about the Lake District—and Lake Windermere? Felt like a sign. I took a train up here, took one look at the place—” She looked out over the water. “And I knew I could work here. That it would finally be…quiet.” She chewed on her bottom lip, looked back at him. “I called my grandmother, but that was the only person who really needed to know. Like I said, it’s a shame she doesn’t like you.”

“You didn’t tell Emily,” Jason reminded her, and she sighed.

“Yeah. I know. The first time I talked to her, she asked about Lucky and why I didn’t tell him I was breaking the engagement. I hung up on her. It seems silly now,” she confessed, “but I was upset that Lucky was her first question. I’m really tired of my life revolving around Lucky Spencer.”

He absorbed that, then nodded. “Fair enough. When she said you were traveling, I started looking at Italy first.”

“It’s on the list,” Elizabeth said. “The thing about Italy, though…” Their eyes met. “I never really pictured myself going alone.” She paused. “Did you, um, go back? After you left last year?”

“No. I knew it wouldn’t be the same.”

Her cheeks heated and she looked away, biting her lip. “You never said why you came looking for me. I would have thought I’d be the last person you’d want to see when you came back to Port Charles.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” He smiled slowly, and her lips curved in response. How easy it all was so far away from Port Charles and all the people that had stood in judgment of them. “You know, if you have some time, I have the bike—”

Elizabeth snatched up her bag. “I can draw anytime. Let’s go.”

← 16 – hoax |