by Elodie Colt
All of a sudden, his hand shoots out to clamp around my wrist. For a man with his health condition, his grip is astoundingly strong and steady.
“I have to leave, Matthew.”
Matthew. He remembers me today.
My gaze snaps to his dull eyes clinging to me with an alarming focus I haven’t seen in a while. Instead of rolling aimlessly around, they stay on me with an intensity that tells me he’s lucid for the moment.
I tilt my head, squeezing his hand. “Where do you want to go?”
“I have to follow the rows of trees… follow the orange trees until I reach the end. The horizon… the sunset…”
A warm smile seeps through my lips. “You always loved the sunsets here. I do, too.”
His features crunch as his stare becomes sterner. “Take care of my land, son. Take care of my trees. And don’t forget, only plant them in the mornings, when—”
“In the mornings, when it’s not too hot,” I say at the same time as he does, making my smile bigger. “I know, Dad.”
His expression softens, his grip loosening under mine. “I need a nap… one last… go to sleep…”
And then his eyelids flutter shut before a soft snore wheezes from his nose. With quiet movements, I set his cup aside.
“I’m going to take care of it all,” I whisper over his forehead before I place my lips on it. “I promise.”
With a last glance at his peaceful face, I adjust his blanket and leave to return to the kitchen where Sofia is cooking noodles. I grab my Diet Coke, now standing in a pool of condensed water, and take a generous sip.
“Did you rob a fucking bank?” Sofia waves her ladle in my direction, dripping Bolognese sauce onto the counter. “Because if this is dirty money, I swear to all that’s holy I will—”
“It was a donation.” I hold up a hand when she opens her mouth to argue. “I’m telling the truth. Christina Robinson didn’t want to see the plantation go down the drain. She sent me an email. Read it.” I point to my laptop.
She flings a glower at me over her half-moon glasses. “I don’t want to read it. I want to hear it from you. I want to know what the heck happened in those two weeks you spent in West Palm Beach. You haven’t been the same since you came back.”
She nods to the Diet Coke in my hand causing me to frown.
“Yes, I’m following your advice about adopting a healthier lifestyle. You got a problem with that?” I snap, but instead of a rebuke and a watch-your-tone glower, she slowly puts the ladle back into the pot, throwing me a tender, woeful glance.
“I know that look, Matthew.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but I’m left to guess what she’s digging for. “What look?”
“Loss.” She crosses her arms. “Pain. Heartache.”
Bullshit. I’ve been neck-deep into work since I returned to Tampa, stopping to chat with her for ten minutes max and always putting on a happy face, despite the migraine constantly reminding me of my body’s complaints about my new, nonalcoholic diet.
I grit my teeth. “Loss? Yeah. Until this morning, I was still trying to get to grips with the fact that I will have to sell my land. And in case you forgot, my father’s days are numbered—”
“This is not about Harry or the plantation,” she interrupts me. “Come on, Matthew. If I were to wake up to see I was half a million dollars richer, I’d sing three Hail Mary’s, throw a party, and open up a bottle of champagne. You were barely able to break a smile and rushed off to get to work as if it were a day like any other.”
My jaw grinds as I avert my gaze, scratching the scar that has formed beneath my ear. I do that a lot lately. It reminds me of the day I stapled Sam’s hand, back when our only worry was how to stay the fuck away from each other.
I drag my gaze from the faraway memory playing in my head back to Sofia, the words coming out in a snarl when I finally grant her my confession. “You want to know what happened? Fine. I fell in love and screwed it up.”
The edge in my voice was supposed to convey that we’ve reached the end of our short heart-to-heart, but sure enough, Sofia sticks to her guns.
“And that lucky girl is Jillian Robinson?”
I wish. And in regards to ‘lucky,’ Sam would beg to defer. “No. Her neighbor.”
Sofia’s eyebrows bounce up to meet her hairline. She hadn’t seen that one coming, not after her last call with Jillian when I was still trying to picture us as a happy couple. “And does that neighbor have a name?”
“She does.” The same name as the mother who left me, too. Karma? I throw a purposeful look at the clock on the wall. “I have to get back to work.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back in the blazing sun, ripping open a new sack of soil just as Sofia sneaks up to me with tentative steps.
I wipe the back of my hand over my sweaty chin, heaving an exhausted sigh. “Sofia, just drop it, okay? The girl dumped my ass and for good reason. I don’t—”
I lose my track of thought the moment I lift my head. Sofia has stopped a foot in front of me, shoulders trembling, eyes glistening with tears, a hand over her mouth.
“Sofia?”
My voice is strained, too wary, and the moment she presses her eyes shut to let the tears flow, I know.
I fucking know.
The sack slips from my hands, landing with a hard thump on the ground and spilling fresh soil over my shoes.
My father is dead.
Twenty-Five
Samantha
Life is getting into motion again. In the two-week aftermath of our (so-called) breakup, I’ve locked myself in my room and experienced every fucking negative emotion in existence. Indecisiveness with a tinge of remorse was on top of the list after soaking up Matthew’s last twenty-two messages and basically taking every word out of context until my head became a roller coaster of confusion.
None of it matters anymore, I tell myself. You trampled all over his pleas, apologies, and confessions.
“Give her time,” I heard Ruby say the other day. “She’s going through the five stages of grief.”
And because it rubbed me the wrong way to learn that there was a crap-ass psychological model that shows my own fucking emotions on a curvy diagram, I joined them for dinner and tuned out the elephant in the room. Ultimately, my need to prove that Matthew hasn’t gotten under every cell of my skin backfired, and I broke into tears, letting four pairs of hands pat my back and hand me tissues.
Naturally, I asked them all for their honest opinion.
“If he really loves you, let him grovel,” was Kendra’s advice. “Don’t call him, don’t text him. Let him do the work.”
I turned to Skyla who gave me a contrite pout. “Yes, he made mistakes, but God, you two were so perfect together. Every time he eyeballed you, he set me on fire, and the looks weren’t even directed at me. Besides, he’s real eye-candy. Just imagine what pretty babies you two could have!”
Her comment was annoyingly doleful for me, and I was already dreading for Ruby to put in her two cents.
“Your parents abandoned you,” she said. “Your last boyfriend cheated on you. Until now, you’ve avoided close relationships for fear of rejection and deception. Ultimately, you shut down and create distance when things get tough instead of working through it. My advice? You just reached a big milestone in your career. Don’t let love get in the way.”
That was when I broke into tears a second time, feeling like Penny in that one Big Bang Theory episode after her unintentional therapy session with Leonard’s mother. Gutted and broken beyond repair.
Tentatively, I turned my head to Leo, knowing her candor would likely deal the death blow.
She scoffed. “Honestly? This shit is too complicated for my taste. I mean, he loves you, right?” She waited for the other girls to nod. “And… you love him, too, yes?” My puffy eyes combined with a scowl made her raise an eyebrow and look at me as if I missed the point somewhere. “So, what the fuck is keeping you apart?”
Naturally, I di
dn’t shut an eye the entire night, tossing and turning in bed, and mentally weighing up everyone’s (un)helpful opinion on how the hell to deal with it all. In the end, I decided to play it safe, follow Ruby’s advice first, and focus on my job. After lots of back and forth calls with Arthur Emerson, I clinched the deal with Porter Publishing with an insane advance of eighty-thousand dollars. Enough money to soon pimp my garden with a row of white flagstones, a new table, and pretty pots for my plants.
I throw a glance out the window. Heavy clouds conceal the sun today. The perfect weather to get my ass into gear and mow the lawn. I’ve avoided the garden lately, and the grass is already overgrowing my porch. Jillian isn’t home most of the time, but knowing my luck, I’ll run into her, and I’m not ready for another confrontation yet. Not after all the shit that went down.
All in all, the worst timing for Skyla to knock on my door and hit me square on with the words, “Sam? Uh, Jillian is here. She wants to talk to you.”
Which leaves me with no other option than to invite her in.
“Hi, Sam,” Jillian says tentatively when she enters my room, clad in a denim skirt and a plain top.
“Uh, hi.” I stand from my chair, fumbling with my earring.
Jillian takes a look around. A dimpled smile breaks out on her lips when her gaze falls on the bed that we used as a trampoline when we were kids. “Still looks as I remember it.”
I offer her a smile in return but stay quiet for now.
Her expression turns somber as she wrings her hands. “Listen, I’m here to apologize. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t my intention to hurt you, but please believe me when I tell you that I regretted it the moment I did.”
My head makes a weird circling motion, something between a nod and a shake.
She goes on. “I just wanted to fight for what was mine, even if Matthew was never mine to begin with. And after what happened with Harvey three years ago, I lost my shit, and—”
I hold up my hands, signaling her to slow down. “Wait a sec. I mean, I knew you had a crush on Harvey, but I had no idea you fell head over heels in love with the guy. Why did you never tell me? We were friends. We were supposed to share things like this.”
“Seems Matthew was right,” she mumbles with a huff, but I just shake my head.
“What does he have to do with it?”
“Did you know that Harvey was my boyfriend?”
I blink at her. “What? No, you… wait, are you telling me you two were in a relationship? Like a real, serious relationship? But I thought—”
“That he was in a relationship with you?” Jillian ends the sentence for me.
“We were,” I say firmly. “I mean, we never labeled it, but we were definitely past the dating line.”
She smacks her lips. “Just like I was with him.”
My head flops down, and I rake both hands through my hair. “I swear I had no clue. Jesus, no wonder you wrote me off afterward. You thought I snatched your boyfriend…”
She nods.
“Well, if it is any comfort, our relationship lasted about six weeks until he got himself a blowjob from some bimbo on my birthday.”
“Yeah, Matthew told me.”
We stew in silence for a minute before Jillian snorts. And then we both crack up, losing ourselves in hysteric laughter and the mutual solace that we both fell for the same asshole.
After our laughter dies down, I clear my throat. “So, you and Matthew… you never had, I mean—”
“Sex?” Jillian helps me along. “No. I admit we were close a few times, but I guess it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I nod, munching on my lip so hard, my teeth are close to piercing the skin. For some stupid reason, guilt overshadows my relief. Guilt for not trusting Matthew’s words when he told me the same thing.
“And for the record,” she says, “that engagement ring was his mother’s. I don’t know what it means to him, but I assume a lot considering he didn’t leave it at home. He never proposed to me, nor did he ever show the slightest inclination to do so. I found his ring and used it as leverage, which was, by far, the shittiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m truly sorry.”
I nod, accepting her apology with a one-sided smile.
She bites her lip. “What do you say, friends again?”
“Hell, yes.” I walk over to her, so we can share a brief hug. “We should go out sometime. Have fun and catch up a little.”
“I would love that,” she says with a big smile before it collapses. “Uhm, Matthew packed his stuff in a haste and left with a half-assed goodbye, so I take it you didn’t work things out, did you? Please, tell me I didn’t put a wedge between you two…”
My mood tumbles like a rock down a cliff, and I fail to save my face with an awkward harrumph. “No, he—”
The buzz of my phone saves me from an honest answer I don’t want to share with her, but the moment I look down on it vibrating on my desk, my hairline breaks out in sweat.
Mom.
“Shit… I’m sorry, Jillian, but I have to take this. Can we resume this chat another time?”
“Absolutely.” She’s already moving toward the door, looking as relieved as I feel that we’ve finally come to a truce after all this time. “See ya.”
I wait until she’s safely out of earshot before I take a deep breath, bracing myself for another family drama. Matthew might have thrown me in at the deep end, but I sure as hell won’t back down now. No matter how deep Mom wants to cut me, I will throw over my steel armor and stand my ground until it cracks underneath her feet.
“Mom,” I say in a cool way of greeting, not missing a beat before I dive into my kiss-my-ass speech. “If you’re calling just to let me know that I’m the biggest disappointment in your life, save it. I really don’t care. Your life is not my life, your job is not my job, your home is not my home, nor will it ever be. I’m a writer, and I’m damn good at it. So good in fact, that I just sealed a five-figure deal with a publisher. This is what I love to do, and nothing you ever say or do is going to change this. So, either you accept my decision and let me live my life the way I want to, or this is the last time you will ever hear my voice.”
By the time I finish my speech with an unnecessary hmph at the end, I’m out of breath and so damn alleviated, I feel a ton lighter. I half expect Mom to throw a ‘have a nice life, then’ at me and hang up, but instead, a sob croaks through the speaker.
“Oh, baby,” she whines. “I’m so, so proud of you.”
Her words pull the rug out from under me. Did she catch Ebola or something? “You… what?”
“I read your book, Sam. Twice. It is absolutely brilliant. You always wrote the best essays in school, but I had no idea what a God-given talent you actually were. I’m sorry you felt the need to hide your passion for so long.”
My mouth slackens as I repeat her words in my head, and I slump down in my chair. “You’re not mad, then? You’re supporting my choice?”
“I do, honey, with all my heart. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously for so long and pushed you into doing something you didn’t want. Your boyfriend opened my eyes, I guess. He’s a great guy, by the way, and quite handsome, too.” She laughs. “Are you already living together?”
My eyes squeeze shut while I try to loosen the agonizing tightness in my throat with a labored swallow. “No.”
“Oh-oh,” she says in an empathetic tone, picking up on the strained voice I couldn’t keep from those two letters. “What happened? That guy is madly in love with you.”
I vehemently shake my head, pressing my lips together to not blurt out the truth. Matthew just put on an act that night, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that we never struck up a relationship.
“I think he just went the extra mile that evening to impress you guys, Mom.”
A chuckle comes over the speaker. “On the contrary, sweetheart. If anything, he seemed to have a hard time holding himself back. Whenever you didn’t look, his eyes were on you. Like, all th
e time. He smiled when you smiled. He scowled when you scowled. Seriously, Samantha, whatever he’s trying to make you believe, his feelings are as real as they come.”
‘I want you to believe me when I say that I love you.’
“Yet he hurt me…” I mumble, realizing a tad too late that I voiced my thoughts. Heart-to-hearts with my mom happen about as often as a full solar eclipse.
“Love doesn’t exist without pain, Samantha”, is her profound argument.
“Thanks for the philosophical advice.”
“In my opinion, there are only three unforgivable mistakes one can do in a relationship—deception, violence, murder. So, if he didn’t cheat on you, hit you, or kill someone, there’s still hope.”
He did cheat on me, I almost say, but my conscience reminds me that Matthew was quite clear about his obligations to Jillian from the beginning. Not to forget the tiny fact that we never undertook any commitments.
“What about excessive drinking?” I ask instead, biting my lip.
Are you seriously trying to convince her that Matthew isn’t the picture-perfect son-in-law as she likes to believe?
I am. I need her to tell me that I made the right decision. That kicking Matthew out of my life wasn’t a fatal mistake.
Mom sighs. “Everyone has their bad habits. Shortly after I met your father, I found out that he was a gambler. Tried to make me believe he had business meetings every Saturday evening until I followed him one day and found him feeding a slot machine with hundreds of dollars. I gave him an ultimatum—gambling or me. He chose me. If Matthew loves you like I know he does, he will quit. For you.”
I send a silent scream up to heaven just as my phone beeps into my ear. I pull it away only to notice a long stream of numbers appearing on the screen that are not saved in my contacts. My publisher, maybe? No, they wouldn’t call me directly.
“Mom, there’s a call coming in. Talk later?”
“Sure, honey,” she says with an audible smile.