The Problem with Peace: Greenstone Security #3

by Malcom, Anne

I swallowed roughly. Present. That’s what I needed to focus on. Not that empty future that dawn would bring.

  “How many kids do you want?” I asked, deciding to give myself a luxury I’d never have after the sun came up.

  A fantasy of the future. An impossible future. One where Heath finds his way back, finds his way back to me. He doesn’t look at me with fresh eyes and decide that I am just a girl that gave him distraction on a lonely weekend. He tells me this weekend carried him through the years.

  We pick it up where we left off.

  There’s marriage.

  Children.

  A family.

  Ours.

  And every morning is spent waking up in Heath’s arms.

  “However many I can fit into a minivan,” he said.

  “You would drive a minivan? Isn’t that like humanely impossible for a man like you?”

  He chuckled. “A man like me?”

  “Yes, a manly, strong, Marine type man.”

  “Well, this manly, strong, Marine type man would happily drive a minivan if it was full of my kids. My family. Manliest thing I could ever do, I’d think.”

  My heart swelled the size of Jupiter.

  I imagined myself sitting next to Heath in a minivan. It was a comforting thought. Even though before then, the idea of any kind of conventional, cookie-cutter ‘American Dream’ sickened me and every decision I made was purposefully done to move me as far away from that life as possible.

  But I wanted the dream with Heath.

  A lot had changed about Heath since that conversation in the early hours of the morning. I had been responsible for some of the changes. But the harshness of his path was responsible for the rest. He may have looked different, sounded different, spoke crueler, acted colder, but he hadn’t changed that dream. For a family.

  It was unmissable in the way he interacted with those children.

  It was still haunting me as we walked out into the crisp air of January in L.A.

  Though January in Antarctica had nothing on Heath’s demeanor toward me. “You headin’ home now?”

  I shook my head. “My friend Rain needs me to help her move. And then I’ve got to run lines with Bobby, he’s got a big audition tomorrow and he’s worried he doesn’t know how to play a straight man.”

  He stared at me for a long time. “You’re serious?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you’ve been at a hospital all day, feeding children joy, feeding overworked nurses coffee and donuts, doing all sorts of shit that I’m guessin’ goes above and beyond the job of volunteering. You’ve barely sat down, and I know for a fact you’ve only sipped tea and not eaten a fuckin’ thing for eight hours. Now you think it’s appropriate to go and help someone move after all of that? And then go and practice lines with someone else? And you didn’t sleep last night.”

  I blinked at him. “How did you know that? And I swear, if you say anything about it being your job, I’ll scream right here.”

  He seemed to gage my words. My utter truth. Because I had been feeling like screaming. And there was only so long I could keep it in for. Only so long before I exploded.

  “Know it, ‘cause I know you,” he said. “And know that you’ve had trouble sleepin’ since you were a kid. You’re good at hiding the signs, your body doesn’t even show any hint of it now, it’s so used to it. But I notice because I know what to look for. More importantly, I know what’s missin’. That spark, that extra light. So, no, it’s not my job to know, I just do.”

  It took me by surprise. The words that should’ve been spoken softly, because the meaning behind them was soft. But they were delivered in Heath’s same cold and emotionless tone.

  It was the first time he’d referenced our time before since I’d gotten back from Europe.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  But he didn’t want me to say anything.

  “You’re runnin’ on empty, and despite the fact you’re used to it, empty’s empty. It’s gonna hit you sometime,” he continued. There was a pause. “You let too many people in,” he accused. “It’s giving the world more chances to hurt you.”

  Something lay beyond that accusation. Something I couldn’t let myself hope was concern. I’d promised myself no hope when it came to Heath. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  So I straightened my back and forced myself to meet his eyes.

  “I give people the ability to hurt me, yes,” I agreed. ”To break my heart, to ruin me. But I don’t think that’s a fault. Because that means I’m willing to let people in. I invite heartbreak and pain, yes, but I also give myself the possibility for joy. And I think that’s worth that, don’t you?”

  His façade flickered for the longest and shortest moment. “I think it’s not worth you even attempting to do any of this shit that I’m not gonna be able to talk you out of unless you eat,” he said. “So you’re eating.”

  “I had planned on eating,” I said defensively. “I’m not an idiot. I do know to feed and water myself. I’ll stop and get a salad on the way.”

  “No,” he decided.

  “No?” I repeated. “You just told me I needed to eat and now I said I’m eating and you’re saying no.

  “A salad doesn’t qualify as eating,” he all but barked. “We’ll go somewhere. I’m fuckin’ starving. And I know a salad won’t satisfy me. Since you’re my job, you’re comin’ with me.”

  I blinked. “We’ll go somewhere?” I picked the most important and most dangerous part of that out of the sentence.

  Heath nodded.

  “Is that a good idea?” I asked.

  “No fucking way,” he said, voice still harsh. “But we’re going anyway.”

  * * *

  I was shocked when we pulled up.

  In separate cars, of course. Just because we were going to dinner together did not mean anything had changed. Did not mean that we would be able to fit all of our baggage in my small and cluttered Toyota. Or even in his large and most definitely not cluttered SUV.

  Nothing had changed inside Heath’s eyes when I got out of my car either.

  He was waiting for me.

  But he didn’t open my door for me.

  Because that would be sending the wrong message.

  Then again, the place we were eating sent all kinds of messages.

  “You remembered?” I asked, whispering as I stared up at the small, fading script above a crumbling set of double doors.

  Heath didn’t answer.

  Because obviously he had remembered.

  Because we were here.

  The place I’d told him about in amongst all the other things I’d told him in those two nights. One of the most mundane things I’d told him. About my favorite restaurant that no one knew about. No one knew about it because they banned phones. Even back then, before Instagram was at its peak, the owners seemed to recognize how such things could bastardize places like this.

  I’d found it by chance and I wasn’t put off by the shabby exterior or the initially rude staff.

  “Polly!” Lukas exclaimed as I woodenly followed Heath in.

  Heath had dumped his phone in the bucket by the door.

  I had done the same.

  It was half full.

  And somehow, no one ever took something that wasn’t theirs. It was part of the charm of this place. It was a little pocket of something, just like our loft had been. A little pocket where greed and image didn’t creep in. Somehow couldn’t.

  I hadn’t taken Craig here.

  For whatever reason.

  Lukas yanked me into a warm hug. He smelled of garlic and olive oil. Of comfort.

  He’d been rude to me on my first visit. They were rude to everyone on their first visit. It wasn’t a case of the customer being impressed enough to come back. It was a place where you had to impress Lukas enough to let you come back.

  He didn’t invite food critics. He told everyone to sign a verbal contract saying they weren’t some kind of
“hipster food blogger.”

  It shouldn’t have worked since the food was out of this world, Lukas was amazing—once he approved you, of course—welcoming and one of the best chefs (and people) in the world.

  “We haven’t seen you in a year,” he exclaimed. “I was worried about you. Was going to call your sister!” He was holding me at arm’s length and yelling like he did when he was happy. Or angry. “But of course, I told my Maria you’d be out adventuring, exploring the world.” His eyes went to Heath. Then to me. “Ah,” he said, quiet, almost a whisper.

  Lukas didn’t whisper.

  “You did a different kind of exploring,” he said, voice still soft.

  “No,” I said quickly, not able to have this man think of Heath and I like that. I’d never be able to come back here.

  “Thank you, Lukas,” Heath interrupted me. “You know Polly, she’s got about a thousand places to be and she needs fuel.”

  I was jolted at the familiarity in Heath’s voice and the fact he didn’t seem to want Lukas to know that we weren’t what he thought we were.

  Lukas nodded rapidly, grinning. “Of course, of course.” He looked up. “You!” He pointed to a couple that were just getting their drinks. “You move, over there.” He was pointing to the only other free table in the joint.

  Free only because it was slightly dark and closest to the restrooms.

  “But—” the man began to argue, betraying the fact it was his first visit.

  “But nothing!” Lukas yelled. “You wanna eat, you move.”

  No one else at the other tables looked up from their food. Obviously all regulars. Most people were regulars.

  The couple moved.

  Lukas clapped his hands. “Right. One vegetarian. One meat. Sit. Sit. I’ll bring drinks.”

  He rushed us to the newly vacated table.

  There were no menus.

  You told your waiter about allergies—“real ones, none of that gluten-free bullshit”—and vegetarianism and they gave you food. Whatever Lukas decided to cook that night.

  And whatever it was was mind-blowing.

  Sometimes it was Tagine.

  Or moussaka.

  Or Irish stew.

  You would never know, but you would never be disappointed.

  One of the things I loved the most about this place was that every single table was talking to the people surrounding them. They were engaged. Present.

  Because everyone’s phones were in a bucket at the front door.

  It was rare, almost impossible to truly enjoy a meal, good company with just the people in front of you. You were always competing with whoever was more important on the screen of a phone.

  Craig had never been separated from his phone. But his work, which I didn’t know much about, required him to be ‘accessible.’ Being accessible to everyone else meant that he was inaccessible to me.

  Heath had never glanced at his phone.

  Even when I wished he would, wished he’d stop giving me so much of his empty attention.

  So yes, it was one of the things I loved about this place.

  Until now.

  Because I wished there was something here to connect us to the world, disconnect us from each other.

  But we were already disconnected.

  Because Heath didn’t speak.

  Didn’t make an effort to do so.

  No small talk.

  No polite mutterings.

  Nothing.

  Because it was all or nothing with us.

  I’d made sure all wasn’t an option.

  “You come here?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the silence and the chill in one of the loudest and warmest places in L.A.

  Heath nodded.

  “Since when?”

  His eyes hadn’t left mine since we sat down. “Since I got back.”

  “Why?” I whispered.

  He was silent for so long I didn’t think he was going to answer.

  “Was trying to keep something alive,” he said finally. “Trying to kill some other things.”

  Don’t cry, I commanded.

  Because I couldn’t stand the thought of Heath, emerging from the war, damaged, tortured and alone, coming to the place I’d told him about while we were naked and in each other’s arms.

  We didn’t speak for the rest of the meal.

  Because there was nothing to say.

  Because there was everything to say.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One Week Later

  One week.

  One week had passed since we’d silently eaten the best food of my life in one of my favorite places on earth.

  None of the warmth from the restaurant, from Lukas, from the past, seeped back into us. No, if anything, it chilled Heath more. He was more withdrawn than usual, if that was even possible.

  He was still accompanying me to the homeless shelter four times a week. To the children’s hospital. But he barely spoke. And then I spoke too much. About where I was going. Who I was seeing. How Tim, the young man who’d been living on the street for three years had gotten a job, an apartment, and a girlfriend.

  I didn’t say that I’d gotten him two out of the three.

  I spoke so I didn’t have to hear the roar of the silence. Not that it changed. Not that Heath responded.

  I wasn’t speaking now, though. Hadn’t since I walked out of the doors of St Mary’s. Heath hadn’t come in this time.

  He had ‘shit to do’ in the car.

  I was glad. So fricking glad that he wasn’t in there when...it happened. When I’d had to witness the single most ugly thing I’d ever experienced.

  Though I’d come to crave the pain of his presence, there was no way I could’ve wished him standing inside a hospital room watching a little girl quietly and devastatingly leave the earth.

  Ella had been holding my hand when she died.

  I’d sat there, frozen, unblinking and holding onto a dead little girl’s hand for a long time before I moved. Before I reacted. And I didn’t cry, throw up or sink to the floor.

  No.

  I laid my lips to her cold forehead and leaned over to press the call button.

  Then the nurses came.

  I left quietly before Ella’s parents could arrive.

  No way I could handle that.

  I’d walked straight to the car, needing Heath’s empty stare, his cold indifference.

  I needed the agony of it. Something to distract me from the horror I’d just witnessed. Just lived.

  If he noticed my change in demeanor, he didn’t mention it, not while he walked me from my car into my building and up the stairs.

  I stopped abruptly in the hallway, two doors down from my apartment.

  He didn’t slam into the back of me, though he’d been close behind. He had good reflexes.

  Then again, that I was kind of the point, I supposed.

  I didn’t turn to face him and he didn’t utter anything about my abrupt stop.

  “I can’t tonight,” I whispered to the hallway in front of me and the ghost of a man and his love behind me. “I know you’re going to have something to say, something to accuse me of, something to shout at me about, but just not tonight, okay?” I sucked in a breath. “I just...” I trailed off. “I just can’t.”

  Silence hung heavy in the hall but heavy was what I was used to now, my light, carefree life a thing of the past, and when I thought about it, a thing of fiction.

  Pressure at my elbow turned me around.

  I jerked at the contact.

  My ghost was touching me.

  Willingly touching me. And not to drag me around to face him and then let me go like my skin was fire. No, it was a gentle probing for me to turn, and when I did so, he kept his hand there and his eyes were on mine.

  I sucked in another strangled breath.

  They weren’t empty, or cold or cruel.

  It was like the utter hopelessness in my voice had somehow chipped away at something I’d considered immovable.r />
  He didn’t say anything.

  He didn’t need to.

  “Everyone expects me to be Polly all the time,” I whispered. “To be happy, to be cheerful, to see the world through rose-tinted glasses. And I am. And I do. As long as I’m not looking in a mirror. I’ve created this image for myself that gives me no room to be the opposite of Polly. Like I am now. The nothing. The blow-up doll version of me that’s deflated, flat, sad and up close, not at all living up to what was promised. I’m just so tired.” My voice hitched then cracked.

  A tear trailed down my cheek.

  “I’m so fucking tired, Heath, and I know if I sleep for a year I won’t be rested. And I ran away for a year because I thought if I was somewhere where I don’t have to ‘be Polly’ for everyone around me, maybe I’d be able to find some rest.”

  Another tear trailed down my cheek.

  “But I didn’t realize that the person I had been killing myself being Polly for was me,” I whispered. “I can’t fall apart because that’s not what Polly does. And if I’m not her, I’m no one.”

  That’s when another tear fell.

  And other.

  And my body started to shake with sobs so powerful I wondered if they’d shatter my teeth.

  I wanted to run, to not let Heath see me in this way. Not expose all my fragile and broken pieces for him to grind away to dust with his indifference.

  But he didn’t.

  He yanked me into his arms without hesitation, without any of that chill that had been present for what seemed like forever.

  He smelled the same.

  I clutched the fabric of his tee and his arms cocooned me in his warmth.

  I sobbed harder.

  He kissed my head.

  “You don’t have to be Polly with me,” he whispered against my hair.

  “I know,” I choked out. “And that’s the worst part.”

  He didn’t say anything as my sorrow wouldn’t let me communicate beyond strangled and uneven breaths.

  He just held me.

  For what felt like a lifetime.

  He had every right to walk away from my tears, to leave me to marinate in my mistakes that had affected him. But he put all of that aside to hold me when I was breaking down because he knew that I needed it.

  In my sorrow, we found a pocket of simplicity that we’d never have outside of it.