Two to Tangle (Thirsty Hearts Book 6)

by Kris Jayne

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll understand if you want to end this.”

  “You’ll understand?” I asked with a sarcastic laugh. “So much for loving me and wanting me by your side no matter what.”

  “I have to do what’s right for Grace.”

  “And you and I are expendable?”

  He took one step away from me, and it felt like we were thousands of miles apart again. “You scream at me to put my daughter first and then you snipe at me when I do just that because I don’t do it the way you would.” He went rigid, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m going to shower and head to bed.”

  “Don’t go.” I grabbed his arm. “Let’s talk this through.”

  “I don’t need to talk. You need to listen, and I can see that’s not going to happen. Goodnight.”

  My heart squeezed so hard I thought it would stop and shatter, and the tears came so fast Griffin blurred as he walked away.

  Chapter 29

  Griffin

  Delilah slept in the guest room. We kept our Saturday conversation to the final details of her project for me, which we wrapped, and then I drove her to the airport on Sunday.

  I unloaded the car and hugged her goodbye, unable to shake the feeling like I was holding her for the last time. Her mind was made up, and when she stuck on a righteous truth, I knew nothing could shake it loose.

  I told her I would call her, and she asked for some time.

  “Can we talk when I get back from France? You’ll be back home by then, right?”

  “Yes and yes,” I said.

  She palmed my cheek, brushed my lips with a kiss, and lifted the recessed handle of her big suitcase. “I better get in and check my bag.”

  “I can help.” She had one large checked bag with office supplies and some extra items she picked up shopping in Raleigh as well as her rollerboard and laptop bag.

  “That’s okay.” She looped the smaller bag to the larger one and tipped the intricate arrangement on its wheels. “See, I have a system.”

  I grinned despite my sadness. “Of course, you do. Can you at least let me know that you landed in France safely? And when you get to the chateau?”

  “Sure.” She blew me a kiss, waved, and slipped inside the terminal.

  I hadn’t expected to hear from her for a week, so I was surprised to get a phone call early Wednesday. She’d left behind the fabrics samples she’d collected for the bridesmaids’ dresses, tablecloths, and other decorations. She was supposed to take them with her to France, and the specialty store where she’d ordered them wasn’t going to have more fabric in stock for another two weeks—too late to get it in time for their trip.

  “Do you want me to ship it to you?” I asked.

  “No, Kat said Zola is flying out of Raleigh on Friday, so she’ll be in town tomorrow. She can pick it up,” she said, then added, quickly, “You don’t have to be there. Just leave the things on the porch. I can’t imagine anyone will want to steal scraps of silk.”

  “No, problem. I’ll be here all day today and tomorrow. I’m not going into the office,” I said. I was going over to Dad’s place to talk with him and Marisa, but mentioning that was bound start another fight.

  “Seriously, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Meeting your mother isn’t an inconvenience to me,” I said, sensing that was what worried Delilah.

  “Great,” she said in a noticeably un-great tone. “I’ll text her the address.”

  The next day, the doorbell rang around two o’clock.

  I peeked through the peephole. Even with the distorted view, I could tell Zola was shorter than Delilah and Katerina with a deeper complexion and a harder glint to her familiar dark brown, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a hooded, half-zip sweatshirt and faded jeans and leaned on the brick in the alcove outside the townhouse door waiting for me to let her in.

  I swung open the door. She looked me up and down and spoke before I had a chance to greet her.

  “So, you’re my daughter’s boyfriend?” she asked with a measure of surprise.

  I wasn’t sure if that was going to be true much longer. The whiplash of the past few days left me aching.

  “I’m Griffin. Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand.

  “Zola. But I’m sure you guessed that. You probably don’t have that many old black women showing up on your doorstep.”

  Her bluntness took me aback. “Oh, well, um, I suppose I don’t. Here’s the box that Delilah left.” I handed her the small container of folded fabric and sample ribbons and sundries and examined her some more. Other than a slight familiarity of facial features, she wasn’t anything like Delilah. She had an awkward, jittery posture, shifting her weight from side to side with her hands jammed into the pockets of her shirt. Or maybe that was nerves.

  “Thanks. Um, listen, I just drove in from Asheville. I hate to ask, but can I use your bathroom?”

  I stepped aside. “Sure, come in. Down the hall to the left, second door on the left.

  She put the box on the entry table and followed the directions to the guest bathroom. When she returned, she looked around.

  “Nice place,” she said.

  “Thanks. It’s not mine. I’m just renting it while I’m here.”

  “You live in Dallas, too, right?”

  “I do, but I’m probably going to get a place here.” Guilt hit me the minute I shared that detail. I hadn’t even told Delilah that yet. The notion occurred to me when I woke up that morning, and by noon, my real estate friend sent me four properties to review. Marisa or no Marisa, I wouldn’t feel comfortable staying at Dad’s house on my visits, and it would be good to have a regular place where I could visit with Grace.

  “Oh, so you and Delilah are going to be in North Carolina more often,” Zola said.

  I detected a lilt of excitement in her voice. She had more enthusiasm about the idea of being near her daughter than her daughter probably did.

  “My father’s getting older. I want to have a base nearby,” I said, evasively.

  “Delilah didn’t mention that to me.”

  “I’m sure you two will catch up on this trip.”

  “Right. She’s beside herself with joy to get some mother-daughter bonding time.” Zola emitted a wheezy laugh, then smirked. “You know my daughter can’t fucking stand me, right?”

  My face burned. “I—”

  “Don’t bother covering. The only thing she’s happy about right now is that I’m conveniently here to get that box.”

  “You can’t blame her for having a hard time welcoming you back into her life.” If she was going to be blunt, I could be, too. “You abandoned her with her grandparents. You’ve lied and stolen. You haven’t exactly earned a ‘Best Mom Ever’ coffee mug.”

  Zola’s eyes narrowed at me, and she snort-laughed. “You’ve seen my resume.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out your resume for the past three months,” I shot back.

  “I can’t take responsibility for how Delilah turned out. She’s Mama and Daddy’s doing—for better or for worse. It’s mostly better. That’s why I stayed out of the way. She can’t forgive me for leaving, but she’d really hate me if I’d stayed.” The petite older woman shrugged. “Mistakes and all—it was the best I could do.”

  “So, do better now.”

  “Oh, mister, mister has opinions,” she replied. “Tell me: what I could do better? You’ve known me all of about five minutes.”

  “You know what would make a big difference to her now?”

  “What?” The older woman’s nostrils flared.

  “Giving her information about her father.”

  Zola’s mouth compressed to a hard line, feathered at the edges by age. I kept going.

  “She said that you know who he is and that you probably loved him, but that you refuse to tell her anything about him. At this point, I think she’d settle for a story or two—anything to shed light on that part of her that’s always been
a mystery.”

  She sniffed and gave her head a single, hard shake. “I can’t do that.”

  “Of course, you can,” I insisted.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Why not? I get if you don’t want to, but then, say that. It would at least be honest.”

  “No. I really can’t. I promised him that I’d never lay our mistakes at his feet. I made my choice.” Her sharp eyes narrowed with more resolve.

  “His feelings over Delilah’s? What do you owe a man who, from what it sounds like, left you alone and pregnant and never looked back?”

  “Everything. If it weren’t for him, I’d have OD’ed in a back alley in the Third Ward forty-six years ago. He helped me get clean at the time and gave me my first real job.”

  “He sounds like a prince.”

  She snickered.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “Not a prince. A knight—in shining armor.” Her smile faded. “I might have been stupid thinking his kindness was love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t owe him.”

  “These are the kinds of things Delilah wants to know.”

  “Why? She’s so desperate to know who he is like it would be some happy reunion. That’s not how this was ever going to turn out. There’s no happy ending there.” Zola’s sadness had a heavy certainty to it. She wasn’t going to change her mind, and Delilah was going to spend the rest of her life in the dark.

  “Does he even know about her?” I asked.

  Zola ignored the question, scooped up the box, and reached for the door. “Thanks for letting me come get this.”

  Our chat was over.

  “No problem.”

  She avoided my eyes and opened the door. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the wedding or maybe sooner. Who knows?”

  “Right.”

  Zola bounded to her car without saying another word, but she didn’t have to.

  I had an idea.

  Chapter 30

  Delilah

  Even two weeks in the French countryside couldn’t make me miss Griffin any less.

  The De Selvas’ property edged the city of Beaune, France, in the heart of the Burgundy wine zone. On our last day, we staked out a spot in a café. Colorful, glazed tiles dotted the rooftops of the Gothic buildings around the town square. A brisk, early spring breeze kept the temperatures low even as intense afternoon sun had brought record highs of nearly sixty for the past few days.

  Katerina, Clarissa, and I wrapped up in scarves and braved the patio with some locals, treating ourselves to a 2005 red burgundy from the bistro’s reserve. Zola had gone back to the chateau. Adrian’s widowered uncle, who’d taken a shine to her, promised her a tour of his wine caves and, I hoped, not much else.

  “I think it’s cute how they flirt,” Katerina said.

  I suppressed the worry that my mother was angling for something and allowed myself to believe she might just enjoy the attention. “By July, this place will be so beautiful.”

  Clarissa sipped the deep pinot noir in her glass. “Nice way to change the subject.”

  “Thank you. I’m now an expert at gliding through conversation without fighting,” I said.

  Kat raised her glass to me. “I’m proud of you. I was worried—especially since you’ve been in such a foul mood and won’t tell anyone why.”

  Clarissa swirled her wine. “Griffin still hasn’t called her.”

  “I’m not expecting Griffin to call. We’re taking some time apart to…think things over.”

  “What things?” Kat stormed at the vagueness of my comment.

  “I can’t tell you. We argued. That’s all I’m going to say. Besides, he texted me this morning.”

  Kat leaned forward, eyes dancing. “What did he say?”

  “It was business. He has some urgent paperwork he needs notarized. He said it’s sensitive in nature, so he’d like me to do it,” I said. Whatever it was must have to do with Grace.

  “I don’t get it,” Clarissa said. “You seemed so into each other.”

  “It may turn out to be a short-term fling after all.”

  Kat scowled. “I don’t believe that for a second. I don’t understand why you can’t apologize or whatever and move this along. I like you with Griffin.”

  “Why do you assume I owe him an apology?”

  “This isn’t just your regular pouting. This is your guilty pouting. The kind of pouting you do when you’ve been too pushy and are wondering if you shouldn’t have minded your own business,” Kat noted, twirling her index finger in my direction as if she were casting a truth spell.

  Clarissa flicked her gaze from Kat to me and said, “That’s absolutely it. What did you do?”

  I wanted to spill everything, but it wasn’t my story to tell. “I stood up for something I believe in, which is exactly what I’m supposed to do as a principled person.”

  “Did he ask you to do something illegal?” Clarissa asked.

  “Of course not. I’ll just say this: it’s about a secret that I think shouldn’t be kept,” I said. “People deserve to know the truth. Griffin disagrees.”

  “It must be a huge secret,” Kat said.

  The waterworks started in the corners of my eyes again, and I sighed. I was tired of crying over what couldn’t be changed.

  “I can’t believe he’s doing what he’s doing, and I can’t get on board.”

  “Does it have to do with something you did?” Kat asked.

  “No. It doesn’t have anything to do with me except that it impacts Griffin.”

  “So why not let him handle it how he needs to?” Kat laced her follow-up question with indictment.

  “Because I can’t…be a part of it.”

  “Truth and secrets do have a way of coming out,” Clarissa said.

  I looked around the picturesque square and tried to soak in the peaceful scene. “Exactly. Lies twist everyone up. It’s better to tell the truth and deal with the fallout.”

  My friend tilted her head to the side. “On the other hand, timing is everything. You can’t drop truth bombs on people when they can’t handle it. Is this a secret he’s going to take to his grave?”

  “He’s not sure. He’s playing it by ear—i.e. dodging reality.”

  “That’s harsh,” Clarissa said.

  “And if it’s not your secret to tell, how can you know when the right time is?” Kat intensified her cross-examination, peaking my irritation.

  “There’s being careful about timing and then there’s running away. You can’t be a coward.”

  Clarissa jerked back in surprise. “Did you call Griffin a coward? I don’t know what the situation is, but no wonder he’s mad at you.”

  Then, I flinched, and Clarissa’s tone softened.

  “What guy is going to take kindly to being called a coward? Maybe you can apologize.”

  “He’s not the one who’s mad. I am.” I bit the edge of my lip and set my glass down a little hard. The ruby liquid sloshed, thankfully not escaping.

  Clarissa and Katerina glared at me with disappointment.

  I huffed. “I didn’t exactly call him a coward. I said…okay, I said to keep the secret was cowardly.”

  Kat rolled her eyes. “That’s like telling a woman, ‘Hey, I didn’t call you a bitch. I said you were being bitchy,’ as if that makes a difference. It’s semantics.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “You’re right, I guess. It’s just there’s right and there’s wrong. I can’t believe he and his…the people involved think this is okay. Someone is going to get hurt when the truth comes out. I would be devastated.”

  Clarissa patted my hand. “Not everyone responds the same way to things, though, Dee, and maybe it’s not as black and white as you think.”

  “Mom, I’m going to say this because everyone else is probably afraid to, but you can be super controlling and pushy and think your way is the only way. It makes you hard to deal with sometimes,” Katerina charged, then retreated. “I love you. And I love how much you care, but yo
u can be a lot.”

  “What do I do if I feel strongly about this, though? If I have that feeling in my gut that overwhelms everything, and I just know that I’m right.”

  Clarissa stroked my forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Do you know you’re right or do you just know that, whatever this thing is, it makes you feel out of control and so you want to take charge and stop feeling that way?”

  Katerina nodded. “When you’re upset, you try to control things. Most of the time, that’s a good thing, but sometimes, instead of grabbing control, you need to let things go. Even if the rest of us aren’t as smart as you, we can occasionally make good decisions.”

  She smirked, and I felt like a fool.

  “Yeah, even guys who are ten years younger than you whom you’ve admitted you sometimes have the urge to smother. Sorry, mother,” Clarissa corrected, smugly.

  “There’s a reason a man raised by Eniola Johnston found it so comfortable to be married to you for twenty-plus years,” Kat added.

  “Okay, that’s uncalled for. I get your point.” God, was I as bad as my ex-mother-in-law? Ugh. I didn’t have the right hair to pull off a chiffoned hat as wide as a church pew.

  Hadn’t I wanted nothing more than love and acceptance from her?

  “Drink your wine and think about how you can apologize and let him know that you’ve learned it’s not your job to organize everybody,” Kat instructed.

  “First of all, that’s precisely my job. Second, you’re just as bad as I am. Maybe I should warn Adrian.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me, and I toasted her maturity, while questioning my own.

  Chapter 31

  Delilah

  Griffin opened the door, and my knees almost buckled. He’d obviously just showered. His hair was dark with damp, and his face was freshly shaven. He beckoned me inside, and I stepped into his foyer. He turned as I was following, and I awkwardly leaned forward—not sure if we were hugging or kissing. So we bumped into each other, and his arms came around me. I leaned into his neck and smelled him, narrowly resisting the urge to lick him, before jolting back.