“We’ll have our time together soon,” I promised. “Get some rest and call me when you wake up.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. “Sleep well.”
“I love you,” I whispered, unsure of whether she heard me.
By the time I stood up, collected my bags from the entryway, and opened the front door, she was already asleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
Shelby
We laid Gladys Marie Faith to rest on a September morning in a small cemetery marked by towering evergreens and a carpet of flame-colored leaves. The skies had cleared, offering a close-to-perfect, crisp fall day. Mom would have appreciated both the setting and unexpectedly good weather, since autumn was her favorite time of year.
Gathered around the polished casket was a small group of attendees, most of them from the nursing home or her golf league. While the minister droned on about an end to suffering and going home to Jesus, I found my mind wandering to some of my favorite childhood memories: me perched unsteadily on a stool at the kitchen counter, stirring pancake batter. Or was it brownie mix? From the time I was a wide-eyed four-year-old, Mom never had to ask for help with meal preparations, because I always volunteered.
She’d been the one who introduced me to Billie Holiday’s music, soothed a handful of high school heartaches, and encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Without her support, I might never have had the courage to strike out for Paris on my own and enroll in a French-speaking cooking school, where I met Jean-Pierre and changed the course of my life.
“Never put limitations on what you might accomplish,” Mom often told me. “You’re a shining star.” The old Earth, Wind & Fire song was one of her favorites.
My throat constricted while I fought back tears. At the sound of my sniffing, the tall, handsome figure standing next to me produced another clean handkerchief, along with a quick smile. He’d been nothing less than a perfect companion during our remaining days in Vancouver, going online to secure the services of a cat sitter, accompanying Danielle and me to the mortuary to plan Mom’s service, then patiently waiting while I went dress shopping at Nordstrom’s. I’d left home in such a hurry that I’d forgotten to pack something appropriate for a funeral.
He also asked the hotel staff to recommend a masseuse, who came to our room with a folding table, scented oils, and a selection of soothing, rhythmic music. Dani and I were treated to full-body massages, which eased the tension in my neck and shoulders and left me feeling blissfully calm. Once I surrendered to the idea of being pampered, I had to admit that I quite liked it.
During the brief graveside service, he stayed close, lending comfort and support. Appearing almost unrecognizable in a dark suit, glasses, and slicked-back hair, he was quiet and unusually subdued, introducing himself only as “a friend of the family.” No one had any idea of who he was, nor did they care. I was beginning to grasp how precious anonymity and privacy might be to someone who’d spent the better part of his adult life in the public eye.
Danielle remained stoic throughout the proceedings, and I could sense the tension radiating from her body. Her recent behavior had both confused and frustrated me. I couldn’t understand why she was still so resentful of Ian, when she was the one who’d told him where to find us. She’d also encouraged me to start dating, no doubt never imagining that I’d fall in love, especially with a Hollywood actor. Surely, though, she’d witnessed how caring and attentive he’d been during the past few days.
I couldn’t put my finger on what was bothering her unless it was unexpressed envy. She’d gone through a bad breakup last year and hadn’t dated anyone since. And she did confess to having had a crush on Ian years ago. Now, he was sharing her mother’s bed.
That one had to have left a mark too.
***
Ian insisted on upgrading our seats for the Sunday flight back to Dulles, then surprised me again with his request to join us. “I’d like to spend some time with you before I have to go back,” he said. “That is, if you’ll have me.”
Ensconced in the relative luxury of the first-class cabin, I downed a free cocktail before drifting off to sleep for most of the long flight home. We arrived late in the afternoon and were greeted by—surprise!—a gray, overcast sky. Danielle had left her car at the airport, and she was eager to head home to Alexandria, so we said our goodbyes in the remote parking lot. She hugged me tightly, just as she had when she was little.
“Are you going to be all right, Mom?” A look of concern clouded her blue-gray eyes.
“Absolutely,” I said, and strangely enough, I meant it. During the past few days, despite the unhappy circumstances, I’d awakened each day with a flutter of hopefulness in my chest. Maybe the best part of me hadn’t died when Jean-Pierre did. Instead, a new chapter of life lay ahead, ripe with possibility and another chance at love.
“Drive safely and call me when you get there, sweetie.”
She and Ian exchanged a clumsy air kiss before he and I began the ninety-minute trek back to my house. He got behind the wheel of my old Subaru while I placed an online grocery order for home delivery.
“You’re certain you don’t want to stop for dinner somewhere?” he asked.
I shook my head. I wanted nothing more than to return home, check on the cats, and get on with the business of daily life. My mother was gone, but so were my obligations to her. No more middle-of-the-night phone calls from nurses, no more spontaneous visits, and no more grief over her deteriorating health. Her death had liberated her from a miserable existence, and it also had freed me from constant worry. It was time for my second act to begin.
***
Francoise and Henri were perched side-by-side on a basement windowsill, where they watched us, unblinking, as we walked along the flagstone path that led to my back door. The minute we were inside, Francoise fled upstairs, while Henri stayed close, unwilling to let me out of his sight. Once we climbed up to the kitchen, I topped off the cats’ food dish, even though they still had plenty to eat, and refilled the water bowl.
Ian slid into a barstool at the kitchen island to watch me putter in the kitchen while waiting for our groceries to be delivered. I opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of craft beer, and handed it to him.
“How long do you think you’ll be here?” I asked. “This would be a great time of year to drive through the national park or visit Colonial Williamsburg, although I’ve heard the British aren’t especially popular there. You might be put in the stocks.”
The corners of his mouth curved upward.
“There’s no timetable. In fact, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. I’ve been thinking that I’d like to stay on permanently if you’re open to the idea of having a housemate.”
My mouth gaped open in astonishment. Had I heard him correctly, or was this another of my foolish hallucinations?
“You want to live here? With me? I…my head is spinning,” I stammered, before bracing my hands on the island countertop. I now had a good idea of what it meant to be gobsmacked.
“You’re absolutely sure you want to move to ‘backwater’ Virginia?” I babbled on. “Aren’t you going to miss the great California weather?”
He turned his eyes to mine before taking a long drink of beer. A few beads of sweat marred his otherwise perfect forehead.
“Surely it won’t be this humid year-round?”
“No. We might have a few weeks of tolerable fall weather before winter hits and the cold, damp wind chills you to the bone.”
I shivered a little, just thinking about it.
“Are you trying to talk me out of this, love?”
“I’m not sure you understand what you’re getting into. You’re also not accustomed to small-town life, especially here where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Won’t it be inconvenient to live so far away from Hollywood? And what about Madeline?”
“I’ve thought it all through. As far as my career goes, I’ll be close to a major airport, so we can fly out to take a meeting o
r see Maddie. She’s made new friends, she seems happier, and she told me she’s stopped cutting herself.” I nodded in agreement.
“She’ll be finished with high school and off to college in another year. I need to start viewing her as an adult instead of my baby girl and allow her to make her own decisions. I’ll be there when she needs me.
“And where the weather is concerned, don’t sell me short.” He shifted in the barstool and sat up a little straighter. “I’m an Englishman, Shelby. Terrible weather is part of my cultural heritage.”
I couldn’t hide the smile that spread over my face.
“Besides,” he went on, “you would hate the Hollywood scene. It’s a youth-obsessed culture filled with fawning, phony people. I know you’d never be satisfied with a part-time, long-distance relationship, so this is a way we can be together.”
“It’s so risky, Ian. Is this a recipe for disaster?”
He reached across the island to take hold of my right hand, tracing the irregular burn scar on my palm with his finger.
“A bit scared, are you?”
“Mildly terrified is more like it.”
He tilted his head back and laughed.
“You should be, because I can be a beast to live with.”
One damn fine sexy beast, that is.
“Loving someone is always a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. I was thinking we could go to couples’ counseling to get started on the right foot. You said therapy helped you and I know Madeline has benefitted from her group sessions.”
“You’d be willing to do that?”
He offered an almost imperceptible nod. “We both have issues to work through, although perhaps we don’t have to have all the answers to move forward.”
Was it possible that we could soothe each other’s emotional wounds while building a life together?
“You won’t have to worry about money, either, because I’ve got enough. I’ve invested well and haven’t lived extravagantly, for the most part. Sooner or later this whole bloody acting thing will end.” He laced his fingers through mine in a warm, secure grip. “Then I’ll retire and be your gardener, if you want.”
“What I want is for you to be happy and fulfilled by your job.”
“But don’t you see, that couldn’t possibly happen if I don’t have you.”
My mind reeled. I was on the verge of making a giant leap into unknown emotional territory, with no assurance of happily ever after. Dating him was one thing. Living together was an entirely different level of commitment. Was I convinced of his sincerity? What if he grew tired of life in a sleepy little town and things fell apart?
Except for my move to Paris long ago, I’d never been a huge risk-taker, and now I was contemplating taking the biggest gamble of my life. Could I throw off any remaining doubts, set aside my lingering guilt about Jean-Pierre, and make a new start?
I fought to slow my pounding heart. “I guess if we’re roommates you’ll be wanting full kitchen and bedroom privileges.”
“Absolutely.”
I sucked in my breath and said, “So, if you intend to live here and be my man, you’ll need to agree to my terms. I want this to be an exclusive relationship. No booty calls, one-offs, or pity sex with exes.”
He cocked one eyebrow and grinned. “I’ll be as loyal and loving as an old dog. I’m yours and yours alone, especially the jiggly bits.”
His silly term for male genitalia made me laugh out loud.
“You remember when you told me I could lure you to your doom and you’d go willingly?”
He nodded.
“Too bad you didn’t know doom would be spelled V-i-r-g-i-n-i-a.”
“I’ll muddle through,” he said, before offering another blinding grin.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his smile faded, and a single worry line creased his brow.
“There’s one more thing I should tell you.”
A new wave of anxiety flooded over me. “Do I need to take a Xanax before I hear this?”
He let out a deep sigh.
“Georgianne has written an erotic novel that might be based in part on our marriage. Maddie says she has a publishing contract. I have no idea of what might be in the book, but I’m certain it won’t be flattering to me.”
His returned his gaze to my face. “There could be some bad publicity, depending upon how outrageous her story is.”
One thing I knew for certain: Ian wasn’t the man he’d been then. He’d accepted responsibility for his behavior, done his best to make amends, and continued to work on his relationship with his daughter. He’d given me his love and loyalty while offering to move across the country. What more could I ask of him? And how much of a media splash could one more erotic novel create?
“I’m trusting that we’ll get through it. Together.”
“Thank you, Shelby.” He squeezed my fingers again. “I needed to hear that.”
A chiming doorbell signaled that our groceries had arrived. After we carried the bags back into the kitchen and tipped the delivery guy, I went searching through a stash of old recipes to retrieve a stained card covered in my mother’s distinctive scrawl.
“Why don’t you relax for a while and I’ll start dinner,” I suggested. “I thought I’d make Gladys’ Classic Sunday Pot Roast in her honor. Nothing fancy, but you might appreciate some comfort food.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, and I feel comforted already.”
A flicker of interest crossed his features as I set my favorite Le Creuset Dutch oven on the stovetop, added olive oil, and turned on the flame. While the oil heated, I unwrapped a rump roast and seasoned it with salt and pepper before placing it in the enameled pot to brown. Coming home to my kitchen, where I was surrounded by reassuring sights and smells, produced a wave of euphoria that brought me to the brink of tears. I attributed my weepiness to the pungent onion I had chopped.
Ian placed one hand over his breast pocket and produced a vibrating phone. He fumbled for his glasses to read the incoming message before handing the phone to me. Danielle had sent him a text: Tell Mom I made it home safely. Thank you. A smiley face emoji was attached.
“That’s wonderful!” I exclaimed. “See, I told you she’d come around eventually.”
He cocked one eyebrow before offering his familiar smirk.
“I will reserve judgment until after you tell her that I’m moving in.”
Ian retreated to the sunroom, while I scrubbed and peeled a half-dozen potatoes and rough-chopped a few carrots under the close supervision of Henri, who watched my preparations from a sunny spot on the floor. The beef roast was returned to the Dutch oven, along with chopped garlic and onion, a bay leaf, and a generous amount of beef broth. I also added my own chef-y touches: a small bundle of fresh thyme sprigs and good quality Cabernet Sauvignon. Although the recipe called for one cup, I poured in a generous half-bottle, or what Jean-Pierre would’ve jokingly referred to as a “French cup.” The thought of him standing at the stovetop, whistling some silly song while he watched a pot simmer, made me smile, marking the first time I’d thought of him since his death without some pang of grief or regret. Acceptance, my therapist called it: so long as I held his memory close, I’d never really lose him, even though I was moving on with my life.
I placed the covered pot in the oven to cook. I’d add the vegetables about an hour before serving. A fresh garden salad, dressed with the lemon vinaigrette that Ian loved, would round out our meal.
Tiptoeing back into the sunroom, I found him stretched out on the now-infamous couch, snoring in contentment. Incredibly, Francoise was tucked in beside him, also asleep. Moving quietly to avoid waking them, I located my phone and snapped a quick photo for posterity—my handsome hunk and the grumpy cat who had chosen his new human servant—while my heart swelled in my chest. For the first time in almost two years, I allowed myself to believe that things might work out just fine.
I let Ian sleep while I put away the rest of the groceries and picked tonigh
t’s salad greens from the garden. After I washed and dried the veggies, I wandered upstairs, unpacked my bags, and dressed the bed with clean sheets. Glancing around the room, I wondered if my old house would be enough for someone who was used to Pacific Coast luxury. We’d have to make some changes to accommodate his possessions, not to mention another car, but I vowed that I’d take things one day at a time.
He was awake, lounging on the sofa with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, when I returned downstairs. Francoise was curled up near his feet. I walked over to sit beside him before planting a kiss on his stubbly cheek.
“Sorry I fell asleep on you.” He offered a sheepish grin. “My first day here and I’m already slacking. Do you have any idea of what you’re in for?”
“No,” I said, smiling back. “But I bet it will be fun finding out.”
He took off his glasses, placed one hand on my knee, and said, “I think I’ll fly to L.A.in a few days to help Maddie with her audition.” He paused to study my face. “And tell her I’m moving in with you. Can you get away and come with me?”
He’d been here for a few short hours and big changes were already in the works. I took in a deep, cleansing breath. Odd, but what might’ve made me anxious a few weeks ago didn’t faze me today. My newly-found happiness bubbled over like an unwatched pot on the stovetop.
“I’ll make it happen,” I promised. “How do you think Madeline will take the news?”
“About as well as Danielle, I expect.”
“Well, at least Francoise approves.” I nodded in in the cat’s direction as Ian brushed a clump of charcoal-colored fur from his pants. “Looks like you’ve been adopted.”
He inhaled deeply, sank deeper into the sofa cushions, and closed his eyes. “I smell onions and garlic, along with some sort of fragrant herb,” he said.
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