by Karen Booth
My pain and anger intensified, his explanation falling on deaf ears. I tersely said, “You conspired with him the entire time you were with me.” I shoved my wallet back into my bag. “I should have known better than to trust you.”
“I was just trying to bring the two of you together. And then later, I was trying to figure things out with you and me, too.” He rocked forward on his knees. “Please, don’t leave. Don’t go.”
I pushed his hand away when he tried to reach for my compact. “Why? Because you might love me? Sort of like Kirby might be my dad.” I scoffed at both scenarios.
He watched me, his face shadowed, his eyes hooded. “I can’t help how confused I’ve been. But don’t give up on us.”
“Us? There is no us anymore.” I couldn’t bear to be needed by him or wanted by him or anything that involved his disjointed feelings for me. “I can’t be with you.”
I crammed the rest of my belongings into my purse. I didn’t know if I was Kirby’s daughter. I didn’t know anything, except that deep in my battered heart, where it hurt the most, I still loved Spencer.
And for me, that was the most devastating part of all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Spencer
I watched Alice leave, hating what I’d done to her. I hated myself, too. These past two years of self-exploration had just turned to self-loathing. I’d hurt the woman I loved.
The minute she was gone, I recognized my feelings, understanding them fully. I was desperately, hopelessly in love with Alice McKenzie. But I couldn’t jump on my Harley and chase after her. How hypocritical would that be? I couldn’t return to the house and write a song about love and redemption, either. This wasn’t one of my bullshit compositions, garnering praise and winning awards. This was my reality, my failure, and even my music seemed like a farce now.
I’d kept a secret from her that I shouldn’t have kept. Mr. Right wouldn’t have made a mistake like that. He would’ve known the difference.
Kirby came outside and approached me. There was a moment of silent reflection between us.
I spoke first. “I lost her. She’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” he replied quietly, shamefully. “This is my fault.”
“No. It’s mine.” I wasn’t going to let him take responsibility for my actions. “I could’ve refused to keep your secret.”
“And I should’ve left you out of it altogether. I involved you in something that put you in a difficult situation. I created a hardship for you and Alice.” He leaned against the porch rail. “It’s obvious that you love her.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“That isn’t true. She needs you.”
“What? You’re the authority on love now?” I gave him a frustrated look. “The last time we talked about love, you said you weren’t the best person to give advice.”
“I’m not. But I know love when I see it.”
“That doesn’t mean I can make it work. What she needs is the man she’s been dreaming about. And I’m not him.”
“I think you are.”
I wasn’t going to listen to him. His judgment about me was clouded. Alice had seen the true me: the jerk who’d hurt her. “She deserves better than what I can give her.”
“She deserves to know how you feel.”
“No, she doesn’t.” By now, I was craving a drink. God help me, but I wanted to belt down a quick, hard shot.
I turned away from him, afraid that he would read the craving in my eyes. Intent on keeping my expression steady, I stared out at the arbor embellishing the walkway.
But instead of falling silent, I said, “Did I tell you that she offered to help me search for my dad?” I barked out a cynical laugh. “While I was withholding information about who her father might be, she wanted to unite me with mine.”
“You were only trying to protect her. To keep my secret until the time was right to tell her.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out. Not just for Alice and me, but for you, too.” I released a rattling breath. “I’m sorry she refused to take the DNA test.”
“She has a lot to deal with.”
“More than enough.” She’d chosen to end it with me, and I could hardly blame her. All I could think about was the bar in my living room, beckoning me, offering to numb the pain.
I kept staring at the arbor, focusing on the vines creeping up and around the woodwork. I sensed Kirby studying my profile. Was he analyzing me?
“Maybe you should come home with me, son.”
No way, I thought. No effing way. I didn’t want him being my watchdog. I turned toward him again, as if I had nothing to hide.
“Thanks for caring,” I said, trying to sound grateful, the way I’d always been in the past. “But I really need some time alone.”
He squinted suspiciously at me. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“Of course not.” I wasn’t going to admit that I was on the edge of destruction. I had to make Kirby believe that I had myself under control. After what had just happened with Alice, I didn’t want to involve him any deeper than he was already was. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to fall off the wagon. Either way, I couldn’t handle being around him right now.
He grabbed my shoulders, almost as if he meant to shake my disease out of me. “Are you sure I can trust you?”
“Absolutely,” I lied through my teeth. “I just need some space.” I turned the tables on him. “What about you? Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” He squeezed my shoulders. “I really wish you’d come home with me.”
“I understand your concern.” I preyed on his kindness, telling him what he needed to hear. “I’m not naïve. I know how something like this could affect my sobriety. That I could freak out once I’m alone.” I looked him straight in the eye, determined to seem strong and true, as honest as a broken man could be. “But I swear, I’ll call you if I get even the slightest urge to drink.”
He released his hold on me. “Promise?”
“Yes,” I lied again, anxious for him to leave me alone with my pain. Because, really, what difference did it make? Whether I got drunk or strayed sober, Alice would still be gone.
And I would still be missing her.
* * *
As soon as Kirby got in his SUV and drove away, I paced my living room with my eye on the bar. I hunted it like a vulture, getting closer to the drink I craved.
On the night Alice and I first hooked up, I’d poured rum over us in the shower, dousing our naked bodies with it. Was that the liquor I should have now?
Hell, yes, I thought.
I uncapped a bottle of Bacardi and inhaled it, remembering how intoxicating it had smelled on Alice’s skin—like oak and molasses, heady and sweet.
Maybe I could guzzle half of it and take a sloppy bath with the rest. I could keep my clothes on if I wanted to, drenching them, too. I could do whatever absurd thing I felt like doing. There was no one here to stop me. No prying eyes. Not even the dogs. I’d taken them to the rescue earlier.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took another desperate whiff, my hands quaking, my breathing coming in short, addictive bursts. I couldn’t help but think how good the rum was going to taste, how buzzed I would get, how much I wanted it.
I sank to the floor, clutching the bottle, debating, with a sickening feeling in my gut, whether or not to take a drink.
I opened my eyes, shame coiling inside me. Was this what I’d reduced myself to? A liar? A cheat? A coward? A pitiful drunk, feeling sorry for himself?
I caught my reflection in the glass panels on the bottom of the bar, and my shame deepened.
I didn’t do it. I didn’t let the alcohol pass my lips. I didn’t bathe in it, either. I got up off the floor and recapped the bottle, returning it to the bar. But I was still shaking, still try
ing to catch my breath.
Now what? I asked myself. What was my next brilliant move?
The answer knocked against the walls inside my brain. I knew exactly what to do. I got my phone and called Kirby.
He answered on the second ring. “Spencer?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He already knew who it was, obviously. My name would’ve appeared on his screen. “I lied to you earlier. I was having terrible urges when you left here. But I managed to get through it.”
“Oh, thank God.” His breath rushed out. “Do you want to come to my house now?”
“I’d rather stay here.” In the place I called home, I thought. “But I need to attend a meeting.” To share my feelings with the group, to admit that I’d almost relapsed, using the woman I loved as an excuse to crack open a bottle.
“The next meeting isn’t for a few hours.”
“I know.” We both had the schedule memorized. “But if you want to hang out with me until then, that’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be right over.” Relief sounded in his voice. “I’m so glad you called me. Should we dismantle your bar when I get there? Pour all of that temptation down the sink?”
“No.” I stated my case. “It’s imperative for me resist it on my own, not remove it from the equation. Besides, I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist.”
“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”
“Yeah, but that’s what getting rid of it would feel like to me.”
“All right. We’ll do it your way. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.”
As I waited for Kirby, my house seemed eerily quiet. I decided to bring the dogs home. I had time before Kirby arrived to get them. I grabbed a jacket and left through the back door, taking in the crisp Tennessee air.
It felt good to walk, but I was still overcome with emotion. I needed to write a song for Alice, telling her how sorry I was, telling her that I loved her. I was wrong about my music being bullshit. My work was an extension of myself, the good and the bad, the light, the dark, the man, the musician, the recovering alcoholic.
I didn’t know if she would ever forgive me. But I wanted her to know how I felt about her. She was my heart, my soul. As clichéd as that sounded, it was true.
I couldn’t erase the affair Kirby had had with her mother or take away the possibility that he might be her dad. I wasn’t a miracle worker. I was just a guy who loved her.
I had no idea how long it would take for me to create a song like that. A few days? A few weeks? The rest of my life? I couldn’t attest to anything anymore, except how much she meant to me.
I made it to the rescue and found Cookie and Candy in one of the fenced yards, playing with Pete. The three of them ran over to me, and I knelt to greet them. Pete nudged me, and the girls danced in happy circles, looking like dust mops. I smiled at the memory of Alice calling them that. I missed her so much, I could barely breathe.
I didn’t want it to be over, but the choice didn’t belong to me. Once I offered her my heart, she would have to decide what to do with it. For now, all I could do was pray that I hadn’t lost her for good.
* * *
I didn’t go straight home after the meeting. I headed to a neighborhood rife with specialty shops. I had a compulsion to buy a loose black diamond, a stone to remind me of Alice. A talisman, I thought, something to bring me luck.
There was only one jewelry store, a quaint little place near a music shop I frequented. I liked the vibe of this part of town.
I entered the jewelry store and approached the front counter. An older man glanced up from beneath his glasses. He resembled Albert Einstein, with his electric white hair. I imagined him having the perfect stone, just waiting for me.
I told him what I wanted, and he furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. My hope waned. His reaction didn’t strike me as positive.
“I only have one black diamond,” he said. “And I just set it in a piece this morning.”
“If I buy it, can you remove it from the setting?” I was determined to make this work in my favor. I didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Or empty-hearted, I thought.
“Sure, I could do that. But maybe you better take a look at it. It’s over five carats and is a rare stone. I’m not trying to lose a sale, but it’s a pricey piece of jewelry.”
“I’m not concerned about that.” I would spend whatever was necessary to have a stone and have it today. I’d already talked myself into thinking I needed it.
He looked me over, probably thinking I was crazy. Maybe I was. But I didn’t care. I was hell-bent on leaving here with my talisman.
“It’s over this way.” He came out from behind the counter and led me to a small glass case.
I spotted the diamond before he pointed it out, and my heart slammed to the back of my throat. It was set in a woman’s ring. A solitaire. Just the stone and a shiny gold band.
“It’s an emerald cut,” he said.
I didn’t know one style from another, but the diamond was a rectangular shape. The color was opaque, denser than I would’ve expected. Yet it still seemed magical. I leaned over the case, staring at it through the glass.
“Most black diamonds on the market are man-made,” he said.
“But this isn’t?”
“No. It’s completely natural and untreated.”
I was mesmerized. Not only by the diamond, but by the ring itself. Now I wanted to buy it for Alice, which made no sense. There was no guarantee that I would win her back. Or that the song I was going to write would even reach her ears. She might refuse to listen to anything I had to say.
But I still had to try. I wasn’t going to mention how close I’d come to relapsing in the song. That needed to be said in person, face to face, eye to eye, if I ever got the opportunity to talk to her again.
“Is it an engagement ring?” I asked.
“That’s what I designed it to be.” He unlocked the case and removed it, turning the price tag in my direction.
The cost didn’t deter me. I held the ring in my hand, feeling its energy. “I heard that black diamonds represent strength and power.”
“That’s true. They do. But they also represent relationships that are destined to prevail, no matter what the odds.”
Now I knew, absolutely knew, I was making the right decision. I loved Alice enough to devote myself to her, to try to be the man she needed. So why not ask her to marry me, if it was possible? A humble proposal, I thought, fraught with hope.
“I want it,” I said. “But don’t remove the stone from the setting. Keep the ring intact.”
“That’s a wise choice.” He studied me. “Wise, indeed.”
Did he suspect that I was lost and trying to find my way? Could he tell that I was aching over an estranged lover? Or how desperate I was to win her back?
We returned to the front counter, and I gave him a credit card for the purchase.
He put the ring in a velvet box and said, “This is some of my finest work. Natural black diamonds can be difficult to cut. That’s part of why they command a higher price. I could’ve easily fractured it.”
“But you didn’t.” And now the ring was in my possession. A symbol of strength and power and defying the odds.
But would Alice give me a chance? Or did I have too many strikes against me to repair the damage I’d done?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alice
I spent several distraught hours alone in my condo, trying to escape the pain. I wanted to crawl into a deep, dark cavernous hole and never come out. But when the solitude became too much to bear, I called Tracy and my sister, asking them to come over.
After they settled in, the three of us gathered at my dining room table. I sipped the chamomile tea Mary had brewed and relayed my story.
“Oh, no,” was all Tracy could seem to manage. She looked
stunned beyond words.
Mary, however, slipped into repair mode. I recognized the fix-it need in her eyes. It was her nature to try to hold everything and everyone together. She hadn’t been able to cure Mama’s depression, though. Our mother should have gotten professional help for that.
“Would it be so bad to have Kirby as your father?” Mary asked. “It’s obvious how much he cares about you. Plus, you’d have Brandon, Tommy and Matt as your big brothers, and their kids would be your nieces and nephews. You’d have a whole new family.” She paused. “You should agree to take the DNA test. You should try to embrace this, no matter how it turns out.”
I gaped at her. “Don’t you even care that Mama cheated on Daddy? That she lied to us and told us she only had one affair with Kirby?”
“It concerns me, yes. Absolutely. But what’s the point of being angry about it now? Mama is gone. We can’t be mad at her over it. That’ll only make things worse.”
Easy for her to say, I thought, with her perfect life. “You’re not the one whose paternity is in question.” She hadn’t been betrayed by the man she loved, either. I still couldn’t believe that Spencer had kept Kirby’s secret the entire time we were lovers. “If Kirby is my dad, then what? Am I just supposed to forget about Joel and his family?”
“Of course not. This isn’t a case of you shunning Joel’s family or not keeping him close to your heart. He’s my dad, too.”
“He’s your dad for certain,” I reminded her.
Mary sighed. “I get that you’re hurting. And I know you’re devastated about Spencer’s involvement in it, too. But I think he really was trying to protect you.”
“I don’t want to be in love with him anymore.” I glanced at Tracy, drawing empathy from her. She knew what it was like to be left in shambles by someone she loved.