“I had to say goodbye, too, Libby. Really say goodbye.”
Thank God, she didn’t argue or disagree or say a damn thing. Just stood there, trembling slightly as I pulled her sunglasses off, set them on the hood of the truck, and drew her close. “Una vez más,” I whispered as I pulled her closer still, until barely a breath remained between us.
Just like all those times we’d made love, she kept her eyes open, watching as I pulled her braid forward and loosened it. I ran my fingers through her thick, beautiful hair and wound it in my fist as I drew her that last breath closer. “One last time,” I repeated and that’s when her eyes finally closed, her hands gentle on my face as she drew my head down.
A split second before our lips touched, I felt her breath brush across my skin, heard her soft, “Nick,” that took me back to the dark rooms of the world we’d created for ourselves; and for those few seconds, I let myself be transported back—let myself remember the feel of her body around mine. Let myself believe it was all real again.
“Look at me.” My voice was rough as I pulled away, tilted her head back, and waited for her eyes to open. “I love you. A piece of my heart and my soul are always going to belong to you, Liberty Walker. Maybe you thought that keeping me from saying it before meant it didn’t exist or that it would make it hurt less, but sorry—doesn’t work that way.” I pulled her even closer—so close, she had to be feeling how hard my heart was beating against my chest. “Simple fact is, mi amor, a part of me is going to love you always, even if I have to let you go.”
The words I’d been holding in for over a month finally said, I rested my cheek against her hair and closed my eyes, breathing in the smoky vanilla scent of her. “I am going to miss you so damn much, Libby.” Without opening my eyes, I found her mouth one last time with mine, tracing her lips with my tongue until she opened. Her hands curled into my shoulders as she leaned further into me and deepened the kiss, her tongue stroking mine in a mindless, desperate caress before she pulled free.
Before I could open my eyes, I heard a soft, “I’ll always love you, too,” followed a few seconds later by the slam of her front door.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the bright blue door.
“Bye, Libby.”
Libby
“Who was that?”
I heard the words but didn’t really hear them. Physically, I was inside my house, sagging against the solid bulk of my front door—mentally, I was outside, still hanging on to Nick. Feeling and smelling and tasting him, like I’d never imagined I ever would again—except in those damn dreams. Ethan occupied my waking hours, my daydreams, even those groggy, gray-edged mindscapes somewhere between sleeping and waking. But once full sleep took over, Nick would move on in. Between the two of them, they were having a field day making me absolutely insane.
I really didn’t need anymore help.
“Liberty, te pregunté, who was that?”
Really didn’t need anymore help. And all I could do was stand there and shake, swiping at my wet cheeks with one hand while I hung on for dear life to the chain around my neck with the other. Goddamn both of them.
Goddamn Nora and her shit timing. I couldn’t deal with her right now. I really couldn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
“I made some fresh bread—sourdough. Because I know no matter what you say, you’re not eating, and then the dogs wanted in, and I didn’t see you out back, then I looked out the front window and, Libby, who—”
“Nora, leave it,” I broke in, finally pushing myself away from the door and heading into the kitchen where the smell of fresh bread almost, almost managed to eradicate the faint hint of Nick’s cologne that lingered on my skin. Almost.
“You’re shoving your tongue down some man’s throat right there in your driveway and you want me to leave it?”
I reached up into a cabinet and pulled out a glass, then rooted in the fridge for the bottle stowed in the back. Because God knows I needed it. “Don’t be such a prude. Since when have you ever cared what anyone thought?”
“Who said anything about caring what anyone thinks? Libby, who is that man and how could you do this to Ethan?”
The filled glass toppled and rolled off the counter, cold wine and shards of crystal stinging the tops of my feet as the glass shattered. “Ethan’s dead, Nora.” I slammed the bottle on the counter, half surprised it didn’t shatter as well. “I can’t do anything to him because he’s dead, and he’s not coming back.”
And damn her for making me say it out loud because until that second, I hadn’t said the actual words. I’d say he was gone, I’d say he lost his battle, I’d come up with any reference, clichéd or oblique or whatever, that didn’t actually involve my associating the word dead with Ethan, and now, Nora had forced me to say it and with the words, my heart broke all over again. Destroyed that last thin wall of protection—that final bit of fantasy. That maybe, by some miracle, my Ethan—my Ethan—would come back.
My fist closed tight around our rings, I stepped past her and went down the hall to our bedroom, returned to the way it had looked for so many years. Before the nightmare. In here, I could pretend none of it had happened. I could lie in bed—his shirt on the pillow beside me—conjure up the feel of his body in bed next to mine, and that’s how I’d drift off to sleep. After I was asleep, however…Nick. My fingers curled around the edges of the mattress as I tried to will away the feel of his body against mine, because I just couldn’t handle the overload right now. I was too close to the edge—
“Libby, mi vida, who is he? What are you doing with him?”
I gaped at her standing in the doorway, all flowing peasant skirt and Birkies and the T-shirt that clung to a figure that hadn’t changed in years, still slightly round and Earth mother and incredibly sexy to the many men who’d flitted in and out of her life.
“It’s not any more of your business who he is or what I’m doing with him than any of your male friends were my business while I was growing up. Or have you conveniently forgotten that? ‘Who was that?’ I’d ask, and you’d wave your hand and say, ‘No one you need to worry about, mi cariñita. Just a…distraction.’” I waved my hand dismissively, just the way I’d seen her do time and again, usually accompanied by a toss of her head and flirtatious laugh.
Dead silence dropped between us, the lack of sound only broken as both dogs edged into the room. Sundance curled up at my feet while Butch jumped onto the bed, his little body pressing in close against mine, tense and shaking.
“Right,” she finally said. “You would have begrudged me friendship.”
“Friendship.” I laughed. Then laughed again, just because the concept, as applied to Nora, was simply that fucking funny. “Well, if that’s the case, then the man you saw out there is my friend. A good friend.”
Her breath audibly caught. For once in my life, I had shocked Nora. But give the woman props—if nothing else, she knew how to roll with the punches. And deliver them.
“You were always so damn sanctimonious, Libby, sitting in judgment when you didn’t know shit about my life. Didn’t want to know about my life, so I did what I thought you wanted and spared you the details, and now you throw that back in my face.”
“I could say the same for you, Nora. Sanctimonious in your own free-spirited, organic hippy sort of way. Judging my choices, cutting them down because they didn’t jibe with your lofty ideals.”
“I never said a thing—”
“You didn’t have to. It practically vibrated off of you, this distinct aura, if you want it in your native tongue. All disappointed and shit that I wasn’t out writing fiery, save-the-world columns for some radical underground publication or website.”
“Says who? That’s ridiculous—not to mention unfair. I respected that you had the freedom to make your own choices, same as I did.”
“Whatever.” I sighed. “Needless to say, I gave up trying to please you and live up to your expectations a long time ago, Nora.”
“
I have never been disappointed in you until this minute, Libby. Dios mío, cheating on your husband? When he was so sick? Because, clearly, if you’re such good friends,” she said with a raised eyebrow emphasizing the word as much as her acid tone, “he’s not someone you just met yesterday.”
“Of all the things for you to be disappointed in me about.” I snorted. “So much for the free-love ’tude.”
“Have you ever seen any man in my bed or even my bedroom other than your father?”
Oh she wasn’t serious? “Just because I didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Nora. Distractions, remember? Those are easy enough to take care of on the sly away from the curious eyes of the kiddies. Even in the commune. I mean, what do you think the older kids talked to us about?”
Her face, her neck, even the skin of her upper arms beneath the sleeves of her shirt all gradually turned a bright mottled red as she very slowly said, “I have never cheated on my husband.” Punctuating each word with a short pause, as if speaking to a tiny child who couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the words. But I wasn’t a child and I was tired of this.
“Tough to do when you don’t actually have one.”
“I do,” she said, each word even more slow and distinct than before. “And yes, I’ve also had friends, male friends, because who gives a shit the gender when you’re offered friendship—but te lo juro on whatever holy text you want to use, I have never had a remotely romantic relationship or even slept with another man in my life other than your father who, piece of paper or not, I consider to be my husband. And those men—those friends—were distractions, because I missed your father so much, I couldn’t stand it, but never once was I tempted to stray, even though the offers were definitely there. I simply knew that whatever fun we might have couldn’t even begin to measure up to what I have with Stan. He’s been it for me since I was sixteen, and do you think that knowledge was easy to live with?”
As I stared, open-mouthed, she left the doorway and started pacing, her agitated movements causing both dogs to move in closer to me, Sundance quaking and Butch, whining low in his throat They weren’t used to this. None of us were.
“You think I didn’t know how you mocked and scorned me for taking a path less traveled? That I didn’t give you a more traditional upbringing? You think that was easy to live with?”
“You always made it seem that way.”
“It wasn’t, but it’s what I needed to do. I figured out early on there was no way I could ever live the predetermined life of a nice Cuban woman. Or any kind of average life, for that matter. It wasn’t me, and I thought if I gave you any gift at all as a parent, it would be the freedom of choice. Of not being expected to follow any path other than your own. If you had wanted to be a nice Cuban woman, believe me, I might have wondered why, but it would’ve been completely cool with me.” She stopped dead in front of me, fury turning her eyes almost black. “And you have the nerve to sit there, all moral and passing judgment on me, and yet for all that you’ve paid lip service to tradition and vows and to how much you loved your husband—” she spat the word like it didn’t hold any meaning where I was concerned. “That you betrayed him like this.”
The word “betray” hung between us like a brilliant crystal—shimmering, multifaceted blue, exactly the color of Ethan’s eyes—and all of a sudden, I understood.
“He knew.”
“¿Qué?”
Once again, my hand closed around the bands hanging from their chain. My talismans. “God, he knew. Ethan knew.” I looked up at Nora and smiled, even though she was looking at me in what looked like a combination of fury and thinking I was finally losing my mind. But for the first time in months, I felt like I wasn’t. “And what’s more, he approved. I had his blessing to love another man.”
Nora’s eyes drew together in a dark straight line, clearly furious all over again. “Ah, seguro…Here they come. The convenient justifications.”
I threaded the tip of my ring finger through both bands, holding them together with my thumb, strangely at peace. “Nope. No justifications, and I certainly don’t need to discuss with you what my husband and I shared in the privacy of our bed. But trust me, Nora. Ethan knew about Nick and knew I loved him and was happy for it.”
“Don’t ever let yourself lose that again…the way you look right now. God, I’ve loved seeing it again.”
A sensuous rumble, I heard Ethan’s voice almost as if he were right beside me, whispering in my ear the way he had the last time we made love. And his words hadn't been merely about the sexual release. I’d known it then, but hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge it—both that I loved Nick and that Ethan knew about him and had been happy I’d found someone to love.
But…oh God. That’s why he finally let go. He thought… “Oh, Ethan,” I sighed. “I’m so glad you didn’t know.”
“You just said he did know. Now you’re saying he didn’t. Bueno, which is it, m’ija?”
I looked up at Nora who didn’t look as furious anymore, but still suspicious as hell with a nice side of accusatory. “Again, not that it’s any of your damn business, Nora, but Ethan didn’t know that Nick wasn’t—” I stopped. Chose my words carefully, even though I really didn’t give much of a damn what Nora thought of me at this point. “Wasn’t free to stay with me. What you saw, Nora—that was goodbye.”
A beat, then another, as I watched a kaleidoscope of expressions cross my mother’s face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Liberty, he’s married too?”
Wasn’t going to bother to answer the obvious. I just held my rings and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening that it wasn’t something Ethan and I had ever spoken of explicitly, because, hey—it was Ethan. If he’d wanted to talk about it, there’s nothing that could have stopped him from getting all the pertinent details. Pain in the ass. Part of what had made him such a brilliant journalist. Part of what made him so completely Ethan.
God, but I missed him.
“Qué coño tú estaba pensando, jodiendo con un hombre casado. And what the hell was he thinking, the son of a bitch, taking advantage of a woman in your situation—”
“Nora.” Releasing my rings, I held my hand up like a traffic cop. “I’m going to ask you to stop right there. You just accused me of not knowing or understanding anything about your life when I was growing up, and I’ll concede that you’re right and believe me, I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know. However, grant me the same courtesy here of accepting that you don’t know or understand anything about this part of my life.” I dropped my hand to my lap and took a deep breath. “Let’s just say that thinking isn’t something you do a whole lot of when your entire life is going to shit. And that’s the last I’m going to say about it—to you or anyone else.”
She didn’t look like she wanted it to be the last I said, but while I could fault Nora on a lot, she had always pretty much known how far she could push with respect to my personal boundaries. However, while she might not have been a nice Cuban woman, she was still a Cuban mother down to the marrow of her bones, which meant she’d likely save it for another day. For right now, though, she’d probably let it go.
“Hey, where are my girls?”
Especially now. Looked like I’d be doing some emotional propping up myself, even if all I wanted to do was crawl under the covers and not come out for the next month—or year.
“We’re here, mi amor.”
I managed a weak smile as Stan appeared in the doorway behind Nora, resting his chin on the top of her head, the pale silver-brown of the goatee he’d cultivated during his stay contrasting with, yet complementing the dark brown of Nora’s hair. “Hey Stan, you getting ready to hit the road?” Because he’d been here since, what?—the beginning of January? Four and a half months had to be a record for the man. His ass was probably itching to get back on the Indian and out on the open road.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
“We were…distracted.
”
“Tell me what?”
“Distracted by what?”
“Later, mi vida.”
“Tell me what?”
I watched Nora’s shoulders rise with a deep breath, prepping to answer, but it was Stan who spoke. “I’m staying, Libby-girl.”
I blinked. “For how much longer?”
He smiled, looking all proud and relieved, and for the first time ever in my memory, like an actual father. Or as much as a long-haired, barefoot middle-aged man wearing ragged cutoffs and a battered Roy Orbison T-shirt could manage. “For good, baby. Your old man’s put his time in on the road. I’ve been a stubborn old ass, but even I can acknowledge it’s time to hang it up, you know? It’s past time I was here for you, and I want to be here with your mom. Want us to be together for good.”
Butch squirmed against the hold I hadn’t realized had grown so tight. Loosening my arms and scratching behind his ears in apology, I studied first Stan, who was looking dazed, like he still couldn’t believe it, but happier than I’d ever seen him, then Nora, who had a faint smile on her face, her eyes closed as if in prayer, and I couldn’t help but wonder—how often had she prayed or chanted or whatever for this moment? And that it had taken this? That Ethan had to die?
No. It just wasn’t fair.
“But…what are you going to do?” And while it was Stan I was staring at, it was Nora who answered, the two of them already working in tandem like two perfect cogs of a wheel.
“All that time spent working in coffeehouses has given your father a pretty good idea of how to run one. And God knows I’ve got enough connections down here—we’re going to open a café, make it kind of an artist’s retreat—have book readings and open mic nights and poetry slams. Have live music—display local artists. Make it a community hangout.”
“Of course you are.” I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic or like I was blowing off their dream. I really didn’t. Actually, to my ears I sounded sort of…matter of fact. Maybe stunned. In a stupid sort of way, because I just couldn’t come up with anything else to say. But before Nora could nail me again for being an insensitive little brat, Stan spoke up.
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