Of Stone and Sky

by Charissa Stastny

  She dabbed at her eyes. “That’d be wonderful, dear.”

  23

  Lincoln

  Grrr. My shot went long. Dad scoffed and made another jab at my form before heading to the golf cart.

  “I’ll see you at the green.” Wilder jumped in with him.

  I shoved my nine iron back into my bag.

  Gramps slapped my shoulder. “You’re whooped, boy. Thinking about your girl instead of your game.”

  My lousy shots were due to the fact that I hadn’t golfed in months. They had nothing to do with thinking about kissing Gemma before I’d left. Nothing to do with comparing her to my ex and finding her leagues above Angeline. Nothing to do with wanting this game to end, so I could see her again.

  “Your Gemma’s a sweetheart.” Gramps frowned. “Sure wish you were getting married sooner so I could be there for the happy day.”

  “You’ll be there.” No way would I avoid him any longer.

  “I don’t think so. Doc found a brain tumor last week.”

  I waited for him to say, “Got ya!” He couldn’t be serious. But there wasn’t a trace of humor in his wrinkly face.

  “It’s terminal. He gave me two to four months.”

  A crater seemed to open up inside me. Gramps was in tip-top shape. Super-active. Always watching his diet. But the look on his face revealed he’d spoken the truth.

  “Oh, Gramps.” I hugged him. “I’m sorry.” Why had I wasted the last two years running from my pain instead of turning to him?

  He squeezed me. “Don’t pity me, son. I’m ready to go. I’ve missed my Hazel more than I can say.” He pulled away and blinked. “My only regret is missing your wedding. But at least I got to meet your future bride, thanks to Alex. That’s something.”

  That crater inside me caved in some more. “Does he know?”

  He nodded. “But I haven’t told your parents yet. I plan to tell your dad soon. I wanted you to know first.”

  We climbed into the cart and drove over to the green to join the others. Everyone took their turns putting, acting as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But my world had fallen out from under me. Gramps had been the steadying influence in my life for as long as I could remember. When Dad had moved us to Utah, he’d followed. He’d come to all my baseball games and my debates that Dad had missed. He’d cheered me on through college and had encouraged me through the lean days of getting my company off the ground. He’d always believed in me, even when I hadn’t believed in myself.

  So why now, just when I was getting to a place where I could be close to him again, did he have to get cancer? I needed him. I’d need him big time when all this pretending with Gemma blew up in my face.

  And it would.

  I was in deep water. Not by my own choice. I hadn’t meant to fall for my employee. But somewhere, I don’t know how or when, my admiration had turned to affection. I dreaded the day we would break up and go our separate ways because I knew it would hurt. Bad.

  Wilder and Gramps ran into an old acquaintance and stayed outside the clubhouse as Dad and I glared at each other from opposite couches in the lobby.

  “Gemma’s an interesting character,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” My muscles flexed.

  “She’s a damn Latina, probably only after your money.”

  “Like Angeline?”

  He scowled. “You’re not ready to jump into marriage again. Your first one ended in disaster.”

  My hands clenched. “You know nothing about my relationship with Angeline.”

  “I know that poor girl deserved better. You shamed the family name by treating her so abominably.”

  To hell with his family honor. The hypocrite.

  “Gemma’s been pissed with you from the moment you arrived. That’s not how normal relationships work.”

  “And you would know?” How many times had I found mom crying in the guest room as a teen? How many times had Dad left us for weeks, Mom not knowing where his selfish ass had gone, not knowing who he was with? He’d been a neglectful husband. An absent father. I didn’t care what Gramps said about his issues, I hated him.

  “If she doesn’t toe the line, will you beat her, too?”

  “I don’t need this.” I headed to the bar. Maybe a stiff drink would help. Maybe several.

  I nursed a Scotch, mind spinning through the past, recalling when Joe had bailed me out of jail, how he’d let me hang out on his couch for a week before I’d gathered courage to drive across town to see my parents. The look on Dad’s face when he’d opened the door had obliterated all hope I’d had of refuge or a listening ear.

  “How dare you show your face here,” he’d snarled. “Leave. And don’t contact us again. If you call or try to see your mom, I’ll call the cops and make sure to finish what Angeline didn’t. I’ll protect her from you.”

  I drowned the memory with more Scotch.

  Wilder sidled up to me at the bar. “Lincoln.”

  I startled, my staring contest with my glass broken. “Hey, Alex. Can I buy you a drink?” I glanced behind us to see if Dad and Gramps would be joining us.

  “I’ll have a beer.” Wilder frowned. “Your grandpa took your dad outside to talk.” He sighed as the bartender set a beer in front of him. “He’s going to tell him the news.”

  I tapped my glass. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Wilder threw back a swig. “Sure does. Always thought I’d go long before him. Ed’s always seemed invincible to me.”

  No kidding. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Gramps could be gone in a couple months.

  “He told me he wishes he could see you married.”

  That crater inside swallowed more of me. “I wish he had more time. I’d give him some of mine if I could.”

  Wilder threw back another gulp. “That’s the thing. We do have more time. He’s not dead yet. Ed’s a good friend. I don’t want him to have any regrets. Or you. I could put together a top-notch wedding in under a month. Give him his wish to see you and Gemma married.”

  I chugged down the rest of my Scotch.

  “To sweeten the deal, I’ll release the funding from my foundation to EcoCore as a wedding gift. One hundred million dollars.”

  “You...” I held up my empty glass to catch the bartender’s attention. The room started spinning. This was everything—and way more—that I’d worked so hard to secure. His money would save my company.

  “You just need to move up the wedding date.”

  Hopes crashed into rocks of reality. No way could I ask Gemma to marry me. Pretending to be engaged had been bad enough.

  “I…don’t know what to say.” Where was my damn Scotch?

  “I hope you’ll say yes.”

  “I...” The bartender set another drink in front of me. I lifted it with shaky hands. “Gemma might not be on board.” Of course, she wouldn’t be on board. “You know how girls are with weddings.” Especially ones they’d never wanted in the first place. “She’s planned this for years.”

  “She’ll have her dream wedding. And your grandpa will be part of your happiness.”

  I gulped down more Scotch.

  He slapped my shoulder. “Think on it. And don’t worry about Gemma. She’s too sweet to deny your grandpa’s last wish.”

  Maybe. But I was a callous jerk who would have no problem doing so. Since it couldn’t happen.

  24

  Saemira

  Age 13 – Fushë Krujë, Albania

  PREJUDICE: an irrational attitude of hostility toward an individual or group. Its ugliness dehumanizes both victims and perpetrators.

  The sound of laughter made Saemira sulk on the steps of the schoolhouse. Since Engjell had punched Esad and saved her, Esad had tormented her at school, putting honey on her chair, snipping off a lock of her hair, and turning the other kids against her.

  He played a game of stick ball with the other boys at the moment, so she was safe. He was still handsome to look at, but he was bad
.

  Or she was.

  She turned an apple in her fingers, recalling how Engjell had wanted to kill Esad for what he’d done. But she’d welcomed Esad’s attention, laughed at his jokes, leaned closer when he’d rubbed her leg during lunch. She’d wanted him to teach her how to kiss. Engjell thought Esad was bad. But Saemira feared she was worse.

  A rock hit her. She rubbed her arm and looked up to find Esad and his friends surrounding her.

  Dung beetle!

  “Gypsy lover.” He shoved her to her knees, and her half-eaten apple rolled into the dirt. “Saemira’s mama is a magjup whore.”

  “She is not!” She straightened and dusted off her skirt.

  “Is too. And you’re no better.” He grabbed his crotch. “I found Saemira and her gypsy lover naked behind the cemetery mausoleum.”

  “That’s not true,” she told her wide-eyed classmates. “I’ve never—”

  Esad pushed her down again just as Mr. Shehu marched outside.

  “What is going on here?” Teacher moved his portly frame into the middle of her circling classmates.

  Thank the gods. Her hands were scraped, but Esad’s accusations stung worse. Mama was Roma but they lived in town, not in the broken village. She wasn’t like Engjell—poor, cast off, hated. She went to school and lived in a comfortable house. People didn’t yell at her when she walked through the market. Her skin was lighter than even Esad’s. She wasn’t a gypsy. She was Albanian.

  “Thieving gypsy.” Esad spat at her feet.

  “I didn’t steal,” she said again.

  Esad faced Mr. Shehu. “She watched me put money in my bag this morning. Now it’s missing. Check her pack. It’s got to be there.”

  “I didn’t steal your money.” How could he tell these lies?

  Mr. Shehu grabbed Esad and her by an ear and marched them inside. He stopped in the mudroom, where their bags hung. He let go of her stinging ear and pointed.

  “Dump your belongings out.”

  Saemira obeyed, anxious to prove to him and her gawking classmates that she was honest and good. Mr. Shehu knew this. So did her classmates. Esad was the liar.

  Everyone gasped when three five-hundred-lek notes fluttered to the ground with her sweater and pencil box.

  “You see!” Esad said. “She’s a thief like every other gypsy.”

  “That’s not mine. I don’t know how it got in there.”

  “You may return to recess, Esad.” Mr. Shehu shooed the other students away. When they were gone, he pinched her ear and marched her into his office.

  “I didn’t steal.” She whimpered. “Esad framed me.”

  “Silence, magjup!” Mr. Shehu pushed her into a chair and shut the door. “We have zero-tolerance for theft in my school. And for gypsies.”

  Gemma

  The sound of water running in the shower made it impossible for me to focus on my video chat with Altin. Lincoln was less than twenty feet away, naked, in a shower I could see into if I moved off the bed. I shouldn’t imagine that, yet a naked Lincoln was all I could think about.

  “Be good for Miss Tina, buddy,” I said, waving at my brother on the screen. “Love you.”

  “Love you, Mommy.”

  I winced at that title. Moms provided a foundation of safety, belonging, and love. At least, my mama had for me. Altin’s mom had been nuclear waste. I missed my mama and hated that I’d let sweet Lucy believe I could ever be part of her and her son’s lives, no matter how much I wanted to be.

  Lincoln walked out of the bathroom, bare-chested, only a towel around his neck.

  “Put a shirt on, you animal.” I concentrated on closing out the Messenger link on my phone, to keep from gawking.

  He grabbed a shirt from his suitcase as I rolled off the bed to go brush my teeth.

  “You’re limping,” he said.

  “Yeah. My feet were casualties of shopping with your mom and Ethel.”

  He stood by the bed when I returned, holding a bottle of lotion. “Lay down.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll give you a foot rub.”

  “Uh, no.” As much as I longed for him to touch me, I should resist.

  “Come on. I used to give my sister massages when her muscles ached. She called me Super Fingers.”

  “Super Fingers?” I climbed onto the bed, feeling self-conscious in my tank top and shorts. Though I shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if he’d noticed me before. But I noticed him, even with a shirt covering his firm abs.

  “Relax.” He squirted lotion on my leg. “You’ll want to run a marathon after I’m done.”

  “Ha. Run to the bathroom, more like it. You don’t have to do this,” I said as he propped my foot on his leg. “I just need to walk the stiffness out.” But I didn’t move. I moaned instead as his magical fingers worked their way up my calf. Holy llama, that felt good. “You do have super fingers. Tell me about your sister. Joe said she had muscular dystrophy.”

  “Yeah. Cora was the best. So full of life. So funny. So kind. As her disease progressed, her muscles ached more and more. Mom taught me how to give a decent massage to give her some relief.”

  “She was lucky to have you.”

  “Not as lucky as I was to have her.”

  Oh, be still my heart. He needed to stop being so sweet. “Was it hard to see her in pain?”

  “Excruciating. I prayed all the time for God to give her pain to me so Cora could live a normal life.” He lifted his eyes, and the agony there stole my breath away. “Cora didn’t deserve the cruel lot life gave her.”

  I leaned against the headboard as his hands rubbed the balls of my feet. “My dad believed God lets bad things happen to help us grow and become more like Him.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t believe in God, not after seeing my sister suffer.”

  I stared at the top of his head. “I get you. Dad believed a lot of hard things, like forgiving your enemies. I found that idea horrifying as a teen.”

  “And now you don’t?” His eyes flashed with emotion.

  “Now, I’m conflicted. I believe forgiveness can heal, but it’s hard to practice.”

  He grunted and rubbed my ankle. “Have you forgiven me for roping you into this disaster, or is that too hard to do in real life?”

  I smiled. “It’s tough, but your foot rub might sway me.”

  “Good.” He lifted my other foot and started to massage it. “Gramps dropped a bomb on me today,” he said softly.

  “Oh?” My words came out breathy. Embarrassingly so. I could hardly think from how good he made me feel.

  “He has a brain tumor. Has two to four months left to live.”

  “Oh, Lincoln.” I pulled my foot away and sat up, feeling guilty for my naughty thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m okay.” He pushed me gently back onto the pillow and brought my foot into his lap again. “He just wishes he could be at our wedding.”

  Ugh. I hated how our lies were affecting not only us, but his family now.

  “Wilder wants to grant his last wish by throwing us a wedding in a few weeks.” He scoffed. “Said he’ll release funding for EcoCore as a wedding gift. A hundred million.”

  I started choking. “That’s quite the gift.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hate lying to them.”

  “Me, too. But what choice do we have?” He set the lotion aside. “How does that feel?”

  “Amazing. Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do for forcing you into this mess.”

  “You didn’t force me.” He lifted a brow, and I laughed. “It wasn’t forcing so much as surprising me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I took his hand. “It’s been kind of fun.”

  Again he lifted his brow. “Fun?”

  “Interesting?”

  “It has been interesting.”

  Our gazes locked, and the light-hearted moment became heavy and charged in a heartbeat. Or a thunderous round of heartbeats in my case. May
be he moved. Or I did. Maybe both of us inched closer until we sat quite close on the bed, his lips hovering above mine. Our breaths mingled, his fresh and minty. Did I kiss him or did he kiss me? Who knows? But we kissed each other as I’d dreamed of doing non-stop since I’d experienced nirvana with him in the office, the moment he hadn’t stopped apologizing for.

  Crap! What if he apologized again? I should pull away, but I deepened the kiss instead, my body having a mind of its own. My feet had tingled from his tender massage. Now, my whole body tingled and burned as I lost sense of time and reality, my mind silencing the doubt that this would only lead to heartbreak. I shivered as he explored my neck and worked his way down my bare shoulders. Holy heaven above. This was much more intense and pleasurable than the first time.

  How had I lived before kissing Lincoln?

  He pulled back, and I cringed, waiting for him to regret kissing me. But he buried his head in my neck.

  “I’ve wanted to hold and kiss you like that since the night of our engagement party when I whispered the ABCs in your ear.”

  My heart beat faster. “You have?”

  He pressed kisses along my cheek. “Gemma, you’re not just interesting, you’re beyond tempting.” He kissed me slower, with more purpose.

  I caressed his five o’clock shadow. “What if we give Gramps what he wants?” I winced when his eyebrows shot up. “I mean, we could technically get married. For him. And for Mr. Wilder’s money. That’s what you want, right?” When he didn’t speak, I added words I hated. “It’d just be business, like our engagement.” I scooted away, chiding myself for reading more into his kiss. He’d said I tempted him, but probably like chocolate tempted a dieter, or beer tempted an alcoholic. Not in a good way. “We’ll annul it once your grandpa dies.” I covered my mouth. “Gosh! I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I hope he lives for years.”

  “He won’t.”