Close to You

by B. M. Sandy

  He was right, of course. This was my home now, Brooklyn, this city. I let my gaze drop down Iain’s face, following the shadows until I could only see darkness where his chest would be under the blanket. I reached out to touch him, feeling the heat of his skin. His heart was beating there, steady and strong.

  “This is your home,” he said, barely above a whisper, bringing his own hand up to rest over mine, pressing it against his heart. “If you want it to be.”

  I couldn’t put into words how it made me feel. All of it, all of him: the security, the warmth, the affection, all things I’d only dreamed about before. Things I once had with Brandon that were ruined, made unclean. Somehow, the future looked bright. I imagined settling here, getting my own apartment, getting a job I really cared about, living the life I’d always wanted to.

  Living it with Iain.

  At that thought, I smiled, my heart swelling with hope.

  It all felt within reach… but oh, how wrong I was.

  Chapter 29.

  Monday came and went, and Shannon and Evan with it. The early morning was filled with banging and stomping, with Shannon yelling for her hairbrush, her orange flip-flops, her bronzer... I hadn’t been able to sleep, so I went out to help them get ready for the road - making them coffee and bagels and assuring Shannon that I’d make sure the apartment would be taken care of while they were gone.

  When the door finally closed, leaving me alone in the apartment, I exhaled. It was eerily quiet, now, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding at being alone.

  I didn’t dwell on it, though. I plopped down on the couch, idly wondering if Iain was still sound asleep. It was barely six, the sun not even peeking over the buildings yet. The darkness of dawn.

  I turned on the TV, flipping channels, stopping at the early morning news. My eyes glazed over watching the endless stories of politics and crime, my brain still bone-tired from waking up so early, my memories from the weekend washing over me, especially Friday night.

  With our schedules barely lining up, we hadn’t seen each other since. He had been working on his case, I had to work at the bar all weekend, and with Shannon leaving for two weeks, I hadn’t wanted to be away at night. But we talked on the phone, and texted a little, even though texting wasn’t super easy on my flip phone.

  I worked tonight, but I was off tomorrow. The prospect of spending all day alone in this apartment made me blanch, even though I’d been alone tons of times before; Shannon worked in an office downtown, and Evan was always off doing his thing with art. I told myself it wasn’t much different now - they just weren’t coming home at night.

  With a sigh, I lay back against the couch, turning the volume on low, shutting my eyes. I could still see the flicker of light from the TV behind my lids, but I dozed off that way, anyway.

  I pretended that light was the sun, and the flickering its rays, peeking through passing clouds.

  xxx

  At work that night, business was steady, and I was constantly moving, going back and forth filling drinks and picking up dirty glasses. The other bartender, Nat, was helping, her cherry-red lips dark and glossy under the dim yellow lights.

  Clint was back, and not alone. He brought a woman, a rail-thin blonde with a lip job and a kind smile. She was in a short denim skirt and I assumed she wasn’t his wife. He bought her whiskey sours and kept his own usual order of Bud Light, and every time I looked over at him, he was smiling.

  I remembered his statement, which felt like so long ago: Love doesn’t exist. And oh, how I’d agreed with him. Everything I knew about love had been a lie: the look on Brandon’s face, the way he’d said I do, the house he had given me, the promises he’d made and broken, over and over again. Everything had been a story constructed to reel me in with a promise of a happily ever after, only to find out that he had been the Big Bad Wolf instead.

  But now?

  Iain’s face, his lips, his hands, his eyes… it all overshadowed Brandon now. I was absolutely certain that I’d never felt this way about a man before, not even Brandon himself before things went bad. I’d thought that Brandon ruined all other men for me, back when I was 22 and naive, but now I knew better. I knew that there was more out there than him.

  “Hey, Lila!”

  At the sound of my fake name, I whipped my head around to see Jacob leaning over the bar, bronze forearms flexing against the wood. He wasn’t working tonight, Anderson was, so I was momentarily confused as to why he’d be here on his day off.

  “Jacob, what’s up?”

  “Just stopping in for a drink. I’ll take a High Life.”

  I nodded, never understanding why anyone would want to come to the bar they worked at to drink for fun, but I went to the cooler, pulling out an ice cold bottle and popping the cap off. I slid it across the bar and he caught it, grinning.

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I cringed, trying to keep it subtle, but knowing that it was highly visible on my face. I remembered our conversation from weeks ago - the first night Iain had come into Catfish - when Jacob had been working on taking me out, and I had flat-out told him no. Things hadn’t been too awkward since, but every now and then I caught him looking at me with an odd expression on his face, as if he was biting back words.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked, taking a hearty swig from his bottle.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. You know, the guy with the beard, and the hair.” He gestured toward his own short black hair, eying me. I didn’t like the look on his face but decided to ignore it.

  “He’s working.”

  “He’s not your boyfriend, then?” he pressed.

  “Uh, I didn’t say that.” I grabbed a dirty glass left at an empty seat at the bar.

  “Right.” Jacob scowled, his demeanor shifting from something like arrogance to irritation, and he turned his head away. “I meant to tell you earlier - someone was looking for you on Friday.”

  I’d been about to head to the sink to wash the dirty glass in my hands, but I stopped in my tracks. “Who?”

  “Dunno. Said he was a customer of yours. Said he was supposed to give you something.”

  “Give me what?”

  He shrugged, not at all invested in this conversation. “Didn’t say.”

  I was frustrated by his vagueness. “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know? He was an older dude, brown hair, brown eyes. He said he was a regular.”

  “A regular you didn’t recognize?” I asked, dread pitting in my stomach. He could be describing anyone - Clint fit that description, and so did several others.

  But he could be describing Brandon, too.

  “I don’t know the regulars like you do. I just sit at the damn door.”

  Gritting my teeth, I scanned the bar, taking care to look at every single person. I half expected to see Brandon in any shadow, sitting at any table. But, of course, he wasn’t.

  “Lila, need some help over here,” Nat called. Several people had stacked up on her end of the bar, and with one last uncertain glance at Jacob, I left him there with his High Life.

  xxx

  The rest of the night went as usual. Jacob left shortly after our conversation; one moment he had been there, his eyes dark and brooding, and the next, he was gone. I cleaned his bottle up and pushed him out of my thoughts, spending the rest of my shift in a daze.

  What Jacob had said disturbed me. Not just the implications, but the casual way in which he’d said it, the way he hadn’t seemed to care that I wanted, no, needed to know more. Not that he would have understood that - the guy didn’t seem to pick up on social cues. But I was hoping for a little more than what he gave me.

  How could you sit at the door for months and not learn the faces that came through? Was he that clueless, or was he just an asshole?

  After the bar was closed and everything was cleaned up, Nat and I locked up. On the street, I looked up, but I couldn’t find one single star in the sky, such a contrast to what I
was used to in Indiana.

  “Well, I’ll see you later this week,” Nat said, pulling her hat down to cover her forehead more. The wind was biting and bitter, and I nodded.

  “Thanks for your help tonight.”

  We took off in different directions, and I sped the two blocks, wanting both to be out of the cold and off the streets. Something about being out this late at night made me feel so vulnerable and exposed. Ripe for the picking. I huddled into my coat, telling myself not to worry about what Jacob had said.

  Whoever it was probably was a regular, and when I found out who it was, I would laugh with relief.

  When I finally got to the apartment building, I tore my gloves off and pressed the call button for the elevator. Digging for my phone, I shot a quick text to Iain, just to see if he was up.

  Being in the building made me feel better. I forced myself to breathe, telling myself that there was nothing to worry about. I remembered what Iain had said about his apartment - It can be your safe spot, if you want. But running to him in the middle of the night when there was no proof that there was anything wrong at all felt stupid and childish.

  It was just my paranoia, getting the best of me again.

  After the elevator came and took me up, I unlocked the door to the apartment and removed my coat, hat and scarf, throwing them over the back of the couch. I took a quick shower, raising the heat as hot as I could stand, until I could see nothing in front of me but steam. When I was finished, I brushed my hair and my teeth, pulled my pajamas on, and fell into bed.

  I didn’t even bother to check my phone to see if Iain had messaged me back. I fell into a restless sleep, full of dreams of snow, brown eyes, and empty houses collecting dust.

  Chapter 30.

  Iain

  On Tuesday, I stood in front of Michele’s door and knocked three times. I could smell dinner in the hallway, and my stomach rumbled, angrily reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  She’d called me earlier, coyly asking what my favorite food was. At the time, I thought back to the days of my mother’s cooking, when she had been sober enough to really try. I couldn’t think of one thing that I’d call my favorite.

  Instead of answering, I’d asked, “What’s your favorite?”

  “Hmm. Call me simple, but I’d never turn down spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Perfect. That’s exactly what I want, too.”

  Now, I clutched the bottle of wine I’d brought, some red thing recommended by the guy at the liquor store. Since I knew nothing about wine, I hoped it was something she’d even like.

  The door opened, and Michele’s face lit up as I stepped inside. She wrapped her arms around me, giving me a kiss in greeting and taking the wine from my hand.

  “You’re early,” she said, grinning. “This looks great, thank you.” I took my coat off, and she took that, too, hanging it on a peg behind me after placing the wine on the kitchen counter.

  “What can I say?” I approached her, leaning in, brushing my lips over hers, just enough to make mine tingle. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  Color rose to her cheeks, and she stepped back, a mixture of desire and something else I couldn’t read evident on her face. She studied me for a split second and then turned around, heading into the kitchen by the stove.

  “Dinner is almost done,” she said.

  “It smells delicious. What can I do to help?”

  “You can open that wine.” She smiled, then opened a drawer, pushing utensils aside and pulling out a wine opener, which she handed to me.

  I set to work while she went back to the stove, stirring sauce and grabbing a box of spaghetti noodles. I opened the bottle, pulling the cork out with a satisfying pop.

  “Wine glasses?” I inquired. Michele moved to the cupboard and pulled two out, setting them down next to the open bottle of wine.

  After pouring us both a glass, I turned to watch her. She’d gone back to the stove, her eyes on the pots.

  “How’s your case going?” she asked.

  “It’s fine,” I said, thinking about Roger’s call on Friday. “My client is impatient as hell, but I deal with that a lot.”

  “Impatient? Like, hounding you about how long it’s taking?”

  “Pretty much.” I picked up the glass of wine I’d poured, taking a tentative sip. It wasn’t bad, but it was heavy on my tongue, and it left a strange dry feeling. “I’m used to it, though.”

  “Another cheating spouse?” she asked. I could tell she was tense, and I chose my words carefully.

  “She is definitely cheating.”

  She nodded, but the tension was still there. I studied her back, watching her carefully stir the sauce, wondering what was going through her head. Obviously my case struck a nerve, and I understood that. But until I figured out what else I was going to do, cheating spouses were how I made my living.

  Michele finished making dinner shortly after that, and before long we were seated at the island, digging in to heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs. We ate in silence at first, until my stomach was satisfied that I had finally put something in it.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” I said after a few moments. She was idly pushing a meatball back and forth over her plate, her spaghetti only half eaten.

  “I am?”

  “Yes.” I kept watching her, hoping she’d meet my eye, but she didn’t. Something was definitely up.

  She didn’t say anything at first, but I could see a storm brewing in her eyes. Giving up the pretense of eating, she set her fork down and sighed. “At work yesterday, Jacob came by to have a drink. He said… someone was looking for me on Friday.”

  Ignoring the twinge of anger produced by imagining Jacob sitting at Michele’s bar, eying her up over a bottle of whatever piece of shit domestic he drank, I asked, “Who was looking for you?”

  “He didn’t know. He said the guy claimed to be a regular.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, then looked up at me. I saw apprehension there I didn’t understand.

  “What’s the problem? Don’t you get a lot of regulars?” Was it creepy a customer was asking after her? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, would it?

  She nodded. “We do get a lot of regulars, yes.”

  “Then what’s wrong? Is the guy a creep or something?” As I said it, something clicked, and then coldness washed through me. “Wait… Jacob didn’t know who it was, but wouldn’t he know a regular customer?”

  “That’s just it. You’d think he would by now, but Jacob isn’t exactly the brightest, and he barely pays attention.” She grabbed her wine glass, taking a sip and setting it back down. “So I, paranoid as I am, assumed immediately that Brandon had showed up looking for me on a night I happened to not be there.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I saw red. Thinking about him being anywhere near Michele brought my heart rate up, but I had to think about it logically. What were the chances that he’d be onto her that fast after I had turned down the case? She’d done an exceptional job hiding - better than most people would have. I just couldn’t see a scenario where anybody would have found her that quickly, especially since they’d have no idea which neighborhood to start in.

  I’d just gotten lucky.

  “There’s no way Brandon’s here,” I said. “I know you’re scared and you want to think the worst sometimes, but -”

  “Yeah, Iain, I am scared. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I do it so often I don’t even know that I’m doing it anymore. But to say there’s no way is just… irresponsible.” Her eyes were flashing, her cheeks reddening, and I sat back, chagrined. “Jacob had no clue who this guy was. He said the guy had brown hair and brown eyes. And guess who has brown hair and brown eyes?”

  “Lots of people,” I replied.

  “Brandon.”

  “Okay. Let’s say it was him. Then what?”

  “Then? Then, I don’t fucking know.” She looked petrified at the very thought, and I leaned forward, taking her upp
er arms gently in my hands, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

  “Michele, please,” I said. “You can’t keep letting yourself do this. Going down that hole. It’s black and endless and it’ll eat you up. You have to learn to let him go.”

  Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her eyes were locked on mine, defiance reflecting there. We stared each other down in silence until her face crumpled. I let her go as if I’d been burned.

  “How?” she asked, so quiet I almost didn’t catch it. “How can I let him go? He’s still a part of me.”

  My eyes flicked toward her left hand resting on her lap. At her bare finger.

  “Get a lawyer,” I said. “I’ll help you. Send the paperwork from here. It can be done.”

  I wanted so badly for her to be free. Watching her get eaten alive by these thoughts, by her own paranoia, was killing me. How could I ease her mind?

  “It’s not that simple. He’s a Coffey. He has money, connections, everything. What he wants, he gets. And if he gets those papers, then I’m done. If he doesn’t know where I am now, he’ll know then - and he’ll take me back.”

  He’ll take me back home, she’d said, Friday night in bed. A part of her - the part that clung to this fear, that refused to see a lawyer and settle this once and for all - that part of her still believed that Brandon’s house was her home. How could I show her that her home was here, now?

  “He won’t take you back. I won’t let him,” I found myself saying.

  She was shaking her head, her expression resolute - and sad. “How can you promise something like that?”

  A great fucking question. How could I?

  I looked at my empty plate, breaking her gaze. The reality of what Michele and I were doing hit me for the first time - really hit me. She was a married woman, and her husband was hell-bent on getting her back. Was I doing the right thing, being with her? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.

  But could I really walk away?

  “I guess… I can’t promise anything at all to you.” The words felt thick and treacherous coming out of my mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”