In the Land of Milk and Honey

by Nell E S Douglas

  My body lifted half an inch under the tense muscles in his chest. He looked at me, his eyes glinting disclosure without apology. He spoke slowly. “I used great refrain upon rediscovering you. You were even more beautiful, and stronger. Happy. But maybe not? Covered by vines and I only saw thorns. August, the texts. My only plan at courtship was to fuck you into choosing me. A plan I could execute. Then the file arrived, pushing me far past suspicion. For you, I regret what happened next. But you should know I’d waited, with patience and difficulty, permission to do what I did.” I shut my eyes. “I reach for what covered you, protecting you, choking them, Gabrielle, and I rip. I’m not why you thrive. I see the day I’d torn almost everything out of the ground when you were made to testify. You have given me a pass yet, still, I am here. I wrap my hands around a vulnerable stem that doesn’t bend to me, of singular purpose. Still on my aim. I come always to you.”

  “This is my choice,” I said firmly, hearing my own words back in my ears as reassurance.

  “I can be very quiet, Gabrielle,” he warned, doing just that.

  “I don’t feel like…” I abandoned defense, squeezing a pillow under me.

  “I rip, still.”

  He began to move from my bed. It felt like the last time. “Then stop,” I begged reaching to him and missing, the tears finally falling. “Just be here!”

  “I am in the garden. I am no gardener,” Daniel said in a low tone, unable to pretend anymore. “Don’t give me time. You’re only granting me time to discover new directions.”

  I sucked in my lip. “What does that make you, then?”

  He turned and looked at me. His green eyes shutting me out. “Something terrible,” he relented. “Tristan will be transported back and forth, as you permit. You won’t see me again.”

  I rolled over to face the sun, curling the sheets to me as he moved to the opposite side giving me his back.

  “It is time,” he spoke with certainty and resign. “You saw me differently once. Now, you see me as I am. I want you, still, to find the man you saw. I have only been in wait to be seen by you again. Ripping in occupation. And in pleasure. Taking and taking down. Just as you found me. But there is only one thing I want. Only one focus to my violence.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe him, because more than what he was telling me, I didn’t want it to end. He looked at me with pity. “You forgive, still. Would you like to know what I was thinking while you were asleep?” he asked, his brow rising in challenge. “I was thinking I could lock the doors and hide you here, making you come into eternity, never to be seen by the world again. By no one, Gabrielle. I do not know how much longer I can pull softly.” My body grew rigid then, taking him through lowered eyes. He was making an admission of absolute truth. A side of him that had no respect for treaty and no obedience to anything outside his range. Dormant rage for a woman he liked but not enough to forget I was holding hostage the one he loved. A man madly in love, tapping into a side that made him hate himself. It was slipping out. A side of him that looked like his father. And another side beneath it, like the one I’d seen in court. One that was only healed when he was with our son.

  But what did he expect? We were both losing this time.

  “And now you know. There is no need to desire you look longer,” he explained solemnly, less weighted. “Stay where you are. And grow.”

  Chapter 30 - The Unforgivable Deceiver II

  I arrived at Daniel’s mansion to drop Tristan off at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday.

  We communicated only by messages, true to Daniel’s word, Jeeves being our physical go-between. He was a nice guy. He cared a lot about Daniel and Tristan, I’d discovered by observing his unwavering loyalty. There were no more security men around him since the Baird’s plus Kate had fled, just Jeeves and Des, his trusted driver. I knew he spent time with Hunter but I never saw Hunt here, and Tristan only knew him from his Aunt Vi. The only man she’d ever introduced to Tristan. Hunt shared a unique quality with Daniel—to appear only when they wanted.

  It had been a few weeks since we ended our secret affair. Last weekend, Daniel arranged a pick-up game with August, Ian, himself, Tristan, and a few of Tristan’s friends. Ian convinced Zack to come. Zack played on the opposite team with Chen, of course. He agreed in the hopes of getting some vengeance on the field and showing Daniel a thing or two, I thought. I watched Zack stretch like he was prepping for the Ironman. Solomon, Violet, and Annie sat on a blanket near the pathway, captivated. The guys were doing warm-up when we arrived, and Tristan bolted onto the grass, the final player. I greeted the blanket observers but didn’t sit. Daniel caught my eye for a moment. His hair glinting in the sunlight, catching a tan on his chest, shoulders, lower thighs, and calves. He saw me and returned to his game.

  “You’re not going to sit?” Violet asked, wearing big black frame sunglasses.

  “No. Work to do.”

  “You just missed it. Daniel had an entire conversation with Annie in Mandarin,” Vi shook her head. Annie grinned, smooth lipped under her aviator sunglasses. Her hair was in a ponytail accentuating the circular onyx hairline against her latte completion.

  “His Mandarin is brilliant. I didn’t know he studied in China,” Annie replied from where she sat with her hands relaxed on her knees.

  “He got his MBA there,” I said, recalling his file from Solomon. “Xiao University, I think.”

  “Yes. That surprised me. The tuition is unaffordable but it is not academically difficult to get in to,” Annie said in her keen quiet way. “It almost closed at one stage.”

  August added, “He was a Gexa Scholar. It’s selective. One-on-one education with real-world industry successes. It’s not about grades. It’s about who you know. But I have heard rumors in some circles that it’s a golden parachute school,” he said, inadvertently preening pedigree. “Very expensive place for burnt out children of the one percent.”

  “There are other theories, too.” Annie muttered, clearing her throat. The game ball rolled up to her feet. Daniel and Zack were both in pursuit from far away. Zack giving it his all, and he arrived first. It looked as though Daniel slowed down intentionally.

  “Babe, you watching this?” Zack said excitedly. Annie grinned and nodded, and he reached for a low five. She returned it. On the field, Tristan was huffing. Daniel walked back to him and bent down. He whispered something in his ear that made him grin. Not the light sweet grin he gives me when the cheese sandwich is just right.

  Daniel was smart, I wanted to tell them. Smarter than anyone realized, in fact. He could have gone anywhere he wanted. After what he’d been through, they shouldn’t blame him for burning out and crashing here one night in this same park because of his vile, heinous father, an unfairly taken mother, going to an easier school than the crush of Harvard to pick up the pieces. I didn’t say any of these things. Why would I give a speech of defense to what was already his assembling fan club?

  A glanced once more at the field and Daniel was in a shirt, like he’d been from the start. My night dreams were becoming day ones. On the way out of the park, I noticed the new benches. Every bench, in fact; all of them. I approached one closest where a homeless woman sat. Her skin was kidney bean colored from sun and a rag was wrapped on her head. I squinted at the tiny gold plaque over her shoulder from a few feet away. It was screwed into the top.

  ‘Donated by BarclayBaird’

  The woman threw, not tossed, crumbs, hitting my shoes, and birds swooped down suddenly. I shooed them while she grinned a mouthful of shattered teeth and I rushed away home.

  ~o~

  A few weekends later, Daniel had asked if Tristan could spend a day instead of a few hours today. I agreed. I asked Jeeves to see Daniel when we arrived, this time. Jeeves went down the spiral stairs opening that was tucked under the grand staircase with Tristan. Daniel emerged moments later from the lit opening wearing only swim trunks. I shut my eyes and reopened them. He was still there, shirtless, chest glistening. I forcibly pr
evented myself from exhibiting my lust. Daniel met me at the door and agreed to chat with me, privately. He flipped the shirt off his shoulder, lifting his arms into the sleeves, and shoving the white V-neck over his head and down his chest. I could watch that a hundred times and not get bored. He closed the front door behind us and followed me onto his stoop. I sat on the middle stair. Daniel sat too, stretching out his legs and bare feet, leaning back on an elbow.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I began.

  “I’m here.” he said, attentively, running his hand through wet hair, pulling back the lock that had fallen on his forehead.

  I rested my elbows on my knees. “I think I’m in a funk. I don’t know why I feel like this, maybe it’s the start of something?” I turned his gaze from me to the stairs. “Or maybe it just needs a quick fix. I thought you were the right person to talk to about it.”

  He turned back to me. “What you’re feeling right now is rejection. And perhaps some withdrawal. It’s not heartbreak,” he explained patiently, his green eyes softening.

  “I still feel crappy.”

  “It will pass,” he promised.

  “I still want you.” There was slickness from water on the plane above cheekbones, on his chin. The skin above his lip, still wet.

  It curved, his real smile being revealed, but his eyes begged for mercy. “It’s not very thoughtful to tease me in this condition, Gabrielle.”

  “Maybe one time. For the road?”

  He appeared to take in a breath and release it. He looked away to the park and back to me. He held me there. “You make me light and heavy, all at once, calling to me as you are now. I wish I had better control than to admit that.”

  I sighed and had to look away. “So, what do you two plan to do today?”

  “I’m taking him to my hangar,” Daniel replied, flexing his foot slowly. “He wants to sit in the jet.”

  “Ah, not a trip to the farmers market for apples.” I wrapped my arms around my knees.

  “He is fascinated by aviation. It could be his calling.”

  “You don’t want him to grow up and take your job holding up the world?”

  “He can choose what he wants. But he will do it right.”

  “You’re a good father.”

  “I learn quickly,” he agreed, intended as a compliment.

  “You teach quickly, as well.” The trouble with recreational chewing was the oral fixation it creates. Daniel had the same hunger I did, except he had better control.

  He looked at me and stood. I did the same. “Perhaps we both need to clip some of your saving certificates,” he said slowly.

  “Coupons,” I replied. “Have fun on the jet.”

  “We will,” he said as I began departing.

  I turned back on the bottom stair when he spoke again. “I’m not sending you out into any danger, am I? I know what it’s like to be in your shoes, after all,” he said.

  “No. I’m okay.” I gave a grin. “Bring Tristan home when you’re back. We have an early morning. Today I’ve got work, and Violet and Hunt are coming over. I’ve got big plans to watch them bicker and flirt.” I sniggered.

  “I still care for you, Gabrielle.”

  I laid my hand on the stone railing. “I know,” I replied, then hurried away, skipping the last stair.

  I went to the showroom and straight to the back, to my workroom.

  I did some grocery shopping on the way home and frowned at my messy kitchen. I set my grocery bags on the kitchen floor and restocked the refrigerator and itty bitty pantry. The sliding drawers were the only cabinets functioning during the remodeling. My cabinet guy, a colleague of mine, said he would be taking them tomorrow, so I began emptying them. Right on top in my junk drawer was the envelope Jill had given me the day Tristan got stung.

  I leaned against the cabinet frame and cut the tip of my finger as I slid up the stiff unsealed bubble envelope. I sucked it and blew on the cut. I withdrew the underwhelming two pages it contained and read. Page one was a general courtesy letter from the service, thanking the customer for the order including an order number. It listed the name of the service without any contact info. Jill had some interesting connections.

  Schkalpen Center Int.

  Patient: 94132

  McCartney, Paolo

  My eyes darted to the small double frame picture in the top corner. One half was a photo of a man, the other was an image of the numbers 94132 tattooed on indistinguishable skin, but I guessed buttock. The pages were nothing but a long list medications. Front, and back. I searched some from my phone, entering the milligrams. I returned the pages back in the envelope with a final glance at Paolo McCartney. His jaw was huge and wide, with blotched red full cheeks on paper white skin. His head was smaller at the top accentuated by a severe buzz cut of his light hair. One eye was blackened with a cut in the brow. His face was familiar and it clicked that he looked like Nathan and Nadia’s unfortunate baby. Maybe Jill sent in some of Nathan’s DNA by accident, this could be Nate Jr’s dad to a t, I thought dryly. Except this man looked as plagued as his medications indicated. It was a scam, but I could have done without the downer. I plopped the envelope down with the pile going out and worked through the rest. I left unboxed everything I needed for tonight’s dinner with Violet and Hunter, which I was suddenly very much looking forward to.

  ~o~

  “Don’t open that,” I instructed Hunt and Vi. “It’s sealed shut for safety.”

  “Live a little,” Hunt replied, Violet resting a hand on his bent back as he assessed the mechanics of my lock. He got it open, and then removed the one by one crossbar I’d cut to hold the track in place.

  I roasted a chicken and Violet made an old dessert Zack’s grandma, Dina, had taught us. In scores of dinners over the years Vi had only made it twice. After he cleared away the chocolate pie plates, Hunt got straight to washing dishes. Vi and I exchanged thumbs-ups. As the sun lowered, they decided we should make use of my neglected balcony. Hunt carried out three chairs and a small side table. We brought our drinks and they put on some music. Violet DJ’d at first but Hunt took over after a few songs, putting on a mix of old country and rock. The vertigo wore off soon. When a Beatles song came on I noticed him peer at me, and I made a point not to tap my foot or hum.

  They were a cute couple. Violet was steering clear of labeling it. Ian told us he went to Harvard with Hunt, too. When he realized Vi didn’t know anything else, he roared laughter and clammed up. Jill in typical fashion couldn’t be bothered about Vi’s weekend romance companion. I suggested light internet stalking but she said it needed to come from him. I got it. With a flakiness that outmatched hers, they had undeniable chemistry.

  Hunt shared stories of his travels, which were always fascinating. Violet sat on his lap trying to canoodle in the middle of a story about a real life geisha girl he’d encountered in Japan, but she fell asleep. We sat in the peaceable quiet listening to music and looking out over the river.

  “My legs are fuckin’ asleep. If I stand up with these noodle knees, she’s gonna go flying over the railing,” Hunt announced after a while.

  “I told you. It’s dangerous out here,” I countered. I uncrossed my legs, stretching them, and recrossed them. I had a sip of my tea as well.

  “You’re in an empty room,” Hunt said, wisdom emerging from his mystic well. “There’s nothin’ to fix in an empty in a room. You need to get to a messed up one.”

  “You may have missed it on the way out here, but my house is trashed.”

  “I didn’t miss it. He asked me for my help when I first came back here,” Hunt said. “He thought that fella August was the only thing standing between you and him.”

  I blinked to hide my eyes widening.

  “Bet you’re glad you let me in for that chat now, aren’t ya darlin’?” He smiled. I frowned, looking away. “Something’s wrong,” he said plainly. “Not just the amnesia. And not Danny.”

  “I know,” I admitted, surprised it was Hunter who wante
d to open it but relieved to get some of it off me. I thought about Daniel on the stoop today. And about a couple fighting outside my showroom. And about all the catastrophe since we’d entered each other’s lives. “Was he different then? Back when I first met him?” I wondered. “What did he want from life? What was he looking for?”

  Hunter responded. “Not different in any way that made him an easier target of affections. He wasn’t looking for nothin’ and wanted most of what he has. He accepted he needed a wife eventually. Candidates were plenty, and those types of marriages aren’t inflexible. A fella like him shouldn’ta been engaged this young though. Kate. That was rushed. The only thing I can say he didn’t envision is the kid, and you. And that ugly house of his.”

  “His house is stunning. It belongs in Architectural Digest.”

  “Looks like a mini-version of his daddy’s house.” Hunt informed me. “He hates that house.”

  Why would Daniel have chosen it, I pondered. A home similar to his house of horrors back in England. That meant something. Maybe he wasn’t so far away from that place, inside. Or maybe there was another reason. I sighed. “I think, it’s too late. Our hearts. We’re too far apart.”

  “When you say ‘hearts’ two things come to mind—my nieces’ puffy stickers and pristine surgical steel. Listen to me. Energy cannot be destroyed. So ask yourself where has that energy gone?”

  “My work. My son,” I guessed.

  “You’re not talkin’ energy; that’s atoms,” Hunt dismissed.

  “Move on,” Violet muffled into the collar of his shirt. When her face appeared it was creased with the lines of his shirt across one half. She rubbed her eyes with a silver foil fingernail.

  “The bad stuff is over,” she said, dropping her hand. “The good stuff too, maybe. You have to get out there in the world. It’s time.”

  Hunt looked out into the Hudson peacefully in his own thought. “Why’d you give him a second chance? It wasn’t because you were in puffy hearts with him; you’re not. It’s not because of your son either. That was the prompt but it didn’t decide. You did.”