“Oh my gosh.”
“Yeah. Sweet Jeremy, right? The driver knew something was up, so he pulled over in front of a police station and demanded to have your phone. Jeremy wouldn’t hand it over. The driver said ‘She is paying for ride, she is my customer. Not you,’” she mimicked in an Arabic accent. She snickered. “He kept repeating it.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. “God sends miracles,” I said. I cradled my head in my hands and began to bawl.
“It’s okay,” Vi said. She rubbed my ankle.
“It’s not okay, Violet,” I said through hiccupping sobs.
“It’s not okay,” she repeated, still massaging. “But you’re okay. You’re okay, Gabrielle.”
I showered. Vi said she wanted to hang out for a while. She was waiting for me when I emerged from the bedroom. I’d dressed in a tank top and ratty work jeans as I towel dried my hair.
“I made you a coffee with milk.” She concernedly scooted a steaming cup towards me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I said. My head fogginess lingered, which made me edgy. Coffee wouldn’t be good.
She pursed her lips together. “It’s happened to me, you know.”
“Really?”
“Really. It was the first night going out with Jill in the city. She socked the guy and carried me out by herself, wearing thigh-high boots,” she said, chuckling.
I smiled limply. “Love that Jill.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“That’s Tristan.” I pulled the towel from my head, hearing a faint voice from the hall. I didn’t wait for her reply. I walked into the hall and a yard down was Tristan playing on the floor with a model plane, making plane sounds. Over him Daniel stood arms at his sides, fists balled—listening to Hunter. Tristan heard the door and ran to me. I kneeled down and hugged him.
Making myself press him back, I asked, “How was your sleepover?”
“So good. Dad put a movie screen on the new rooftop. We watched a movie up there! I ate all the butter popcorn in his whole pantry.”
“That sounds wonderful, honey.” I ruffled his hair.
“He’ll do again, I bet, if I ask him. You can watch a mommy movie,” he said, as Daniel joined us, Hunt trailing him.
“Girls like all kinds of movies,” Daniel said to Tristan. His tone was even, and it dispelled some of the tightness in my chest. I raised up, feeling more assured, but was met with fierce green eyes.
Tristan smiled up at Daniel and hugged his waist. “Do you want to help me change Herman’s water, Dad? Mom won’t mind.”
“Another time,” Daniel intoned. “Let’s walk you in. He’s likely expecting you.”
I glanced up at him for a read but there was none but frostiness. I entered, with them on my heels. Tristan sped to his room. Violet slid off the counter to lean against it. Hunter closed the door and leaned against the wall beside, bending his knee and resting a heel against it, with arms crossed.
Daniel took me in from head to toe. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Hunter, what in the biscuit!” Violet exclaimed.
“You got your side an’ I got mine,” he drawled.
“Remember that tonight,” she replied, one dimple indenting.
“It wasn’t for you to tell, Hunter,” I said quietly.
He set down his flip flop and took a step towards Daniel, stacking behind him, complete opposites in appearance but unified.
“I didn’t talk about your night. I shared mine,” he expounded, relinking his arms. “Violet was preppin’ to tie me up with a sash blessed by a Hare Krishna she probably met at O’Hare, when we had to get the elevator to haul her sister up, limper than a knocked out snapper with her T-shirt stuck in her bra. Stickin’ like things I know. I do not read tea leaves or jump to conclusions. I don’t gossip. But when we got a call from your driver, it became my night, too.”
Daniel’s eyes were practically glowing. Hunter rested his hands to his sides, turning to Violet. “You had to go baitin’ me.”
A stunned Violet mouthed back, did you call us ‘we’?
Daniel walked into the living room and touched his hand to the back of his neck. He turned around, legs spread apart. “I’d like to speak with Gabrielle alone,” he said, eyes set on me.
“She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want,” Violet stood straight, puffing her chest.
“He asked. Give us a minute,” I said, hardness shelling the quavering.
“Come on, Violet.” Hunter swung open the door. She looked at me reassuringly and patted my shoulder on her way out. I locked it behind them and took a seat. He paced slowly, giving wide berth to my chair and sat opposite. He slid forward a bit from his usual perfect posture, setting his feet apart.
“What happened to you?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I said calmly. “We went out. We had drinks. Something was in mine.”
Intensely, he watched. “Go on.”
“I got home fine. Nothing happened.”
He didn’t say anything. Uncomfortable in his scrutiny, I added, “It happens all the time. I wasn’t being careful enough.”
“You disappoint me.”
I resisted the lump in my throat, the water behind my eyes. “Because I went out with someone else? Because I just want to be a normal woman? Because this doesn’t feel right. It’s not healthy. You only want to rip me apart, remember?” I grasped, throwing it back.
His eyes shut and he tipped his head back a moment, his mouth a tight line. He tipped back to me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, asking dully, “Are you covering for him? Or for you?” He watched my lips like the words were a nuclear code.
“I’m not covering anything.”
“No one could blame you,” he said softly.
“Who said anything about blame?” I boxed, striving for evenness. “It happened, and I’m a dummy, but I’m fine.” His nostrils flared a touch. He planted his elbow on the table. Then he rested his thumb and forefinger against his temple, mock supporting his head.
“I don’t care what happened,” he punctuated, his jaw tight. “I don’t care. What you’ve chosen to do is your own design,” he said coldly. Without giving it away, I gulped back the horrible sob digging its way from my clavicle.
“Now. What you’re now going to tell me is,” he annunciated. “Exactly what happened.”
“I told you,” I interrupted.
He continued like he didn’t hear me. “Everything that happened that you didn’t choose.”
Bury it, said an internal voice. You can handle this, it promised. It was the dominating thought, but there were others. They said, tell him everything. How terrified you were under the fog. Tell him I was his and allow him to make me feel safe for a night. For longer. Use this, and him. Something inside me knew whatever I was experiencing could not be fixed from the outside, even by him. And this is not how I wanted him to see me. I hid it all. I made myself sigh purely for the desperately needed intake of air.
“We went out,” I began slowly, something inside me grinding out words. I listened to my voice like it was not mine. “Someone, I’m not positive who, at some point, drugged my drink. I got myself out of there and I’m all right. It may have happened on the dance floor. He drank it too,” I said inwardly confused, but I looked up determined as a tear swelled and descended from my eye. We pretended it didn’t happen even as it soaked into my jeans.
“You disappoint me,” he intoned again, long thumb and forefinger pressing harder into his head, restraining as many emotions as I was.
He rose. I could feel him closer to me now. I kept my eyes trained on his empty seat.
“Hunter will bring you a cup to capture your next urination,” he informed me. “I see you already showered.”
“I just wanted to get clean.” I said, addressing the chair. Humiliated.
“You have washed away answers,” he continued, growing harsher. “Do you have such faith in this man you trust blindly? Since he shared your dri
nk, was he in your condition?” He paused to no reply. “Has the possibility arisen in your mind that his tolerance is because you aren’t the first?”
I swallowed hard and blinked. It hadn’t. I blamed the difference on our weights. I didn’t answer as the shame deepened. His hand extended so close.
“You are clean, Gabrielle,” he said, fervently. I shut my eyes. “These walls I cannot scale.” he continued with some difficulty. “Your garden walls. I know I built them. I have promised us both not to try anymore,” he persisted. I opened my eyes, looking up at him. “But I feel you through them.
“Perhaps there is hardly anything left on the other side of mine,” he said searching me. “But I will be eternally in your service. I will take care of this.”
I thought he might stroke my lip, but he didn’t. He left. I gave myself an additional fleeting second to stare at the space where he’d stood and then locked my door. I went to Tristan.
Chapter 32— A First Spring
The following day, my delivery guys from Queens were finally available. They picked the table and myself up from the showroom. Jeeves answered Daniel’s door wearing a ruffled apron over a band T-shirt and his usual iron-creased black pants, holding a whisk. There was symphonic music piping through the speaker system in the house.
“Pardon my appearance, Miss Valentine. It slipped my mind we’d arranged this,” he said, looking stricken. The house smelled of sweet baking. He rushed in tight steps for the volume control beside the light switch, turning it down.
“When the cat is away, the mice can play,” I replied, grinning. Jeeves was my buddy now. I hadn’t dressed up for the event myself. I was wearing my usual for a work day; splattered ripped jeans and an oversized checkered men’s shirt over a white holey shirt, with a scarf tied over my hair.
“How highly unacceptable of me, Miss. Valentine,” he fretted, back arched.
“No. It’s good to see you with your hair down,” I assured him and lead in my men. We coned off out front for the truck so we had to work fast. We moved the enormous and heavy wool Persian rug a bit to be sure it was perfectly centered under the light fixture. Once this table was placed, there would be no adjusting. It took eight professionals in weight belts to lift it from my back workroom. Jeeves lingered in the wide wood-cased dining room, eyebrow arched, observing the movers. I measured the front door opening and sent the guys to get started. I walked back towards the dining room as they came down the ramp.
“I’m not a decorator, Jeeves, but I maybe suggest a new light fixture. I don’t think this one will work anymore.” It was a huge early twentieth century crystal and brass chandelier. Exceptionally ornate.
“It is a dislikable fixture, if I may be so bold as to say. Mrs. Hearst did so often in her short stay. Mr. Baird, however, is dedicated to preserving the originality of the home.” Jeeves rested his hands in the crooks of his elbows, crossing his arms, critically eyeing the chandelier.
I glanced into the opposite archway at the modern art. And the new Rothko prints—I hoped they were prints—replacing the old lithographs in the hallway. “Never a rhyme, always a reason,” I recited forlornly then tapped Jeeves to make space. I directed my men through the doorway very carefully, and we gently set the base then the table atop the rug. The guys then brought in the new chairs.
“Absolutely stunning, Miss Valentine,” Jeeves applauded. We were standing back and admiring. It looked perfect. Timeless. Although a change was in the cards, the chandelier looked fresher than it had over the old regency reproduction dining table. I sighed.
“Daniel’s tables don’t have a long a shelf life, it seems, with the wear and tear,” I began, feeling sentimental to Jeeves. “You think you can keep an eye on this one for me?”
Jeeves looked at me. “They don’t receive as much wear and tear as one thinks,” he eluded. My brow furrowed in question. He cleared his throat and frowned, which was his normal expression. “I shall polish it with my very reputation, Miss Valentine. I have served many fine residences, and this is an exquisite piece. Very unifying to the décor.”
I thanked him. He headed to the kitchen. My guys went out to the truck to load up the packing while I straightened the fringe on the rug and wiped the table with a rag from my back pocket.
“Hello,” said a familiar smooth velvet voice. I spun, startled. Daniel was standing in the archway. He looked dapper in a dark navy suit. His hair was combed perfectly, combined with a clean shave. The man of a house like this to his core. I tucked my rag into my pocket.
“I came to oversee the installation. I arranged it with Jeeves, like you asked,” I pressed onto the rubbery heels of my work sneakers. “I thought you were gone until next week.”
He took a step into the room. “I returned early. An engagement came up tomorrow night.”
“I see,” I said, clasping my hands together. My hands were soaked in stain, but then I let them fall. It didn’t matter. “Your table is here. I hope you like the finished product.”
He set down a leather laptop satchel and came fully into the dining room. He’d come back without telling us, for Friday night plans. I took small steps around him and leaned against the frame of the entry, crossing my ankles.
“Is it what you expected?” I asked, watching him take it in as he reached the head of the table. His seat.
“No. It’s not at all what I expected,” he said, stone faced.
Too bad, no returns, I thought to myself. I sighed lightly. “When I thought of you, I thought of the traditional look, first. But that didn’t seem entirely accurate. The edge is called a live edge. But I smoothed it. So it’s not raw. That’s not good for sitting. The base is metal. Metal was more fitting. I’m sorry if you weren’t expecting that. I did go with the stain you approved.” I’d only tinted the sealant with it. It didn’t look funky or provincial, like I’d made for some clients. It was polished, smooth, but the natural edge gave it some grace. The grain took the stain differently, gradient darker towards the center by very few shades. Not overly pronounced, but it drew you closer. It looked expensive—which it was.
“What is the wood?” he asked, lifting a brow and raising his eyes away from the table and towards me.
“It’s walnut.”
“I didn’t realize they grew so large.”
“They can be very big,” I supplied. “This one was enormous. It was the only one in source for the dimensions you needed. And quality. It was my father’s.”
“Your father’s,” he repeated.
I nodded. “He kept rare finds, occasionally. This was curing for him to build a bed and dressers for Tristan. I keep his pieces in my wood storage, back in Virginia.”
“You didn’t want to save this for that purpose?”
“He wants a race car bed,” I smiled, just the lips. “Besides, cutting this piece any more than this would have honestly been a crime. My father would’ve agreed. He kept postponing the project. I know that was why. But the reality he and I faced is not many people can house a slab of wood this size.”
I watched him looking down at the table. “I hope you enjoy it,” I said before I turned and slipped out the door.
That black walnut had been the centerpiece of Sweetwater’s park. It went on decline. My father offered to take it down for free—but it took heaps of men and equipment to laboriously take down, preserving the usable heart of the trunk. My dad knew he could make something incredible, sell it to someone wealthy, but he saved it. When Daniel placed the order, it seemed meant for him. Jeeves would keep an eye on it. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing in the open dining room window, curtains blowing, to peek at Daniel still looking at it. Deciding something. No returns—I bounded down the stairs.
“Gabrielle,” Daniel called. I spun backwards from the bottom, startled again. “Are you available tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Do you mean Tristan?” I asked.
“No,” he said, pinching together his brows. “Forgive me, if I didn’t make that clear. I woul
d like to take you out.”
I sucked in a short breath. “Don’t you have plans?”
His brow lowered. “Perhaps you should come along for that, as well.”
I looked out onto the street, the people passing on the sidewalk in front of me. Not seeing them, just concentrating. “Can I think about it?”
“Yes,” he said, his jaw flexing, but his eyes were soft. “Of course. Will you wait here a moment?”
“Sure.” I waited, touching my hand to the stone railing.
He returned and took the stairs, ascending to me holding a large envelope. My blood pressure involuntarily increased, unfortunately. He got to my stair and stepped down the final one.
“For Tristan’s album,” he said returning to formality, extending the envelope.
I flipped open the lid and withdrew the matte images developed onto photo paper. There was Tristan sitting in the pilot seat in head gear, holding the wheel. Another one of him in the back garden, holding a lizard. The final one was Tristan and Daniel in beach chairs side by side, taken at night with blankets on their laps. Tristan was holding his blanket as he stretched over to Daniel, popcorn spilling on ground, one arm wrapped around his father’s neck, grinning so hard his eyes squinted closed. He had his cheek pressed against Daniel’s, who sat straight and didn’t show any teeth but the smile was there. On his lips and his eyes, so much.
I looked up to say thanks as I placed them back inside.
“Am I late, again?” he asked, closer. Searching me.
“I don’t know,” I said, stepping down. “Actually.” I halted. “I have my answer. Yes. I’ll go. Nothing to lose, right?”
Daniel pressed his lips together. “I will pick you up at seven,” he paused. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow,” I smiled.
I got ready by myself. Vi arrived to babysit an hour early. Hunt hadn’t come to town, and she was too disappointed to go out. Justine came over, too. She showed up with a cloth bag filled with toys. She collected things at her house for her future grandchildren, now seeing that in sight—banking on August convincing Solomon one day down the road. She said Solomon’s field had jaded him on families.
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 42