Only Between Us

by Mila Ferrera

  Katie comes out of her room. “Hi again,” she says shyly.

  Romy smiles. “I finished that book you recommended. So cute. It made me laugh pretty hard.”

  Katie actually bounces. “Isn’t Garrick the hottest guy ever?”

  Romy’s gaze flicks to me for a second, and I feel it in my gut, like the ground just dropped out from under me. “He’s pretty hot,” she says, her lips twitching. “I’ll have to get that other book you suggested. You’ve got good taste.”

  Katie beams. I back away and hide in the kitchen, listening to the two of them talk, unable to believe this is really happening. I pull my keys from my pocket and unlock the med cabinet, which is also where I’ve stashed our knives and cleaning supplies. I’m quiet about it—I don’t want Katie to be embarrassed. I slice the bread quickly and put the knife back.

  We eat our pasta out of plastic bowls, and it might be the best meal I’ve ever had. Romy and Katie chatter the whole time, and I get to watch, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I think this is happiness, pure and simple, having these two women I care about here with me.

  After dinner, Romy asks to use the bathroom and Katie comes into the kitchen to take her meds. “You have to ask her out,” she whispers to me as I clear the table. “She likes you.”

  I shake my head. “If that’s true, she can ask me.”

  “I’ll tell her to.”

  I drop the bowls into the sink. “Don’t you dare!” I laugh. “Don’t make me regret spilling my guts to you.”

  She swallows her pills and sets her cup on the counter. “You’re right,” she says, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I liked it. And I’m glad you guys got along so well.” I turn on the water and begin to scrub the dishes, glancing over when she’s quiet for a few seconds.

  In her expression, I see so many things, affection and forgiveness that makes my hope swell—but something else, too, something scared or regretful that I don’t understand. “I’ll leave you guys alone, then. I’m going to call some friends.”

  She heads into her room as Romy emerges from the bathroom. They say their goodnights in the hallway and Romy joins me in the kitchen. “That was fun,” she says, grabbing a hand towel and drying the wet dishes. “Thanks for having me over.”

  “You said you wanted to talk,” I remind her, watching her hands, the dark thread of ink on the inside of her wrist that peeks out as she works.

  Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and then she chuckles. “I’m nervous.”

  I turn off the water, my heart accelerating. “What’s up?”

  “Remember that charity auction event I mentioned to you a while ago?”

  “Yep.” She hasn’t been in my studio since that night she was so upset. Does she know about the painting? Is she going to ask me to donate it? I hope so. Then I’d get to tell her I already have.

  She sets down the dishtowel and faces me. “It’s in a week. I think it’s kind of a fancy event. The house manager at the shelter gave me two tickets. And … I was wondering … if you’d go with me?”

  I blink. How should I translate this? What does she want? “You want me to go with you to the charity event …” A nervous excitement rushes through my veins, but I try to ignore it.

  Romy takes a step toward me and skims her fingertip along a smear of paint on the back of my hand, sending tingling shocks of pleasure up my arm. “If you don’t have other things you need to do, that is.” She glances toward the hallway, toward Katie’s room.

  Touch me again. Make a move. Please. “I’m free.” She hasn’t even told me when it is, but the flyer said next Saturday. Not that it matters. It could be at four a.m. on a Tuesday, and I’d be there.

  She smiles. “Good. It’s a date.”

  I stare at her. “A date?”

  Her smile disappears. “Not a date?”

  “Now you’re confusing me. I need this to be one of those times where you just say it like it is.” I arch my eyebrow. “You’re usually really good at that.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “I’d like it to be a date.”

  I’ve never seen anything so fucking perfect as the girl before me, and her nervousness steals all of mine away. I can’t keep that shaky amusement from my voice as I say, “Are you asking me out, Romy?”

  Her eyes pop open. She lets out a breath. And she nods.

  Chapter Twenty-one: Romy

  I come out of the fitting room, the tag of the dress poking at my armpit. “What do you think?” I twirl around, and the light chiffon skirt flutters around my thighs.

  Jude arches an eyebrow. “Cute, but you could go hotter.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jude, people I work with are going to be there.”

  “But it’s also a date, right?” he asks cautiously. It’s been so weird since that night we had to take Catherine to the hospital. He’s not her therapist anymore, not since she was admitted to the partial hospitalization program, but we’re still careful not to talk about anything to do with the case, and that usually includes Caleb.

  “Yes. It most definitely is a date.” I’ve spent weeks trying to sort through my feelings for Caleb with Heather, my therapist, trying to decide whether I could trust myself. I’ve always felt this pull toward Caleb, this hunger for him, this desire to be close. I didn’t know if the fact that I’d had sex with him had gotten tied up in those feelings, though, maybe intensified them before I knew enough about who he was. Add Alex’s stalking behavior on top of that, and I’ve been a mess.

  Slowly, though, Caleb has made up my mind. He’s made me feel so safe, and hasn’t ever made me feel guilty or stupid about it. We’ve become friends, talking late on the phone about nothing and everything, checking in … just because. I’ve done that with Jude, too, and that’s how I know that Caleb isn’t only a friend to me. I want more from him than that. Once I figured it out, though, I wondered if it was too much to ask, what with his sister’s needs to think about.

  I decided to take a risk a week ago. Tomorrow night is the payoff. My first real date with Caleb. “Do you think he’ll like it?” As soon as I say it, I wish I could suck the words back into my mouth. Poor Jude. It can’t be easy for him to support me, after all the things he heard from Catherine. I want to tell him what I’ve seen, how sweet Caleb is to her, but it would blur too many boundaries.

  Jude chuckles. “Romy, you’d look cute as a button even if you were wearing a trash bag. He’ll like it.” It’s the most I can expect from him, and I’m grateful for it.

  I run my hands down my sides, looking down at the dress. It’s russet-colored, perfect for fall, with a subtle sheen that makes me feel like a jewel. The bodice is strapless, with a wide swath of black beading at the waist and a skirt that hits just above my knee, because I don’t want to be too sexy, not when I’m going to be seeing Justine and maybe Dr. Greer and who knows who else. I think this dress looks good with my hair and my eyes. My tattoo winds up the inside of my forearm, clearly visible. I love the way it looks, and I hope people don’t think it’s unprofessional. “I’m getting this one, then. Thanks for bearing with me.”

  “No problem. Can we get lunch now?”

  “Sure.” I pay for the dress and we head out of the boutique to a café down the block. The orange and red leaves rustle as a cool fall breeze gusts around us, and a few of them let go and spiral to the ground.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this,” says Jude as we sit down and peruse the menus. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “I feel like I can’t talk to you about this big thing in your life,” he says sadly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “I don’t either. You’re the first person I want to call when I need to talk.” I frown. Actually, that’s not true anymore. Caleb is the first person I want to call, but Jude is the first person I wish I could call when I want to talk about Caleb. “But Heather has to listen to me instead.” The day she told me I was smar
t enough to trust my instincts was the day I asked Caleb out.

  Jude closes his menu and sets it aside. “You mentioned that Alex has been calling.”

  I push my menu away, too, because I’ve lost my appetite. I pull out my phone and bring up the latest text. I’m getting tired of waiting for you to call.

  “Oh my God, Romy,” says Jude, his eyes wide. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Caleb. And Heather knows, too. Alex hasn’t threatened me, but she and I looked it up together, and she says I could get this thing called a non-domestic stalking personal protection order.”

  “Yeah, Romy, I remember. That’s what Eric wanted you to get in January. Why haven’t you?”

  I unwrap my silverware from my napkin, grateful to have something to do with my hands. “I just want to ignore him. He’s going to get bored and leave me alone sooner or later. I’ve given him no reason to keep pushing.”

  “And yet he has,” Jude snaps, then rakes his fingers through his floppy hair. “Sorry. I’m worried about you.”

  “Caleb has said the same thing. He doesn’t understand why I don’t do it, but I guess I’m afraid it would be too much of a battle. I might have to go to court if he contests it. And he’s got some connections.”

  Jude leans forward. “So do you. Eric would eat him for breakfast, and he wouldn’t even charge you for the pleasure.”

  I chuckle drily, remembering how eager Eric was to do exactly that the night Alex hit me. He took pictures of my face and everything. But I wanted to forget about it, wanted to pretend it had never happened. Because admitting it had meant admitting I’d let it happen. For some reason, it’s easier to help other women going through domestic violence than to make sense of what happened to me. It feels like I should have known better. “If Alex keeps it up, we’ll talk about it, okay? I’m hoping I can freeze him out. I mean, it seemed to work last semester. I don’t know what happened.”

  Jude strokes his finger down his sweating water glass. “He saw you again. He got reminded of what he lost. Simple as that.”

  I shudder. Like I’m his property. “Let’s talk about something else.” I bury my nose in my menu and, for the millionth time, try to wish this situation away.

  Caleb shows up right at six, like he’s timed it to the second. I swing my door open and gape. Dark pants, a maroon button down, and a tie. He’s freshly shaven and his hair is pulled back neatly from his face. “You look beautiful,” I whisper.

  He grins. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

  “Only if that’s what you really think.”

  He gives me a rueful look. “I’m not sure I can say what I really think.” His finger slides along my cheek as he moves closer. “But I could draw you a picture.”

  Or we could feel our way together, I almost say, recalling the last time those words crossed my lips. It instantly kindles a fire low in my belly. “Would it be pretty?” I joke, trying for casual and failing.

  “So pretty,” he murmurs, bowing his head over mine. He smells so good, clean and masculine and perfect.

  Another few seconds and I’m going to ask him if he wants to skip the party. “We should go.”

  He takes my hand. “Let’s do it, then. Where is this place, exactly?”

  “On the north end of town. The Dexter mansion?”

  His happy, relaxed expression freezes. “Dexter? Like, Dexter Furniture?”

  “Yep, that’s them.”

  He clears his throat. “I didn’t know it was there. I thought it would be at … I don’t know …”

  I giggle. “At Sojourner House? We can’t exactly have a charity event in an old house that’s supposed to be at a confidential location.” I tug his hand and we head out to the parking lot. We’re going to take my car because it’s a little more reliable than his old truck. I’ve got the address programmed into my GPS and it seems like it’s going to take nearly half an hour from here.

  “Romy,” he says quietly as I put the car into gear. “I need to tell you something.”

  He sounds hollowed out, and I give him a sidelong glance. “Are you okay?” My stomach drops as something else occurs to me. “Is Catherine okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s fine. She’s babysitting for my sister Amy’s kids tonight, actually. She was pretty excited about it.” He fidgets in his seat, scooting it back to accommodate his long legs. “That’s not what I needed to tell you.” He crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s bracing for something. “You remember Claudia?”

  I clench my teeth to keep from wincing. “Yes.” She’s in my painting class, after all. I have to watch her and the other wealthy wives flirting with Caleb every Tuesday night, and some Wednesday nights as well. The only good thing about that is their sour faces when he spends time at my easel, which has been happening increasingly often. “I’m unlikely to forget her. Is she going to be there or something?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she is,” he says in a slightly strangled voice. “This party is at her house.”

  “Oh.” I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road as I think about that. I’ve worked very hard not to imagine Caleb with her, touching her and kissing her … but it hasn’t been easy. I can be a grown up about this, though. “Okay. So can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “When we’re there tonight, we’re together, right? I want to make sure I understand.”

  He laughs, and it sounds relieved. “Are you asking if I’m going to run off with Claudia while you’re drinking punch and socializing?”

  I shrug.

  He mutters something under his breath, then shudders, chasing the words away. “You don’t have to worry about that at all. Trust me.”

  It’s easier than it should be. I reach for his hand and don’t let go until I pull up to the huge estate. I give my keys to the valet, and Caleb and I stride up the steps together, into the glittering mansion. There are a few hundred people in the massive marble entryway, which doubles as a cocktail party space. Justine told me that this has become a big social event, and draws people from Grand Rapids, even Detroit. A healthy sprinkling of politicians, all the local gallery owners, a lot of business people, and a few collectors here and there. Waiters are circulating with drinks and canapés.

  Caleb looks a little spooked. “I think I’m underdressed,” he whispers to me, eyeing the men in tuxedos all around us.

  I look him up and down. He’s right, but I suspect one of the reasons he’s turning heads is that he is extremely pleasant to look at. Most of the people paying attention are women, whose gazes stroke over his body before zoning in on his face. Possessiveness stirs inside me, along with desire. I touch his chest, and he immediately leans closer. “I think you look amazing.”

  His mouth quirks up on one side. “Good enough for me. Can we go look at the auction pieces?”

  I grin at his eagerness. I was hoping that this experience would make him more willing to contribute pieces of his own in the future, because it’s a great opportunity for him to get his work seen by a lot of people. “Sure.”

  I take his arm and we follow signs to the auction space, which is apparently in the gallery room. Caleb stiffens as we approach, and I follow the line of his gaze and see Claudia standing at the arched entrance to the room, with a man I assume is her husband. Her highlighted blond hair is in an immaculate updo, and her diamond earrings shimmer in the light. When she spots Caleb, her eyes flash with a hunger that makes me tense. Caleb puts his hand over mine, holding my fingers to his arm as we reach the couple.

  “Caleb, it’s such a treat to see you here,” says Claudia, ignoring me completely. “I was wondering if you’d come.”

  “Romy works at Sojourner House,” he replies. “She invited me.”

  The lines around Claudia’s mouth deepen for a moment. “Well, you didn’t need to use her ticket. You have every right to be here on your own.”

  “I know,” he says, making me blink at him in confusion. “But we decided to com
e together.” He gives her a charming smile as he emphasizes that last word.

  Her gaze rakes over the tattoo on my arm, and she smirks. “Lovely. Good luck tonight.”

  I glance up at him as he thanks her. What the hell does that mean? Does she think he’s actually got enough money to bid on something? Bizarre.

  “I’m Romy Foerster,” I say to her husband, seeing as Claudia’s clearly not going to introduce us. He’s a bald, bull of a man, with a pitted round nose and a friendly smile.

  “Melvin Dexter. So glad you could come.” He slaps Caleb’s shoulder as we pass. “And I’m excited to see what happens,” he says to Caleb, who looks pretty damn excited himself.

  I pull Caleb aside as soon as we’re in the gallery room, where the auction pieces are lined up for display along one wall, with chairs set up in rows before them. There’s a podium at the front of the room, where the auctioneer will preside. People are milling around in front of the auction items, holding numbered paddles, drinks in their other hands. “Can you please translate what just happened? Is she after you again?”

  He shrugs. “I told her I’d be happy to accept a commission at any time, as long as it was just for a painting.”

  I squeeze his arm. “And?”

  He gives me a resigned smile. “I haven’t heard from her.”

  My heart aches for him. “Someday, Caleb, people are going to recognize how talented you are.”

  “It means a lot to know that you believe that,” he says quietly. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Caleb takes my hand from his arm and holds it between both of his. “I wanted this to be a surprise. Come on.”

  He leads me up the aisle and tugs me to the right when we reach the front. His hand is trembling. He stops at a spot where a small knot of people have gathered. Gently, he takes my shoulders and guides me in front of him. “I’m wondering if you see anything you recognize.”