It wasn’t until she pulled up outside her house that she noticed the day was blindingly beautiful. It seemed obscene for it to be so after last night’s tragedy and torrential rain. The sky was cloudless. The air was crisp and clear. Just one flaw—the debris from the trees, following last night’s storm, scattered over the footpath.
Debris. That’s what she felt like as she let herself into her house. She’d been rained on and storm-tossed and shredded, and as she stood in the entrance hall, completely alone, she wondered how she was going to reattach those parts of herself that had been flung to the ground.
The new day might be bright and blue, but she felt dull and grey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The day of the funeral was overcast.
It suited Lane’s mood, the constant lead-like ache in her chest—not only the grief of her mother’s death, but the restless, gnawing pain of missing Adam.
Adam’s persistent efforts to see her, talk to her, over the past week had made the pain worse—but the intensity of mortification she felt always stopped her from opening the door when he pounded on it and picking up the phone when he called.
She hadn’t expected him to try so hard, but when she thought about it logically, she could see that it was in his character to do so. He was a decent person, or he wouldn’t have let Sarah embroil him in this mess in the first place. And he’d been nice to her; he cared about her, she knew that. His only crime had been to do the sister he loved a favour, to try and stop his sister’s credulous friend from potentially hiring a psychopath. And if Lane hadn’t been too naïve, too blinkered, too lust-crazed to see Adam’s reluctance to touch her for what it was …?
But how pointless it was, to keep going over it. The fact was she had been naïve and blinkered and lust-crazed. She couldn’t go back and change that; all she could do was accept it. Fingers burned, lesson learned, move on. Move on—exactly what her mother had failed to do, and look how that had turned out.
Today at least it was all about her mother, not about Lane herself. It was time to think about one lost life instead of the gulf that had opened between her and her mother all those years ago and was now immutable. Lane could regret that she’d never found a way to bridge that gap, but whatever her mother had felt about her, it was one more thing that couldn’t be changed.
Lane gave her black-swathed frame a last look in the mirror and took a deep breath.
‘Accept it and move on,’ she murmured. ‘At least she taught you that.’
It was time to say farewell.
***
The service was simple. Prayers. Hymns. Tributes.
Brad gave the sole eulogy, speaking lovingly, movingly, beautifully. Lane would never have thought him capable of such eloquence, and was ashamed at the realization that there were probably a thousand other things she didn’t know about her brother—something at last that she could change. Her mother had suggested she be a mentor to her brother, and by God, she was going to try. It was as though, for once in her life, Lane could track the trajectory of the curve ball heading for her and was going to make a concerted effort to catch it. She found that thought comforting.
It was also strangely comforting to know that her mother had shared a special bond with someone, even if that someone wasn’t Lane herself. Her mother’s life hadn’t been an emotionally empty wasteland after her husband died, not completely, because at least she’d had Brad. And on the basis that choice was a wonderful thing, Lane and Brad had chosen to believe that her mother’s apparent repudiation of Brad wouldn’t have lasted.
Facing the actual burial was more difficult than she’d thought it would be, however.
After the church service, as people came up to Lane in a small but steady stream to offer their condolences, she felt like she was officiating under false pretences because her mother hadn’t loved her for such a long time. She couldn’t help tensing up, as though a coil inside her were tightening, and every word said to her—however well meaning—added a new twist of regret.
And yet despite feeling like a fraud, she was genuinely mourning the loss of her mother. The complexity of all those chaotic emotions made her want to scream. She could feel the scream building. And if she let the urge overcome her, who knew if she’d be able to stop? She needed to be alone, to calm down, to reset her equilibrium, to remind herself she could do this, that she could say goodbye, accept what couldn’t be changed, let it go, move on.
So she rejected Erica’s offer to drive her to the cemetery, opting to drive herself. Sarah, wisely, hadn’t offered anything except a few words of sympathy, which couldn’t have been easy for her with the way things still were between them. Sarah had tried to call her during the past week, but Lane just couldn’t bring herself to take the calls. It was funny to think that a couple of weeks ago it had been Lane desperately trying to get Sarah to pick up her calls without much luck … until the day Lane’s mother died when she’d tricked Sarah into answering by calling her on her work landline.
How long ago that phone call seemed, with Sarah snidely asking who would be taking Lane to the airport—Adam or David. Ha! Neither was the answer now.
Who knew if her relationship with Sarah would ever return to normal? Much as Lane wanted her friend back, she wasn’t sure it could happen until Adam was nothing to her but a memory. Sarah’s fault … Adam’s fault … Lane’s fault. Everyone’s or nobody’s? A curve ball to be hit, caught, or allowed to pass? Lane just did not know the answer and didn’t have the energy to work it out.
At the graveside, Lane isolated herself from everyone. That way, if she ended up falling apart, at least she could contain the spectacle. But not falling apart required concentrated breathe-breathe-breathing and blink-blink-blinking during the minister’s brief service, and despite her best efforts, one tear nevertheless managed to break free. She hurriedly averted her eyes—and that’s when she saw him.
Adam.
He stood a long way apart, but he was unmistakable: the big, tall frame in a respectful back suit, short black hair, the harsh planes of his face, those burning dark eyes.
He was watching her.
She felt her heart jump with joy and terror and determinedly didn’t look at him after the first hot stab of recognition. She felt that at least she should be grateful, because she was now too on-the-edge at the sight of him to embarrass herself by bawling her eyes out at the graveside!
But when the coffin was being lowered, she made some small sound of distress and Adam was suddenly beside her, gripping her elbow. ‘I’m here, Lane. Hold on to me.’
He stayed close to her from that moment, a silent support, while mourners came over to speak to her, and this time she found it endurable. It was almost as though it was Adam’s job to make all things bearable for her today, just as he’d made them so for the past eleven and a half weeks.
He stayed when Brad came over to murmur something about heading to the house—his house now—where there’d be a small reception for family and friends.
And then Brad was gone, the small group had dissipated—even an intrigued Erica, and Sarah looking guilt-stricken—and Lane was alone with Adam.
‘Come home with me, Lane,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’
‘We have people coming to the house, and I need to be there.’
He took both her hands. ‘If you can’t see me today, see me tomorrow.’
‘I’m going through my mother’s papers tomorrow and I have things to sort out with Brad—’
‘You mean for Brad.’
‘No, I mean with him. Things are going to be different. We’re going to get him into university next year so we’re working towards that. I have to believe we can do that. I do believe that, I—’ But her voice broke, and all she could do was shake her head.
‘Then see me the next day and tell me if you can’t talk yet. Or the day after that.’
Lane turned away, breaking his hold on her hands. ‘I have something for you. In
the car. I was going to give it to Sarah for you. But since you’re here …’
She led Adam to her car, where she retrieved his dry-cleaned shirt.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away with this, but it was time to draw things to a close and I …’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Anyway, no matter. I’m going to be very busy for the next four days. Brad, and preparations for China. I … I leave next Tuesday.’
‘I know that, Lane.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And…?’
‘And our contract will lapse the day I get back.’
‘So?’
‘So we might as well officially terminate it now. It was a joke from the start in any case.’
‘I see.’
‘You see wh-what?’
‘You’re going to deal with this by DeWayning me.’
She sucked in a startled breath. ‘So you know his name, too. Did your sister tell you all the gruesome details? What he did, what he said, that he—?’
‘I know I’m nothing like him, and yet you’re planning to deal with me the same way you dealt with him. Pretending I don’t exist until we run into each other accidentally, and when that happens, being calm and businesslike and remote as Pluto. Before moving on. In his case—new job. In mine—David Bennett.’
She just kept looking at him. There really was nothing to say.
Her silence was clearly not what Adam wanted. His nostrils flared as he grabbed her upper arms. ‘Well I’m demanding my last week, Lane. You owe me two to four scheduled appointments when you get back from China.’
‘We were seeing each other up to seven nights a week for a while, so I can terminate now. There’s a clause that covers it. We’re signed, sealed, delivered—done, Adam.’
‘No we’re not. We’re not “done”. I’m not sure I’ve given you full value for your money. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.’
The next second his mouth was on her neck, and she felt his teeth, tongue. He was biting then sucking. Sucking then licking.
Lane felt herself sway against him, her desire for him immediate and uncontrollable.
He drew back, looked at where his mouth had been.
‘Like that,’ he said, unsmiling. ‘I’m going home to read my contract, Lane. If that little clause you mentioned isn’t exactly, perfectly worded to keep me away from you, you’ll be seeing me after your trip. And I’ll be marking you every time I see you. Somehow I don’t think Mr Bennett will feel right taking you to bed with my brand on you.’ He let go of her arms. ‘I hope China’s a success, Lane. See you soon.’
Lane got into the car and adjusted the rear-view mirror. Saw the scarlet circle Adam had made just left of centre on her neck. She should have been incensed—but she wasn’t. All she felt was a strange, secret joy that she’d have something to remind her of him, for a little while at least.
A very little while, she told herself. Because nothing had really changed.
She was going to China. While she was away, she would come to terms with the end of whatever it was she’d had with Adam. When she came back, Adam would have moved on, just like she intended to do.
Curve balls, sailing past each other, uncaught.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Erica lolled on Lane’s bed while Lane packed, offering occasional expert advice.
Lane was focused and dogged—a way of keeping the ever-threatening scream in—right up until the point of placing pieces to go into the jewellery travel roll she’d borrowed from Erica when she found, tucked inside the roll, a tiny charm in the shape of a silver scooter.
Erica was watching her with a careful smile. ‘Since we finally managed to scooter around that park yesterday and Adam said the night of your birthday there was only the scooter to go,’ she said, ‘I thought you could use an addition to the charm bracelet as a memento.’
And that was when Lane burst into tears.
Erica came over to her, put her arms around her. ‘I’m kind of proud that we did it—and only thirteen years after the fact. I thought you were, too. I thought you’d like it. Was I wrong, Laney?’
‘I do like it. I love it, I love that we finally did it, I love that it was with you, exactly the way it should have been, and I love you for buying it. But … but the thing is, it was Adam whose idea it was for me to get back on a scooter. He tried to take me, but I wasn’t ready.’
‘And yesterday you finally were. Are you worried that he’ll be upset you did it without him? Because I know he was happy about it, Lane.’
‘How do you know?”
‘Because he rang me, and I told him.’
‘Oh. He … he rang you?’
‘He has to speak to someone about you or he’ll go nuts, so Sarah told him to call me.’
‘Sarah?’
‘Sarah.’
Erica sighed. ‘Laney, my darling, how long are you going to punish him? Because you’re torturing yourself, too, and I can’t bear it.’
‘What he did …’
‘Yes, yes. As I’ve already told you, Sarah told me all about her crazy plan as soon as I got back from LA, and although I didn’t necessarily agree with it at the time, I kept silent about it. I even warned Adam not to let you find out, the absolutely idiot.’ She pulled back, looked at Lane. ‘So how come you’re still talking to me? You even managed a few civil words for Sarah at the funeral, and I’m not sure even I’m speaking to her at the moment given what she’s up to.’
‘Not her fault,’ Lane sniffled. ‘She tried, I failed—it’s that simple. She’s been barely speaking to me for weeks so she can’t be up to anything.’
‘I think the while incommunicado thing is because she is up to something, but—’ She broke off and sighed again. ‘Okay, leaving that aside, she’s the one who sent Adam to you in the first place, and she’s giving him advice on the sidelines now, so how come you can speak to her, even defend her, but not give him the time of day?’
‘It’s … complicated. Because I’m …’
‘In love with him,’ Erica finished for her.
‘Yes.’ Lane buried her face in her hands again. ‘And I always knew he would never … but I thought … I thought … I didn’t think …’
‘Yes, very lucid,’ Erica said then sighed. ‘Right,’ she said, then grabbed Lane’s hands and yanked them down. ‘You’ve had enough wallowing time.’
She pulled Lane out of the bedroom, dragged her to the dining room and pushed her into a chair. ‘Stay there,’ she ordered, and left the room.
‘Right,’ Erica said again, returning with a notepad and pen and sitting opposite Lane. ‘If you were the kind of girl who knew how to throw a massive temper tantrum, I’d encourage you to scream the house down the way I know you really want to do and get over things that way. But you’re not. So we’re doing this in a way that will suit your nice, orderly brain. We’re setting out the argument on paper.’
Erica frowned as she scribbled something down. Then she read what she’d written aloud: ‘One. Situation—Adam was supposed to talk you out of the contract. Fact—he signed.’ Darted a look at Lane. ‘Right?’
‘Yes.’
Erica bowed her head again, wrote. Read: ‘Two. Situation—Adam tried not to have sex with you. Fact—he failed. As in miserably.’ This time when she looked at Lane, she smirked. ‘I mean, look at you! Like a tidal wave of pheromones, practically walking bow-legged.’
Lane winced. ‘It can’t be that obvious.’
‘Oh, it is, my girl, it is.’ More writing. Reading: ‘Three. Situation—sex-only arrangement. Fact—Adam took you out to dinner, brought over a chick-flick to watch with you—a disgustingly romantic one—took you shopping, accompanied you to an art opening, whisked you all over Sydney like a damn tourist, and sat through the worst birthday party in the history of birthday parties, to which he was not even invited. Oh yeah, and he gave you a bracelet with very specifically chosen charms and a truly gorgeous amber necklac
e along the way.’
‘Well … yes.’
Another pause while Erica put pen to paper, then came: ‘Four. Situation—Adam never meant to sign your contract, ergo, he should be happy it’s over. Fact—Adam insists on getting his last week and threatens an unending series of hickeys to discourage David Bennett from encroaching.’
Erica ripped off the sheet, and shoved it across the table. ‘There’s more, but that’s enough to go on with. It tells a very interesting story, that list. Now you stop thinking of anyone except yourself for a little while. I’ll look after Brad while you’re gone and kick his studying arse when he needs it. All you have to do is take that list to China with you tomorrow and read it every day in between your work obligations. If you come back to Sydney and you haven’t forgiven Adam, I’m booking you for a psychiatric evaluation, because you’d be insane to let him go.’
‘He doesn’t belong to me, so I can’t let him go.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Read that list, Lane.’
***
Lane had been gone for five days, and Adam was ready to tear out his hair, and David Bennett’s entrails.
On day six, he gave in and called Sarah to get her opinion on the competition. Sarah was a girl, had turned dating into a championship sport, had met his arch enemy, and—best of all—had her brother’s best interests at heart. If anyone could give him a view on normal females’ susceptibility to the charms of guys like David Bennett, it would be her, right? Could she come to his place and give him some advice along those lines?
Er … no was the answer.
In short order, he’d been told:
• Stop whining about David Bennett.
• There was nothing wrong with David Bennett that any woman with eyes in her head could see.
• There was nothing wrong with Lane, except for that fact that Sarah had been stupid enough to send Adam in her direction to do a simple job that he’d managed to stuff up.
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