by Charles, Eva
“I don’t want them,” he snaps.
There’s something about the way he says it that makes me chilly. The way his face twists ugly and mean.
Grief isn’t neat and tidy. It doesn’t always follow predictable patterns. Mourning is highly personal. I tell myself those things as Wade tosses the story of Georgie’s life in the trunk of the car without a second look. As though he can’t wait to get rid of it.
15
Gabrielle
The doorbell rings, and I stand on tiptoe to look through the peephole. I’m still shell-shocked from the funeral, and I don’t want to deal with JD yet. I need more time to sort through my feelings before I’m ready to take him on again. Although if it’s JD, he’ll just let himself in if I don’t answer the door. I’m sure he has a key.
It’s not him.
I unlatch the door to open it for Mae, or Delilah, or whatever her name is, standing on the stoop with two bags and a white pastry box.
“Hi,” I say. “Smith’s not here.”
“I brought dinner. Enough for both of us. Tacos.”
“Tacos?”
She nods. “Deconstructed tacos.”
“I never heard of a deconstructed taco.”
“They put all the fixings in separate little containers. That way the tacos don’t get soggy while we’re making margaritas.”
I don’t realize I’m standing in the doorway like a woman raised without manners, until she reminds me. “I don’t mean to be pushy, but can I come in?”
“Oh. Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” I don’t want her to come inside. Smith’s gone for the night, and I’m looking forward to laying around in my pajamas, wallowing in a vat of self-pity. But I don’t know how to politely ask her to leave, so I step aside and hold the door open. “You have your hands full. Let me take something.”
“Take the cupcakes.” She hands me the white box with a pink and white grosgrain ribbon tied in a dainty bow. “I planned on bringing cookies for dessert. Smith told me you mainline them like they’ll be disappearing from the planet soon, but then I spied the cupcakes in the case at Sucre. I saw them from the window. You know when you walk by a pet store and the cute puppies, the small fur balls with the big brown eyes beg to come home with you? It was just like that. ‘Bring me home with you, Lila. Bring me home.’ And then of course a half dozen of her friends wanted to come too.”
Oh, Lord. She doesn’t stop talking for a single second while I follow her into the kitchen. I don’t think she cares whether or not I’m listening. I remember on Christmas Eve, she was animated and funny. Doesn’t take herself too seriously. But boy can she talk.
“Lila. Is that another alias?” I ask, as we place the parcels on the counter. It’s unkind, but my heart still stings for Gray.
She blinks a couple time and starts to unpack the containers from the Tease Me With Tacos bag. “No.”
“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that about the alias. It came out—”
“Bitchy?”
I nod. “I didn’t mean it that way. I really didn’t.” And I didn’t. But I’m feeling a bit abrasive, and the last thing I want to do is spend my evening entertaining a guest.
“You’re entitled. It’s always hard when people find out your true identity. No one likes to feel as though they were lied to by someone they welcomed into their home. But Delilah Mae is my honest to God name. The one my parents gave me at birth. Lila is what my family and friends call me. And since Smith says you’re good people, I’d like to be friends. So, call me Lila.”
I’m not looking for a friend, but I do like her, and she went to a lot of trouble to be nice to me. “My friends call me Gabby.” It’s a small gesture, but I hope it makes amends.
“Smith said he keeps his good stuff in the cupboard above the microwave.”
“Good stuff?”
“Tequila. For the margaritas.”
I nod.
“You probably drink wine?” she asks, scouring the cupboard for just the right booze.
“No,” I say much too defensively, as though she accused me of being a pearl clutching, bible thumping teetotaler. “I do like wine, but I drink gin, unless it’s been a really bad day, then bourbon’s my lover.” She smiles. “But I never met a margarita I didn’t want to be friends with.”
“Salt or no salt?” she asks, with a raised brow.
“Salt, but only on the first drink. And only on half the rim. Otherwise, I wake up puffier than the Pillsbury doughboy.”
“Me, too. Happened the minute I turned twenty-five.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Swelling is an evil thing that happens to females, like periods,” she says matter-of-factly. “Men don’t swell.” I don’t think she’s correct about men swelling, but it’s not important. “Put the oven on low so the tortillas and the meat stay warm.”
Despite what Lally thinks, I can turn on an oven without destroying the entire kitchen.
“I’ll make the margaritas,” Lila calls over her shoulder. “You take care of the tacos. Your hand okay to do that?”
“My hand’s fine,” I say. It still hurts like an SOB when it gets anywhere near warm water, but it works just fine.
In a few short minutes, we make a huge mess in the kitchen. Lila squeezes enough limes to make a full pitcher of margaritas, and I empty all the containers into small glass bowls that I find in one of the cupboards. The juiced limes and empty containers are scattered on the counter. The kitchen smells of citrus and cumin, and my stomach rumbles like I haven’t eaten anything all day. Because I haven’t.
“What are you doing?” Lila asks, frowning at my little bowls all neatly lined up in a single row on the center island.
“Since you’re company, I thought it would be nice to use real dishes.”
“Please tell me you don’t do this,” she waves her hand over the bowls, “when you’re alone. The whole point of take-out is to make it easy. No dishes. No clean-up.”
“I would have eaten dinner straight from the containers. With my fingers. While standing over the counter, if I’d been alone.”
“Thank God,” she murmurs under her breath.
We fill the paper plates that came inside the bag. I returned the ceramic plates to the cupboard when Lila wasn’t looking.
It’s hard not to bond over tacos. You eat them with your hands, and they’re messy and delicious. We both love our tacos heaped with toppings.
“You don’t eat pickled onions?” she asks, her eyes flitting over my plate.
“I like them, but they make my breath stink.”
“Eat them. It’s not like I’m going to kiss you later, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I feel small bubbles of laughter free floating in my chest. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. And I’m grinning—a genuine grin, not like the ones I give Lally or Smith so they’ll leave me alone, but the real thing.
We finish our tacos, and Lila plops my third margarita in front of me. “So if you’re not here to kiss me, why are you here?” I ask, taking a sip.
“Vagina.”
I giggle and spit out a little bit of margarita. It dribbles down my chin before I can reach for a napkin. “Excuse me?”
“Smith thought you could use someone to talk to—a girl someone. I’m the only one with a vag that he trusted to come over.”
“The designated vag.” I laugh some more. She’s laughing too, but I’m clearly more tipsy than she is, and I think she might be laughing at me. But I’m feeling good, and I don’t care.
“Have you seen Gray in the last few days?” I ask, wiping my mouth.
“So that’s how it’s going to be. I bring tacos and cupcakes and you put me on the hot seat.”
“No hot seat. I heard what happened when Gray found out your name isn’t Mae. I’m sorry. You seemed to like each other at Christmas.”
“Gray fired me. Which is a little strange, because I actually work for Smith. But I’m not allowed back inside the club. He left a box with my
things and my last paycheck at the valet station. I couldn’t even get past the bouncers out front. So no, I haven’t talked to him recently.”
“What are you doing for work now?”
“Still working for Smith.”
“You’re not here to spy on me, are you?”
She puts her hand over mine. “No. Smith sent me, but I’m here strictly as a friend. Although I’m starting to wonder if maybe he thought we both needed a girl to talk to. Smith is sneaky like that.”
“You like Gray?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I started to feel things that weren’t professional. Smith had taken me off of Gray’s security detail right after Christmas—I asked him to make the change. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I didn’t think I could protect him in the right way.” She shrugs. “These things happen occasionally. The important thing is to stay on top of your feelings so that you don’t make bad decisions.”
“Gray likes you a lot.”
“Some part of him certainly did.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s a guy.”
“All the parts of him liked you. He wouldn’t have brought you to Sweetgrass unless he felt you were special.”
“What kind of cupcake do you want?” she asks, getting up from the table. “Chocolate peanut butter, coconut, or vanilla?”
I guess we’re done with that conversation. “Chocolate peanut butter.” Lila looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I see you, Miss Lila. You thought I was going to say vanilla.” She grins and brings us each back a chocolate peanut butter cupcake on a napkin. The woman doesn’t believe in plates and forks. I’m beginning to have my doubts about whether she’s a real southerner.
“You ate all those vanilla frosted cookies at Christmas,” she says.
“Liar.”
“You’re sophisticated.”
“Is it the sweatpants that gave you that idea or the threadbare T-shirt?”
“It was your hotel. At the brunch. You floated around the room with a big smile, putting people at ease. I don’t think your feet touched the ground the entire time. Like a goddamn sugarplum fairy.” She rolls her eyes. “It was such a fancy place, all shiny and glittery, decorated for Christmas. But not stuffy. Just warm and cozy.” I swallow back the emotion. “I’m sorry,” she says softly.
“It’s okay. I’m glad you liked it. I loved it too. It’s inevitable that people will bring it up.”
“I’m not sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry it happened.”
“Me too.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
I nod, but I feel myself stiffen. When someone wants to know if they can ask you a personal question before they ask you the personal question, you know it’s going to be big and nosey. I brace myself for the worst.
“You grew up here. You’re nice. You have a sense of humor. You like tacos and tequila. Why does Smith think you don’t have any girlfriends?”
I relax, it’s nosey, but not too big to handle. “I don’t,” I say softly, shrugging a shoulder. “I left here when I was seventeen, before I graduated from high school. I had loads of friends until I started spending all my time with JD, and what was left with Georgina. I was gone from Charleston for twelve years, a little more. When I got back, everyone had moved on with their lives, and I had a hotel to renovate.”
“That makes sense. So you and JD were high-school sweethearts. I noticed he’s the only one who always calls you Gabrielle. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. You just don’t want to tell me.”
“He thinks it fits me better.”
“Because it’s beautiful and exotic, not just cute like Gabby.” I give her a small wistful smile. She’s right, but it seems obnoxious to say it out loud. “Did you two have a fight? Is that why you’re staying with Smith, instead of at that gorgeous mansion? I bet there’s a big ass tub in the master bath with jets.”
I chuckle. “I need some time to figure out my life. It’s hard to think straight when JD’s around. He likes to control everything. We’ve known each other for a long time—I can’t hide anything from him.”
“He looks to be a handful, like a feral tiger. Is he squishy in the center?” she asks, rotating the cupcake slowly, licking the frosting off in an orderly way as she spins. “The cake to icing ratio is off,” she explains, when she catches me watching her. “I need to get it right before I can take a bite. I bet you can make JD purr like a pussy cat. Or growl.” There’s a glimmer in her eyes. “He’s probably a growler, right?”
“Maybe you should ask him.” My delivery is pitch perfect, and the prospect of her asking JD if he’s a growler is so funny, we both laugh.
After we share another cupcake, Lila gets up and starts throwing the squeezed limes in the trash. “It’s getting late. I’ll help you clean up all your company dishes before I go.”
For the first time, I realize I haven’t lifted a finger all evening to help. She’s a guest, but she’s been the one up and down, filling my glass and plate.
“You don’t need to do any more. It’s time for me to get my butt off this chair and do a little work.” I shoo her away from the sink. “Smith’s not coming back tonight. I’ll do the rest in the morning.”
She slides her purse over a shoulder and we walk to the door.
“Thank you for bringing dinner and for spending the evening with me. You ruined my pity party. I didn’t spend a single second feeling sorry for myself.” I wrap my arms around her and she hugs back.
“I came because I know what it’s like to bury a friend. And to have your whole life stolen from you by an asshole. You have to fight hard, but it gets better, Gabby. It really does.”
My head rests on her shoulder, and I feel a fat salty tear run down my cheek and onto the edge of my mouth. “Come visit me, again. Please. You don’t need to bring tacos and cupcakes. Just yourself.”
“Turn that alarm on,” she says, before she goes. “I’ll let security know I’m leaving on my way to the car.”
After she goes, I empty the pitcher into my glass and take it into the bedroom with me. I probably shouldn’t drink anymore, but why not? It’s not as though I have anywhere to be tomorrow.
It’s quiet with her gone. And lonely. Lonelier than before she came. I glance at the cell phone Smith insists I keep with me at all times, and think about calling JD. No. Don’t do that, Gabrielle. Let him be. You need time to heal. If you let him back in before you’re ready, he’ll take over.
I gulp down the entire margarita and set the glass on the nightstand, still eyeing my phone.
16
Julian
I’m at my desk, trying to make sense of some data Chase sent me, when the phone rings. It’s an unknown number. If this is my fucking father—I rub my eyes and answer the phone. “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” says a soft voice on the other end of the line. “Gabrielle.”
“Hey. Did you get a new phone?”
“S’afternoon. Smith made me. He’s as bossy as you.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Howdya know? You spying on me?”
“Not spying. You’re slurring your words a little and you have the hiccups. Why don’t you get a drink?”
“I have margarita right here with me.”
“How about you leave the margarita for tomorrow, and have a big glass of water and some ibuprofen?”
“How ‘bout you come make me?”
“Gabrielle. What did you do tonight?”
“Lila came over. Because she has a vagina.”
“What?”
“Smith told her to come over because she has a vagina.” She enunciates each word carefully before breaking into a fit of giggles. “She’s gonna ask you if you growl.”
“If I growl?”
“During sex.”
“Jesus. Did you talk to her about our sex life?”
“No. I told her she could ask you herself if you growled.
” She’s giggling again. It’s nice to hear the happiness in her voice even if it was put there by tequila. “You growl like a tiger when you come.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“In bed.”
“What are you wearing?”
“You wanna play?”
“I always want to play. But right now, I want security to check on you, and I’d prefer if they didn’t see your gorgeous ass.”
“I’m wearing da clothes I was born in,” she announces proudly.
“Gabrielle, put on some pajamas or something. You are not allowed to sleep naked at Smith’s house.”
“S’lonely here. Les have a sleepover.”
“Not tonight.” But I won’t be so chivalrous if you ask again. “You need to get some water and go to sleep. How many margaritas did you have?”
“I dunno. JD?” she asks softly.
“What is it, darlin’?”
“I’m wet. Jus’ how you like me. You could bring your bag of tricks, or bag of toys, like Santa, and I’ll be a good girl, or maybe I’ll be s’naughty you’ll havta punish me.” When I don’t respond, she continues breathlessly. “I s’need to be punished.”
And I would love to be the one to do it. “Good night.”
“No! Maybe I play with myself. S’your cock out?” she asks in a little girl voice.
“Not yet.”
“I need you to fuck me.”
“I’m not a doctor. I don’t make house calls. If you want to be taken care of, you’ll need to move back to the main house, back into my bed. Then I’ll make sure you always have everything you need.”
“Dat’s mean.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Do ya know what I told Georgie dat night she died?” Her voice is whisper soft.
“No. But I’d like to know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I told her dat I loved JD. Dat it doesn’t matter s’what he does. I always loved him and I always will. S’my cross to bear.” She hiccups. “Shhh. Don’t tell JD. It’s a secret.”