by Lindy Zart
“Before you can write about me, you have to understand me.”
Beth looked up, found Harrison’s dark eyes locked on her. There was tightness around his eyes, and again she noted the purple underneath them, the tiredness evident in the lines and bleakness of his face. He ran an absent hand through his hair, disrupting the vibrant red and blond locks and making his appearance more appealing. What kind of a life had he lived, to bring him to where he was? Secluded, shut off from everyone. By choice, or because he had none? He was giving her clues she could either ignore or chase down.
“I’m supposed to learn about you from reading a book?”
“That is my favorite book,” he specified. “It could be worse. Don’t make me point out that I am paying you to read.”
“You just did.”
One pale eyebrow arched, giving Harrison arrogant appeal. He had the features of an aristocrat, highbred and pompous. She fought to keep a smile from her face, somehow knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her present characterization.
“I’d rather learn about you from asking you questions than reading a favorite book,” she pointed out.
“Work with what you’re given.”
With the book in hand, Beth sat back down on the couch, wiping away the scowl before it completely formed. She put everything she’d taken out of the laptop case back into it, closed it, and opened the book. The print was small, the first lines blurring as thoughts raced through her brain. What was the point of this? Reading a book wasn’t going to help her learn anything useful. Confusion and frustration built inside, but she tramped it down. The questions wouldn’t cease, and along with them, came anxiety.
If Harrison wasn’t going to tell her anything about himself, how would she know what to write?
If she wasn’t producing words, how would the book ever get written?
If the book wasn’t written, how would she get paid?
“You’ll get the first of six payments within the next two weeks.”
Beth’s eyes flew to his. He’d accurately read her thoughts on her face. “I haven’t done anything yet. You can’t pay me for doing nothing.”
A flash of humor lit up his eyes. “I can do whatever I want. And you can relax and not worry about the money. You’ll get it regardless of how fast the book gets written.”
Respite loosened her shoulders, but her conscience wouldn’t let her be okay with that. “No. It feels wrong. I can’t accept it. Not until I’ve written something, even if it’s only a few pages.”
“Do you need the money?”
She pressed her lips together, not wanting to answer that.
Harrison waited, unmoving, his eyes locked on hers.
Sighing, she admitted, “Yes.”
He took down another book, settled onto his chair, and opened it. Head bent, mouth formed in a thin slash of pale color, Harrison seemed to forget she was there. His pose was casual, but he sat stiffly, as if in minor pain or unable to completely relax. She didn’t know which.
When the minutes ticked by and he didn’t say anything, she realized the conversation was over. Beth closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and opened them, resigning herself to spending the next few hours reading a book in a room with a man she didn’t know and was pretty sure she didn’t like—even if she might like certain things about him.
Harrison glanced up.
His eyes.
She dropped her gaze to the pages of the book, her face burning with the knowledge that he’d caught her studying him.
Beth liked his eyes.
EYES TRAINED ON the book in his hands, he told her, “Whatever you’re trying not to say or ask, do us both a favor and get to it. Your fidgeting is distracting.”
Beth lowered the book to her lap. Her coffee was long gone, the clock ticking off the minutes until it was time for her to go. There was half an hour left to her designated time of departure—and eight minutes, she silently added. It had gone by peacefully, quietly, the periodic sound of flipping pages the only shared conversation. Occasionally she’d glance up to find him watching her, and he’d do the same, each of them studying the other in the way something shiny and new was considered. Curiously. Raptly. Obsessively.
“Do you ever get told you’re rude?” Softly spoken and shaky, the words were out before she could bite them back.
Half of his mouth lifted, and seeing that made her glad for saying it. It was the promise of a smile, at some point. “Not by anyone who matters. That isn’t what you wanted to ask me.”
No. It wasn’t.
She wondered what he thought when he looked at her. Did he see her blonde hair and blue eyes, and if so, what did he think or see? Beauty, indifference, plainness. Did he find her appealing? Did he not? Did he think her features were too childlike, too unoriginal? Did he even really see Beth at all? She didn’t want to think the things she was, or wonder what he thought of her, but she did. He was intriguing, mysterious. Far too fascinating with his standoffish attitude and his secrets. A box of mystery and ribbon she itched to untie.
Without really knowing Harrison, she knew she had never met a man quite like him before.
“I’m not getting any more interesting while we wait,” he said.
Startled by his voice interrupting her unfortunate thoughts, she hastily said, “Don’t biographies usually get written when someone’s life is about over? When they’re old and gray and think it’s time to get the good stuff down before it’s too late? You can’t be over thirty-five.”
“Age has no bearing on death.” The words were low, flat.
Beth’s fingers tightened around the book, the hard edges of the cover digging into her flesh. Wow. She hadn’t expected those words, or that lack of emotion. They resounded with emptiness, vibrated with whispers of unspoken discontent. Told her the barrenness was a lie. Life, and death, and everything in between—that was Harrison Caldwell. She inhaled sharply, tipped upside down by his comment. His eyes were chips of black ice and she forced her gaze away, her chest tight.
“We’re done for the day. Come back tomorrow.”
She turned her head and gazed at him. I want to know you more. I don’t want to know you at all.
“What is it?” he demanded harshly.
“I don’t…” Beth watched as his eyes hardened, the impatience in them causing her cheeks to warm.
“If it’s going to take you five hours to produce one sentence, this association is going to become quite tedious. I don’t have time for timidity. Say whatever you’re thinking.”
Anger sparked through her, the words fast and loud as they left her. “I don’t think I like you. You’re rude without being provoked and you act like everything I have to say is a chore for you to listen to.” Her eyes went wide at the unintended confession.
Satisfaction bracketed his mouth as his lips relaxed from their hard line. “Just the silence. The silence I can do without. And I’m your employer. You’re not supposed to like me.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry,” she finished quietly.
“Don’t apologize either. Goodbye, Beth.”
He got up abruptly, a sick look passing over his features as his face turned ashen. Lurching to the side as if he had no control over his body, Harrison’s legs crashed against the end table near his chair, his palms landing hard on the top of it, a slap of something pliable against something unrelenting. His fingers gripped the sides of it as he stayed hunched over, arms trembling and sweat beaded on his skin.
She was on her feet and to him before her brain realized what she was doing. Beth reached out to help him, not sure what she should do, and also alarmed that she wasn’t already doing something. Her fingers grazed his arm and he jerked away. “Harrison? Are you okay? Are you sick?”
His voice filled the air, a lash of cold, striking words hot against her skin. “Don’t touch me.”
Beth snatched her hand back, fear rushing through her veins, pulsing with her heartbeat. She tried to swallow. A warning of pe
ril swept through her mind, told her to keep her distance. Beth backed up a step. “I’m sorry. I just…do you need me to call someone? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he bit out.
“You don’t look like you’re fine,” she commented wryly, crossing her arms to keep from reaching out to him again.
His head slowly turned and he lifted his gaze to hers. Harrison’s mouth twitched. “I look like shit,” he agreed.
She allowed a small smile. “I wasn’t going to go that far.”
“Don’t try to be nice. It doesn’t do either of us any good.” Inhaling, he straightened and stood motionless, the color returning to his face. “I’m fine,” Harrison said again.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I got dizzy. It happens. You can go now.”
He wouldn’t look at her and fallacy rang through his words. She didn’t press the issue. Shrugging, Beth said, “Okay. Same time tomorrow?”
Harrison nodded, his gaze refusing to hold hers.
Beth picked up her coffee mug. “I’ll wash this in the kitchen quick and be on my way.”
“Leave it. I can get it.”
“And I can clean up after myself.” She didn’t want to create extra work for him, not even for something as small as an unwashed cup. He tried to hide it, but something was off with him.
“Don’t,” was all he said, his attention finally locking on her.
The air crackled with tension and challenge. Beth’s skin prickled as Harrison’s eyes connected with hers. She didn’t have something to prove, but he did. She could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders, the hard angle of his jaw. He was embarrassed. Angry. He probably wanted a fight, needed to prove he was in control to feel strong.
She carefully set down the coffee mug. Noticing how his shoulders relaxed, she avoided his gaze and nodded to the book. “I like it so far. See you tomorrow.”
Picking up her laptop case, Beth didn’t wait for words that wouldn’t come. She walked from the room and quickly put on her coat, boots, and hat, but not so fast that if Harrison was to see her, he would think she was in a rush to leave—and she was. She regretted agreeing to write his book, she was unnerved by him, even a little scared. Beth was also riveted. She was as splintered as him, it seemed.
The compulsion to find out all she could about him was overwhelming, and when she stepped outside and into a foot or more of snow, even that didn’t deter her. The snow had stopped, and if she was lucky, the plow trucks had already gone by. She let the Blazer warm up as she used the brush part of a scraper to remove the cold white fluff from the vehicle. Her eyes continually went back to the house, her thoughts on the man within. Beth shivered and set about going home, glad for brakes and four-wheel drive.
TWO
BYPASSING THE BAR where she worked part-time, and subsequently, her ex-boyfriend, Beth took side streets through the town of one thousand and something residents who liked to converge downtown in clusters of inquisitive eyes and flapping mouths. Anyone who didn’t have anything better to do probably already knew she was in town, and from which direction she’d entered it. The chatterboxes consisted mostly of older, retired people, but Ozzy had his own clan of spies looking out for him too.
To her ever-loving frustration, nothing Beth did was unknown to him.
It was dark out, the streetlamps with their holiday wreaths adding light to the cold winter setting. A smattering of houses glowed with outdoor lighting from a porch or garage. She parked near her unlit house, not wanting to waste time shoveling the driveway even as she knew it was necessary. She wanted to research, and write. Because of that, Beth did a sloppy job of shoveling, her arms aching and her skin damp inside the coat and gloves.
The call to find out details on Harrison was becoming irresistible, and she felt like one of the town’s nosy residents in her quest to uncover all she could on him.
The growing roar of a diesel truck alerted her to a visitor, and with a groan, Beth set down the shovel and leaned against the handle, waiting. She watched as Ozzy jumped from the truck and sauntered over to her. A glance here, a stare there, his eyes took in the scene before landing and staying on her. His light brown hair was eternally in need of a trim and a brush, his wiry build deceptive to the strength he had. He wore blue jeans and a jean jacket most days, and on anyone else, it would seem outdated, but not on him. Ozzy owned that look. It was his.
Michael Oswald Peck, or Ozzy, as he went by, was the first boy Beth kissed at the age of nine, the first boy to hold her hand, the first and only boy she told she loved, and the first boy to intimately know her body. Both twenty-six, they had been a large part of each other’s lives for the past twenty of those twenty-six years. His mark on her life was inescapable, even when she prayed for blankness. They had a history, no matter where they were in their lives, or what came between them—and a lot had.
Their history was thick, tangible. Constricting at times.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she faintly replied.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way home? I would have shoveled before you got back.” Ozzy’s brusque words were sweetened by a blinding smile and a sweep of golden eyes.
“Why didn’t you just shovel then? Why wait until I’m home?” Beth allowed him to take the shovel from her, her tone belligerent. Ozzy was a lot of talk and not as much action. “I’m done now.”
“You call this hack job shoveling? Watch the master.” Ozzy shrugged his shoulders and scraped the blade along the cement, whistling a Christmas song. Ignoring her questions.
“You know I wouldn’t have told you I was on my way home.” Her voice was low, but he caught the words, pausing to better listen. “You aren’t obligated to know when I’m home or not. We are not together.”
It wasn’t hard to figure out how he’d known—Ozzy’s brother lived across the street and two houses down. There wasn’t much not known by others in Crystal Lake. How did Harrison Caldwell continue to remain elusive to the masses? How did he get his groceries? Where did he get his hair cut? What about clothes? So many questions. Too many questions.
“How was your first day at the new job?”
Ozzy, along with being a self-proclaimed shoveling master, was a master of delusions. If he didn’t like something he heard, he pretended it wasn’t said. If he didn’t want something to be a certain way, to him it wasn’t. At the moment, he wanted Beth and him to be together. At the moment, they were not. Her choice, not his, which added extra chafing to his pride.
“It was work. Work is work.” She hoped her tone didn’t give anything away, hint at the energy she couldn’t tramp completely from her voice.
He gave her a wounded look. “I can’t believe you’re actually following your dreams instead of wasting your talent in the bar like the rest of us. Where are your priorities?”
Beth’s lips twitched and formed into a small smile. “I know, I really should work on my selfishness. How dare I want to have a career?”
“Right? That’s what I’m saying. The plan was to get married and travel the world, live on love.”
“One of us had to be sensible.”
They joked about it, but there was an edge to the interaction. A glint was in his eyes even though his lips curved up; there was stiffness to Beth’s voice even though she tried to hide it behind layers of friendliness. They both fell short.
Ozzy finished clearing off the short driveway and rested the shovel against the side of the garage. He turned and strode back to Beth, tapping out a beat on his thigh with his fingertips. There was a song in his head at all times. Even when Beth had wanted him to be lost in her, part of him wasn’t hers to have, possessed by the songs in his head and heart. Music lived in Ozzy. He had a gifted singing voice, but he lacked ambition. His gift remained undiscovered because he thought the world should come to him. Beth knew that wasn’t how it worked.
Dreams had to be chased, or they were never caught.
He stopped when only inches separated t
hem, quietly perusing her features, searching, always searching. His animal eyes stole her air with that serene smolder. It was the kind of look that could steadily, endlessly burn until there was nothing left of its target.
“How did it go, really?”
Beth rolled her shoulders under his scrutiny, wishing away the familiarity that didn’t seem to have a place to go. “It went okay.”
“Yeah?” He touched a lock of hair near her shoulder. “Are you sure?”
She shrugged, stepping out of his reach so she didn’t fall into it. His eyes told lies, his mouth told more. “There were hiccups, but that’s normal, being a first day and all. I’m sure it’ll get better.” She smiled, but she feared it wasn’t convincing.
The only information Beth had divulged about her upcoming job was that she was hired to write a biography of someone not well known but who had money. It was assumed her employer was old. It was assumed he was a she. It was assumed they were in a different town.
Beth never said anything either way, because she hadn’t even known who she was working for. And after knowing, she still wouldn’t say anything, because she’d promised, with a contract, with her words. She wasn’t naïve—she knew there was a good chance the truth would come out at some point, but it wouldn’t be because of her.
He rubbed the small of his back and looked to the side. “You know, you didn’t have to get another job so you had less time to spare for the bar.” Ozzy dropped his hand and turned to her.
“Yes,” she said evenly, her eyes unwavering from his. “I did.”
With his mouth set in a hard line, he shook his head. “What did you do? Drink tea and reminisce about their younger days?” Ozzy smiled, but it was fake.
“Something like that.” Beth put a hand in her coat pocket and jangled her keys, wanting to grab her laptop case and run to the warmth and solitude of her home. The cool air froze her lungs as she inhaled, showed in a visible puff of white air as she exhaled. “It’s been a long afternoon, and I’m tired. I think I’m going to make it an early night. So…I’ll see you around.”
“Oh.” Ozzy’s face fell, his charismatic looks even more interesting when there was a crease of dissatisfaction between his eyebrows. “I wanted to buy you a drink at The Lucky Coin, celebrate your new job. As friends, of course.” He smiled when he said it, but it was small and didn’t touch his eyes.