by Liz Wolfe
“She’s right,” Lily said. “I knew Max’s partner and I can assure you she was not a man. Max loves the ladies, so if he kissed you, it wasn’t on a dare.”
Oh, my.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I drove through the Portland traffic with a smile on my face. In spite of the sweltering heat. In spite of Bobbi Jo’s sour attitude. I’d heard from my doctor and my DNA test for HIV was negative. I was more relieved than I’d thought I would be. Maybe I just hadn’t allowed myself to consider the possibility that Craig might have infected me. I also hoped that he was being careful. Maybe I should mention it to him? Oh, geez, I was thinking about his feelings again. I had to cut the ties to him. He was a reasonable, responsible adult. He didn’t need me to tell him to be safe.
“The next apartment is on the east side of the river,” Bobbi Jo said. “I’m not sure I want you living that far away.”
“It’s only over the river.” I’d ditched the candle-making session in order to look for an apartment. Sheridan had speculated that I was avoiding Max, now that I knew he wasn’t gay. I’d speculated that I still had enough influence with her father to pull her car keys. I threaded my way through downtown Portland trying to find a way to the Hawthorne Bridge.
“Well, it’s farther than I like. I still think you should stay with me. I have tons of room.”
“We’ve been over that, Bobbi Jo. Sheridan and I need to have our own place.”
“I know. But I don’t have to like it.” Bobbi Jo folded the newspaper and looked at me. “I just want you as close as possible.”
“I promise we’ll be close by. No more than twenty minutes away.”
“Hey, you just missed the turnoff for the bridge.”
“No. Did I? Damn, I always get turned around downtown. Too many one-way streets.” I turned left and searched the street signs. That didn’t help because I was in an unfamiliar part of town.
“We’re lost.”
I scowled at Bobbi Jo and pulled over to the curb. We were in the industrial section of town. I could tell by the large warehouses all around us. Bobbi Jo unfolded the map and tried to pinpoint our location. I rolled the window down, hoping there would be a slight breeze to alleviate the heat.
“Okay, we’re almost there. You just need to take a right a few blocks up here and then another right, then a left and there’s the bridge.”
“Huh?” I knew Bobbi Jo was talking, but I was mesmerized by a sign I’d just spotted.
“Just drive. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
“Just a minute.” I got out of the car and considered the building across the street. The one with the big For Rent sign.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bobbi Jo got out and stomped around to my side of the car. “What? You’re going to rent a warehouse?”
“It could be cool.”
“It could be drafty.”
“Bobbi Jo, living in loft apartments is very cool. They do it in all the big cities.”
“What’s wrong with an apartment?”
“Everything I’ve looked at is just a collection of small off-white boxes glued together to form a bigger off-white box.”
“What about that cute Victorian house we looked at?” she asked.
“Oh, I loved the house. But it’s too small. The bedrooms would barely hold a single bed and a dresser.”
“Look, darlin’, I know this all seems like a step down for you. You’re used to that huge craftsman house. Why don’t you just stay with me?”
“That’s just it, Bobbi Jo. I don’t mind taking a step down. But what I really want is a step to the side. I want something different.”
“This is definitely different.”
“I just want to check it out. The sign says warehouse space and lofts.” I headed across the street before she could voice any more objections. Bobbi Jo hurried after me on her two-inch-heeled thongs.
“You know, you should stop wearing those. Flats would be a lot safer for you.”
“I’m pregnant, Skye, not disabled.”
I pressed the button that had doorbell on a handwritten sign over it. A few moments later a buzzer sounded and I pushed open the door. “See, it has a security system. Very important.”
“Especially in this neighborhood.” Bobbi Jo followed me into the entryway and made a face. Really, I couldn’t blame her. The small space was decorated in drywall with seams camouflaged by a rough application of joint compound. Someone had swiped three garish shades of paint on one section. I could only hope they were out selecting a fourth color. There were four metal mailboxes loosely attached to one wall. The elevator doors opened and Bobbi Jo and I both turned. A short, chubby man hoisted up the wood-slatted inner gates and grinned at us.
“Stan Simpson. What can I do you for ladies?”
“I saw your For Rent sign in the window.” I started to offer my hand, glanced at the grease on his, and reconsidered.
“Yep. I got a big loft apartment available and some warehouse space. Now the warehouse space can be divided up in two-thousand-square-feet increments, depending on what you’d need.”
“I’m interested in the loft.”
“Well, then, let’s go up and take a look at her.” He motioned us onto the elevator. We stepped in; he closed the wooden gate and pressed a button. Surprisingly, the elevator operated smoothly and quietly. We stopped on the fourth floor and stepped out into the hallway. This area had been painted with a technique I recognized as Venetian plaster in a terra-cotta color. I’d thought of doing a similar treatment in my dining room, but had never gotten around to it.
“There’re four lofts on this floor. This particular one is around two thousand square feet.” He jingled an enormous ring of keys, looking for the right one. “This one’s a steal because it’s not really been built out yet. The last tenant had a photo studio in here so he didn’t much care what the place looked like. But it’s got a full kitchen and a bath and a half.” He finally got the right key and pushed open the door.
The first thing I noticed was the light that poured in through the huge windows. Windows that looked out over the Willamette River. The adjoining wall was equally graced with windows and had a view of downtown Portland.
“I’ll let you gals wander around. I know you want to talk about it. Be back in a few.” Stan jingled his keys and waved from the door.
“It’s a mess.” Bobbi Jo walked across to the windows. “Nice view of the river, though.”
She was right about the mess. The former tenant hadn’t done much in the way of cleaning up. The floors were littered with papers, magazines, old paint cans, and some debris that I couldn’t readily identify. The floors were hardwood, although they were scarred and had been painted a dull gray at some point.
“Is this the kitchen?” Bobbi Jo stood at one end of the loft, staring at what passed for a kitchen. Basically, they had lined up a refrigerator, oven, and sink, each separated by about two feet of counter covered in a hideous yellow speckled laminate. At the end stood a metal cabinet with one door that hung open. Next to the kitchen area, a door led to a large, if uninspiring, bath. The sink hung loosely from the wall with a spotty mirror over it. But there was a lovely claw-footed tub. Another metal cabinet served as the linen closet.
“It has possibilities,” I said.
“For what? Condemnation?”
“It could be fixed up. A little cleaning, a little paint.”
“A little cleaning?”
“Hey, you forget. I’ve been a professional house cleaner for the past nineteen years.”
“I know you said you wanted a step to the side, but really, Skye. This is like stepping off a cliff. It needs a lot of work.”
“What else do I have to do?” I walked to the other side of the space and opened one of the three doors to a large empty room. The second door led to a bath. Stan had referred to it as a half bath, but it actually contained a shower stall, sink, and toilet. I turned the water on in the shower and was rewarded with a forceful spray.
Still needed a little fixing up, but it was definitely usable. I opened the third door. Total darkness. I peered into the room, but couldn’t see a thing. Bobbi Jo reached around and flipped the light switch. The long, narrow room glowed with dim red light.
“It’s a darkroom.” I walked inside to look at the sinks and trays.
“Yeah, because of the red lightbulb.”
“No, Bobbi Jo, it’s a darkroom for developing film.” I inhaled the faint odor of photo chemicals and smiled. “I used to develop my own black and whites in college.”
Bobbi Jo declined to enter the dark room. I followed her back to the main loft. She looked around at the enormous space. “What about rooms? Doesn’t Sheridan need a bedroom? Haven’t you been saying she needs her own space?”
“She can have the big room for her bedroom.”
“And what about your bedroom?” Bobbi Jo asked.
“I can make walls.”
“Now you’re a carpenter?”
“No. But I can make walls with screens and stuff. Or I can hire someone to build walls.”
“Walls.” Bobbi Jo shook her head. “Skye, you need to think about this.”
“No. I don’t need to think about it. It’s perfect. It just needs some paint, some fixtures. It’ll be great.”
“You don’t even know if you can afford it,” she argued.
“Let’s find Stan and see how much it is.” I’d already made up my mind that I was going to rent the loft. It would take a lot of work to fix up. But it was different in a way that really appealed to me. This was the first place that I could call my own. It was perfect.
Bobbi Jo followed me back to the elevator. “Sheridan is going to hate you for this.”
My elation at finding the loft faded a bit when my cell phone chirped and I saw Craig’s number. Why now? Why couldn’t he wait until I was already in a bad mood?
“Hello?” Like I didn’t already know it was him.
“Skye. How are you?”
“Fine. Really fine. What’s up?”
“How’s Bobbi Jo holding up?”
What the hell did he want? Not that he didn’t care about Bobbi Jo, but he would never call to see how she was. “Well enough. I think mostly she’s ignoring the murder investigation. But the other day, she mentioned that the detective hinted that Jimmy McLaughlin was a prime suspect.”
“McLaughlin? That’s ridiculous. He and Edward were friends forever.”
“I know. But I guess they have to look at everyone.” I really didn’t want to discuss this with him. I didn’t want to even talk to him. So, I didn’t. After a moment, he seemed to realize that.
“I figured you probably wanted a chance to yell at me about Sheridan’s car.” He chuckled.
That pissed me off a little. And I wasn’t even sure that was what he was really calling about. “I thought you didn’t want her to have a car yet.”
“True. But then I realized that our little girl is growing up. Besides, I thought it would be easier for all of us if she had her own transportation. This way she can visit either one of us whenever she wants to.”
“Did you think I’d refuse to let her visit you?”
“No, Skye, I just thought it would be easier if she could drive herself.”
Damn. He was being so freaking reasonable. “Sure, I guess you’re right.”
“I signed the divorce papers today.”
“I thought you’d want to discuss it before you signed.”
“No. I made some changes, though. Your attorney approved them.”
“What kind of changes?”
“I increased the spousal support. And I agreed to pay off the Escape.”
“You didn’t need to do that. I was happy with the agreement. Besides, I don’t need more support. I want to take care of myself.”
“Well, sure. But that might take a while.” I could hear Craig sigh. “Skye, I don’t want you to have to suffer any more than you already have because of me.”
What was this? A guilt trip? I wasn’t buying it. I certainly wasn’t going to let him believe that I was suffering. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t really feel like I was suffering. Was my irritation with Craig just an auto-response now?
“Craig, I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.” There was a pause, then Craig cleared his throat.
“Are you going to the musical at her school next weekend?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Sure. I just thought I should tell you that—” Another pause. “I thought I should let you know that I’ll be bringing a friend.”
“A friend?” So, this was the real reason for the call.
“Jack.”
“I see.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable. I’m just trying to be me.”
“I understand.” And in a weird way, I did.
“It’s just that I’m done with lies. I’m trying to be true to who I am. Whoever or whatever that is. I finally realized that I don’t have the right to lie to people. Not if it’s going to hurt them.”
“I’d have to agree with that.”
“I know that I wasted a lot of years of your life. I wish I could take that back. It wasn’t what I intended. I thought I could be happily married to you forever. I just had no idea this would happen.”
My heart broke a little at the sincerity in his voice. At one time I’d thought I’d wasted years of my life by being married to him. But I was entitled to think that. It hurt too much to hear him say it. To admit to causing the pain. I was suddenly aware of how painful this had to be for him. Aware of how much pain he must have lived with for so many years.
“I can’t wait to meet Jack. I have to run, but I’ll see you there.”
I closed the phone and then I cried. For the pain Craig must have lived with all of his life. For having been cheated out of the possibility of a happily ever after of my own. For the good parts of our relationship that I’d never have with him again.
Remembering Bobbi Jo’s prediction that Sheridan would hate the loft, I waited nervously while she inspected it. Sheridan walked the perimeter of the large space, giving scant attention to the kitchen area. She stopped in front of the large windows and turned to me.
“Mom, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t?” That sounded ominous.
“I had no idea you were this cool.” Sheridan grinned.
“It needs some work. A lot of paint. Even more cleaning.”
“It’ll be fun.” Sheridan looked up at the twenty-foot ceiling. She sang a few scales and grinned. “The acoustics are incredible.”
“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave.” I’d promised Lily and Jasmine that we’d join them to listen to the band rehearse. Not that it mattered much. There was little chance of getting another band at this late date. “We can talk about decorating tonight.” I hustled Sheridan out of the loft and we drove to a small bar in southeast Portland.
“This must be it.” I pulled over to the curb and parked behind Lily’s car.
“Cool. I get to go to a bar.”
“Only because they aren’t open for business.” A member of the band owned the bar and they used it for rehearsals.
“Still, I can say I’ve been to a bar.” Sheridan pushed open the black door and wrinkled her nose. “Man, it stinks in here.”
Lily, Jasmine, Bobbi Jo, and Sean were having coffee while the band members tuned their instruments. Max was at the end of a hallway, propping open the back door, which I hoped would help disperse the odor of stale smoke and alcohol. We took our seats at the round table, and Bobbi Jo poured a cup of coffee for me.
“You want some coffee, Sheridan?” she asked.
Sheridan was busy soaking up the atmosphere of her first bar, but managed to nod. Lily and Jasmine said hi, then bent their heads over the list of songs the band had given them. Sean shifted in his chair, getting a little closer to Bobbi Jo. He draped his arm casually over the back of her chair and it
almost looked like his arm was around her. I couldn’t believe she didn’t notice. I was going to have to have a little chat with her about him.
“Hey, Skye. Let me introduce you to the band.” Max waved the band members over. “This is Bill, Tim, and Clark. That’s Ken on the drums.” Ken waved his drumsticks at us.
“Okay. I checked off the songs I’d like to hear.” Jasmine handed the list to Bill. “Mostly, I just want upbeat music that everyone can dance to.”
“That’d be our specialty, ma’am.” He turned to me and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Skye. Hope you enjoy our music.”
Bill was a tall, lean man with graying hair, twinkling blue eyes, and a deep, sexy voice with a Texan accent. Max put his hand on my shoulder in what I could have almost sworn was a possessive gesture. That reminded me that Max was not gay. Which made me nervous. In a weird, giddy, happy kind of way.
The band started to play, and Sheridan bounced in her seat, singing along with them. Jasmine clapped, evidently delighted with the band. That was a relief. They finished the first song, waited for the smattering of applause and moved into the second one.
“Oh, I love this song.” Sheridan leaned toward me. “I’m singing it in the show at school.”
“Well, go show us your stuff,” Max said.
“What?” Sheridan asked.
“Go on. Sing with the band.”
“No, really, I couldn’t. Could I?” Sheridan looked at me with a hopeful, puppy-dog look.
“Go on,” I said.
“Hey, guys, you mind a little vocal assistance?” Max called over the music.
Bill grinned at Sheridan. “Get on up here, girl.”
Sheridan hesitated just a heartbeat, then shot off her chair and up onto the stage. As soon as she had the microphone in her hand, she turned into a hair-tossing, hip-thrusting pop star. She sang. She flirted outrageously with Bill when they shared the microphone. She strutted over and danced around Tim while he did his guitar solo. What had happened to my little girl? Where the hell was my baby?
“She’s great!” Max said.
Bobbi Jo leaned across Sean to add her enthusiastic approval. “I can remember when she was four and she’d get up on the coffee table and dance and sing for us.”