You Turn

by Marion Croslydon

  “I didn’t realize your moral standards were so lofty, Zachary,” she spits. “They didn’t bother you that night when your hands were all over your girlfriend’s mother.”

  I curl my fists so tightly that my nails bury into my palm. Louise has the good sense to revert to her earlier position on the sofa.

  It’s my turn to stand. There’s nothing sane or safe in keeping that woman in close proximity. She grabs my wrist as I pass by her. She stares up at me and there’s none of her previous toughness or animosity in her glistening eyes. “If you’re the one telling Eleanor, you might be able to keep her, but she’ll never forgive me.”

  “You don’t deserve her.”

  The pressure on my wrist increases. “Maybe, but I’m the only mother Lenor will ever have. I’m her family and I intend to be there for her from now on.” She swallows and I hear a new strength in her voice. “I’ll make up for the past and for that father of hers who’ll never care for her.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Maybe, but are you going to be the one taking that chance away from her?”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Are you going to be the one depriving her of a mother? So that you can appear all clean and shiny and have her fall in love with you all over again?”

  Why not? If that’s what it takes to have Lenor back to me… Why the hell not?

  Louise tilts her head sideways as if she’s studying me, as if she’s never seen me before. She lowers her voice when she next speaks. Her voice is falsely melodious, more like a sultry hiss. “Who do you think she needs more right now? Another boyfriend? Or her mother, the only family she has left?”

  The air I’m breathing is full of the reek of her perfume. It’s the same scent as Lenor’s, but it has the opposite effect on me.

  I yank my arm away from Louise and, without another word, I leave. I can’t share the same space as her. I don’t even want to try anymore. She’s managed to fuck with my mind in an unprecedented way and my drive to Le Duke is robotic. I don’t pay attention to the red lights, to the cars nervously overtaking me, or me aggressively overtaking them. My brain plays Louise’s words over and over again like a fucking broken record. Her mother, her only family.

  I march inside Le Duke, giving a curt nod to Tareck, our bouncer. There’s already a line snaking outside. Tonight is going to be a big night. I should look for Clara right away and get an update on what’s scheduled for the evening with Adeline. But I don’t. Instead, I hide inside my office. Tonight it feels more like a lair. I switch on my laptop and start scrolling through my emails. My accountant has sent me our latest results. I open the spreadsheet and cast my eyes over the numbers. Really, this should be my last priority, but it manages to dull my brain and keeps me from thinking, keeps me from feeling.

  But that can’t last and I can always count on Clara to break the illusion.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She’s made it into the office.

  I don’t remove my eyes from the laptop, faking a focus I don’t have. “I was about to come upstairs. Has she arrived?”

  “If by ‘she’, you’re referring to that bitch you screwed back in June, and who also happens to top the French charts, then yes, she arrived about an hour ago, with her whole entourage and the only name she has in that slutty mouth of hers is yours.”

  I swivel on my chair to face Clara, who has her arms crossed over her chest. She looks damn furious. Rightfully so. I’ve taken the piss tonight. Rephrase that, I’ve been taking the piss for a while now and left her to shoulder my responsibilities.

  “Sorry.” I rub my hands over my face to wipe away the tiredness and the image of Louise’s face. “I’m coming. I just need to—I just need to—” I huff and relax against the back of my chair, but it’s an effort to meet Clara’s gaze.

  She takes the couple of steps that bring her to the other side of the desk and sits on the edge of it. She looks slightly less pissed-off, but we’re talking nuances here.

  “That American girl is bad news. You know that, do you?” Yep, one-hundred-per-cent still on my case. “You’re not the same since she’s back in the picture. As if it wasn’t enough to play the Good Samaritan with her mother.”

  “You don’t understand, Clara. Lenor and I, we’ve known each other for a very long time. I hurt her—”

  “You hurt me too.” Her lips are trembling. “I don’t see you agonizing about that.”

  “Clara, I thought we’d moved on. I thought you were okay.”

  She squares her shoulders and I want to hug her because, despite what happened between us a long time ago, we’re friends. Close friends.

  Clara dismisses me with a wave. “You never lied to me, Zach. You never promised anything to me except friendship and a few hours of fun. I was the one who didn’t want to listen. That’s all.”

  “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. You know that?”

  “I know.” She lowers her gaze and the tension in the air evaporates. “That girl, she’s going to hurt you like you hurt me. Unwillingly.”

  “Maybe, but that’s the risk I’m ready to take to have her in my life again.”

  She stands up and pulls down the hem of the skirt she always wears dangerously short. “Come upstairs. I’m not dealing with that French slut for one more minute on my own. She’s clearly not leaving tonight without you. At least, that’s her plan.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after my virtue just fine.”

  “You’ve been warned.”

  I hear the click of the door closing. Out of habit, I turn my laptop off. My cell is next to it. I pick it up and stare blindly at the screen for far too long. Then my fingers start tapping on the keyboard.

  WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE TONIGHT, BE HAPPY, DUCHESS. AND IF YOU DECIDE AGAINST RIDING AWAY IN THE SUNSET WITH YOUR COWBOY, I COOK A MEAN BREAKFAST, REMEMBER? I LISTEN TOO. YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME. ALWAYS.

  I’m not sure what it means exactly. Yes, I want to cook breakfast for Lenor. I want to cook every damn meal of the day for her. Every day.

  I also don’t want her to forget me. Not when, right this minute, lame-ass Joshua McBride might be using the wide range of schmoozing skills he’s been polishing on Capitol Hill.

  I throw the cell back on the desk and swear out loud. What I’m doing is wrong. It’s selfish. I can’t lure Lenor back. I have no right to. Not while I hold the truth from her. But then telling her the truth—to cleanse my guilt—is maybe even more selfish. I could win something from her, but she’ll lose her mom. The mom she loves dearly. Her only family. A family she’ll probably love more than she’ll ever love me.

  Not a single day goes by without me missing my own mom, without me wanting to tell her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me. Things I was too much of an immature fool to say to her face while she was still breathing.

  I shut my eyes and let the seconds tick away. I hope for a solution to appear on the screen of my brain. But nothing happens.

  Clara is waiting for me. I can’t let her down again, so I get up and leave my hiding place.

  Chapter 29

  LENOR

  Paris ~ Present.

  The first thing I notice when I step into the hallway of my family home are the three matching Louis Vuitton bags standing by the front door.

  My mother’s initials are embossed on their expensive leather handles. My heart sighs with regret because I sold my Speedy Vuitton last week to make some pocket money. Charlie has offered to lend me cash until I get back on my feet, but I declined her offer. I want to make it on my own. My plane to LAX is due to leave tomorrow night. Once there, I’ll find a cheap motel and go job hunting right away.

  I’m going to make it work. I’m going to be all right.

  Those two sentences have been my mantra since the shit show orchestrated by my beloved father three weeks ago. I’m not convinced of how true they would end up being, but even the self-doubt eating me from the
inside can’t change the course I’ve fixed for myself.

  I shake myself to remind me of the purpose of my visit. I have finally agreed to see my mother. She has been begging me for a chance to talk since the first morning after the end of the world as I know it. I’ve ignored her calls and texts, as well as her indirect requests addressed through Charlie. In a way, it may have been easier for me to give in because the fear of her digging a load of pills from her hidden stash—out of pure spite—has kept me awake for many nights.

  Mother Dear is nowhere to be seen. Neither in the kitchen—that is to be expected—nor in the drawing room, so I climb all the way up to her apartments. The door is half-open and I push it. I conjure the images flashing back in front of my eyes, images of that morning when I found her on that exact same Persian rug, close to death. I rub my hands over my forearms to fight back the chill.

  The sound of footsteps drags me abruptly back to the present.

  “Lenor.” Mom appears in her bathroom door. She wears jeans—jeans!—and a simple light grey cashmere top. By her standards, this is downright slumming it. “You’re here.”

  “I’m early.” I let the uncomfortable silence linger. “I need to get a few things from my bedroom. Let me know when you’re available for that talk.”

  I start to spin around as she rushes through her next words. “It’s fine. Don’t go. I can talk now.” I look at her over my shoulder. She raises her hand as if that gesture can pull me back. I swear her fingers are trembling. “Please, don’t go.”

  “You’re the one leaving, anyway.” She frowns as if I’m not making sense. “You’re all packed.”

  Slowly she goes to sit on the edge of her loveseat, her palms pressed together between her thighs. “I’m checking back into rehab.” Panic springs up from the pit of my stomach to my throat and I taste its bitterness. “I haven’t taken anything. No alcohol, no drug, nothing… but I’ve struggled so much since that night with your father, I don’t trust myself.” She rubs her hands over her denim-clad thighs. “I can’t relapse. Not ever again.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have mentioned it in the thousands of messages you bombarded me with. For that, I’d have been here in a split second.”

  Her gaze swings in my direction and rests on me. This time she’s the one who lets the silence stretch and I shuffle on my feet. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “It’s your health we’re talking about here, not your latest crush. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The statement bursts from my mouth without a second thought. It’s the truth.

  “I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I’ve booked myself into the same facility. Dr. Olivier has arranged everything. He’ll follow my progress.”

  My swirling brain goes into overdrive. She’s back in rehab, here in France, and I’m flying to the West Coast in twenty-four hours. This isn’t going to work.

  “Stop! Please, Lenor, stop!” My mom has a dry authority in her voice I’ve never heard before.

  “Stop what?” I ask.

  “Stop worrying about me.”

  “It’s easy for you to say that. You drop the rehab bomb on me without any warning.”

  Goddammit, am I back to square one? Back to putting everything on hold to make sure my mother stays healthy, stays alive? She doesn’t deserve my time. She doesn’t deserve my life. But, in the back corner of my brain, I’m already cancelling tomorrow’s flight.

  Mom’s hands curl. “That’s why I’m going back there. There’ll be people to help me.” She lays her hand flat on her chest. “I am taking care of myself. From now on, I’m in charge of my own life. Not your father, not you.”

  I am flabbergasted.

  Mom continues. “I want you to go to L.A. just like you’ve planned.” Charlie must have kept her updated on my life choices. “I want you to live your life without having to worry about me. I am going to be fine.”

  I have prepared myself for multiple scenarios before agreeing to come. This isn’t one of them.

  I take a big gulp of air. Letting go of my obedient-daughter default mode isn’t as easy as I want it to be. “I’ll call Dr. Olivier, so that he knows where to find me in case…in case…”

  “I will be fine and he won’t need to contact you.” Her tone softens. “But thank you. We both know I don’t deserve your concern.”

  “So why did you want to talk about if it’s not rehab?”

  I see my mother swallow hard and her earlier resolve falter. She tilts her head forward in a sign she’s building up her courage. “I want to talk about Zachary.”

  I flinch and fight the urge to turn and leave. I don’t want to have the Zach-chat with my mother. But there’s no way this chat isn’t going to happen. I force my feet to take me further inside the room to sit opposite my mother. It must look as if I’m fully expecting the material covering the seat to burn my butt.

  Her shoulders drop in relief, but she bounces back quickly. “What I did five years ago was unconscionable.”

  Unconscionable? What about disgusting, sleazy, down right disturbing? But I shut my mouth because if I start to talk, I will shout, I will scream, I will ransack the room, I will jump on this fucked-up woman, stick my fingers into her eye sockets, and tear apart that beautiful face of hers with my bare hands.

  “But I did worse,” she forges on. “Much worse.”

  My mouth turns dry. “What did you do?” I may as well ask the executioner how he intends to end my life.

  “I forbade Zach to tell you about it. He wanted to. He really did, but I begged him not to.”

  “And he conveniently agreed. How considerate of him.”

  My mother ignores my poor attempt at sarcasm. “He did it for your sake, not mine.”

  Mom holds up her hand. There is fight in her. Fight I’ve never seen before. “He knew that telling you the truth might give him a remote chance of redeeming himself in your eyes, but it would have destroyed whatever you and I were finally building together.”

  I start shaking my head. “Mom, it doesn’t work like that. Whether the two of us got a chance or not after what you did, it should have been my choice and my choice only.”

  She stares down at her hands and it’s as if I’ve told off my own child. Finally, she whispers, “Those were Zachary’s words too.”

  Her words drag my heart into a downward spiral. I am weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. No last-minute revelation is going to shake my resolve.

  Mom rests her fingers on mine. I shudder but I don’t shake them off. “Lenor, I’m the last person who should say this to you, but I’m also the only one who really can. The only one who really knows.” I reluctantly lift my gaze and force my eyes to meet hers. “Zachary loves you. He always has.” I try to take back my hands but she holds on to them and forges on. “He loves you and you love him.”

  I shoot to my feet, yank my arm free, and flow back to the door. I start shouting. “This is sick. So very sick, you defending him… Do you think that’s gonna change anything? Do you think I can still have a future with him so that you can get away with a clear conscience? Because you’re mistaken, Mother. You cancel any future Zach and I have together the night he let you stick your tongue down his throat.”

  Mom shrinks back and I swear I’m going to throw my breakfast up all over her Persian rug. I open the door wide and it bangs against the wall.

  “Lenor! Hear me out, please.” I exhale loudly and she takes that as my wish to know what she wants to say. “The truth is that I didn’t know Zach five years ago. It could have been any man you’d have fallen for, any man who had turned me down.” So he had turned her down. “I couldn’t accept that. But I do know who he is now. He’s a man who was kind enough to save a woman he truly despised. He’s a man who can deny himself what he really wants so that the girl he loves doesn’t lose her mom.”

  “That doesn’t change any—”

  “Did he actually tell you he’s the one who put me in touch with Dr. Olivier, the one who organized for me to
go to rehab? Did he tell you I’m the one who begged him not to tell you anything?” I shake my head. “So he took the blame all on himself?”

  That he did. The rage I have let swirl out of me earlier dies down as fast as it has arisen. “Mom, we’ve all lost. There’s no winner. There’s no way back.”

  I’m about to step out of her apartment but she isn’t done. “You said it yourself, Lenor. Whether the two of you get a chance or not after what he did, it’s your choice and your choice only. At least, make a choice. Don’t run away from it.”

  Her challenge echoes in my head all the way to my bedroom. I close the door behind me so gently that I almost miss the click. I look around the space that I’ve made mine and realize I’ll miss it. I’ll miss this room, this house. Then I notice my camera bag lying on the bed. I forgot to take it with me after Zach knocked out my father. In that camera are all the photos of our days at la Calanque.

  Make a choice. Don’t run away from it.

  A choice? I don’t have the faintest idea what my options even are. All I know is that I have a flight to take tomorrow. I have a brand new life in front me, one of my own making, one I have not even dreamt of.

  I stride to the bed, grab the camera with the canister of film to be developed in it and disappear inside my dark room. Because it’s the only place that isn’t actually dark.

  And also—although I can’t even admit it to myself—because most of the pictures are of Zach.

  Chapter 30

  It’s a late night flight and the line for security is almost empty. I’ve checked my bag but had to sweet-talk the clerk because I’m five pounds over the limit. I had to part with most of my wardrobe already and leave it behind in Paris because I can’t afford an extra suitcase. Between that and giving up my Speedy Vuitton, there surely is a limit to what an ex-East-Coast Princess can give up on.

  “Don’t forget to buy plenty of mineral water before you get on the plane. Otherwise you’ll get dehydrated. They won’t refill your glass in Economy.”