Everything We Give_A Novel

by Kerry Lonsdale

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “A calendar. Mrs. Rivers makes us cross out the days in our school planners so we know what day it is. Dad does it, too.”

  His mom traced Sunday’s bold red X, then made a fist, hiding her finger. She brought her hand to her chest.

  “I’ll cross out the days on this calendar. That way you’ll know what day it is and you can cross them off on your calendar.” Ian pointed at the Monday, October 21, square, then tapped the same box on his mom’s planner.

  His mom looked at him. Her eyes welled.

  Ian glanced away, fixing his eyes on the dishes left from breakfast still on the kitchen table. He’d upset her. She didn’t like his idea. “I’ll take it down.” He reached for the magnet.

  “No. Don’t.” She touched his shoulder.

  Tears burned his eyes. He pressed his mouth flat. He scratched his head, then folded his arms tightly over his chest.

  “I’m sorry I left you alone last night. I’m sorry I keep making mistakes. I’m so sorry.”

  His mouth twitched. He clamped his lips tighter, holding in the sob. His mom always apologized. He hated how she forgot things. He wished she could be normal like the other moms.

  His mom cupped his jaw, forcing Ian to look up at her. He noticed that her cheeks were blotchy and her nose red. “I’m sorry I didn’t make you breakfast,” she said.

  “It’s OK.”

  “No, it’s not.” His mom lowered to her knees and clutched his shoulders. “I should have seen you off to school. The thought of you waiting alone for the bus . . .” She inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Ian was used to feeling alone, something else he hated. He flicked the calendar. The corner caught under his thumbnail. He pressed against the paper’s edge until the tender nail bed burned. “What time will Dad be home?”

  “Late, after you’re in bed. Do you wish he was home more often?”

  Ian nodded, his attention on the spot of blood blooming under his thumbnail. He wouldn’t feel as lonely if his dad didn’t travel as much. But he had to work. Medical bills had to be paid and mouths fed.

  Ian could feel his mom watching him, but he couldn’t look at her. He’d cry and that would upset her. It might make her shift and forget again. The pain of the paper cut helped keep the tears from falling.

  “I’m doing my best to take care of you. You know that.”

  He slowly nodded even though he didn’t always feel like his mom did her best. How could she? With hours, even days, missing from her life, the constant shifting from her to Jackie, Ian felt like he spent more time caring for her. If only she could be normal like other moms. He wouldn’t feel so worried all the time.

  CHAPTER 4

  IAN

  Aimee keeps her gaze averted, staring out her side of the front window as I drive back to Los Gatos. She’s quiet and feels farther away than the cup holders that separate us. I bet I could touch the wall she’s erected were I to reach for her.

  That wall’s been there since James showed up last June.

  I want to bulldoze it down.

  I need to know what bombshell the guy smuggled into California.

  If the death grip on the purse Aimee holds in her lap tells me anything, she’s still processing. Thinking about this afternoon.

  Thinking about him.

  I force out a harsh breath and promise myself I won’t push. She started opening up at Nadia’s. She’ll talk in due time.

  Hopefully sooner rather than later. With the deadline National Geographic gave me, I leave for Spain soon. And I’m leaving knowing James is in town.

  Swearing under my breath, I rake my hair and shift in the seat, angling my torso so that I’m somewhat facing Aimee. The temptation to hold her hand has me fisting my own. I bite my tongue so I don’t blurt out my news to lighten the mood. To say anything that would get her to look at me as though I’m the most important person in her life. I want to be that man for her.

  An idea coalesces. I want her to come to Spain with me, and not just because of James. She’ll love the wild horses. We could use the time away to get ourselves in sync again. No thanks to James, our marital rhythm has been out of tune since I returned from the Rapa.

  Aimee clutches her hands. I give in and cross the barrier. Threading my fingers in hers, I bring our joined hands to my lips. I kiss her wrist. I love the feel of her skin. Soft and luxurious, like the lotion-bottle label says. Aimee worships the lotion bottle in our bathroom and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to feel her velvety skin glide against mine.

  I rub my cheek against her hand and when she doesn’t pull away, a fraction of the tension tightening my shoulder blades diminishes. She’s looking at me. I can feel the weight of her gaze and my body tingles with anticipation. My pulse accelerates. I’m going to take her straight to our bedroom when we get home. This gorgeous woman is mine and I want my hands all over her. I want to feel close to her, seek out that connection that seems to be missing lately. And damn it, I want to make sure she’s mine.

  I take my eyes off the freeway and look at her. “I love you.”

  She blinks. The whites of her eyes glow from the headlamps of oncoming cars. Her mouth—those delectable lips I have an overwhelming urge to kiss, and would kiss were I not driving—part to speak.

  My breath catches. I know that look. This is it. She’s ready to talk. My heart races like a sprinter coming around the last corner before the finish. Maybe we’ll work through her reaction after meeting with James before we get home. I hate that she’s hating herself. Maybe going out to dinner will make her feel better, get her mind off him. Perhaps La Fondue is still an option. It’s only seven-fifty. We have forty minutes until our reservation.

  “Do you think we married too soon?”

  Boom! The bombshell detonates.

  My foot spasms on the accelerator, causing the car to lurch.

  That’s not what I expected her to say.

  Hell no! I waited thirteen months to tell her I loved her.

  OK, yeah, so what if the thought of losing her to James when I accompanied her to Mexico to find him was the proverbial kick in the ass I needed to tell her how I feel. I could also care less that I proposed only three months after we returned. We loved each other. We wanted to spend our lives together.

  There’s only one person who could get her asking such a question five years into our marriage. A question that comes way beyond left field. More like Hawaii.

  “What did James say to you?”

  “This has nothing to do with James.” Aimee slips her hand from mine. I feel the emptiness immediately, a punch to my gut.

  “Doesn’t it, though?” I squeeze the steering wheel. “The guy shows up. You go see him. You ignore my calls and texts. I can’t reach you for hours—”

  “It wasn’t hours.”

  “—only to find you at Nadia’s bawling. Then you tell me to go home. What am I supposed to think?”

  “When you put it that way—”

  “What other way is there?” I snap.

  Aimee tenses. She stares at me, her eyes big and round, waiting.

  For what? I’m clueless. I stare back.

  She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve got nothing.

  Wait. Hold that thought, I’ve got one thing.

  I briefly close my eyes and swallow the anger. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is argue.”

  We watch each other for as long as I can safely keep my eyes off the road. She chews her lower lip and a horn blares. I swing my head around, switch lanes, and Aimee quietly says my name. “I’m sorry, too. I should have called you.”

  “You should have come home,” I say gently. “You should have trusted me to be there for you.”

  “I know. It’s just I still feel bad about last summer. Underneath all my anger, I was embarrassed.” She looks at her hands in her lap.

  “Look, I get how the situation between you an
d James is weird. It was a long relationship with an intense, fucked-up ending that wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was in a way. He clocked the neighborhood jerk when we were kids and I hero-worshiped him for years. I think . . . no. I know, to some degree, I still idolized him even after our relationship changed and we became more than friends. I should have known—”

  “No, no, no,” I interrupt. “How old were you when you started going out? Thirteen? Don’t go blaming yourself. You were a kid.” I look askance at her. I’ve asked the question before, but at the risk of making her more upset, I’ve got to ask it again. “Are you still in love with him?”

  I still cringe at myself once the words are out.

  Damn, Collins. What’s with the insecurity?

  Then I remember how every woman I’d loved has ditched me. The fear Aimee will do the same has got its claws on me.

  Aimee fires an exasperated look in my direction. “You know I’m not. But he’s part of my past. He helped shape me into who I am today. How do I make you understand?” She thinks for a moment, weighing things in her mind. “How about this? I don’t love you less because of James. I just love him differently, and because of my experience with James, I believe I love you more than I would have had James and I never been together. I guess the best comparison is that I feel for James the way you feel for Reese.”

  “Oh no.” I laugh the words, shaking my finger. “Our situations are nothing alike.”

  “I know you were once in love with her. She’s your history, and you’ve barely told me anything about her.”

  “Don’t turn this back on me. This isn’t about me. It’s about you and—”

  “I’m always sharing my feelings. I always talk with you about James and what I’m thinking. We agreed to be open about our past relationships, girlfriends and mothers.”

  “What has my mom got to do with this?”

  “You’ve hardly told me anything about Reese, not like how you’ve shared with me your relationship with your mom,” she adds, when my cheek flexes from clenching my jaw too hard.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say quietly. About either of them. It took years of therapy for me to be able to discuss my mom without feeling that burning sensation of anger well up like a Yellowstone geyser. Now I just feel guilt and regret, a whole lot of it, too. I know I could have done more for her. But I also could have done as my dad repeatedly asked of me and let her be. She was not my responsibility, but I felt otherwise.

  Aimee knows everything about my childhood, the way my dad practically abandoned me week after week, leaving me alone with my mom, giving me no choice but to look after her. I was a kid, for God’s sake. I can’t imagine doing the same to Caty.

  I stomp down the hurt of past memories and focus on driving. The road ahead is straight but our discussion is an old one, spinning doughnuts between us.

  I glance at Aimee. She looks stonily at me. She taps the purse in her lap. Annoying little thumps that tighten my back. I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, flip the turn signal, and exit the freeway, easing to a stop at a red light.

  “James is in love,” Aimee says as the car idles.

  “Hopefully not with you.”

  She makes a noise of impatience. “No, not with me. Natalya. Remember that woman we met with him when Carlos visited my parents’ house? Her,” she says. “James has been living with her in Hawaii. He asked if I thought him falling for someone he’d technically just met last June was too soon. It got me to thinking about us.”

  Maybe Aimee and I need to rethink our open-book policy on sharing our innermost thoughts and feelings. She’s gutting me.

  “I love you, Aimee. I love you so much. You and Caty are my world.”

  “I love you, too, Ian.” She leans over and kisses me below the ear, letting her lips linger. I briefly close my eyes. I needed her touch. I needed to hear and feel her love for me.

  Aimee yawns and presses a hand to her stomach. “The martinis aren’t settling well. You mentioned something about dinner plans.” I frown and she clarifies. “Back at Nadia’s.”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing. We’ll get Caty and grab some takeout.”

  She nods and her gaze turns inward.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask as we approach our neighborhood.

  “Ah.” She rubs her temple. “James asked if I wanted to file charges against Phil.”

  I cringe, immediately feeling like a cad. “That’s why you were upset earlier.”

  She closes her eyes and nods. “It brought back James’s proposal, the assault, and the ensuing fallout.”

  Before we married, Aimee had told me about Phil’s sexual assault. She buried the incident, programming herself to ignore the hurt, at James’s request. Out of love for James, which baffled me. The situation sounded as disturbing as the Donato family. How could she have agreed to such a request? But my own mom had made many outrageous requests of me. Except for one, I followed them all.

  The things we do for love.

  While pregnant with Sarah Catherine, Aimee met with a therapist to work through the trauma of James’s disappearance, Thomas’s machinations, and Phil’s assault. I dropped her off at her appointments, even attended a few, and was there to hold her when her hour concluded.

  “Where is Phil now? Do we need to worry about him?”

  Aimee shakes her head. “I’m of no value to him anymore. He used me to hurt James.”

  Thank God, Phil’s out of the picture. I caress her cheek with the back of my fingers. She leans into my hand. “Do you want to file charges?”

  “No, I don’t. The last thing I want is to be dealing with any of the Donatos.”

  “Think about it, I’ll support whatever you decide.”

  “That’s what James said. He offered himself up as a witness if I wanted to file charges against Phil. He even offered to turn himself in since he asked me not to file charges initially. I think he’s trying to come to terms with his mistakes.”

  “Is that why he’s back in California?” I ask, parking curbside in front of the Tierneys’, Aimee’s parents’ house.

  “It’s one of the reasons.”

  Morbid curiosity has me asking, “And the other?”

  Aimee’s expression turns odd. “He wants to meet with you.”

  Me?

  “What in the world does James want with me?”

  My gaze moves beyond Aimee and I lift a finger. “Hold that thought.”

  Caty must have seen our car from the front window. She bursts out the door, princess skirt flowing and wand sparkling as she waves the glitter stick over her head. She might have my coloring, amber eyes and sandy-brown hair, but her half-moon smile and wild curls are all Aimee.

  I leave the car and scoop up Caty before she reaches the sidewalk. “Caty-cakes!” I smack a kiss on her cheek. She smells of peaches and ice cream.

  She squeals. “Daddy! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be celebrating. Hello, Mommy.”

  Aimee joins us. She kisses Caty, then frowns up at me. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Umm . . .”

  “Does this have to do with the dinner plans that suddenly aren’t important?”

  I inhale through my nose. “Maybe.”

  “Tell us, Daddy. Tell us.” Caty wraps her arms around my neck and tugs.

  I grunt and look at my family. We didn’t get off to a great start, but maybe Aimee and I can salvage the evening. “I got a call from National Geographic. They’re sending me on assignment.”

  Aimee falls back a step. Her mouth falls open. “Ian, that’s huge!”

  I beam. “It’s pretty damn cool.”

  “Yay, Daddy!”

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  Aimee’s reaction sends a thrill through me. “Yeah, this is a big deal for me.”

  “For all of us. And you were going to just drive us home and not mention it?”

  “Well . . .” I let a squirming Caty slide down my leg. She skip
s circles around us, waving her wand. Someone’s on a sugar high and her dealer stands in the doorway, illuminated by the lit entryway behind her.

  “Why are you here? Have you two been arguing?” Catherine boldly asks us, making her way down the porch. “Play nicely and go to dinner.”

  I waggle my brows at Aimee. “Wanna go play nicely?” Her cheeks flame.

  “Really, Ian.” Catherine shakes her head.

  I dip my chin, hiding my grin. I don’t mind Catherine’s interference. We’re fortunate Aimee’s parents care. I wish I could say the same about mine.

  Aimee hugs her mom. “We were just leaving.”

  “Good. Enjoy your evening. I’m keeping Caty for the night.” Catherine reaches for her granddaughter’s hand.

  “Where’s dinner?” Aimee asks me.

  “La Fondue.”

  Her gaze smolders, traveling down me, lingering on my abs and other manly parts. Maybe she’s changing her mind about playing.

  My face instantly warms. I clear my throat, reining in my thoughts.

  “That’s why you’re dressed up,” Aimee observes.

  I nod. I’d forgone my uniform of faded jeans and V-neck Ts for something nicer. More suave and sexy. I even styled my hair, although one unruly lock keeps landing back on my forehead. I comb my fingers through my hair.

  “Our reservation’s in twenty minutes.”

  “Then why are we standing here?” Aimee walks back to her open car door.

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Catherine waves good-bye. Caty blows kisses and they go back inside the house.

  I join Aimee at the car. “Let’s grab some grub.”

  Once we’re outside the restaurant, I turn to her. Hooking my hands low around her back, I peer down into her face. She touched up her makeup on the drive over. Nobody can tell that James—the jerk—had made her cry. I sure can’t. I gently kiss her tinted lips, careful not to mess the painted line.

  “Are you sure you want to eat out? We can order takeout and have a quiet night in.” Her mind has been tossed back to one of the most horrific days of her life. The last thing I want is to force her to put on a smile and be in public if she’d rather curl up on the couch with a box of Kleenex and a pint of Chunky Monkey. Of course, that would only make me want to track down James and shatter his nose.