And there was my answer for why the elephant hadn’t been broached yet.
But now we were at The Boon. And after the loud and busy rush died down a bit, just after one in the morning, he moved his head to the side and nodded toward the end of the bar. I was drinking ginger ale, wanting to be as lucid as possible for the conversation to come. He set down two shot glasses and poured tequila into each one.
So much for lucid.
“Just get it all out, and if I have questions, I’ll ask them when you’re done. You ready?” he asked and held his glass to mine before throwing it back. I followed suit, and as tempting as it was to keep my eyes on the bar, I looked right at him.
“The fight…” I began and drank down my shot, that initial smooth burn settling in the back of my eyeballs before I continued. “Your dad went to my aunt and uncle. He asked them if Uncle Lee would be willing to spend a little time with your mom. In one of your letters, you said she would sleep for days on end and those days were the best, when it was just your dad and you and Miles.”
He filled up the little glass in front of him, tightened his jaw, and put his hand over mine, clutching my fingers in his grasp.
“Most of the time, we were an afterthought.”
“Well,” I said softly, and this time, I did look at the bar. I wished I could face him when I gave him the news, but I feared, if I looked in his eyes, I wouldn’t be able to keep my shit together. “You were right; she is sick, Quentin.”
I waited for him to ask me what it was, but he didn’t. He only drank down his shot.
“Apparently, she’s just…given up.”
His shoulders pushed back in surprise.
“According to my aunt, they thought, since she’s usually pretty medicated, she was having a reaction to her medication, severe depressive, violent episodes, but then they stopped. Just like that.”
I knew from my conversation with Aunt Ardie, Quentin’s mother had been in a high-care facility since he and Miles were teenagers…something I never knew. Something, he never shared.
“Did you know your dad goes to see her?” He nodded, but I could tell, it was a fact he wasn’t real happy about. “Recently…” I paused, took a breath, and went for it, “she’s been asking for Uncle Lee. She’s been regressing to another time, a happier time…” I whispered, “time she spent at the Bodega Bay house…when she and my uncle had an affair…four years before you were born.”
I watched as he did the math. “Fuck.”
“Quentin—”
“That fucking cunt.”
“Quentin, you have to listen to me. There are reasons why, not excuses, but I think you need the whole picture—”
“I need to call my dad. I need to know how he wants to deal with this…fucked up situation. Can’t keep this from my brother, Rylie.”
I wanted to explain that my aunt and uncle were dealing with the loss of their child. It didn’t excuse or condone Uncle Lee’s behavior, but I understood why.
“Listen. Your mom didn’t think she could have kids. Apparently, she and your dad had tried and tried, so when it happened with Uncle Lee…he stepped back. He knew it would destroy Aunt Ardie, so he agreed the baby would be raised by your dad as his own. And she wasn’t sick then. They think the pregnancy brought on her illness.”
His jaw ticked before he opened his mouth and carefully, quietly said, “That’s why they fought. And that’s why she fucking hated me.” The vein in his forehead and neck seemed to throb with his quickened pulse. “Is there more?” He paused. “I mean…I’m assuming you’re not my cousin by marriage. If my dad couldn’t get her pregnant, I could be anybody’s bastard kid. She’d get low, want to feel loved and wanted and beautiful again, she’d find a man who didn’t know how fucked in the head she was and open her legs.”
I reached over again, and, this time, I made sure our hands were tightly connected, and soon, by some miracle, I watched him take a deep breath, close his eyes, then open them again as I spoke.
“No, honey. No. Apparently, you were their miracle. It was hard on your dad because he felt that bond with you he never could find with Miles. But maybe now…he and Lee…”
There was so much hurt, so many secrets and lies, I hoped they’d be able to overcome them because, really, life was so short, so fucking short. Then he leaned over and kissed me, slowly, pulling back to make sure I saw the emotion in his eyes. Bright seas of blue surrounded by thick, dark lashes. And love, gratitude, those were the things I saw staring back at me.
“Rylie,” he said gently. “I love you. I’ve loved you since I understood what the word meant. I love who you are now, who you were then. And I’m gonna love you no matter what happens tomorrow, or next week, or next year. I’m saying it now because I feel it now.”
I dropped my head, taking in the highly-polished grain on the bar and the shadows cast from the overhead lights. And for the first time since this whirlwind with Quentin, I wanted to escape.
How had relaying this horrible news about his mom, their family history, my family history, suddenly morphed into a declaration of love?
“Too much,” he stated, and all I could do was nod in shame.
I wished I could toss those three little words right on back to him. Weeks ago, when I declared we would fight and make up and fall in love and have babies…I meant every word. I still did. But now, I just needed a little time.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “I just wasn’t expecting—”
“You’re afraid.” He was right on the money with that one.
“Just…I’m happy, Quentin. I’m even happy this is going at warp speed. But I just…I need…”
“All I want is you with me, Rylie May. I have no other needs or expectations from you than to be by my side and give this a shot.”
I gave a nod toward the tequila bottle and waited as he poured us both another. We silently toasted what would no doubt be a wonderful future, completely free from drama and intrigue, death and disease. Because, really, how was the alternative fair?
I swallowed down my shot. “We have a lot of baggage, you and I.”
“Not really,” he chuckled. “My life has been fairly uneventful for the last twenty years.”
“Ah, but you didn’t know you were just preparing yourself for this huge wave of emotional upheaval.”
“True,” he said. “But God saw sure to bring you back into my life so I wouldn’t have to go it alone.”
He had a point there. And that’s when his declaration really hit me.
“I have to tell you, shopping was hard.”
“You tried to hide it from me.”
“I know.”
“Don’t do that.” He smiled.
“Okay,” I agreed. “You love me.”
“Rylie, like I said, I’ve always loved you.”
I sat in the bar with him until closing. A new waitress by the name of Carla made us a fresh pot of coffee while I helped her clean up and Quentin went into the office to give Roddy a hand. But I think we were both glad Miles wasn’t working. It meant Quentin had a day to process and regroup, hopefully connect with his dad and figure it all out.
With Windex in one hand and a thin towel in the other, I found a great deal of peace as I wiped down the grained surface of the tables and chairs, and, finally, the bar itself. Carla chattered away about her little girl who spent the weekends with her dad. I’d spent months and months hiding in the solitude of work. There wasn’t a single element of my aunt and uncle’s business I didn’t know how to do. The buses were close to completion. Uncle Lee was all over the website revamp. So, what next?
Mom could easily run the bookings and office work. Dad could help Uncle Lee with the café or the cottages, or, really, just about anything. And if Billy did eventually move down, he’d need something to keep his big brain occupied until he found something else. So, where did that leave me? It would be easy enough to find a retail position somewhere, and I was more than qualified.
But I knew that was
n’t what I wanted.
I told myself, as long as I had my family near me, I had everything I could possibly need and hoped it would always be more than enough, because the last thing I wanted to do was wish for more, wish for bigger. I probably was in love with Quentin, a thought that gave me pause because I questioned how it could be so easy.
But maybe, it just was.
FIFTEEN
Quentin stood next to me at the open mouth of my garage. Dressed in shorts and a tee, I felt a chill from the cold concrete floor. Then the chill came from the first words my boyfriend had said to me that morning.
“Miles and I are gonna go see Dad on Wednesday.”
I turned to see if he had any feelings about being the bearer of bad news, but he didn’t say either way.
“How’s Miles?” I finally asked.
“He wasn’t surprised to learn Dad isn’t his real dad,” he said, moving toward one of the open boxes of junk I’d collected.
“Did you tell him?”
“That Lee’s his dad?” he said into the box.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah.”
“Yeah. But, thing about Miles…he keeps shit inside. Out of the two of us, he’s the strongest. But…” he began and tapered off.
He crouched down and picked up a cookbook from the sixties. I knelt down beside him and asked, “But what?”
“He remembers better than I do, Rylie. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s stronger or just better at hiding it. Anyway,” he said standing up, “Wednesday night, bar isn’t busy. And we found out Carla has some bartending experience. That helps us out in the future.” He paused and rubbed his hands across his bearded chin. “And with your pretty smile, warm personality, and cleaning skills, I bet we could really use a gal like you on the team.”
I choked back a surprised laugh. “A gal like me?”
He put his arm around my waist and whispered into my ear, “I like having you around.”
“Well,” I smiled, “I’ll think about it.”
I took in the massive amount of junk that filled my garage. Funny how I’d moved there with only three boxes and a couple of suitcases, but you’d never know it with the wall-to-wall crates of crap I’d acquired, though there was a lot less than there had been.
By what could only be called a rare miracle, the kitchen guy showed at eight on a Monday morning, brought two men with him, and completed all the framing and installation of the kitchens and cabinetry. Something, I was fairly certain, my uncle or dad must have had a hand in.
The remaining furnishings, including mattresses, bedding, dishes, curtains, toiletries, and everything else, had been removed by my dad from the very garage I was standing in. Each bus had their own labeled crates, and I was confident my mother and aunt were busy unwrapping items and finding appropriate homes for them inside the buses.
It should’ve been my task to complete, but, considering the current drama, I thought it would give my aunt something to keep her mind off everything else. Mom would be there to talk with Aunt Ardie, support her. Unfortunately, this freed up my time considerably.
And not in a good way.
The cottages pretty much ran themselves in early summer. At my suggestion, Bay Bride, who was slated to stay the following weekend, decided to push their dates until all the buses were complete. There was nothing to buy, nothing to decorate…
Nothing to do.
“Where is all this stuff going?” Quentin asked.
I’d gone a little overboard with all the fantastic finds on my shopping expeditions. So I bit my lip to buy me time before I spewed my lie. “Yard sale?”
I could tell by the lift of a single eyebrow, he wasn’t convinced.
“I can probably use a few things here and there for Aunt Ardie’s café. And the cottages.”
He shook his head and laughed and laughed. At me. “What you should do, my little hoarder, is have them build a place off the café. Your aunt’s place is The Garden Café, right? Call yours, The Garden Shed. You’ve got an eye for this stuff, Rylie. That way, nothing gets stale for any of you. Your aunt or mom need a break from making coffee drinks and slinging cakes, they work the shop for you, you work the café…you’re with your family.”
Quentin and I had discussed what I would do after the buses were complete. His suggestion was me learning to tend bar. I had a feeling dealing with the tipsy locals wasn’t my calling. But his idea…my own little shop of antiques and retro finds?
“You think?” I asked.
“What I think,” he said, taking my hand, “you stand right where the bones for that café are now, you look out at that big, empty field where we used to play as kids. You look at the river, at the trees, you’re gonna see something beautiful every day. You’ll have your own space, you’ll get to be creative…and, every now and then, maybe you can come and work in the bar with me when I need a hand. Or,” he kissed my cheek, “I just miss your company.”
I picked up a set of vintage gardening tools. They’d seen better days, of course, but they were fabulous. Moss green, chipped paint on the handles, patches of rust on the metal. Throw some hessian twine around the handles, tie on a parchment tag with a handwritten price…you had yourself a forty-five dollar set of vintage awesomeness.
“I can see the wisdom in your words.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pushing his chest into my back, and held me there. I was happy to let the wheels turn, and he patiently waited as I looked at all the “stuff” and a true vision began to form.
“Can I run an idea by you?” I asked.
He gave a silent chuckle and squeezed me in his hold to continue.
“I’d like to specialize in children’s décor. You wouldn’t believe how many toddler chairs and tables I came across. Little rocking chairs and doll beds and these tiny school desks, that sort of thing. There’s a local woman who sells this line of organic goat milk, some for babies. I could stock it, find someone else who makes toys, a combination of old and new. And maybe, if my aunt and uncle aren’t keen on The Garden Shed idea, I could rent the space that opened up next to Lucy’s office. It’d be perfect, I think. I’d get a lot more foot traffic.”
“I think, once word gets out about your aunt’s carrot cake, foot traffic won’t be a problem.”
I also knew an antique shop specializing in kid’s stuff wasn’t going to make me a millionaire. But it would certainly feed my soul. And he was right about my aunt’s carrot cake.
“You expecting someone?” he asked as he let me go and turned toward the open garage door. A silver SUV had pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. All I could see behind the window, dotted with the reflection of redwoods, were dark sunglasses and a beard that rivaled Quentin’s.
Since he was a man, protective and all that, he did this thing where he moved me behind his hip. It was gentle, subtle, and familiar…something a husband does for his wife. but I still felt it.
My bearded man was not one of these hipsters with a man-bun, skinny jeans, a poncho, and $500 shoes. My man was just…man. Nothing pretentious about him. And I could see, without having a clear look, the man who was pocketing his keys also fell into Quentin’s category of male.
And then…
“Billy?”
I ran out of the garage and threw myself into Billy. He caught me, keys and small duffle in hand, and hugged me right back.
“More of you to hold than last time I saw you,” he remarked.
“All I do is eat.” I laughed into his chest.
He took an arm away, and I watched from my happy embrace as the two men shook each other’s hands.
Then Billy asked quietly, “You have room for me?”
My response was to squeeze harder.
He chuckled. “Guess that’s a yes.” He moved me to his side, still with his arm around my waist. “Sorry about all this…well, all of it, Quentin.”
Apparently, my mother had made a phone call to Billy.
“Is that why you came?” I asked.
> “No, not entirely.” He smiled. “Listen, you mind taking these in for me? I need a minute with your man, here.”
Clearly I was being excused for whatever my brother needed to say, but I didn’t want to go. Still, having him here was a good thing, something I’d wanted and wished for on an almost daily basis. And I had a feeling the big brother was about to have words with my new…boyfriend.
I took his duffle in hand, stepped back, and watched the two tall, handsome men standing in my driveway. “What would the neighbors think?” I laughed to myself as I walked away. But I went inside, my ears straining to decipher the hushed mumbles between them. Unfortunately, it was no use.
I was in the second bedroom, one that had yet to be slept in and was decorated with a male guest in mind. There was nothing frilly, nothing feminine at all. And that confirmed my suspicions Mom had purposefully done that so Billy would feel comfortable. I tossed his bag onto the leather wingchair and plopped down on the end of the bed. Then I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my phone, and called my mom.
“I’ve been dismissed,” I greeted when she answered.
“Dismissed?”
“Guess who’s standing in my driveway talking to my…boyfriend?”
I really had to find a way to get my head around the word boyfriend. It felt…juvenile.
“He made good time,” she observed.
“So you knew he was coming but didn’t think to tell me?”
I wasn’t mad or anything, and Mom knew it. This was just conversation to kill time. And I could tell my mother was multi-tasking as the telltale sounds of pots and pans banging in the background came through loud and clear.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” she asked.
“No,” I sighed. “But I’m not really trying either.”
“I made osso buco.”
A dish, growing up, she started on a Sunday morning so she could give it the time and dedication it required.
Watching the Sky Cry Page 14