“We’ll have to figure out a new arrangement,” Beau said, loud enough for Warner to hear. “I’m not having my sister’s boyfriend drive me around.”
“Fire me.”
Beau and Brigitte both turned to him. She disengaged from Beau to go hug Warner instead. “But, Brandon, darling, you love what you do.”
Beau made a face. Brandon? He looked between them, suppressing his reflex to stop them from touching. He’d practically pushed Brigitte into Warner’s arms, but seeing them together would take some getting used to.
“I can always do it somewhere else,” Warner said. “At the end of the day, it’s just a job.”
Any other time, Beau might’ve scoffed at that—just a job? What else was there? But since Lola had disappeared, what he’d missed most was having someone to look forward to all day. He’d promised to make her a priority, but then he’d look up from his computer at some point to see afternoon had become evening, and he still hadn’t finished. That was a mistake he was paying for dearly in the tender of regret. Maybe if he’d chosen her over work, like Warner was with Brigitte, Lola would’ve found a reason to stay.
Beau tuned out his thoughts and focused on Brigitte, who was relaying her session to them.
“At first, it wasn’t too bad, mostly discussing what’ll happen over the course of my therapy. Then she asked about the accident, and…” She stepped away from Warner to take Beau’s hands. “And we talked about you. Me and you.”
Beau wasn’t looking forward to hearing whatever she said next, but he remained still despite his instinct to flee.
She must’ve noticed, because she held his hands more tightly. “Do you need to hear this from me? The doctor says I should tell you.” She looked into his eyes. “You’re a good brother. If I ever made you think otherwise, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I just want to see you healthy and happy.”
“I’m not your responsibility. You don’t have to take care of me.”
Brigitte, on her own two feet, without him to support her? He couldn’t picture it. “It’s the nature of our relationship.”
“Sometimes it’s okay to let me fail or fall on my face. All I ask is that you’re there to help me off the ground.”
Beau had his complaints about Brigitte, and sometimes she made his life hard. But without her, who would he be? He didn’t want to know, and he’d never wanted to be rid of her. Not completely, anyway. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t mean your money, Beau. Sometimes I just need you to be there when I call. That’s the relationship I want us to have.”
Beau’s hands were clammy. He’d bent over backward his whole life to make sure Brigitte and his mom were comfortably set up, never without food, shelter or, of course, the finer things in life. “I thought we already had that.”
“We don’t. I’ve spent the last twenty years just trying to get your attention, but nobody has your attention like your money.”
Lola had said the same thing in different words. With a sharp pain in his chest, Beau briefly wondered if this on top of everything else was finally just going to kill him.
“Don’t be upset,” Brigitte said. “I know it’s how you show affection. But it wasn’t enough for Lola, and it’s not enough for me anymore. I need a different kind of support from you now.”
“So, what—I’m the bad guy all the time? For everyone?”
“No. Since we were together when our parents died, I thought we were connected on some supernatural level. But maybe that’s a load of shit—at least, that’s what the doctor seems to think. I’ve been a burden. You’re not responsible for me—or your mom, for that matter. You’re not the man of the house. We can’t keep pulling you in different directions.”
“I want to take care of both of you, but you guys make it difficult to do a good job.”
“So don’t do it anymore.” She cleared her throat. “Take care of Lola instead.”
Beau wanted his hands back, but Brigitte wouldn’t let them go. “It’s over,” he said, subject closed, nothing else to say.
Brigitte looked down. “Ten years ago, you came home a complete mess because a stripper had turned down the money it’d taken you your whole life to earn. Remember that night?”
It was a rhetorical question. Of course Beau remembered every nuance of the hour he’d spent with Lola, the way his heart had stabbed with every footstep he’d taken on his way out of the club. “What about it?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“You already know the story—inside and out.”
“Just tell me.”
Beau sighed, glancing back at Warner. He’d also heard the story, so there wasn’t one reason to tell it. “I gave up a lot for my first website, so when it sold for millions, it was surreal. The night I signed the papers, I was on a high. After years of having no social life, no women, I wanted someone that night. A beautiful girl to celebrate with. I walked into that strip club, and—” Beau paused, remembering how Lola had glistened and glittered from her shiny, black hair to her diamond bikini. “And there was no more beautiful woman than her. But she wouldn’t have me, because she knew what she was worth. I tried to buy her for a night, but she didn’t have a price.”
Brigitte stared up at him, silent until Beau got uncomfortable. “What?” he asked.
With a disbelieving shake of her head, she said, “I’ve just never heard you tell it that way. It was always about what she’d done to you, or the pain she’d caused. You love her.”
Beau took his hands away finally, wiping them on his slacks. “Not much I can do about it either way.”
“What happened when you went to find her?”
“Nothing. Not a fucking thing.” He shrugged. “By saying nothing, she’s made herself clear.”
“You’re giving up?” She rushed the words out, bouncing once on the balls of her feet. She would have him all to herself again. “But you never give up on anything worth saving.”
It took Beau a moment to register that she wasn’t rooting against Lola. He cocked his head, glancing at Warner, whose lips were pressed together with a suppressed smile. “I’m not giving up. I figured it was time I start respecting her decision. Anyway, I wouldn’t know where to find her.”
Brigitte rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious to everyone but Beau. “Stop acting like her opponent,” she said, “and start thinking like her partner. What is she looking for? Where is she going to find it?”
Beau swallowed, looking away. Respect wasn’t the only reason he had to let her go. Her name grated when he heard it aloud. He couldn’t remember word for word the last thing she’d said to him. He would never tease her about seeing the ball of twine in person, as he hoped she had.
“We should go,” he said, turning away from their raised eyebrows and craned necks.
Warner went by Brigitte’s apartment first and walked her to the door. Beau watched them interact without a third party. When Warner leaned in to kiss her, she almost shied away. Warner wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Beau doubted he and Warner suffered from the same kind of sweat, though. Beau looked out the other window to give them privacy.
“You never give up on anything worth saving.”
“Stop acting like her opponent, and start thinking like her partner.”
Beau asked himself when he’d ever not fought for anything in his life. Everything he owned, he had because he’d fought for it. He’d even fought himself countless times. He was tired. Thirty-seven years he’d been fighting without a break and carrying at least one person on his back. He looked at his watch, wondering how much longer he’d have to wait for a drink.
* * * * *
Warner glanced at Beau in the rearview mirror for the third time in ten minutes. Beau’d insisted he’d take a taxi so Warner could stay with Brigitte, but Warner wouldn’t have it. He pulled up to the curb in front of Beau’s house and left the car idling.
Warner had been with Beau ten years. Their
relationship had worked itself into a groove long ago. Beau took a stab at what was bothering Warner. “Should we discuss our new arrangement?”
“No need, sir. I’ll start looking for a new employer in the morning.”
Beau studied him. He seemed to have no problem making such a drastic change. Apparently, everyone around Beau was moving on, working toward becoming better people. “Let me do it,” Beau said. “I only want you working for the best.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You don’t need to call me sir anymore.”
Warner nodded once. “All right.”
Beau hesitated. “About Brigitte. Do you think the counseling will help?”
“Yes. She’s tried before, but this time, she actually wants things to change.”
Beau hoped that was true. She certainly had never sought help on her own without Beau pushing her. “Good.” Beau reached for the handle.
“It may be selfish,” Warner continued, “but I hope she doesn’t change much. I want her to get better and somehow stay the same. Does that make sense?” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “She’s a handful, but she grows on you.”
Beau released the door and sat back in his seat. He smiled a little. “Just be careful what you wish for. Brigitte might mellow a bit, but her fire never burns out. No matter how many times I’ve wished it would.”
“Better or worse, that fire’s what I love about her,” Warner said.
Beau looked at the floor. Fire. He missed Lola’s fire most of all. The way she screamed at him, fought him, submitted to him, came for him, challenged him. Fuck. He needed a drink immediately before he lost it.
“Sir?” Warner asked. “Beau?”
Beau looked up. “Yes?”
Warner turned in his seat to look at him, went to speak. He shut his mouth, looking thoughtful. “I’ve been there from the beginning. That first night you picked Lola up at her house. I see how you are about her. I just—well, I know it hasn’t been…if you need to talk—”
Beau held up his hand. “Not now. Definitely not now. Go home, Warner.”
“Yes, sir.”
Beau got out of the car, went inside and veered directly for his study. He poured himself a drink and took a sip. The burn was a poor substitute for Lola, but it was as close as he could get.
Brigitte wanted Beau to put himself in Lola’s shoes. He was already in them, though, whether he wanted to be or not. He now knew the pain he’d caused her and understood how it’d driven her away. The question was why she was coming home. She had the money and motive to stay hidden. Maybe she thought Beau had given up on her. Or maybe she wasn’t returning to Los Angeles at all.
Beau, a man who lived life on the top floor of whatever building he was in, had never felt smaller or more insignificant. Without Lola by his side, he was nothing. She’d left a hole in her place that’d grown into a canyon each day she was missing. Had she felt the same that morning she’d left his hotel room? Was she still lost and confused, or had she found her way?
It’d been years since Beau had encountered a problem he couldn’t buy his way out of. Once she was back in California, he could spend every dollar he had to track her down. He could fill her space with flowers or show up in a helicopter and take her to Paris for a night. He could build her a place to dance to her heart’s content. Money was the only way he knew how to prove how much he loved her, but it wasn’t right. Lola didn’t deserve to be bought—he knew that better than anyone. He should’ve known that from the start.
She deserved a man who would fight for her. Lay down his life for her. Who would earn her love, no matter what it took, because he couldn’t survive another day without it. A man who could give her the things money couldn’t buy. Finally, Beau understood—he was that man. And he knew where she was headed.
Chapter Seventeen
Arizona had stretched-cotton clouds, blue skies and long-fingered cacti. Lola stuck her left arm out the window, opening her hand against the dry, mild air. It was cooler now that she’d passed Phoenix, and the desert was changing from sand to brittle grass, shrubs and trees.
She’d reached Tucson thinking it would be the last night of her road trip. Los Angeles was only seven or eight hours from there. But in the motel the night before, she’d lain on a hard-mattress bed, staring up at a dark ceiling, insomnia an overzealous friend. She didn’t even know where she’d stop and park her car once she got home. That thought’d made her body heavy on the bed, as if she might risk driving right through the city if she didn’t figure it out soon.
Back when she’d had nothing to lose, it’d been easy to slide behind the bar of Hey Joe. To insert herself into Johnny’s life one toiletry at a time. To slip beside him in his bed. Things weren’t so clear now. She only knew what she didn’t want for herself or her baby—a life where things happened to her. She was capable of taking charge now. That was what she’d gained by choosing herself and driving away from something she loved.
She’d lain awake most of the night, memories of Beau gum-stuck to her no matter how hard she tried to clean them away. How he focused when he shaved. He didn’t make coffee for himself, but he liked to leave her a fresh pot on the mornings he didn’t see her, his version of a love note on his pillow. It was always too strong, the coffee. But what she remembered as clearly as those little things was the waiting. For the end. For him to come home. If Lola wasn’t the woman Beau would leave work early for, then one didn’t exist. By now, he would know it too, what he’d given up to stay on top.
Sometimes, though, he’d tried to make it right—most notably the evening they’d had coffee in his den and talked until the near dawn. After replaying that night’s conversation about travel, she’d decided there’d be one more stop on her trip. It would be a way to pay homage to her time with Beau—and a place to seek answers. The earth had bottomed out from under her, but she was climbing her way back up. Where better to end this trip than a rift so deep, it could never be repaired?
Lola arrived at the Grand Canyon in the late afternoon. She waited in a line of cars to pay the entrance fee. The only money she carried now was a couple hundred dollars divided between her wallet and her suitcase. The rest was in a bank where it belonged. She passed through the cabin-esque, log-walled entrance, and drove to the parking lots. She circled them for fifteen minutes, hitting her brakes now and then for tourists in bunched-up socks and cameras around their necks. Everybody was arriving. Nobody seemed to be leaving.
Finally, she parked and got out, stretching her arms. The clear, cool sky was stark against its russet surroundings. A bus stopped at the curb of the Visitor’s Center and a group spilled out. They wore more layers than she did and talked loudly about the impending sunset. She shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets and tried to weave through people, but they kept stopping to take pictures before they’d even made it to the canyon. She looped wide around the swarm. What she wouldn’t miss about traveling was the crowds, lines, limited parking. People on top of people at every attraction.
She stopped first at the busiest spot, a fenced overlook. She leaned on a railing, gazing into the mouth of the canyon, wide open and the color of a bruise. It gave her a thrill. She scanned the canyon walls, a rust-rainbow of beiges that morphed into earthy purples and pinks as the sun lowered.
A man asked her to move out of a picture he was taking of his wife. Lola left to find a more secluded spot, her tennis shoes crunching along the path. Only Mather Point, where she’d just stood, was enclosed. The rest was open, the canyon ready to swallow anyone who might misstep. She walked the rim, the crowd thinning, and spotted a cliff where she could be alone.
She climbed off the path, down between two boulders. A whitewashed rock jutted out into the canyon and came to a square point. The thought of standing on the edge made her heart skip, but she hadn’t come all this way to live life in the curtains. With slow, careful steps, she walked to the ledge. It was a straight drop down. Being so far up was physical, her stomach and legs prick
ling like being stabbed by hundreds of tiny pins. As a teenager, she’d get high trying to feel something akin to this. She shivered with a breeze, the hair on the back of her neck waking up.
“I’m ready for some answers,” she said out loud, her words expanding into nothing. She felt, inside, like the valley—deep, dangerous, beautiful. She had no idea how to be a mother. She didn’t take it lightly, that responsibility, and it scared her. She needed to know how one night could’ve led to all this. One night, she’d looked over her shoulder and found Beau. One night, they hadn’t used protection. “I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”
Nothing happened. The canyon was still. She wasn’t going to find answers here. They were inside her, but they’d only come with time. She closed her eyes to take a mental picture, the wind light in her hair. She told herself she wasn’t alone, that as much as it’d been forced on her, she’d also chosen this path. She wouldn’t have been happy in that life with Beau, never having healed that wound he’d left, always being second place to his money.
That was where she stood, alone but steeped in hard-won peace, when he spoke from behind her.
“So this is where it ends.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lola opened her eyes abruptly, her peacefulness shattering. Beau was so unexpected that her heart doubled in size and speed, fat and swollen, clambering up into her throat like a live fish trying to escape. She knew that voice, that unforgiving tone, as surely as she knew what would happen if she were to take one step forward.
“Turn the fuck around,” Beau said.
The deeply-orange sun crested from behind a cloud, blinding her. She turned her head to the side, Beau in her peripheral vision. Closer than he should be. There was no one person she wanted to see least and most in that moment. She didn’t want to explain herself, but she needed him to understand.
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