The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” she said with more back rubbing.

  “I guess I didn’t matter enough for him to tell me. Maybe that’s why,” I’d said, settling on it as an answer before falling asleep in my old friend’s arms.

  Now I sat alone on my couch, except for my dog who had jumped up and plopped his big head in my lap. Staring out the window, I still thought, Why?

  But I knew I would never get an answer.

  These days, I was back to night meetings. AJ was in rehab. I’d learned this from Shirley, who insisted he was sorry and also kept telling me that I should give Lane a chance. I was sick of listening to it, so I took advantage of AJ being gone and went to my old meetings.

  Working my regular shift plus overtime, I still found myself with too many idle hours that I despised. I would watch the clock during those minutes, counting off the seconds like a kid waiting for her mom to get home from work. At least, that was what I imagined it felt like as I didn’t have the first clue.

  Dwelling on the past, present, and lack of a future became my only pastime.

  Even Brooks was sick of sitting. He’d jumped off the couch and was circling the door, when I decided to take him for a walk. Slipping on a lightweight sweatshirt and heading out the door, I was surprised when an enormous black Hummer came up my driveway.

  “Brooks, stay,” I told my dog. He dutifully sat down next to my feet, waiting for further instructions.

  I stood still, awaiting what latest drama had found my doorstep when Jake stepped out of the enormous vehicle. When he walked toward the porch, I didn’t move.

  “Bess,” he said simply.

  “Jake.”

  He breathed out my name again as he came close, and I could smell his cologne. It was so different from his brother’s smell. Lane was drenched in cool confidence and sand and sun. Jake was cloaked in sheer masculinity and sweat mixed with Calvin Klein.

  Lane was a refined Jake.

  Jake was a raw Lane.

  My head hurt from the comparisons, but I realized that Lane’s scent was only a cover-up for his real stench, much like the department store cologne was masking Jake’s latest workout.

  But what was Lane’s regular scent? Was he normally cloaked in a mixture of expensive perfume from Miami babes or the cheap Walmart eau de toilette of hotel staff? Or was it that of a liar, a man who took pleasure in duping young women? Preying on their weaknesses? He certainly knew mine beforehand.

  “Are you heading out?” Jake asked, interrupting my psychoanalysis of his brother.

  “I was taking my dog for a walk.”

  I started down the porch steps and yelled, “Let’s go, Brooks.” Of course, I had the stupid red leather leash in my hand.

  “Can I join you?” Jake asked from behind my back.

  “Sure,” I said without stopping.

  Heading down the hill, my boots sticking to the spring mud, I glanced at Jake’s feet.

  Brand new athletic shoes. Serves him right for bothering me.

  “So, why are you here, Jake?” I said, cursing myself for saying the word why.

  “Lane’s not doing well.”

  Not looking his way, I shrugged. “I don’t know what you think I can do about that, even if I wanted to do something.”

  “Bess, he’s a mess, but I’m the only one who knows it. He’s got his suit on, all perfectly tailored, and he’s wheeling and dealing, playing the role of big, accomplished CEO. He’s got this Florida bimbo and that Southern babe on his arm, but I know Lane better than anyone. This is haunting him.” He was by my side now, easily walking down the hill, his wide shoulders taking up almost the whole path.

  Southern babe . . . Florida bimbo. That stung.

  “Sounds to me like he’s fine.”

  “He’s never been fine.” Jake grabbed my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks, turning me to face him. “Lane hasn’t been fine since our parents died.”

  I gasped as a shiver ran through me from head to toe.

  Jake frowned at me. “What? He didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  Jake grabbed his forehead, looking so much like Lane on that day in the coffee shop, it pinched my heart. “Geez, I would have assumed.”

  “No,” I said slowly, my mind churning as I processed what he’d said. “But I didn’t really ask. It’s something about me I realized that day after Lane sent the necklace. Apparently I’m pretty self-absorbed, but I’m working on it. I need to learn how to be there for others in a way that no one was ever there for me.” I felt a lone tear drip down my cheek, at first thinking it was a raindrop, but knowing better.

  Jake grabbed hold of both my shoulders and shook me. “So, why are you shutting him out now? I know he was wrong, and it’s not my business to even guess what the whole lying to you thing was all about. But he needs you now. All this coming back north, it’s never been good for him, yet he did it for you.”

  A thundershower was pouring down my face now. “Why?” I asked, my throat tightening on the one syllable.

  “You need to go to him, Bess. That’s for him to say. He won’t accept my help, but he needs someone.”

  “What’s his problem with the north?” There I went questioning again.

  “Let him explain that,” was all Jake said before turning and climbing back up the hill to his ridiculous car.

  Four days later, before leaving work, I changed clothes and took the elevator to the eighth floor, looking for my only ally who could be impartial and objective.

  Camper, Shirley, and Jake were all pro Lane. “Help Lane,” they’d say. “Hear Lane’s side, Lane needs you.” Or the kicker, “You don’t know what he’s been through.” I heard their words in my sleep and when I was awake, and they drove me crazy.

  Ducking my head inside room 802, I called out, “May?”

  May, who had been wishing for me to meet Mr. Right longer than anyone, seemed to be the only person I knew who could take a neutral stance, not pushing or pointing me in any one direction.

  Well, her and AJ. I’d seen him in rehab the day before. His green eyes were cold and lifeless, his posture aloof as he slumped on the window seat, barely tolerating my visit.

  “May?” I called again, this time a little louder, pulling myself out of my negative thoughts.

  “Hey, Bess.” She peeked out of the bathroom, her hands and lower arms lined in yellow rubber gloves.

  “You have a sec?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said, waving me in before peeling off the gloves.

  I sat on the edge of the couch in the room, keeping my eyes down as I smoothed my hand over the paisley fabric. “I need your opinion.”

  She sat next to me without a word, covering my hand with hers.

  “I mean, your opinion without any of that Prince Charming bullshit. I’m a waitress, you’re a maid, and we work in a hotel in the middle of nowhere. Nobody is going to come and swoop me up.”

  Squeezing my hand, she said, “Bess—”

  “No, it’s all right,” I said, interrupting her. “It’s all right because at least that realization lets me understand why I fell for AJ when I shouldn’t have. I believed I didn’t have a chance with anyone else, so when he kissed me, I just let it happen. But then I felt what things could be like with Lane, and now I know what real feels like. All of a sudden, I understand commitment and unconditional love, those things I always thought were myths. But now they’re gone.”

  I sighed deeply, then looked May in the eye. “And I think in order to move on and have anything close to that with someone else, I need to make amends with Lane. His brother came to see me and told me Lane’s hurting. Maybe I owe it to him to check on him, to put his mind at ease and let him know that I forgive him.”

  “Honey, he’s hurting because he lost you,” May said, weaving her fingers through mine.

  Laying my head on her shoulder, I said, “No. He just needs to be absolved of his guilt, and I should give that to him. After he gave me my heart back, it’s
the least I can do.”

  May dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Bess, love, that man did more than give you your heart back. He pumped oxygen into it and watched it dance. If you’re asking me if you should go to him, I say yes. But not to absolve him. To love him.”

  Her answer made my heart smile. Looking up into my friend’s face, I leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek and asked, “Can you watch Brooks again?”

  Lane

  “Listen, Alan, I don’t care what you budgeted for software upgrades next year. This is my cost. Either take it or leave it, because this price isn’t going to be on the table for much longer. I have a long waiting list.” I barked into the phone, tapping an expensive pen rapidly against the arm of the chair I sat in, sick of this guy’s runaround.

  But inside, I was just plain sick. And tired. Inside, I felt like the young boy I once was, afraid to risk feeling again.

  I was in my office in downtown Miami, unable to appreciate the stunning sight of the bay glittering in the window behind me. My Italian leather shoes propped on the desk, I’d been making phone calls, taking out my aggressions on anyone who crossed me as my perfectly pressed jacket hung on the back of my office door.

  To look at me, you would never suspect there was a brutal war raging inside me. My brain’s foot soldiers were standing guard at my heart, not allowing anyone entrance. I had fully retreated to my safe space, the four walls within which I controlled everything. For there were no loose ends when it came to my business; there I was the master of my fate, the controller of my destiny.

  My office was on the fiftieth floor of the tallest office building in southern Florida, and that was where I’d spent the last few weeks. Outside my domain, my control wasn’t guaranteed. After all, I couldn’t mastermind the world. And I knew all too well what happened when there was no one in charge.

  I hadn’t been home since returning from Pennsylvania. Home was where chaos only bled into the nightmares, where the sheets still reminded me of her scent, even though they’d been washed countless times. No, thank you.

  “Okay, Lane,” I heard from the other end of the landline. “You drive a hard bargain, but we desperately need what you’re selling, especially since our competitor has your software. You have a deal, sir.”

  You bet I do. In business, I know what the fuck I’m doing.

  I was in the middle of saying, “I’m going to put you through to my assistant, so she can set up when I can come back to your property,” when my cell phone started vibrating on my desk.

  Setting the landline back in the receiver, I swiped the smartphone. It was an unknown caller.

  “Wrigley here,” I grumbled into my headset.

  “Um, Mr. Wrigley?” a man said with a Mexican accent.

  “Yeah, who is this?”

  What now?

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, it’s Chaz. Um, I take care of your pool.”

  “Chaz, if there’s something you need or a bill is outstanding, please call my main office number and ask for Shelly. This is my private cell.” I dropped my feet from my desk, thinking about heading down to the hotel for some lunch.

  “Uh, sir. It’s not that. I’m here now at your place, taking care of some things, and there’s a girl here. A young woman who’s sitting by the front gate, with her bag by her feet.”

  “What?” I stopped dead in my tracks, bracing myself against the floor-to-ceiling window facing the water, my hand chilled against the warm glass.

  “A girl, sir, all wrapped up in a sweater even though it’s seventy-five degrees out. I asked her if she needed help, but she said she’d just wait for you to get home.” He paused for a moment and said in a strained voice, “I’m not prying, sir, but I noticed you haven’t been around.”

  I was putting on my jacket, wrinkling it all to hell as I tried to shove my arms in the sleeves while still on the phone. “I’m coming,” was all I said as I ended the call, willing my private elevator to get me to the garage faster.

  Grinding the shit out of the clutch, I shifted like a lunatic all the way home. As its tires shrieked a protest, I slammed my car into park in front of where Bess waited at the gated entrance to my home, and jumped out.

  Bess got to her feet, the sun blazing down on her dark hair, casting a glow on her face as she turned it expectantly toward me.

  “Bess.” “Lane.”

  We spoke at the same time, cautiously closing the distance between us on the scorching Florida pavement.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sounding gruffer than I wanted.

  God, I’m so tired.

  Her brow crinkled, and she took a step back instead of continuing to move forward.

  I held out a hand, embarrassed that I was already screwing this up. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not mad, just disappointed . . . in myself. How did you get here on your own? Why are you just sitting out here by the driveway? You didn’t call?” I tried to steady my tone, tamping down my own inadequacies and anxiety.

  She stood her ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her own narrow waist. “I wanted to say I was sorry, sorry for dragging you into everything with AJ and me. And, well, I wanted to thank you for when you saved my life years ago.”

  Before I could say anything, she continued. “That day was both a beginning and an end for me, you know. An end to who I’d been for a long time, and the start of who I am now. I can’t ever be that Bess again, and I’m not sure this new one is much better,” she said as she looked down at her Nikes. “My selfishness replaced drugs as a survival mechanism—both of them let me off the hook when it came to really getting close to anyone. So, I’m sorry for that, both now and then.”

  I couldn’t move. She was sorry? Standing there in her athletic shoes, wrapped up tight in a sweater that hid her tattoo, she looked like a young college girl, but her attitude was fierce and grown-up.

  I need to get my shit together.

  She bought herself a plane ticket with her hard-earned tips to tell me she was sorry?

  I’m a dick.

  I was so stubborn that I ran from this woman, never considering how that would make her feel, and she turned around and did something like this for me. Something I doubted she could afford—either financially or emotionally.

  “Bess, you have nothing to be sorry for. This is all on me,” I said. The heat of the car’s engine reflected off of me, causing sweat to drip down my back, coating me in a glaze of my own shame.

  She shook her head. “No. I need to be selfless and apologize, Lane.”

  I walked to her and gathered her in my arms. “No, you don’t.” Because I was the caring one, the enabler in relationships. At least, I used to be.

  “I need to apologize,” I told her. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I knew it would ruin everything, and it did exactly that. It ruined it all.”

  When I rested my lips on the top of her head, she wriggled out of my arms, and I immediately felt the loss.

  “Well, I want to know why,” she said as she stared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Her eyes narrowed, she challenged me on the edge of the street.

  “Let’s go inside. It’s hot. Let’s get you a cool drink, okay?”

  After settling her in my car, I opened the gate and we drove to the house, not bothering to pull into the garage. I waved to Chaz where he was working by the pool, and we went inside. The house was cool and silent, a welcome and soothing greeting to my pounding heart and overheated soul.

  “Wow, it’s so clean and quiet here,” Bess said, looking around with wide eyes.

  “I haven’t been home much.” I took my jacket off and tossed it over the banister. “Actually, I haven’t been here at all,” I confessed.

  “What?”

  She moved a little closer, and the warmth of her body defrosted my lonely heart.

  “I’ve been staying at the hotel that sits under my offices. I’ve been working nonstop, and I haven’t wanted to be hom
e.”

  Bess took my hand. When her small fingers intertwined with my large ones, a strange combination of lust, possessiveness, and fear took hold of me, making me suddenly want a drink. Would she grant me that one wish? I needed one—my nerves were jumping at her mention of the word why—but could she handle it?

  “Come in,” I said, leading her to the great room. “Would you like some water? Soda?”

  “I’ll take a glass of water.”

  I set Bess on the sofa, treating her as if she were some delicate piece of glass even though I knew she’d hate that comparison, but I couldn’t help it. Now that her past was spread out in front of us, my involvement intricately woven through it for anyone to see, I couldn’t help but to look at Bess and see the messed-up college-age version of her. The young girl crying for help that I ignored, convinced I had to stop fixing others for my own sanity.

  I’d forced my way back into her life, and had left nothing but destruction in my wake. I should have never asked for that first dinner.

  And I never should have covered for Jake.

  This couldn’t be fixed, no matter how much I wanted it to be. This being my fucking shit life.

  Grabbing the water, I came back with one glass.

  “What about you?” she asked as she reached for it.

  “Do you mind if I have something stronger?” I said as I closed in on the bar, clearly unable to wait for her response.

  “No, go ahead. Please don’t treat me with kid gloves, Lane. I can see you’re doing that, and you need to stop.”

  After pouring a small tumbler full of scotch, I tossed back half in one gulp.

  Silence sucked all the air out of the room. I stared into my drink, unable to find the words that might make this situation right.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Bess said in a low voice, “but I don’t care. I’m here for you, Lane.”

  “I’m a living, breathing mess,” I said as I barked out a demented laugh. “You can’t fix me, Bess. I’m the one who fixes others. I don’t have a fixer.”

  Quickly unraveling, I tossed back the rest of my drink, mindlessly grabbing the whole bottle and settling into the chair across from the recovering alcoholic proposing she’d make it all better for me.