by Nina Lane
“No.” He glances past me to the garden wall. “You’re doing great without me.”
“It’s a community effort.” I tug on his tie. “Come on, you can paint the whale on the Ocean Carousel.”
He shakes his head. “I need to get back to work.”
After giving my hand a squeeze, he detaches himself from me and strides back into his office, his shoulders set. A minute later, his shadow appears in the fifth-floor window.
I return to the mural, but I can’t shake a sudden disquiet. Cole has been “keeping an eye on me” from his office window, just like I often glance up to see if he’s there, but if I leave, he’s never before wondered where I’ve gone.
So why now? Where does he think I was? And why did it scare him?
* * *
I’ve come to expect Cole at the cottage in the evenings, and it’s the place where I feel the safest. After the incident at McGinty’s and the uncertainty about what happens next, being alone with him in the messy sunroom gives me a chance to take a deep breath.
Most of the time, he spends the night, and we alternate between bouts of raw sex, fun sex, tender sex, and sometimes no sex—in which case, we curl up together and doze off.
Just like we always did before.
On Wednesday morning, the scent of coffee rouses me from a shallow sleep, as does the pressure of Cole’s lips against the back of my neck. Sunlight streams through the picture window.
“You want to go for a run with me this morning?” He pats my hip under the blanket.
“Ha ha. You’re funny.”
“I can make pancakes instead.”
“I’m interested.”
He kisses my bare shoulder and returns to the kitchen. I pull myself out of bed, shoving my hair away from my face and reaching for Cole’s discarded T-shirt, as has become my habit. I slip it on and shuffle into the little kitchen. He’s set the wooden table with plates and hot coffee.
“Nice.” I lift a mug and inhale. “Thanks.”
Unlike his huge mansion, the coziness of the cottage reminds me of our shoebox apartment, where we were constantly getting in each other’s way because there was so little room with both of us and all our stuff.
As I’m polishing off my first serving of pancakes, a knock sounds at the door. My spine prickles. No one ever has a reason to climb the hill to the cottage.
I start to push back my chair, but Cole gestures for me to stay seated. Instead I follow him to the entryway. He opens the door.
My heart drops. Vanessa is standing on the porch, her eyes widening.
“Vanessa.” I dart between her and Cole as if I can somehow block him from sight. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s he doing here?” Vanessa skims her hard gaze over Cole, taking in his bare chest and unfastened jeans that clearly indicate exactly what he’s doing here. She snaps her attention to me. “And what the hell are you thinking?”
Dismay falls over me like a black cloud. “Vanessa, I can explain.”
“You’d damned well better explain what you’re doing with the man who killed our parents and brother.”
Cole tenses, his muscles locking. I put my hand on his arm. “Give us a minute, okay?”
He hesitates. Releasing the door handle, he strides into the sunroom to pull on a shirt and shoes. He leaves the cottage, slamming the door behind him.
“Are you kidding me, Josie?” Vanessa tosses a large paper bag onto the sofa.
Unexpected shame boils into my chest, as if I’ve done something wrong. “It…we’re trying to make amends.”
“Make amends.” Her mouth twists with derision. “Is that a new euphemism for fucking?”
“It’s not just that.” Irritation crackles through my embarrassment. “Cole and I have a long, complicated history, as you well know. So don’t make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“I don’t have to make you feel that way,” she snaps. “Because it is wrong. Even if I could get past the fact that he murdered our family, he’s an empty, morally corrupt bastard who only looks out for himself and could give a shit about anyone or anything else. He’ll use you and toss you aside like an old dishrag.”
“Vanessa, stop it.” I press a hand to my tight chest. “I don’t want to hurt you, but my relationship with Cole is none of your business.”
“None of my business?” She stares at me, a flush rising to her skin. “You think it won’t affect me when people find out my little sister is fucking the town bad guy? The man who—”
“I know what happened,” I interrupt sharply. “I know what you and everyone else think he did. I also know the truth that it was an accident. And I refuse to believe a bunch of crappy rumors that he was at fault. He wasn’t.”
“And you believing that makes it okay?” She spreads her arms out, her eyes flashing. “You think anything about your relationship with him is healthy? Normal? You told me you’re sick of darkness and nightmares, but you’re going to sleep next to him at night and think that will help?”
God. Is that what I’d thought?
“I don’t expect or want him to heal me,” I say. “I just want us to settle everything, to come to terms with what happened. To stop placing blame and stop hurting so much.”
“And you have to fuck him to do that?”
“Would you stop?” Anger claws up my throat. “Cole was my best friend, the love of my life, the man I’d planned to marry one day. Not even you can reduce what we had to the crass level of just a fuck.”
“That’s what he was to you.” She paces to the sunroom. “He lost the right to all of that the second he drove off the goddamned road. What is he to you now?”
The question throws me. I’ve tried not to think too much about that, to overanalyze what Cole and I mean to each other or where we go from here.
“He’s still my friend,” I finally say.
“A friend you’re having a summer fling with?”
My spine stiffens. “You can’t belittle me about this. Nothing about Cole’s and my relationship has or ever will be superficial. You know that. And I’m sorry you can’t remember how much he meant to me. Did it ever occur to you that the accident traumatized him too in ways we’ll never know? That he’s been destroyed with guilt? That he’s deserving of forgiveness and understanding instead of blame?”
“So that’s what you’re giving him?” She rolls her eyes. “How kind of you.”
“My way is a hell of a lot better than suing him.” I curl my hands into fists. “Did cheating Cole out of all his money bring Mom and Dad back, Vanessa? Did it make you feel better?”
“Damn right it did,” she retorts. “Not to mention, it was an obvious admission of guilt.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“He caved less than a week after he was hit with the lawsuit.” She spreads out her arms. “Gave me every penny without questioning a thing. Everyone knew he was terrified to go to court because he’d be proven guilty. So he went down without a fight.”
“Because of me!” My whole body is shaking. “He didn’t want me to be subpoenaed, to have to relive it. He didn’t want you to have to hear about it either. He knew the only way to shut it down fast was to give you the money. Which you never should have demanded in the first place!”
“I had every right to that money. I should have asked for more.”
“Right, so your lousy ex-husband could run off with it?”
The instant the words are out of my mouth, regret spears through me. This bitter acrimony is exactly what I’d wanted to avoid.
Twin spots of color appear on Vanessa’s cheeks. “If you want to have an affair with that bastard, go right ahead, Josie. But I will tell you one thing.”
She strides toward me. Flames fire into her blue eyes. She puts her hand on her round belly.
“You told me you want to be part of my baby’s life.” She takes a heavy breath. “That you want to be part of my life again. But if you think you can have any kind of relations
hip with Cole Danforth, much less an intimate one, and still be my sister and my son’s aunt, then guess again.
“I will never let my child anywhere near a murderer or a girl who insists on sleeping with one. So you can either spread your legs for him or be my sister. Because there is no fucking way you can be both.”
The ultimatum is a series of sharp, hard blows to my chest, robbing me of breath.
Vanessa stalks to the door, leaving it open behind her as she heads down the hill. I peer into the paper bag she’d left, which contains curtains, pillows, and a decorative clock to start furnishing the cottage.
Heartsick, I go to close the door. Cole is standing a distance away, his arms crossed and posture tense.
He lowers his arms, glancing in the direction Vanessa went before approaching me. A deep crease lines his forehead.
“You okay?”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. He steps forward warily, as if I might shove him away, but I have neither the strength nor the desire to resist him. When he gathers me against him, I welcome the solid heat of his body, the steel-like band of his arms around me.
“I’ll talk to her.” He rubs his hand over my back.
“No, don’t. That will make it worse. She’ll never forgive you.”
Tension laces through him. “She shouldn’t. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“Well, you have mine. Not that you need it because I never blamed you.”
He tightens his arms around me and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I don’t like where any of this is going or what it can do to you. I heard what she said.”
With a groan, I lean my forehead on his chest. “I’m not going to choose between you and her.”
He doesn’t respond. I grip the front of his shirt.
“And don’t tell me I don’t have to,” I whisper. “Don’t tell me that whatever is going on between us will end when I leave, so I should choose Vanessa because we’ll never stop being sisters. Don’t tell me you’ll walk away to spare me the pain of making a choice. I won’t let you.”
A heavy breath saws from his chest. He settles his large hand on the back of my neck. “I can’t walk away from you, Josie. Not again.”
I can’t walk away from him either, but deep foreboding hovers over my heart. Like the thread is pulling even more, unraveling a fabric that was just starting to come together again.
“Hey.” Cole slips his hand under my chin and lifts my face. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. You’ll be there for her, and you’ll be an amazing aunt to your nephew.”
Though his words are reassuring, his eyes are dark, shuttered. Unreadable. Nothing good has ever happened when I’ve been unable to find Cole in his blue eyes.
Chapter 6
Josie
* * *
The routine of painting the mural, focusing on color and design, and interacting with people who ask to help…all eases my prickliness and anxiety. The day after my confrontation with Vanessa, I repaint the mistakes I’d made on the façade of the old library and label the street signs from the nineteenth-century town map. At the very least, I’ve rediscovered my love of painting again in this creation of something good.
“Josie? Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” I turn from the mural to find Allegra King and the art historian Eve Perrin both standing nearby. After setting my paintbrush down, I grab a rag to wipe my hands. “How can I help you?”
“Eve and I have been looking ahead to the different projects we want for the new Arts Center,” Allegra explains. “Construction will be finished this fall, and we want to hit the ground running. We’d like to ask if you’d be interested in being on our recruitment committee when we start hiring teachers.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
Eve smiles. “Seriously. It would mean reviewing applications, making recommendations, offering input. You can do it all from California. Since you’ve made the mural such a collaborative effort, we’re especially interested in your ideas for community-based art projects.”
“Well, people painting this mural was kind of an accident.” I rub my hands on my overalls, both flattered and uncertain about their proposition. “I hadn’t intended for it to be a collaborative effort. It just turned out that way.”
“Exactly.” Allegra nods, a pleased smile crossing her face. “You have a knack for involving people in art, which is why we want your input.”
“We know you’ll be busy when you go home,” Eve adds. “But if you’d consider this as a part-time position, we’d love to have you on the committee. We’ll find more time to talk about it before you leave.”
Pleased at the idea of having an influence on the Arts Center, I thank them and promise to let them know. As I return to the mural, Eve’s remark about leaving sticks in my head.
What if I stay?
Not once in ten years have I considered moving back to Castille. I’ve built a life for myself in San Francisco, even if it has been populated by darkness and nightmares.
But what if I did move back? What if I could stay here and watch my nephew grow up? What if Cole and I really could manage to turn our relationship into something long-lasting again?
The questions flutter like fireflies through my mind. I can’t imagine any of the answers fitting together properly. If my sister has anything to say about it, watching her son grow up precludes any hope of a relationship with Cole.
Too many broken pieces.
When the afternoon light begins to wane, I pack up my supplies and walk to the house on Poppy Lane. Upset as I’ve been with Vanessa, I can understand the root of her anger, even if it’s misdirected at Cole. I might not be able to remember anything, but Vanessa remembers too much.
She’d taken the horrific phone call from the police, been forced to identify the bodies, held me in the hospital while she told me what had happened. In the midst of her own shock and grief, she’d made the funeral arrangements, kept Cole away from me, dealt with paperwork, bills, all the horrible, mundane details of which I was oblivious. In the process, her devastation twisted into hatred of the only person she could blame.
But still…there has to be room for forgiveness. Somehow.
Bracing myself, I ring the doorbell. Vanessa opens the door, her rounded figure draped in a pink flowy blouse and black cropped pants.
She glances behind me. Her eyes narrow. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. We need to talk.”
She pulls the door open wider to let me into the foyer. “If you’re planning on being with him, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“And you and I aren’t going to get anywhere if you issue me an ultimatum like that.” I set my backpack down and step closer to her. “Do you really think Mom and Dad would want you and me to fight like this? Again?”
Her eyes meet mine for an instant, but then her jaw stiffens. “Do you really think they’d want you to be with the man who killed them?”
“They would not blame Cole or think of him that way. And if you think they would, you’re wrong. You know that. He did everything he could to correct course. I truly hope you and I can do the same thing now.”
“What is it you want, Josie?” Irritation flashes over her expression. “Family dinners with you, me, and Cole Danforth? Whatever you have going on with him, I want no part of it. I don’t want my son to be part of it either. I’m sorry, but it’s pretty fucked up.”
My chest clenches. “No, it’s not.”
“Everyone will agree with me,” she says. “It’s like some twisted version of the Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Oh, stop it. I don’t care what everyone will think. That was the night Mom, Dad, and Teddy died, and it was the night Cole and I survived. I don’t care what people or you have said about him. The fact is that he did nothing wrong. In fact, he saved me. Nathan said Cole had gotten me out of the car because it was getting submerged. There’s no telling what could have happened.”
“Does what could have happened even matter?” Van
essa puts her hands up in exasperation. “None of it would have happened if he’d been careful.”
“It was a horrible accident. No one is to blame, least of all Cole.”
“Look.” She leans closer, her features hardening. “Putting that aside, what about all the crap he’s pulling with his company? Screwing people over, shutting down smaller businesses, generally being an asshole? Is that the kind of man you really want to be with?”
“You don’t know the whole story or the truth. No one does.”
“I don’t care either. The evidence speaks for itself, both then and now. I will never accept you and him together.”
The ache inside me deepens. I hadn’t expected to change her mind in five minutes, but ten years ago she’d been the one to give me advice on how to get Cole’s romantic attention. Now she can’t bear the thought of him in my life.
“Look, I don’t have time for this right now.” She glances at her watch. “I have to go. An old friend from high school contacted me asking if I can help with redecorating her living room, so I told her I’d stop by.”
“That’s great.” Even though I can’t stand fighting, I’m pleased at the idea of her rediscovering her talent like I’ve done with mine. “You were always so good at that.”
Her mouth twists with self-derision. “Something to do, anyway.”
“I also stopped by to clear out some of the stuff in the basement.” I gesture toward the basement door. “I talked to Dad’s friends at the Historical Society, and they’re interested in his book collection for their library.”
“Go ahead.” She grabs her purse and car keys from the table. “Just lock up after you leave.”
She goes out to her car. I head down to the basement, flicking on the lights.
I tackle the organization systematically, setting my father’s belongings in one corner and my mother’s artwork in another. Books, paintings, clay pots, notepads, old palettes. A set of framed paintings leaning against the wall yields one of my favorite Faith Mays series—Interiors, in which she studied the realistic effects of light.