His mother was gone, but life was fine, just the way he liked it, just the way he’d always envisioned. But with every silent swipe of his windshield wipers, the feeling scratched a little deeper. He figured it was the jet lag and once he got home to his condo and relaxed, the feeling would go away.
He’d purchased the condo two years after his book had hit number one on the New York Times and USA Today best-seller lists. The book had sat on the lists for fourteen months, earning him more money than he’d ever made or would ever hope to make from journalism. He’d invested the money in real estate, luxury goods, and a few risky tech stocks that were paying off nicely. Then he’d moved on up, à la the Jeffersons, from a small apartment in Kent to the deluxe condo in the Queen Anne district of Seattle. He had a million-dollar view of the bay, the mountains, and Puget Sound. The 2,500-square-foot space had two bedroom suites with shower stalls and sunken jet tubs in each bathroom. Everything from the ceramic tile and hardwood floors to the plush carpet and leather furniture were done in rich earth tones. The polished chrome and glass shined like new money, a symbol of his success.
Sebastian pulled his SUV into his parking space, then moved to the elevator. A woman in a power suit and a boy wearing a lizard T-shirt waited by the doors and stepped into the elevator with him. “What floor?” he asked as the doors closed.
“Six, please.”
He pressed the buttons for six and eight, then leaned back against the wall.
“I’m sick,” the little boy informed him.
Sebastian looked down into the kid’s pale face.
“Chicken pox,” the woman said. “I hope you’ve had them already.”
“When I was ten.” His own mother had turned him pink with calamine lotion.
The elevator stopped and the woman gently placed her hand on the back of her son’s head and they stepped into the hallway. “I’ll make you some soup and a bed in front of the TV. You can curl up with the dog and watch cartoons all day,” she said as the doors closed.
Sebastian rode the elevator two more floors, got out, and entered the condominium on his left. He dropped his carry-on suitcase in the entryway, the sound inordinately loud on the tile floor. There was nothing to break the silence that greeted him. Not even a dog. He had never had a dog, not even as a kid. He wondered if he should get one. Maybe a beefy boxer.
Sunlight poured through the huge windows as he walked from the great room and set his laptop on the marble countertop in the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee and tried to explain away his sudden interest in a dog. He was tired. That’s what was wrong with him. The last thing he needed was a dog. He wasn’t home enough to take care of a plant, let alone an animal. There was nothing missing in his life and he wasn’t lonely.
He moved from the kitchen to the bedroom and thought perhaps it was the condo itself. Maybe it needed something more…homey. Not a dog, but something. Maybe he should move. Maybe he was more like his mother than he’d ever guessed and had to try on a dozen or so homes before he found one that felt just right.
Sebastian sat on the edge of his bed and took off his boots; the dust from the streets of Rajwara still clung to the laces. He kicked off his socks and took off his watch as he headed to the bathroom.
Several years before, he’d tried to talk his mother into retiring and moving into a nicer house. He’d offered to buy her something newer and fancier, but she’d flat-out refused. She’d liked her house. “It took me twenty years to find a place that feels like a home,” she told him. “I’m not leaving.”
Sebastian stripped naked, then stuck his hand into the shower stall. The brass fixture was cool to the touch as he turned on the faucet and stepped within the glass closure. If it had taken his mother twenty years to find a comfortable space, he figured he had a few more years to figure it out. Warm water rained down upon his head and over his face. He closed his eyes and felt the tension wash away. There were plenty of things to stress about. At the moment, where he lived wasn’t one of them.
He had to sell his mother’s house. Soon. Her best friend and business partner, Myrna, had moved all the beauty supplies out of the salon and taken all the plants. She’d donated the canned and dry goods to the local food bank. All that was left for him was to figure out what to do with the rest of his mother’s things. Once he got that off his shoulders, his life would get back to normal.
He reached for the soap, lathered his hands and washed his face. He thought of his father and wondered what the old man was up to. Probably pruning roses, he supposed. And he thought of Clare. More specifically, of the night he’d kissed her. What he’d told Clare had been the truth. He would have done just about anything to get her to stop crying. A woman’s tears were just about the only thing in the world that made him feel helpless. And, he reasoned, kissing Clare had seemed like a better idea than hitting her or throwing a bug in her hair, like he had as a kid.
He lifted his face and rinsed away the soap. He had lied to her. When he apologized for kissing her, he hadn’t been all that sorry. In fact, he hadn’t been sorry in the least. One of the most difficult things he’d ever done was turn away and leave her standing in the shadows. One of the most difficult-but the wisest. Out of all the single women he knew, Clare Wingate was not available for kissing and touching and rolling around naked. Not for him.
But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her. About her round breasts and dark pink nipples. Lust churned low in his belly as he closed his eyes and thought about making her nipples hard as his fingers followed the pink string of her thong across her hip to the triangle of silk material covering her crotch.
His testicles ached and he turned rock hard. He thought of her using her beautiful mouth on him, and sexual need pounded through his veins, but there wasn’t anyone to slip into the shower and take care of that need for him. He could call someone to come over, he supposed, but he didn’t feel right having one woman finish something another woman had started. With the thought of Clare in his head, he took care if it himself.
After Sebastian’s shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed into the kitchen. He felt a little ridiculous having just fantasized about Clare. Not only was she the weird little girl from his youth, but she didn’t even like him. Usually he tried to fantasize about women who didn’t think he was a dickhead.
He poured a mug of coffee and reached for the phone sitting on the counter. He dialed and waited as it rang.
“Hello,” Leo answered on the fifth ring.
“I’m back,” he said, pushing thoughts of Clare from his head. Even after the time they’d spent together recently, it still felt a bit strange to just dial up the old man.
“How was your trip?”
Sebastian raised the mug. “Good.”
They talked about the weather, then Leo asked, “Are you going to be heading this way anytime soon?”
“I don’t know. I have to pack up Mom’s house and get it ready to sell.” Even as he said it, a part of him shrank from the thought of packing his mother’s life in boxes. “I’ve been putting it off.”
“It’s going to be tough.”
That was an understatement, and Sebastian laughed without humor. “Yeah.”
“Would you like me to help?”
He opened his mouth to give an automatic refusal. He could pack up a few boxes. No problem. “Are you offering?”
“If you need me.”
It was just stuff. His mother’s stuff. She most definitely wouldn’t have wanted Leo in her house, but his mother was gone and his father was offering a helping hand. “I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll tell Joyce I’ve got to be gone a few days.”
Packing up the kitchen was easier than Sebastian had anticipated. He was able to detach himself as he and Leo worked side by side. His mother had never been into china or crystal. She ate off Corelle, plain white, so if she broke a plate she could replace it. She bought her glasses at Wal-Mart, so if she dropped one, it was no big deal. Her pots and
pans were old and in fairly good shape because she’d rarely cooked, especially once Sebastian had moved out of the house.
But just because his mother hadn’t been materialistic didn’t mean she hadn’t been meticulous about her appearance till the day she’d died. She’d been picky about her hair, the color of her lipstick, and whether her shoes clashed with her purse. She’d loved to sing old Judy Garland songs, and when she was in the mood to splurge, she’d bought snow globes. She had so many, she’d converted his old bedroom into a showplace for her collection. She’d lined the walls with custom-made shelving, and Sebastian had always suspected she’d done it so he couldn’t move back home again.
After Leo and Sebastian packed up the kitchen, they grabbed some newspapers and cardboard boxes and headed for Sebastian’s old bedroom. The wood floors creaked beneath their feet, and through the white sheer curtains sunshine flowed into the room and through the rows of globes. He half expected to see her, pink feather duster in hand, dusting the shelves.
Sebastian set two boxes on a card table and a stack of newspapers on a folding chair he’d placed in there earlier. He deliberately pushed memories of his mother and her feather duster from his head. He reached for a globe he’d brought back from Russia and turned it in his hand. White snow fluttered about Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square.
“Well, I’ll be…Who woulda thought Carol would have kept this all these years.”
Sebastian looked over at Leo as the older man reached for an old globe from Cannon Beach, Oregon. A mermaid sat on a rock combing her blond hair while bits of glitter and shells floated about her.
“I bought this for your mother on our honeymoon.”
Sebastian grabbed a piece of newspaper and wrapped the Russian globe. “That’s one of her oldest. I didn’t know you gave it to her.”
“Yeah. At the time, I thought that mermaid looked like her.” His father glanced up. The deep lines at the corners of his eyes got even deeper and a faint smile played across his mouth. “Except your mother was about seven months pregnant with you.”
“Now that, I did know.” He set the globe in the box.
“She was so beautiful and full of life. A real corker.” Leo bent and grabbed a piece of paper. “She liked everything full-tilt, like a roller coaster, and I…” He paused and shook his head. “I liked calm.” He wrapped the globe. Over the sound of the paper he said, “Still do, I guess. You’re more like your mother than you are me. You like to chase lots of excitement.”
Not so much anymore. At least not as much as he had a few months ago. “Maybe I’m slowing down.”
Leo looked up at him.
“After this last trip, I’m seriously thinking about hanging up my passport. I have a few more assignments, and then I think I’ll go strictly freelance. Maybe take some time off.”
“What will you do?”
“I’m not sure. I just know I don’t want to take foreign assignments. At least for a while.”
“Can you do that, then?”
“Sure.” Talking about work kept his mind off what he was doing. He reached for a Reno, Nevada, globe and wrapped it up. “How’s the new Lincoln?”
“Rides like butter.”
“How’s Joyce?” he asked, not that he cared, but thinking about Joyce was better than thinking about what he was doing.
“Planning a big Christmas to-do. That always makes her happy.”
“It’s not even October.”
“Joyce likes to plan ahead.”
Sebastian set the wrapped globe in the box. “And Clare? Is she over her breakup with the gay guy?” he asked, just to keep up the small talk with the old man.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of her lately, but I doubt it. She’s a very sensitive girl.”
Which was yet one more reason to stay away from her. Sensitive girls liked long-term commitments. And he had never been the kind of guy to commit to anything long term. He reached for a Wizard of Oz globe with Dorothy and Toto following the yellow brick road. Even though it would never happen, he let his mind wonder to the possibility of spending a night or two with Clare. He wouldn’t mind getting her naked, and he was certain she’d benefit from a few rounds of sex. Get her to relax and lighten her up. Put a smile on her face for weeks.
In his hand, the first notes of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” began to play from the music box within the base of the globe. The Judy Garland classic was his mother’s favorite, and everything inside Sebastian stopped. A thousand tingles raced up his spine and tightened his scalp. The globe fell from his hands and smashed to the floor. Sebastian watched water splash his shoes, and Dorothy, Toto, and a dozen little flying monkeys washed across the floor. The detached front he’d kept inside his soul shattered like the broken glass at his feet. The one steady anchor in his life was gone. Gone, and she wasn’t coming back. She was never going to dust her snow globes or fuss about clashing shoes. He’d never hear her sing in her faulty soprano voice or nag him to come over for a haircut.
“Fuck.” He sank to the chair. “I can’t do this.” He was numb and charged at the same time, like he’d stuck a key in the light socket. “I thought I could, but I can’t pack her up like she’s never coming back.” The backs of his eyes stung and he swallowed hard. He placed his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. A sound like a freight train clambered in his ears, and he knew it was from the pressure of holding it all back. He wasn’t going to cry like a hysterical woman. Especially not in front of the old man. If he could just hold it back for a few more seconds, it would pass and he’d be okay again.
“There’s no shame in loving your mother,” he heard his father say over the crashing in his head. “In fact, it’s a sign of a good son.” He felt his father’s hand on the back of his head, the weight heavy, familiar, comforting. “Your mother and I didn’t get along, but I know she loved you something fierce. She was like a pit bull when it came to you. And she never would admit that her boy did any wrong.”
That was true.
“She did a fine job raising you mostly on her own, and I always was grateful to her for that. The Good Lord knows I wasn’t around as much as I shoulda been.”
Sebastian pressed his palms against his eyes, then dropped his hands between his knees. He glanced up at his father standing next to him. He took a deep breath and the pinch behind his eyes eased. “She didn’t exactly make it easy.”
“Don’t make excuses for me. I could have fought more. I could have gone back to court.” His hand moved to Sebastian’s shoulder and he gave a little squeeze. “I could have done a lot of things. I should have done something, but I…I thought that the fighting wasn’t good and that there would be lots of time once you were older. I was wrong, and I regret that.”
“We all have regrets.” Sebastian had a ton of his own, but the weight of his father’s hand felt like an anchor in a suddenly vertiginous world. “Maybe we shouldn’t dwell on them. Just move on.”
Leo nodded and patted Sebastian’s back like when he’d been a boy. “Why don’t you go get yourself a Slurpee. That’ll make you feel better, and I’ll finish here.”
He smiled despite himself. “I’m thirty-five, Dad. I don’t get Slurpees anymore.”
“Oh. Well, go take a break and I’ll finish this room.”
Sebastian stood and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. “No. I’ll go find a broom and a dustpan,” he said, grateful for his father’s steady presence in the house.
Eleven
The first week of December, a light snow dusted the streets of downtown Boise and covered the foothills in pristine white. Holiday wreaths hung suspended from lampposts, and storefront windows were decked out for the season. Bundled-up shoppers crowded the sidewalks.
On the corner of Eighth and Main, “Holly Jolly Christmas” played softly inside The Piper Pub and Grille, the muted Muzak a fraction or two lower than the steady hum of voices. Gold, green, and red garlands added a festive air to the second-story resta
urant.
“Happy holidays.” Clare held up her peppermint mocha and lightly touched glasses with her friends. The four women had just finished lunch and were enjoying flavored coffee instead of dessert.
“Merry Christmas,” Lucy toasted.
“Happy Hanukkah,” Adele said, although she wasn’t Jewish.
To cover all bases, Maddie added, “Happy Kwanzaa,” although she wasn’t African American, Pan African, or had ever set foot in Africa.
Lucy took a drink and said as she lowered her glass mug, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She dug around in her purse hanging on the back of her chair, then pulled out several envelopes. “I finally remembered to bring copies of the picture of us all together at the Halloween party.” She handed an envelope to Clare, who sat on her right, and two others across the table.
Lucy and her husband, Quinn, had thrown a costume party in their new house on Quill Ridge overlooking the city. Clare slipped the photo from the envelope and glanced at the picture of her in a bunny costume standing beside her three friends. Adele had dressed as a fairy with large gossamer wings, Maddie as a Sherlock Holmes, and Lucy had worn a naughty cop outfit. The party had been a lot of fun. Just what Clare needed after a difficult two and a half months. By the end of October her heartache had started to mend a little, and she’d even been asked out by Darth Vader. Without his helmet, Darth had been attractive in a macho-cop sort of way. He’d had a job, all his teeth and hair, and appeared to be one-hundred-percent heterosexual. The old Clare would have accepted his invitation to dinner with the subconscious hope that one man would ease the loss of another. But though she’d been flattered, she said no. It had been too soon to date.
“When’s your book signing?” Adele asked Clare.
She looked up and slipped the photo into her purse. “I have one at Borders on the tenth. Another at Walden’s on the twenty-fourth. I’m hoping to cash in on all those last-minute shoppers.” It had been almost five months now since she found Lonny with the Sears repairman, and she’d moved on. She no longer had to battle tears and her chest didn’t feel so tight and empty these days, but she still wasn’t ready to date. Not yet. Probably not for quite a while.
I’m In No Mood For Love Page 13