Calm & Storm (The Night Horde SoCal Book 6)

by Susan Fanetti

  He sat calmly and stared out at the rough water, letting his brain think and his heart feel, not resisting any of it. This was the way: to quiet the mind, one had to let the noise pass through.

  The sky had just begun to lighten toward a coming dawn when he pulled his personal from his pocket. He scrolled through the short history of recent received calls until he found the one Lorraine had made to invite him to dinner—a meal he’d never eaten.

  Despite the hour, he pressed ‘call.’ She answered on the second ring.

  “Ronin?” Her voice sounded clear and alert, like she hadn’t been sleeping, either.

  “You wanted to talk. Where are you?”

  “Now?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Okay, yes. Yes. Now is good. I’m…I’m home. You can come here. That’s fine.”

  “Where?”

  “Laurel Canyon. Willow Glen Road.”

  A harsh laugh surged from Ronin’s throat. Maybe they were destined for something, after all.

  He’d wiped out on Willow Glen Road.

  ~oOo~

  Lorraine’s house on Willow Glen Road was typical of the homes in Laurel Canyon, as far as Ronin could tell: a strange combination of funky, rustic, and elegant, as if built and lived in by rich hippies—which, he thought, was probably the case. Laurel Canyon was most famous for being the neighborhood of the Southern California music scene of the late Sixties and early Seventies, where bands and musicians like Crosby, Stills and Nash, Joni Mitchell, Frank Zappa, the Eagles, to name only a few, had all lived and jammed. The epicenter of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll.

  It was the perfect place for Lorraine, a hippie and now apparently rich, to have made her home—and her house was a quarter mile, at the most, from where he’d put his bike down.

  In the grey light of the predawn, Ronin rode up her narrow, winding driveway, into the hills, and parked behind a bronze Volvo Cross Country bearing vanity plates that read ‘Mythic.’ The Volvo was parked in a flat-roofed garage, but the door hadn’t been closed. He dismounted and walked back on the drive, along a tall, terraced stone wall, until he came to a sweeping stone staircase. At the top was a house that seemed made almost entirely of glass. Every light seemed to be on, and it glowed like a beacon over the wooded canyon around and below.

  Leaving him and letting another man raise his son had clearly been a prudent financial decision on her part. At least that was true.

  He climbed to the house. Lorraine opened the glass door and stepped out onto the stone path. She was dressed in a flowing white dress of some kind, very plain but absolutely stunning, the hem reaching to her bare feet, the sleeves long and loose over her hands, the neckline low, highlighting her beautifully freckled chest. Her fiery hair was loose and flowed over her shoulders and back.

  She must have dressed for him; he couldn’t imagine her sitting around her house looking like that.

  He stopped several feet away from her, worried that if he got within touching distance he’d lose his head the way he had in her restaurant. Her presence, even in the shadow of his hurt and anger, had a shocking power over him. Too much of his love for her was still alive and once again demanding expression. Even now, despite her betrayals.

  “Thank you, Ronin. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I’ll listen to what you have to say. I need to know.”

  She nodded. Stepping back into her house, she said, “Thank you. Come in. Are you hungry? I didn’t get to make you dinner, but I can make breakfast.”

  “No.” He followed her in and then stopped.

  The house was spectacular. Much of it was visible from the outside, because so many of the exterior walls were glass, but being inside gave the space depth and life. This was a midcentury-modern home, like his, though several rungs up the ladder of design and expense.

  He was surrounded by glass walls. The house was tucked into the trees, with no neighbors in sight, so privacy wasn’t compromised. On the ground level, a sunken living area stretched off to one side and opened onto a patio and small pool; he could see the pool lights reflected in shimmering waves on the glass. The area nearest the front door seemed to be fashioned like a small library; it opened onto a different patio. Off behind that, through a doorway, he saw a sliver of what was obviously the kitchen; he could see the edge of a steel appliance of some kind.

  A few feet in from the door, a sweeping, twisting staircase led to the second floor, which lofted over the first.

  All of her furniture was the palest wood, or upholstered in white. Beige area rugs were scattered over the blonde oak floors. The light fixtures were white or brushed steel. All of the windows were bare, letting the dense nature that surrounded the house be its art.

  He’d never been in a more beautiful home.

  “Coffee?”

  With effort, he brought his attention back to Lorraine. Unsure what she’d said, he didn’t respond.

  “Coffee?” she asked—again, he realized, hearing the echo of her first attempt in his head.

  “Okay.”

  She swept her arm toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I don’t want to talk in the kitchen. That didn’t go so well before.” She smiled, but he didn’t return it. Perhaps his mind was in some turmoil, but not so much that he’d forgotten the damage she’d done. He had no room to find humor in this night.

  Her smiled faded away. “Coffee’s made, so I’ll just be a minute. Have a seat. Or look around, if you like. You seem interested.”

  Without answering her, he walked over to her living area. As he was about to sit down on her white leather sofa, it occurred to him that he’d been riding for hours. He’d wiped out on the road. He’d spent hours sitting on a rock at the beach. He couldn’t sit on furniture like this.

  He stood in the middle of the room and waited.

  “I forgot to ask. Do you still take it black?” Lorraine came out holding two substantial stoneware mugs, matched but not identical. She handed one to him.

  “Yeah.” With a nod of thanks, he took the mug.

  She sat down at the end of that long sofa, tucking her legs under, her white dress spread elegantly around her. “Have a seat, Ronin.”

  “I’m…I’ve been riding all night. I’m dirty.”

  “It’s fine. Please sit.”

  He sat.

  She sipped her coffee for a few seconds. Ronin simply held his.

  “Lorraine.”

  “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”

  He didn’t answer her; she knew where to start. He took his first sip of coffee. It was good—strong and rich.

  With a nod, she sighed. “I didn’t know when we broke up. That I was pregnant. I didn’t know then.”

  “When you left me.”

  “I thought you weren’t angry anymore.”

  “About that, I’m not. But call it straight. We had a future. You walked away.”

  “You’re the one who left, Ronin.”

  “To go to war.”

  “A farce. I was right about that. You took part in a lie. You know how I felt about it.”

  They were already getting caught in the loop they’d been in back then, when he’d told her he wanted to enlist, and then when he’d told her that he had done so over her objections. The same fight: her insisting that the coming war was predicated on lies, and him not caring if she was right, knowing only that he had to fight, had to answer what had happened on that dark September day, and joining the war was the only way he could.

  But they’d traveled that loop, and they’d found its end. When he’d left, their goodbye had been loving and tearful. Full of promises. “We worked that out before I left. I thought we did.”

  “I thought so, too. But then you were gone, and the news stories kept coming, and everybody in town was flying their flags and ranting about the ‘A-rabs,’ and I couldn’t handle it. You left me behind for that stupid war, knowing how I felt and not caring, and without you there with me, I just felt more and more…left.
I was hurt and angry and lonely, and I hated being in Myrtlevale without you, and I just felt like I had to get away from it all. I know now I was awful. Worse than that, I was wrong and stupid.”

  “What you said…” She hadn’t let him down gently. She’d been hateful, telling him she wanted more than him, that he wasn’t enough for her, that her dreams were bigger than he was, that he was nothing but a logger, who thought he was bigger than he was because the locals loved him. The contempt had been so deep and acidic he’d felt burned.

  “I know. I meant to burn the bridge. I was afraid I’d never be able to move on if I thought there was any chance at all for us. So I tried to make you hate me.”

  “I guess that’s not possible. But you sure could hurt me.”

  She set her coffee mug down on a small table at her side, then folded her hands in her lap, turning her head down as if she were praying. “I’ve regretted it every day since I did it.”

  That was just another way to say she was sorry, and just as empty. “Lot of days between then and now. Days with my kid. Plenty of time to change your mind.”

  “I’d tried to make you hate me. I couldn’t go back and tell you you were stuck with me in your life. I’d burned the bridge.”

  “No.”

  “I thought I had.”

  “Then you didn’t know me at all.”

  “I did, though. I knew you’d take me back, and make a family, even if I’d ruined your feelings for me. It was myself I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was worth your forgiveness, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated to me. I couldn’t stand the thought of you not loving me anymore, and having to see that every day. So I stayed away.”

  “With my kid.” That truth—that he had a son, a grown son, still felt unreal.

  “Yes. It was a terrible mistake. But every day that went by made it harder to change it, until it was impossible. I have no excuse. I don’t even have a good reason. I don’t know what to say or do now. I can’t give you those years back.” Her voice shook, and Ronin saw that she was near tears. “Please let me be sorry.”

  She could be as sorry as she wanted to be, but he didn’t want to hear it. The words changed nothing. Nothing she could say or do would reverse a quarter of a century. And nothing he could hear or feel would give him a life with his son.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want those words.”

  She let a sob loose and put her hand over her mouth to stop another from following it. Behind her fingers, she said, “Then I don’t know what to do.”

  Ronin was exhausted. He’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. He’d been astride his bike for many of those. He sat on Lorraine’s white leather sofa, drinking expensive coffee from an expensive artisanal mug, in her beautiful, serene house, and he felt bone-tired.

  Lorraine. Rainy. The only woman he’d ever loved, the only woman he was apparently capable of loving—and incapable of not loving—was sitting with him, looking ethereally beautiful.

  She’d had his child. He’d had a family, all this time, and hadn’t known.

  She had betrayed him, no question. Now, though, he had some choices. He could turn his back—return to Madrone, back to his life, and try to erase these past weeks. He could try to get to know his son and stay separate from Lorraine—punish her, hold a grudge. Or he could let the indelible past go and see what the unwritten future held.

  He wasn’t a man who could pretend that things weren’t what they were. Neither was he a man who held a grudge.

  And he loved her. Even now.

  “Past is past.” He finished the coffee and set the mug aside.

  “Is it? Truly?”

  He nodded. “No going back. Only forward.”

  “God. Thank you.” She reached her hand across the sofa. When she set it on the leather between them, he laid his hand on hers. Surprised, she smiled. “Do you want to meet him?”

  “Yes. Unless he doesn’t.”

  “He’s always wanted to know you, Ronin.”

  “He’s a man grown. Why didn’t he look?”

  “I told you—I was honest with him. He knows what I did was wrong, and that you have every right to hate me. He didn’t want it to turn out badly for me.”

  “He takes care of you.” The thought made Ronin feel proud, though he’d had nothing at all to do with the way the boy had turned out.

  “Yes. Since he was little. He’s a lot like you—not just the way he looks. His personality.”

  “I’m not who I was.”

  “But you are. Already I know that. You’re quieter, yes. More controlled. But inside, it’s still you. The fact that you’re sitting here with me, holding my hand, after everything. You’re still the guy who led with his heart, who took care of everybody. I think that’s even why you joined the Army—because you had to do something to help. Eddie’s not dead. He just…he just lived a life. Grew into Ronin.” She squeezed his hand. “If you forgive me, then maybe we have a chance to go forward together.” She turned and looked out through the glass wall. Ronin did, too. The morning had lightened considerably; sunrise wasn’t far off. “Ronin, will you stay?”

  “What?”

  “Come upstairs. Come to bed. Neither of us has slept all night. I can’t imagine any way I’d like this strange, wrenching night to end more than sleeping in your arms.”

  The thought of that—tucking her head under his chin, resting his hand on her hip—made his chest grow tight and sore. But so much of this night had been hairpin turns. He didn’t think he could deal with another wipeout. “Rainy…”

  “I love to hear you call me that. Please. We’ll just sleep. When we’ve rested a few hours, I’ll call Cameron and ask him to come meet his father.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He wanted all of that with a desperation that made him wary.

  When all he did was stare into her enchanting green eyes, she whispered, “Ronin. I’ve missed you. If you feel the same, if what happened between us at the restaurant tonight was real, and if you can set aside the mistakes of the past, then let’s try to see what we can be now.”

  It was what he wanted. He nodded, and then she stood and held out her hand. He took it and let her lead him, her white dress flowing, up the staircase to the second floor.

  ~oOo~

  The loft at the top of the stairs, overlooking the first floor, seemed to be her office. The same taste for minimalism showed here: plain, pale wood and light neutrals, with few adornments. She clearly wanted the view to be the focal point of her home, and for good reason.

  “You’ve done well for yourself,” Ronin muttered as she led him through the loft to a hallway, the only space without natural light he’d seen so far.

  “Douglas owned an event management company. He sold it several years ago and did well in the sale. When he left me, I did well in the divorce.”

  “He left you?”

  She led him into a room with double doors—her bedroom, all in white. Three walls were solid, without windows, but the other was entirely glass. The sun had risen enough to show the lush green outside, and the pool below, and to cast the bedroom with a soft glow.

  She walked to the glass wall and looked out. He followed and stood behind her, leaving his hands at his sides, despite the strong impulse to take hold of her hair and press it to his face.

  “He did. He asked for a divorce—out of the blue, as far as I knew—the week after Cameron graduated from college, and he married his administrative assistant a week after the divorce was final. He’d been having an affair for at least a year. She’s eighteen months older than Cameron. Douglas is fifteen years older than me.” She made a bitter sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. “We are the California cliché.”

  His son had graduated from college. Ronin felt another burst of pride—just as undeserved as the last. He wasn’t the man who’d been his son’s role model. At the moment, however, the man who had been didn’t sound like he’d been so perfect, after all.

  “Did you love him?” />
  She turned and faced him. “I did. I grieved when we were done. But it was different from the way I felt for you, the way I still feel for you. I think you and I are a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. Soulmates. That’s how I feel, anyway.”

  “Then how could you leave?” Ronin was surprised how that question kept coming back up in his mind. If the past was the past, then he needed to leave it there. But it kept rising up.