“It sounds like maybe you’d rather I weren’t.”
“Maybe I would.”
Hands shaking, he pushed Mouse’s furry head deeper into the backseat and slammed the car door. “Just as well. I have to deal with this guy anyway. Who knows how long it’ll take?”
“Right,” she said. “Who knows.” It wasn’t a question.
Angrier than he had any right to be, he got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, dismissing a thought about his overnight bag still in the house. He didn’t want to drag this out.
“I’ll see you later,” he said.
Her eyes were downcast, so he couldn’t read her expression, but he saw her hands clench into fists.
Yeah, he was angry too. Not waiting for her to say good-bye, he backed out of the driveway.
27
Cleo returned to the house just after nine that night. Monday was her busiest evening for lessons, and driving all over the East Bay was making her question her policy of doing house calls. When she had a home of her own with a real piano, she’d set up a proper studio and…
Her thoughts trailed away. She didn’t really care about any of that anymore. After letting the dogs out for a while, then playing with them to make up for leaving them alone all evening, she went upstairs to bed. Her heart was heavy and bruised but intact. As much as she craved his presence at the empty side of the bed, she had no regrets, either about sleeping with him or what she’d said that afternoon.
She couldn’t repeat the past. She wouldn’t. People tended to make the same dumb mistake, loving the wrong type again and again, never learning their lesson, but she wasn’t going to. Dylan hadn’t loved her enough, and she had refused to see the truth until it was too late. It had taken her years to even consider dating again. If she let Sly hurt her like Dylan had, she’d be in her late nineties by the time she recovered—and as her mother had astutely pointed out, she would like a family someday. It wasn’t first on her list, but it wasn’t last, either.
Sly called around ten, while she was staring at the ceiling in the darkness with two dogs on her feet and one curled up near her hip. Her phone was still programmed to let his calls go through, no matter the time.
Sucking in a breath, she rolled over and picked up her phone. Her heart shuddered a little when she saw his handsome, grinning face glowing on the screen. How quickly things could change. She’d looked at that same photo a hundred times and never experienced the slightest change in blood pressure. She sat up in bed before she answered. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. Even his voice did things to her it hadn’t before. It was like he was licking secret parts of her through her ears.
Although she couldn’t breathe, she tried to sound normal. “How’s Mouse? Did you bring him back to the clinic?”
“He’s with me. At my place.”
Since he was the one to call, she made no effort to fill the silence.
“I thought we could talk,” he said.
“OK.”
“I thought I could come over.”
She knew what would happen if he did that. “Maybe we should just talk right now like this.”
“I hate the phone.”
“It’s safer,” she said.
“Safe. Well, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Before she could hang up, he rushed on. “I’m sorry. That was what I called to say. I was rude earlier. Today. You surprised me.”
“I should’ve picked a better time.” But she’d known if she hadn’t challenged him then, when her mother’s words were fresh in her mind, she might never have.
“As to your question,” he began.
She bit her lip. She couldn’t help him out on this one.
“I care about you, Cleo…”
Here it comes, she thought, closing her eyes.
“But how about we take our time here and see what we have before we rush into anything?” His voice was charmingly apologetic. “I’m sure your mother meant well, but this is a woman who’s been convinced you’ve been in love with me for years, and naturally she—”
“I think she might’ve been right.”
For a moment she was sure the phone had disconnected.
“But you’ve always—just yesterday you were swearing to me—”
“My capacity for self-delusion is infinite, I guess,” she said.
He let out his breath. “Cleo,” he said softly. Charmingly apologetic again.
She grasped at his earlier words like a lifeline. “How about you take your time there and see what you have before you rush into anything?” she asked, hearing the edge in her voice. “I’m going to hang up now, get some sleep, and maybe we can talk later. OK? OK.” Finger trembling, she hung up and powered down the phone. Even if he called her back, she wouldn’t know. But she didn’t expect him to.
♢ ♡ ♤
“Dad, we should talk,” Sly said into the phone.
It was Wednesday evening, forty-seven hours after he’d last spoken to Cleo. He and Mouse sat together on the floor in front of the washing machine inside his condo, watching the spin cycle. His place felt emptier than usual in spite of the enormous dog. Cleo had never spent much time there, but her absence was palpable.
“I’m crunching some numbers right now,” his dad said from their house outside of San Diego. Sly could hear the TV playing some game loudly in the background. He never bothered to turn it down just for a phone call. The ultimate multitasker, his father. His parents had owned their own accounting and bookkeeping business for thirty years. There was always work to be done, all of it a priority, even in the off-season. “But go ahead. I’m listening.”
“It’s about Hugo. He got married this weekend. In Vegas.” If Sly had tried to tell him the whole story, his father would’ve hung up before he got to the climax.
“What?”
“It probably wasn’t real. Just a Vegas thing, nothing to take seriously. But I thought you should know.”
“Are you sure?”
“I was there,” Sly said.
“In Vegas?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was kind of a double-date kind of thing,” Sly said.
“Are you married too?”
“No.”
His father let out a breath. “Shame. But Hugo is.”
Sly frowned in surprise. His dad thought it was a shame he hadn’t eloped? Looking into Mouse’s droopy eyes for insight but finding only sympathy, Sly said, “Yes. To Trixie Johnson, Mark’s mother. You remember Mark?”
“The Bill-Gates-Steve-Jobs-wannabe guy.”
“Something like that,” Sly said.
“He got married too, didn’t he? I seem to remember you writing a toast.”
“Mark is married too, yes.”
“But not you,” his father said.
“Come on, Dad, don’t you want to ask more about Hugo?”
“Why?”
“He’s your brother.”
“I’m sure he’ll call me when he’s ready,” his dad said. “But I’m glad you were there. You two always got along so well. I remember that year you spent every day after school at the clinic.”
“I liked seeing the animals. You never let us have any pets.”
“Didn’t see the point having them around the house.”
Sly hooked an arm around Mouse’s neck and rubbed his cheek against his fur. When he’d been a boy, having a dog had been his ultimate dream. Before he’d begun to think about starting companies or getting rich and famous, he’d fantasized about having a dog. Any dog. Big, small, old, young. Even a friendly cat would do. But his father, who hadn’t taken a day off his entire life, had always insisted they were too much work.
“I thought you might be upset about Hugo,” Sly said. “Or that I was there and didn’t tell you.”
“Upset? Me?”
“You have your moments. I never know how you’re going to react.”
“You sound like your mother.”
Sly�
�s jaw tightened. His parents had never gotten the modern memo about healthy family functioning and often used their children as pawns in their battles.
“Speaking of Mom,” Sly said, “maybe I should call her. She’ll want to hear about the wedding from me.”
His father cleared his throat. “She’s here. You want me to give her the phone?”
“She’s home?” For a second, Sly thought he’d forgotten it was a major holiday or birthday. Why else would they be in the same house? “Does she know you’re there?”
“I believe she noticed me across the dining table,” his father said. “Want to ask her yourself?”
They were eating together? Without a major family event to force them to? “Yeah. I do.”
Sly heard a grunt, footsteps, a door opening, muffled talking. Then his mother’s voice came clear and bright over the phone. “Sly, how nice.”
“Hi, Mom. Why are you there?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?”
“Did you know he was going to be there when you flew back from Kona?”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I’d glad you’re doing well. How’s work going?”
“I quit, just like I told you I was going to,” Sly said. “Did you and Dad finally sign a treaty or something?”
“I’m glad you’re taking a break. It means there’s hope for you.”
“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on?”
His mother paused. “Your dad and I have decided to work on a few things.”
“Like being in the same continent at the same time?”
“Be good, Sylvester.”
The washing machine’s spin cycle came to a rumbling stop. Ears perking up, Mouse stood up and peered through the glass at the wet clothes. Sly scratched his shaggy belly from below, trying to absorb the shocking news about his parents apparently not hating each other anymore. “Sorry. I called to tell Dad that Hugo got married last weekend. He can tell you all about it, not that he seemed to care very much.”
She sighed, then said in a low voice, “You shouldn’t have told him. Hugo asked me not to.”
“You talked to Hugo?”
“He didn’t want to upset your father.”
“Don’t worry,” Sly said. “He’s not upset.”
“You never know with Victor. Still waters run deep.”
He got to his feet and was suddenly aware of how tired he was. “I’m more worried about Hugo.” He didn’t want to explain about Trixie and her plots, because that would lead to Cleo, and anything that made him think about Cleo made his guts churn. “I’ve got to go. Doing my laundry.” It took both hands and some leg muscle to push Mouse aside so he could open the door to the washing machine.
“There’s going to be a ceremony,” his mother said.
He frowned. “For Hugo and Trixie?”
“No, no. For us. Me and your dad. We’re renewing our vows.”
“Come on, Mom, what happened? Why now?”
“When you receive a save-the-date card in the mail, please do so,” she said. “It’ll be sometime in the spring.”
Too much was going on and nobody was being straight about it. “Fine. Great. Congratulations.”
“You kids wanted us to talk, so we did.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, good. I’m glad. But we’ve been wanting that for decades.”
A long moment of silence stretched between them. “I had a lump. But it’s fine. We weren’t sure, but now we are.”
“God, Mom—” he said, gripping the phone.
“It was just a false alarm. But it got us thinking. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”
“You’re sure you’re—”
“Yes, yes. It was nothing. I’d rather you didn’t tell your sisters. They’d worry.”
“I worry,” he said.
“You know how they are. Emotional. Not like you,” she said.
“I have emotions.”
“But they aren’t a big priority for you. You’ve got your career. Like your father.”
That comment struck him between the eyes so hard that he blinked. “I’m glad you’re all right,” was all he managed to say.
“Thank you. Me too.”
Mouse was blocking his access to the machine again. Before Sly could stop him, he snapped up a wet sock between his jaws and bolted down the hallway with unlikely speed. Sly admired his burst of ambition. “I should go.”
“We’ll talk more later,” she said. “Promise.”
“Right.” After a small pause, they both hung up.
His parents were spending time together, and not just because it was tax season. A month ago, the news would’ve compelled him to get on a plane and fly down to see for himself. He would’ve called his sisters and maybe even a cousin or two.
But today?
Today he couldn’t muster the energy to interfere. Who was he to give advice? Demand explanations? Celebrate?
How about you take your time there and see what you have before you rush into anything?
Two days since Cleo had said that, and he’d done nothing. Not a text, not a call, not a visit.
I think she might’ve been right…
Two days.
He was happy his parents didn’t hate each other anymore. But it wasn’t enough to distract him from how much he hated himself.
28
On Wednesday evening, when it had been two full days since she’d scared Sly away with talk of love and marriage, Cleo decided she had the courage to turn on her phone again.
She’d just finished her last lesson for the day and was hurrying to her car, which was parked with ambiguous legality in a faded delivery zone, when she reached into her purse and held down the power button.
Before pulling it out to look at the screen, she lifted her head and took a deep breath as she gazed at the fog clinging to the hills. Behind her, the sun was already setting into the Pacific. The days were getting shorter and shorter, gloomier and gloomier.
You did the right thing, she told herself, then looked down at the cold phone in her hand.
The only message was from Trixie.
URGENT. Call me please. 8-0
Not Sly, just Trixie.
Exhaling loudly, she got into the car and slammed the door.
Not even a text. She picked up the phone and stared at Trixie’s message.
She was stumped by the numbers at the end, assuming Trixie had forgotten to type all the digits, but then she realized it was an emoticon of alarm.
Reluctantly, she called Trixie’s cell.
“Cleo! Hello!” Trixie cried.
“Where are you? Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling,” Trixie said. “Where are you? I hear traffic.”
“I’m in Albany. Just finished a lesson.”
“Is Sly with the dogs?”
Living alone in Trixie’s house for the past three days with plenty to dwell over had made Cleo more suspicious now of the older lady. The numerous prominent photos of her late husband had convinced her the marriage to Hugo was not only a sham but a shame. Poor Hugo. Even if Trixie had warned him it was all for fun, he was going to get hurt.
Cleo sympathized in a deep and heart-stabby kind of way. Every hour she was tempted to text Sly and suggest they hook up again, no strings attached, friends with benefits, sex in the city, touch me again you animal I can’t live without you.
But then she’d make herself think of her marriage.
The next guy she dated would be unambiguously crazy about her. She wasn’t going to go into her next relationship as a supplicant. Whoever this dream guy was, he’d beg for her. She might even insist on occasional groveling.
“Sly is at his place with Mouse,” Cleo said. “I’m at your house with your dogs.”
“Oh, Father Christmas,” Trixie said. “Who chucked whom?”
Because the call was already over the speakers, Cleo started the car. “None of your beeswax,” she sai
d. “When are you going to tell your family about the wedding?”
“Well, Mark already knows by now, doesn’t he?”
“I didn’t tell him,” Cleo said.
“But Sly would have.”
Cleo didn’t reply.
“And Mark wouldn’t believe it, of course. It’s just as well he didn’t tell Liam. April, well, I’ll have to talk to her myself in person. Our flight comes in Saturday morning.”
Not willing to participate in any more of Trixie’s games, Cleo pulled out into traffic. “I’ll feed the dogs and pack up before my Saturday lessons then. If I don’t see you—”
“When’s your first lesson?”
“Well, not until one, but it’s in El Sobrante, so I have to hit the road early enough—”
“Plenty of time. We’ll be there before noon,” Trixie said. “By the way, I’m making dinner for you on Saturday night, nothing fancy, just to say thank you—”
“I won’t be going to any parties, Trixie.”
“It’s not a party! It’s just food. And drinks.”
“And who else did you invite?” Cleo asked.
Trixie hesitated.
“I’m on to you, lady,” Cleo said.
“This is all my fault,” Trixie said. “You’ve got to let me make it up to you.”
“Then leave me alone.” Cleo softened her tone. “Sorry. Please leave me alone. I just want to go back home and get back to real life.”
“I don’t know what happened, but—”
“I have to go,” Cleo said, fumbling on her steering wheel for the hang up button. She couldn’t resist adding, “Give my love to Hugo. And I mean that. He deserves it.”
♢ ♡ ♤
Sly woke up on Thursday morning when Mouse rolled over in bed. Already teetering on the edge of the mattress in a fitful sleep, Sly wasn’t prepared for the furry weight coming at him; he fell off the bed face-first. As he threw out an arm to break his fall, he knocked over the nightstand. His phone, previously on the nightstand, slid to the floor, belly flopping onto the hardwoods at the precise angle necessary to shatter its screen.
All in all, Sly thought as he rubbed his elbow and stared at his broken phone, it was a typically shitty way to start yet another day of his shitty, empty life. Maybe Teresa would come by and make his shitty world complete.
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