I need to eat something, but I’ve never been able to eat when I’m worried. Thank God for small favors, because I spent most of the last eleven years worried about one thing or another. I’d be a pretty chubby woman if I was a nervous eater.
I’m still debating calling or texting Gabe, but the reality of the situation is that I can’t. Whatever information Sierra has, she probably got from Dan. Dan probably betrayed a confidence to tell her—quite possibly under the influence of tequila—and Sierra tried to dig for more, though she confessed to being mostly unsuccessful. I don’t know how Gabe will react when I mention it, if I decide to ask him about it. I’m not sure we’re even at a stage in our relationship that I should approach the topic. In fact, I’m fairly certain I should wait for him to bring it up.
In the meantime, it’s going to be the pink elephant in the corner that Gabe won’t know I know about. Jesus, I hate secrets. I hate dancing around issues when it’s easier to just attack it head-on and be done with it.
God damn Sierra to hell and back in a little red wagon. She shouldn’t have fucking told me.
Gabe sends me a text just after lunch, a quick little note that warms my heart for a few seconds before a sick feeling makes my stomach flop.
Have dinner with me Saturday? No touching, I promise.
How the hell am I going to see him, spend time with him without the thought that he was tried for the murder of his own mother being written all over my face? How will I manage to keep up with a conversation and not bring it up? I shouldn’t even know about it, and I’m so fucking mad that Sierra told me. She knows how much I value privacy, how I can’t stand gossip and rumors. Even if it’s true, it’s still his place to tell me, not hers. And by telling me before the time was right for him to share it with me, she ruined the chance for me to hear the absolute truth from him. Because no matter how or what he tells me, it will always be tainted with rumor and insinuation and I hate that.
It’s not fair to Gabe and it’s not fair to me. As for Sierra…well, I think I’ll give her a wide berth for a while. If she’d told me anything else about Gabe—sexual experimentation in college, an affinity for older women, a creepy uncle, a dominatrix ex-wife—I probably wouldn’t be reacting this way. I’m fucking livid with her. If Gabe ever decides to tell me, I either have to tell him I already know or try and act surprised.
My phone dings again and I jump, realizing I’ve been staring blankly at his text for several minutes while I fumed about Sierra. Carmen giggles and I smile back at her a little absently. She and Hannah are playing in the backyard, kicking two poofy balls around in a game that only the two of them understand, and I’m sitting next to Dad on the shaded porch. He’s paging through a worn copy of Rifles For Watie, a book that he’s required a report on from every student that’s passed through his ninth grade history class. Why he reads it, I don’t know. He’s got the damn thing memorized.
I glance back down to my phone at the waiting text.
He’s waiting for an answer and while I know it’s probably okay, I still have to ask.
“Dad, do you have any plans Saturday?”
He closes the book, using his finger to mark his place. He looks up thoughtfully and says, “I don’t think so. Got a date?”
“Thinking about it.”
He nods and looks back down at his book with a sigh. “Eluned, you’re an adult. You don’t have to ask my permission to go out.”
“No, but I do have to ask if you mind babysitting the girls.” I won’t take my father for granted, and I won’t ever just assume he’ll do something for me. At least, I hope I won’t.
“Well, it’s nice to have a warning, but you know it’s usually all right.” He goes back to his book. “Thank you for asking though. And let me know about when you expect to be back so I don’t worry.”
I lean over and kiss his bristly cheek. God I love my dad. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, squirt.”
I shoot a text off to Gabe.
Sure.
I’ll pick you up at 6.
Chapter 15
I stand in the shower Saturday afternoon just staring at my razor for at least ten minutes. Not shaving is the most reliable anti-sex tool I know of, and I can’t decide if I want to employ it or not. Well, I don’t want to. There are countless reasons that I shouldn’t sleep with Gabe again until we’re on solid ground, and really only one reason I should.
Eventually though, I put the unused razor back on the shelf and finish my shower. He didn’t tell me where we’re going for dinner, so I have to assume I should dress up at least a little. I pull on black wide-leg pants and a soft, flowing yellow blouse that makes my boobs look bigger than they really are. It’s gathered at the waist, and has a low vee in the front for a little cleavage. I eyeball it in the mirror for a minute, wondering if it’s going to be too much cleavage for a sexless date.
Nah. It’s nothing compared to what I see women wearing in the diner after midnight. And let’s face it…working the closing shift, I see some shit that burns my retinas like a branding iron, especially when I pick up a weekend shift. If I were a gossiping kind of woman, very few families in this town would be safe from the kind of things I’ve seen.
But I’m not gossipy, and that reminds me of Sierra and her revelation about Gabe. I’ve been dying to punch his name into a search engine and see what comes up. I can even justify doing it…Hannah’s been reading about him. Shouldn’t I know what my daughter’s finding out about a man she’s singling out as a role model? I won’t do it, can’t really. It’s going to be hard enough to try and keep my mind off of it without adding whatever I might find on the Internet.
Besides, Hannah’s smart enough to understand that he was acquitted, and maybe she’ll learn a little about how the justice system works. Maybe she’ll learn that sometimes innocent men stand trial. Unfortunately, that means she’ll also figure out that sometimes guilty men go free.
I check the time on my phone and see that I have a new e-mail from Dan. I touch the screen to open it and read through it quickly.
Luna,
The Mayans were an interesting people, but there’s only so much I can take. Two weeks of camping and hiking, then hours on a hot bus, then more hiking and camping. Girl, I have nature all over me. It’s disgusting. So I’m headed somewhere with daily showers and at least pizza delivery if not room service.
On a side note, I will miss Tariq, our very accommodating tour guide with amazing abs. Oh the things that man can do with his hands…
I’m considering Rio, even though I’ve missed Carnival by nearly two months. Any thoughts on tours of the Amazon?
As for my brother, well dear girl, he’s been mostly abstinent since his divorce, though I’m certain there are instances I’m not aware of. When you met him, he was looking for the same thing you were. Neither of you got what you expected, did you? Though I suspect a heart tipped arrow to the ass had something to do with it.
Cheers,
Cupid
PS-Gabe likes classic rock music, especially monster bands from the 80’s, though he’d never admit it. I caught him cooking alone once, not too long ago, making a whole-hearted attempt at singing “More Than Words Can Say” by Alias.
The light-hearted tone of the e-mail does nothing to uncoil the knot in my stomach. I’m glad Dan’s all right, and that he’s enjoying doing things he wouldn’t otherwise have done. But I have so many questions, so many things that just don’t make sense.
Dan loves his brother, would never do anything to hurt him. Even if Brad remembered the scandal when Gabe was accused of murder, why would Dan confirm it, even drunk? What the hell is his relationship with Brad and Sierra? What’s the debt that Gabe owes Dan and does it have anything to do with his mother? What did Dan mean about Gabe’s family and whoever’s in Nur-Num-That town in Germany that starts with an “n” having given enough to the Cottrells?
Maybe these are questions I should be asking, despite the fact that I typica
lly don’t like to pry, no matter how curious I am. But then I’d have to tell Gabe that Sierra told me.
A dull throb pulses behind my eyes and I rub my temples. I have to stop thinking so hard about this and worrying about it. My no-nonsense attitude and openness with Gabe have served me well so far. There’s no reason I should start hiding anything now, especially something that concerns him. He’s going to be pissed, I’m sure. And he’s probably going to want to know how much Dan told Brad. But that’s not my problem. Brad should have minded his own business, and Dan should have kept his mouth shut. I glance back at my phone and close the e-mail. I’ll respond later, after I’ve had time to at least talk to Gabe. I can’t sit on this, no matter how much I know I should.
It’s a quarter til six, and Gabe will be here at any time. Dad has the girls at a movie for at least another hour. I need to talk to Gabe here, in privacy, before we go to dinner. I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t magically grant me the courage I need.
I slip on sandals and walk through the dark, quiet house to the living room to sit and wait for Gabe. I don’t turn on the television or pull up a game on my phone like I normally would. I need every second to try and slow my heart rate and even out my breathing. Confrontation has always made me nervous, despite the fact that I’m outspoken, and I’m very much afraid this is going to turn into a confrontation.
When the doorbell rings, I take one last fortifying breath and yank the door open.
Gabe’s standing there, one hand in the pocket of charcoal grey slacks, a deep blue dress shirt with two buttons undone hugging his frame. He’s got that cocky little half-smile, and his eyes twinkle down at me for about a second.
Then he freezes, the warmth in his eyes fading. “What’s wrong?” He pushes his way inside, moving me backward with a gentle hand to my shoulder before closing the door behind us. He turns me and leans down until we’re face-to-face. “Luna?” His eyes search mine and I look away.
“Let’s sit down.” I gesture to one end of the couch and wait for him to sit down before heading to the opposite end.
He sits stiffly, his eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched as he watches me. He might not know what I’m going to say, but his posture tells me he knows he’s not going to like it. I take a deep breath—again, not as fortifying as one would hope—and face him slightly.
“Gabe, Sierra told me about your trial. Brad told her, and I guess Dan told him.” I keep talking, though he immediately goes rigid, his hands fisting against his thighs, thighs tensing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. “I’m not bringing this up to make you uncomfortable or bring up bad memories. I just wanted you to know that if you feel like you have to hide it, don’t.”
I jump back as he shoots to his feet and walks stiffly to the window. He’s silent, brooding as he stares through the flimsy curtains with an unfocused gaze. I bite my tongue, sensing somehow that jabbering on will make it worse. He shoves both hands in his pockets after a few minutes and turns to look at me, his eyes colder than I’ve ever seen them before. My heart claws its way into my throat.
“Ask me,” he says quietly. I know without being told that if I ask him the question filling the air between us, that whatever we have will be over. But I really don’t need to ask. I wouldn’t let him into my house if I thought he was capable of hurting anyone. “Ask me, Luna,” he repeats. “Ask me if I killed my mother.” The softness of his tone is deceptive, completely at odds with the anger radiating from his tense form.
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need to, and that’s not why I told you. If we get involved deeply, you would have told me eventually and I didn’t want to have to lie about already knowing.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, still watching me coldly. I continue, a little less confidently. “If we get to the point that you want to tell me about it, that needs to be your decision. Not someone else’s.”
Gabe tilts his head back and closes his eyes, a pained expression creasing his forehead. “So you wanted me to know that you know. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
With a sigh, he lowers his head and meets my eyes. “No other questions?”
“It’s none of my business until you choose to tell me. Until then…” I trail off and shrug.
“Until then you’re going to wonder if I got away with murder,” he snaps.
Well, yes, I will. Even though I’m 99 percent certain he’s innocent, there will always be that 1 percent doubt. “If I really thought that, I wouldn’t still see you.”
“You wouldn’t fuck me or let me meet your kids either,” he spits out. Then, “But wait, you won’t do those anyway.”
“Don’t get nasty with me.” I stand and move closer to him, my heart thrumming away. “I didn’t go looking for something like this. I…”
“But that didn’t stop you from telling me so you have a clear conscience and don’t have to pretend to be ignorant.” He takes a step toward me, practically vibrating with fury as he bites out, “Don’t fool yourself, Luna. Telling me you know wasn’t for my benefit. It was so you could see my reaction and decide for yourself.”
“No, I…” I begin, but he keeps talking, ignoring the fact that I’m trying to interrupt.
“You can package it and sell it however you want, but you just didn’t want to have to look at me and wonder if I was going to tell you.” His voice lowers and he sneers, “You didn’t want to have to wonder if I did it.” His jaw works as he grinds his teeth so hard I can hear it. “If you want to know, you can fucking ask me.” He watches me, sarcastic anticipation widening his eyes as he tilts his head, waiting.
I don’t speak, because sometimes silence is much louder than words. This is one of those times. I just watch him, never taking my eyes from his because this is when I can see the real Gabriel O’Malley, and somewhere deep down I know that’s why I brought this up. When we’re in bed and he’s got me wide open, giving myself completely over to him…that’s when I’m vulnerable. That’s when he can see me clearly. But right now is the first time I’ve ever seen Gabe so exposed, and the primal fear in his eyes, the inexplicable terror and remorse written clearly across his features tells me everything I need to know.
Gabriel O’Malley might not have killed his mother—and I’m inclined to believe he didn’t—but something about it is still eating him alive. And in that instant, when I see him with such clarity, I realize that our real intimacy, the complete and willing exposure of ourselves, isn’t going to come when he kisses me or when I introduce him to my children.
It’s going to be when he tells me why his mother’s death makes him feel guilty and when I give him my reaction to that confession.
As if realizing how open he is to me, Gabe shakes himself out of it, closing his eyes while he gains control. “Ask me now, Luna, and I’ll tell you the truth.” His eyes pop open and he cautions, “But if you ever ask me again, we are through. This is your chance.”
I want to ask. God, I want to scream at him, demand that he tell me how someone could accuse him of such a horrific crime. I want him to explain what he did to make anyone believe that he could hurt his mother. In a way, I need to hear him claim his innocence, tell me that he’d never do something so heinous.
But I don’t ask. I won’t. He’ll tell me one day, when he trusts me enough to make such a revelation. And until then, despite how much my mind tells me he’s a good man, until the day that I trust him enough to listen to whatever secret he’s hiding, there will always be doubt.
I shake my head. “No, Gabe. I’m not going to ask you. That would be crass and heartless. But when you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen.”
He takes a shaky breath and looks back out the window. “You’re something else, you know that?”
I just shrug. Most people don’t understand how I can push aside curiosity so easily. “I’m a private person. I try to stay out of other people’s business so they’ll stay out of mine.”
He doesn’t respond for a while, just stands staring out the window. F
inally, he takes lets out a breath and tilts his head to one side, then another, the bones cracking. “I’m going to have to have a talk with Dan about loose lips,” he remarks drily, turning to me and shoving his hands in his pockets.
He’s still tense, his shoulders held high and back in a defensive pose, as though he’s just waiting for me to attack. He’s more upset about Dan than he’s letting on, though I don’t think he’s going to talk to me about it. That’s fine. I don’t really want to hear him complain about it. Maybe that sounds cold, but it’s true. If there’s a solution, I don’t mind talking out the problem and finding a compromise. But bitching for the sake of bitching? Ugh. It makes me crazy. But Gabe’s not one to beat on a dead horse, and he doesn’t pursue the topic of Dan further. Thank God.
“Do you still want to go get dinner?” His voice is low, hesitant, and more insecure than I’ve heard him before. He’s always so self-possessed and polished. The uncertainty I hear in the question is just one more glimpse at the man that he keeps hidden. How the hell does he expect to have any significant amount of intimacy with anyone if he keeps everything buried so deeply?
But the more immediate question is of food, and I’m still hungry. “Yeah. But first…” I spin slowly in a circle. “Do I need to put on something else?”
There’s still a shadow of ambiguity in his eyes, but he smiles around it. “No, moon goddess. You look beautiful and you’re dressed appropriately.”
“Good,” I call over my shoulder as I turn to the kitchen to retrieve my purse. “Because I didn’t want to change. Where are we going?” I grab my purse and turn around and he’s there, less than a foot behind me. I hadn’t realized he was following me, but he doesn’t startle me. No much, anyway.
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