“Thanks,” I manage. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Callia, I’m sorry.”
I draw my eyes up to his. “For what?”
All of a sudden he appears at a loss for words. “I know what you must think, but I swear to you, nothing happened.”
“What are you sorry for, Grayson?”
He struggles to find the words. “For the look of things.”
I cross my arms over myself to ward off a chill. “I need to get out of these clothes and go to bed.”
“Can I help?”
“You’ve done enough.”
“I don’t mind,” he says.
“I do.”
Grayson nods, then turns to leave. “Your bag fell in the water. I’ll get it and make sure your things are laundered.”
“You keep it. I bought it for you anyway.”
He flinches as if wounded. “Callia, you didn’t have to do anything for me. Just being here is enough.”
“You should go, Grayson. I don’t want to look at you right now.”
Grayson hesitates for a moment, then turns to leave.
When he’s gone, I sink into the massive tub that I’ve filled with hot water and bubbles and just cry for my own stupidity. Carmen and Grayson have unfinished business. If I believed that she only wants to have him dangle on her arm to entice the man she really loves, maybe I could make peace with that. Hell, maybe I’d tell Grayson the whole truth of it and we’d laugh over it. But that isn’t the whole of it. I know my sister. And I know she is as fickle as a child in a candy store. What Carmen wants, Carmen gets. And she’s always on the prowl for something better than what she already has. If she decides she wants Grayson—and I believe she has—then I’m defenseless against her. I can’t compete with her. I won’t dare try.
After my bath, I wrap a towel around my head and slip on a pair of comfortable pajamas. At the patio door I can see that the party out back has dispersed. No music, no people, just the signs of a good time gone: drink glasses, napkins, empty bowls. I draw the curtains shut. I’m too wound up to sleep and if I lie in bed I know my brain is going to replay the horrifying seconds I was underwater and I’ll never get to sleep. So I sit in a chair with my grateful journal, pen, and my bag of chocolate chips. I pop one morsel after the other in my mouth as I brood. What the hell is there to be grateful for right now?
There is a knock on the door. I debate whether to open it or not. It might be Mom. She may have heard the ruckus. Of course, considering all the screaming was taking place inside my head while I was underwater and not out loud, there probably wasn’t much to hear. I toss the journal on the bed and open the door.
“Hey,” Grayson says. “I thought maybe you’d like some coffee. Decaf.”
I look at the breakfast tray he holds in his hands, complete with two mugs of black coffee, and a couple of my peach crumb muffins. He looks uncomfortable. Like the kid in school who witnesses another getting belittled by a teacher and knowing that there isn’t a thing in the world he can do about it except cringe in his own seat.
“I don’t want your pity, Grayson.”
“I’m not offering pity. I’m offering coffee and muffins that I actually took the time to warm up in the oven myself.”
A smile is the last thing I want to give him, but damn if one doesn’t creep on my face anyway.
“Warmed up yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Must’ve taken a lot of effort.” I stand out of the way to allow him entry. He walks over to the patio, opens the drapes, flicks on the outside light, then opens the door. After he places the tray on the table, he pulls back a seat for me.
“Thanks,” I say. I take a sip of the coffee before I add cream or sugar. I cough. It is tar on my tongue. “What ratio of coffee to water did you use?”
Grayson shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I put a half a cup of grounds in the machine. Why?”
“No reason.” I add six teaspoons of sugar and as much milk as I can fit in my mug. I take a sip. Tar light. “Well done, Grayson.”
“You look nice like that,” he says.
“Like what?”
“With your hair hidden beneath the towel like that.”
“I’ll have to remember that you like it when my hair is hidden from the world’s view.”
“You’re in a bad mood,” he says.
“Great observation. I suppose having a near-death experience can do that to a person. I never thanked you properly. For saving my life and all. Thank you.”
He takes a bit of his muffin. “I want to teach you how to swim.”
“No,” I say.
“Taking swim lessons is the only way you can thank me properly.”
“I’m terrified of water. No. I’m not doing it.”
“The whole point of the exercise is to make you not be terrified of the water. I love doing laps out there and you might not believe it, but someday you might also.”
“I don’t trust the water.”
“You don’t trust a lot of things.”
I put my mug down. “We might as well cut to the chase.”
“I’m surprised the conversation even got this far without us getting to it.”
“We’re not going to do this. I’m sorry.” He nods but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t deny or plead or explain. I continue, “You’re right. I have serious trust issues and I’m not likely to get over them any time soon.”
“I get it.”
I take a deep breath. “What did Carmen mean when she said you two have a history? Is there more going on between you than I know about?”
Grayson stands up and leans on the railing. There are no stars out tonight. As if we are not worthy of their romantic brilliance.
“Yes,” he finally says.
“Yes?” I repeat. It was the word I feared, and yet, there it was.
“Yes,” he says again.
“What is it?”
He turns to me. “I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s in the past. It’s over and done with and I don’t want to think about it. I want to move on, Callia. You and I can do that. We can move on, even if it means moving thousands of miles away from your sister. We can be together and happy, just the two us.”
“With your secret looming between us?”
“It’s not a secret.”
I stand up. “You won’t tell me what it is. I think it’s a secret.”
“Oh, God. Callia, I can’t.” He takes a step toward me. “You’ve got to believe me. I just can’t.”
I nod and back away from him. “You should go.”
“Callia.”
“No, Gray. You should go.”
I don’t watch as he strides to the door. I wait to hear it shut and when it does my tears come in a fury and I lay my face down on the pillow and let it out. I throw myself on the bed and feel my grateful journal near my toes. With all my strength I kick it to the floor and cry even louder when it doesn’t even bother to give me a gratifying thump.
Chapter 31
I am too emotionally exhausted to face anyone this morning, but I’m starving. Breakfast downstairs with the family is not going to happen, so I throw on some clothes with the intention of taking Mom’s car to the first breakfast spot I find. When I get downstairs, I avoid the kitchen altogether and head straight for the door.
“Callia.” I stop in my tracks at the sound of her voice and turn to look at her.
“You’re still here?” I ask.
Carmen is a disheveled mess; still, I could see how a man would think her sexy as hell with the blanket hugging her body and her hair a mess of golden curls.
“I slept on the sofa,” she says. “Listen, about last night. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“You didn’t push me. I slipped, but thanks anyway.”
“They didn’t teach you how to swim in the Army?
”
“Air Force, and no, apparently not.”
“You should’ve come to the lessons with me when we were kids.”
“The only reason you wanted to go to the swim lessons, Carmen, is because you had the hots for the instructor and I didn’t care to see you flaunt your fourteen-year-old assets in front of a helpless college kid who was just trying to hold down a summer job.”
“But I learned how to swim,” she says coyly, “so I guess I got something out of it besides the pleasant attention of a man.”
“He was a boy.”
“Whatever. Are we cool?”
“No,” I say. “We’re not.”
“Ah,” she says. “Grayson, right?”
“I gotta go.”
“Where are you going looking like that?”
I stop and turn back to her. “You’ve got a problem with the way I look?” My voice stings her like a flick from a rubber band. She jumps and moves back. “What were you two doing in the cabana?”
The glint in the eye tells me she enjoys this game. “My brain is fuzzy from the drinks,” she says. “I don’t think we talked about anything important.”
“Why were you two in the cabana?”
“For quiet, silly. The music was too loud and the cabana was closer than coming back in the house.”
“Carmen. Leave him alone.”
“Why?”
Because, I want to scream at her, I want him for myself. But of course I don’t say this.
“He’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve for you to use him.”
“Callia. No one can be used unless he wants to be. No one.”
“What happened to you calling off your scheme, huh?”
“I did.”
“So what do you call last night?”
“Callia, what are you not understanding? I dropped by. I figured you and Mom would be home by then and we could chat. I stayed and had a few drinks. That’s it.”
“You’re such a liar. You planned the whole thing. You never intended to come to the city with us.”
Callia pulled the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders.
“You called me a liar.”
“You wore a hot little dress just to drop by, right?”
Carmen takes a couple of steps toward me, her lips set in a firm line. “You don’t want Grayson for yourself, but you don’t want anyone else to have him, either. Is that what I’m getting here?”
Part of me wants to tell her the truth but I can’t. I can’t because it’ll hurt ten times worse for her to know how much I want to be with him. I’d rather her seduce him and not know how much she’s hurting me in the process. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of watching me suffer.
“You,” she says, like my name is a slithering worm on her tongue, “you’ve always been self-absorbed, haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Because I didn’t let you play with my toys? Are you serious?”
“It was more than that. You were my big sister, Callia. You were supposed to teach me, and protect me, and guide me. You did none of that because you were always so independent. You always needed to blaze your own trail and never helped me along the way. But isn’t it funny to watch you now? Poor thing. You’ve set out to blaze your own trail again, but you’re really just lost in the woods, aren’t you? You have no idea who you are, what you want, or where you’re going. Which is why you’re here, languishing about in this beautiful mansion. Hoping like hell Grayson will fall for you and let you live here forever.” She drops the blanket from her shoulders like a stage actress during a costume reveal. “Meanwhile, I have managed just fine. I have girlfriends. And many, many men who’ve professed their love for me. I have tons of customers who rely on me to make them beautiful, and I am beautiful. So I guess I didn’t need you to treat me like a best friend, after all. I made out okay. The only man who’s ever loved you was Daddy. The both of you treated me like I was invisible. But he’s dead now, and you’re a washed-up government worker looking for her next meal ticket. Hmph. Imagine that.”
When I’ve recovered from her verbal smackdown, I say, “You’re holding a grudge against me? That’s what this business with Gray is about?”
“Gray?” she says. “My, my. Aren’t we on cozy terms with the landlord.”
“Don’t be an ass,” I say.
“You’re right, that’s your department.” It takes all my strength not to lunge at her. “It’s not about revenge,” she says. “I’m over all that. I’ve moved on. No, instead, I was at home thinking about my prospects and I realized that there was just no sense in letting a ripe piece of fruit like Grayson wilt on the vine. How a woman has not plucked him up yet is beyond me.”
“Maybe he’s gay,” I say.
“No.” She quickly dismisses my attempt at diversion. “I’ve felt his eyes on me. Gay men don’t look at me like that.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that he might not be interested?”
“Yeah,” she says and smiles. “But that just makes me try harder.”
“Don’t you feel a little shame in trying to score a rich man?”
“No,” Carmen says. “At least I aim high.”
I end the conversation by walking away, when what I really want to do is pull out a fistful of her hair. Juvenile? Sure. Gratifying? Absolutely.
Aim high. Leave it to Carmen to use the Air Force tag line like a shiv in my gut.
* * *
Although it’s early morning, the front lawn is already alive with the landscapers buzzing about. I get in the car and as I drive away I notice that same woman worker removing equipment from a truck. She looks at me and nods her head once, and I do the same. I take a longer look at her than I did before. She wears a baseball cap low on her head and it completely covers her hair. Dark shades obscure her face and the skin peeking out from her T-shirt and shorts is all red-speckled leather. She continues on with her chores while I make a left out of the driveway.
What kind of woman applies for a job as a landscaper? One who loves working outdoors, maintaining the property of rich folks? Or someone who made a few missteps in life and took the only job she could get?
And what about me? Why am I thinking about her path when I should be thinking about my own? I don’t want to spend another week at the library and I don’t want to waste more of my time sending job applications through the Internet that go straight into outer space. What I’d like to do for the rest of my life is eat hot fudge sundaes and sulk about Grayson and Carmen.
A car honks behind me. I’ve been daydreaming at a stop sign. Not only that, but I suddenly notice a card flapping beneath my windshield wiper. An advertisement, probably. I pull the car over and snatch the slip of paper. I don’t dare toss it to the ground, especially not in this neighborhood. A SWAT team would probably dog-pile me. Instead, I toss it onto the passenger seat. But just as I get ready to put the car back in drive, I notice the handwriting.
A chill runs through me.
I’ve seen that handwriting before—it’s the same handwriting as the note I’d gotten in the library.
I pick up the unlined note:
He can’t love you because of me.
You’ve been warned.
Chapter 32
Carmen! I crumble the note in my hand and toss it to the floor. How could I not have realized that Carmen’s behind these stupid notes? Had she been in the library watching me? Is this her way of getting me out of the picture? I push the gas while her accusations reverberate through my head. I had no idea that joining the military had hurt her as much as it had. She had already felt that I was a negligent sister, and enlisting in the military so soon after Dad’s death didn’t help matters much. But I’m not to blame for how she feels! I was as good to her as an older sister who had nothing in common with her narcissistic younger sister could possibly be. And to think, she’s getting some kind of perverse thrill by writing me silly anonymous postcards and flirting with Grayson!
After
breakfast, I figure now is as good a time as any to run a few errands. I swing by my “office” and check out a couple of books on how to start a small business, then head to a storage company and purchase boxes and tape. And then I go home. My real home.
The front lawn is overgrown. I make a mental note to get over here every couple of weeks to do it. It feels weird to be back in the real world, where there’s no Gail to wash laundry and buy groceries, and no pool in the backyard, or marble floors to maintain. The house next to ours is empty and a For Sale sign stands on the front lawn, which is littered with red cups and candy wrappers. Teens hang out down the block, wasting away the hours of their summer break, smoking and practicing skateboard jumps.
I get out of the car, my arms full of boxes. There’s a lockbox on the front door. Grayson’s been moving along with the sale. The lockbox is a reminder that I need to get on my own two feet—fast. I spend the day knocking out chores. I mow the lawn first, before the sun is high. Then I start packing up the attic. I make three piles: stuff that I know can be trashed, things that will need Mom’s approval before trashing, and stuff that I can start boxing up. I stop only long enough to eat some canned beef soup I find in the cupboard.
Packing is good for me. I needed to be away from that house and Grayson, if only for a few hours. It helps me sort things in my head. No matter how much I want to be with him, I cannot trust a guy who cannot tell me the truth. I need to know what they were discussing in the cabana. I have a right to it. And the fact that Grayson can be so close-mouthed about it only reaffirms that he’s hiding something. Did they have sex? The idea of it nags at me. I don’t want to be made a fool of. Love me or leave me. But don’t make a fool of me.
I stack a box against the wall where two rows of boxes are already aligned. What would Mom advise? I need to learn to trust. Ugh. I need a girlfriend. Someone who can understand my point of view and tell me that I’m right; a man who does not lay all his cards on the table is not a man worth having in your life. Mom wouldn’t understand that distrust is an animal instinct, and instincts are never wrong.
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