by Reese Ryan
I reach into the overhead cabinet, grab a Tums and pop it into my mouth, hoping to settle my stomach. “What about the police? They believed that story?”
“It would be more correct to say that my parents procured their belief in the story,” he admits. “They made an ‘anonymous’ donation. Purchased the town an entire fleet of new cruisers.”
“So your parents bought the cops off? Just like that?”
“The evidence was inconclusive. No one could say for sure who was driving. I didn’t valet park that night. No one else was in the car. We were both thrown from the car. Both our fingerprints were all over the steering wheel. I had no memory of the accident, and Farrah was dead.”
I pour us two cups of coffee and add sugar and cream to both. Just a little for him. ’til the coffee is café au lait-colored for me.
I place a plate of French toast and a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Thanks.” He raises his eyes to mine. He’s waiting for a response, or maybe absolution.
“You’re welcome.” I’m not ready to offer forgiveness. Besides, it isn’t mine to give. I make two more slices of French toast, carefully avoiding his gaze.
Raine methodically slices his French toast. I hand him the maple syrup.
“Thanks.” He opens the cap, pours then takes a few bites.
I lean against the sink, arms folded, waiting until he’s finished his first piece. “The paparazzi stalks your family. How’d you manage to avoid media coverage?”
Raine puts down his fork. “It wasn’t as bad back then. Besides, it was one of those rare nights when I’d managed to elude photographers. My parents’ publicist spun the story in my favor. I was the passenger. The driver was killed. There were no charges brought against me. Everything was swept neatly under my parents’ hundred-thousand-dollar Persian rug.”
“So what happened after the accident?”
“They put me on a plane to Switzerland as soon as I was able to fly. That’s where I got plastic surgery to repair the scars on my face and arms. The evidence of the accident that the rest of the world could see,” he says. “But I wouldn’t let them fix the ones only I could see. I wanted to keep ’em. To remember what happened, what I did.” He runs his hands over the back of his head.
“That’s when you got the scar on your hip.” I flip the toast in the pan then take a sip of my coffee.
The memory of my first time seeing that scar and the feeling of the knotty skin beneath my fingertips comes back to me. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of sadness. Both for Farrah Rose and for us. I look across the counter at him. Just a few feet of granite separate us, but it suddenly feels as wide as a chasm.
“I never wanted to forget her, or what I’d been capable of. It was my way of ensuring it never happened again.”
I think of the tattoo on his arm. In the picture Delveccio had given me of Raine as a teenager, there was no rose. Just the sword. I put my cup down, reach over and touch his arm, where the tattoo lies. A memorial of the dead girl carved in his flesh in brilliant red and green.
Raine places his hand over mine, his head down. “Don’t forget your toast.”
“Dammit!”
I turn off the stove and fix myself a plate. Sliding into the seat next to him, I slice the French toast. Raine hands the syrup bottle to me. I pour too much.
“And after the surgery?” I stab the toast with a fork and shove a few pieces in my mouth.
“I stayed at a clinic in Switzerland for three months. My parents hired a private nurse and put me up in a little chalet for another three months. Mom suggested I stay in Europe for a while, in our villa in Tuscany. I didn’t want to live in a villa, like I was on some grand European vacation while Farrah was dead. When it was me who killed her.”
I stop chewing and look over at him. “You said you didn’t remember the accident.”
“I didn’t. Not at first, or even months later.” He shoves pieces of French toast around on his plate. “But some of the memories returned. I remembered being completely fucked up. Farrah was kissing me and trying to climb onto my lap while I was driving.”
“So you were driving. But that’s probably what sent the car out of control, her climbing onto your lap.” I almost feel relieved that the girl wasn’t just a victim. That she might be culpable.
“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone. She never got to get married or have kids. I took that from her.”
I put down my silverware, wipe my hands on a dish towel and place my hand on his arm.
Raine pulls me off the stool, into his arms, buries his face in my neck. He holds me tight, as if I’ll evaporate like an apparition if he allows even a sliver of light to pass between us. I let him hold me. I want to comfort him the way he’s always comforted me.
“It’s okay, babe,” I whisper into his ear and kiss the side of his face. It is the first time I’ve used this term of endearment, or any other that I can remember. “I know you’re sorry about what happened to Farrah, but you can’t bring her back. And you can’t spend the rest of your life torturing yourself.”
Raine sighs, releases me. He walks over to the sofa, my hand firmly in his. We sit. He traces the lines of my palm with his fingertips, as if searching for a hint of our future.
“Did you return home?” I don’t want to push him too hard or too fast, but I need to hear the rest of the story.
“I wasn’t ready to go back.” He continues to trace the lines in my hand. “I changed my name, got a new look, kicked around Asia and Africa, volunteering with various organizations. I finished my undergraduate degree via a correspondence course. My parents begged me to come home. ‘You can’t save everyone, Beau,’ Mom’d say every time we talked. But I felt I hadn’t done enough. That I could never do enough.”
“When did you finally come home and start Focused for Life?”
“I’d been out of the country for about six years when I got really sick with malaria while serving in Africa. My mother sent her personal doctor to treat me and bring me back stateside. I refused to move back to Beverly Hills, so they put me up in an apartment in San Francisco. When I got better, I was ready to head overseas again. My mother was crying hysterically. She begged me not to keep risking my life. She was sure I was on some sort of charitable suicide mission.”
“Were you?”
Raine shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What convinced you to stay in San Francisco?”
“My mother kept saying there were plenty of people who needed my help right here in the U.S. So I started to pay attention. That’s when I saw the story about the graduation rate among black males in Ohio. I wanted to start a program to address the problem. My mother, who was raised on a farm in Pennsylvania, considers the Midwest to be one step above living in the jungle in Congo.” He shakes his head and sighs. “My parents promised to fund my organization through the Foundation and to help me solicit donations for at least three years. After that, I’d be on my own. If I could make it work, and it grew, then I could expand the program as I saw fit.” He smiles for the first time today. “Even to Ohio.”
“Looks like they kept their word.”
“They did everything they promised and more. All of their original funding was anonymous. They honored my wishes to keep the connection to our family hidden for the first three years,” he says. “I’ll admit it was as much for my own comfort as it was as to keep the Montgomery Circus from crowding out the real issue.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“That was eight years ago. I spent two years researching, studying other organizations, working with people who were trying to do something similar. I earned a graduate degree in sociology and put together a business plan. When I felt I had everything right, I filed as a nonprofit and hired a few of the people I’d worked with during the research
phase.
“The day we opened our doors I realized I’d been so consumed with getting Focused for Life going that I hadn’t thought about Farrah Rose in a long time. That’s when I had the rose added to my tattoo.” Raine touches his arm. “I didn’t want to forget her or what could happen if I ever fell back into that life again.”
Raine settles back against the couch. “So that’s everything there is to know about me—in both incarnations. Beau Montgomery and Raine Mason. I changed my name because I made it my mission from that day forward to be a different person. A better person. One who left the world a better place than he found it.”
Raine laces his fingers through mine, our palms facing. He squeezes my hand. Now the ball is in my court. I’ve been so engaged in his story I haven’t given any thought to my response.
“This is a lot to handle, I know. Now maybe you understand why I was afraid to tell you. I never wanted to see the look on your face now. Hurt, anger, disappointment, pity.” Raine puts his hand underneath my chin, lifts my eyes to meet his. “I love you, Melanie. I know we’re still supposed to be pretending I didn’t say it.” He smiles feebly. “But I do.”
Turning away, I bite my lip and swallow as I finger the necklace I’m wearing, a birthday present from my father. For this first time I’m aware that I’ve been rocking back and forth, my knee gently bobbing up and down.
He lays a hand gently on my knee, stilling it. “Those weren’t just words uttered in the heat of the moment. I don’t wish I could take them back. It’s the way I truly feel. I love you.”
My mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words to express the myriad of thoughts and emotions that have my heart racing. No sound escapes. My eyes offer an unspoken apology.
Raine leans in and kisses my cheek. Then he leans his forehead against mine. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything right now. But you wanted the truth and you deserve to hear it from me.” He slowly rises to his feet, letting go of my hand. “I’m staying at the Marriott. Call me when you’re ready to talk.” He picks up his coat and folds it over his arm.
“Please, don’t go.” I follow him to the front door. “You don’t have to spring for a hotel. You can stay here.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a trust fund baby.” He forces a mischievous smile and kisses my forehead. “I’m good for it.”
“Do you have to leave right now?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now, more than here with you. But I’ve given you a lot to think about.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me into him. “You have a choice to make. Whether this is worth the hassle. Whether you can still be with me, knowing what I’ve done. Only you can make that decision. Well, you and your sisters,” he says, a knowing smile crinkling the edges of his eyes and mouth.
He kisses me then puts on his wool jacket. “If you’re up to it, I’d love to meet you at Lola’s for dinner. And if you need more time, that’s fine, too. I’ll respect your decision.”
“Okay,” I tell him. “But you haven’t told me everything. You didn’t tell me why you cut your hair.”
“Right.” Raine runs his hand over his head. “I’m done hiding. I want you to know me. Every part of me. Every scar. Every bump. Every bruise. You have to decide whether you can ever love me the way I love you.”
He kisses my cheek then slips out the door and closes it behind him.
I lean my forehead against the cool, steel door, my hand pressed to the metal, wishing things could go back to the way they were a week ago.
Chapter Thirty
A week ago, Raine’s intimate knowledge of me, his anticipation of the fact that I’d call Mimi and Jamie right away, would’ve been endearing. Today it reminds me that I’m an open book to him, but I knew nothing about the real him until an hour ago.
I sit on the couch and stare at the phone. Of course I’m going to call Mimi and Jamie. But I’m not sure what to say. Do I tell them everything?
What if I can get past this but my family can’t? Will they hate Raine even though I love him?
Love him? There is a twinge of pain at the base of my neck and over my eyes. It spreads across my forehead. I massage my temples.
I’m angry Raine didn’t tell me about his past, but I wonder if I should bear some of the blame. Sometimes things didn’t feel quite right. I was too busy basking in his adoration to dig deeper.
I should’ve suspected that my fairy-tale relationship would collapse around me like an intricate house of cards built for no other purpose than to tumble mightily.
How could I not see that Raine was far too perfect? My dad always said if it seems too good to be true, it usually is. Perhaps that’s why I clung so tightly to Jax. His cracks and flaws were easily apparent. There was no façade. What you see is what you get. My disappointment with Jax stemmed from my own delusions that he would one day change. Something he never promised, but I continued to expect.
Mimi was right to give up on the “Ideal Man” theory. We were silly girls looking for men without flaws. Men who don’t exist and certainly wouldn’t put up with our defects and idiosyncrasies, if they did.
I take a deep breath and dial Mimi first, then conference in Jamie. I tell them about my conversation with Raine, leaving out the gory details. But they can both read between the lines.
There’s a moment of silence. Then Mimi mutters, “Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh.”
“I know this relationship isn’t the fairy tale you’ve been searching for,” Jamie says finally. “But the question you have to ask yourself is, how do you feel about Raine? Forget about Beau Montgomery for a minute. He’s worked damned hard not to be that guy anymore.”
“He’s an amazing man. Generous, loving, kind. I care deeply for him.” My lips form themselves into a crooked smile. “I can see us together for a very long time.”
“Like forever?” Mimi inquires.
“Maybe.”
“If you feel that strongly about him, then your relationship is worth fighting for,” she says.
“It’s not that simple. Could you be with someone if...if he had such a questionable past?”
Mimi’s silent. We both know she would never be able to get past something like this.
“What if this were me?” Jamie interjects. “I’ve had DUIs. I was a boozer and an addict. You know about all of that, but you never gave up on me.”
“You’re family.”
“But think about it—this could’ve easily been me. When I was arrested for that last DUI a few years ago, I just missed taking out a family with a minivan full of kids headed to Cedar Point.”
“I didn’t know about that,” Mimi exclaims. “Did you, Melanie?”
“No,” I croak. My heart slams against my rib cage. Hearing about it, even now, makes me tremble. I’m disappointed that Jamie made such a bad choice, but intense guilt sits in the pit of my stomach, like a heavy lead ball. I know my sudden decision to leave had a negative impact on everyone, Jamie especially.
“No one knew except Mom,” she says. “She bailed me out that night. We got into a huge fight. She said the drugs and crazy lifestyle were my personal version of Russian roulette. That I’d rather be dead than deal with the pain of my parents abandoning me. Mom said my cowardice was going to get somebody killed. I broke down. I didn’t want to be a fucked-up loser anymore.”
Jamie is sobbing. Mimi and I are in tears, too. We remember the days when we lived in fear that an officer would knock at the door and tell us Jamie wasn’t coming home.
“So that’s what triggered your recovery.” I wipe my face on my shirtsleeve.
“What if my rock bottom hadn’t been almost taking out the family in the minivan? What if I’d killed them?”
There’s a hushed silence on the telephone as Mimi and I contemplate this. It’s such an awful thought. Yet it nearly
happened. A chill runs down my spine. I close my eyes. I can see Jamie in the blue “Crapalier” she drove back then careening across the highway, high as a kite, plowing into a minivan of unsuspecting people whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“How would you have reacted if this had happened to me?”
I don’t say anything. Of course I would forgive her and support her through it. Even if that meant the humiliation of sitting in court every day during a trial or nursing her through sweaty nights filled with aching withdrawal symptoms. Jamie knows that. But I’m not ready to concede her point.
“Would you hate me for the rest of my life, Melanie? Even if I cleaned up, served my time, did whatever I could to make sure the next kid didn’t make that same mistake? Would you still write me off?” Jamie presses, her tone sharp.
“Of course not.” I run my fingers along the stitching on the arm of the couch. “But this isn’t the same. Raine isn’t family.”
“Biologically, neither am I!” Jamie huffs. She takes a deep breath then continues. “I’m a ‘broken’ kid who followed you home one day. I’m just lucky you cared what happened to my sorry ass, that you came to love me. That isn’t so different from what’s happening between you and Raine at all.”
Tears sting my eyes as I twist the phone cord in silence.
“You’re angry because Raine kept this secret from you,” Mimi says. “But we’ve all kept secrets from each other. I didn’t tell you about working with Jax because I thought it was the right thing to do. I was trying to protect you. Maybe he was, too. Look at what’s happened since the secret got out.”
“Don’t make excuses for him, Mimi. He was wrong not to tell me, and you know it.”
Mimi sighs. “Raine isn’t perfect, but he’s learned from his past. He’s a good man and he really loves you. Are you willing to give up what you guys have because of a mistake he made more than a decade ago?”