by Debbie Burns
But it didn’t mean she was ready to say any of those things aloud. Maybe she was like her mom that way, clinging to an illusion she wanted to be true.
When she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was that she’d forgotten her purse and could she borrow a bit of cash.
She didn’t have to pick up on the disappointment in his single-word response to know she’d let him down. After that, neither of them said anything at all until they’d gotten to the drugstore.
The ride back was just as quiet with the exception that Josie commented on the remarkable, starlit sky. She still marveled over the difference between the sky here and in LA. Here, the stars glowed, brilliant and white. Carter agreed it was magnificent, and a few minutes later, he pointed out a falling star she wasn’t fast enough to see.
When they got to the house, it was just after one o’clock. Leashless, Buttercup clambered out from the back and trotted to a patch of grass, peed a forever-pee, then trotted ahead of them around the house to the front door. Clearly, the easygoing dog had no complaints about this being his new home.
“You’d, uh, better get to bed considering you’ve got only four hours till your alarm goes off.”
Carter was right; Josie would be tired tomorrow. She’d been cutting into her sleep most nights now, but never this much.
Halfway up the stairs, with Buttercup a few steps ahead of them, Josie wrapped her hand around Carter’s and pulled him to a stop. She didn’t want to separate like this. Even if it was just for a handful of hours.
“Carter, I’m sorry. What you said in the car—I heard it. I know what I need to do to make this relationship work. And I want it to work.” She clamped her mouth shut and cleared her throat. Once the urge to break out into tears resided, she continued. “Can you just give me some time?”
She didn’t know who moved first, but his arms locked around her just as hers did him. He pressed his lips against the side of her temple. “I’m sorry, too, and yeah, I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
Seeing they’d stopped progressing up the steps, Buttercup made his way back down and planted himself on the step next to Josie, letting out a yawn that sounded as if it belonged to an old man.
* * *
Josie’s bare feet sticking out from under the oversized flannel blankets were the only thing that prevented her from sliding from a light doze into a deep sleep. Shifting, she attempted to wiggle them under the covers without having to sit up and expose any more of her body to the chilly night air.
It was the perfect night for a fire in the fire pit. The star-filled sky was cloudless, and there was little to no wind to whip the smoke around. And it was chilly enough to breathe out clouds of steam.
Carter had come outside to build the fire as she’d gotten Zoe to bed. He’d brought out a couple of long-neck beers, and Josie had had just enough of one to cop a light buzz, then get drowsy.
There were four chairs and two chaise lounges surrounding the stone fire pit on the far side of the lower terrace. Josie and Carter were sharing one of the chaises while Buttercup was stretched across the second one, dozing as his front feet paddled through the air as if he were in an easy lope.
“You getting cold?” Carter’s arm was draped over her back, and he ran his hand along her side.
“I’m fine so long as you don’t have to get up again. You’re better at putting off heat than an instant hand warmer.”
“If you ask me, this is great sleeping weather. I could stay out here all night.” His voice was thick and heavy, and Josie guessed he was as drowsy as she was. “Have you ever taken Zoe camping?” he asked after a sleepy pause. “Maybe we could head out to a state park for a night or two this fall.”
Josie took a few seconds to consider her reply. “Maybe. She’s always wanted to try it. I bet we could borrow a tent from Linda.”
She’d never been—no surprise—though, after an eviction, she and Sam had slept in their mom’s old Accord in gas-station parking lots so many nights in a row that she had sufficient experience staring at the sky as she fell asleep. Though staring at light-dulled LA night skies out the window of a car that reeked of Camel cigarettes while her mother hit up strangers for her next fix wasn’t a bit like sitting around a campfire, eating s’mores, and having fun with a family that loved and supported you.
As Carter spoke of a few parks he’d come across, doubt swept over her. Not for the first time, she wondered how a girl who’d stolen bananas from the fruit stand and boxes of Little Debbie’s from the open door of a delivery truck so she and her brother would have something to eat could ever really fit into this life.
Carter’s hand on her back suddenly felt like sandpaper. She pushed up and savored the wash of cold air that pressed in, erasing the trails of heat from his body.
“I have to pee.”
She headed inside and used the bathroom. Afterward, she stared at herself in front of the mirror for what felt like forever. It’s like Myra says, you’re never going to heal unless you talk this shit through with someone who can help you process it.
Josie doubted there was a therapist alive she’d trust with some of her secrets.
Before heading back outside, she went into the kitchen and grabbed another beer for them to share and a handful of the glazed walnuts that were a staple in the spinach salad. Buttercup had awakened and lifted his big head; he thumped his tail and watched her return. Josie paused to give him a quick rub with the back of her hand that was holding the beer.
After a few sips, Josie handed the beer to Carter and settled back under the blanket next to him. “Walnut?”
Carter ate one off the tips of her fingers. As his lips brushed her fingertips, she kissed his temple, then his neck.
It had been almost a week since the accident with the condom. After dialing their lovemaking back for several days afterward, their last two make-out sessions had escalated into the full thing, including earlier tonight while snuggled under cover of the blankets, serenaded by the crackle and pop of the fire.
It wouldn’t take much effort on her part to get something started again. The part of her that craved him now, at all hours of the day, wanted to, but her train of thought had dropped her in the deep end of doubt.
So, instead of giving her hungry lips and hands permission to arouse him, she took another swallow or two of beer and burrowed under the blankets beside him. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. If he disappeared tomorrow, would she remember this smell? This solid, inviting feel of muscle and skin covered by a thin layer of sweatpants and a hoodie. The gentle rise and fall of his chest.
He yawned and pulled her closer; his breathing was slow and relaxed, showing he was close to sleep. With her hand on his chest, she savored the easy rhythm of it.
She must have drifted off again because she jerked awake sometime later. She bolted into a sitting position, a new version of a familiar nightmare still clinging to her. Carter had been in it this time, along with Sam and Nico. As always, she’d been the bystander, watching her world collapse into chaos while she fought for control of sluggish, slow-to-respond limbs.
So much of the dream was still hauntingly vivid. Sam’s eyes had had the hollow, sunken look of when he’d been struggling the worst with the heroin addiction as he had in their last years in LA. Dream Sam had been tugging her around the corner of a building, and tiny drops of blood had been dripping from his mouth, nose, and ears, but he’d not seemed to notice. Before they rounded the corner, so she could see whatever it was he wanted her to see, the small drops of blood had become large ones and then a trickle and then a stream. Josie had been trying to dab a towel at his face, but it had been so hard to hold up her arms. Finally, they’d trudged around the corner just in time to see Nico put a bullet in Carter’s forehead, and Josie had bolted awake.
“Hey, you okay?”
Carter was awake, and Buttercup
was sitting up on his chaise watching her with one paw draped over the armrest. The fire had burned down to the passive glow of embers, and the temperature had dropped another few degrees.
Judging by the burn in her throat, her scream hadn’t just been in the dream. “I, uh, fell asleep.”
“That was some nightmare.”
“Weren’t you asleep too?”
“I woke up ten or fifteen minutes ago. You were sleeping so soundly; I didn’t want to wake you.”
She felt even more vulnerable, knowing he’d witnessed it. “It’s over.”
Carter sat up and placed the flat of his hand on her back. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Josie, you have it almost every night, don’t you? That same dream?”
She got up, grabbed a poker, and stabbed at the fire, sending a cloud of glowing embers into the air.
“About three or four in the morning,” he continued. “I’ve come to your door a few times, but you’ve slept through it. Until tonight.”
“How do you know? Do I scream?”
“Tonight, you did. Mostly it’s just muffled moans and cries.” He got up and squatted next to the fire pit, resting his elbows on his thighs, facing her. “Who’s Sam?”
Josie’s insides turned to ice at the sound of her brother’s name on Carter’s lips. She poked at a glowing log, sending more embers into the air. The mountain that was her past pressed in, breathing over her shoulder the same way Zoe did when she was waiting for an answer. She shook her head and swallowed.
“Did you love him or fear him? I can never tell when you say his name.”
“I’m not going to talk about this.”
“We need to talk about this. Maybe I can help. Whatever it is, I doubt it’ll get better until you talk it through with someone. How about you give me a shot?”
A huff escaped. Josie dropped the poker on the edge of the fire pit and faced him. “You’re a good man, Carter. A really good man. But you can’t help me with this.”
“What if you’re wrong? How about try me and we’ll see. If some guy hurt you—or wants to hurt you…”
Anger surged through her veins. She saw it clearly for the first time; he was never going to stop asking questions. And she couldn’t even blame him; she was a poorly hidden enigma. Anyone who got as close as he had would never stop wanting to tease out the answers.
“I’m going to bed. Do you need help with the fire?”
“Josie, don’t shut me out. Please.”
As if he’d picked up on the tension between them, Buttercup woofed decisively and clambered down from the chaise. He looked back and forth between them, wagging his tail.
Josie shook her head. “Don’t open my door when I’m asleep, Carter. I mean it. If I have to lock the door to keep you out, I’m not having sex with you anymore.”
She took off up the hill, adrenaline surging through her body.
“So that’s all we’ve been doing? Having sex?” he called after her. “Because that’s not how I work. Now or ever.”
Josie whirled around, anger and sorrow blending with the fear racing through her veins. “He was my brother, you ass!”
On the ground next to her was a large limb that had fallen off the big oak. She picked it up and threw it down into the yard with a satisfying “Urgh!” It traveled further than she’d anticipated, crashing into one of the lower beds, and most certainly making a mess of the plants and flowers.
Buttercup trotted a few feet down the hill after it but stopped and whined, then looked back at her.
Without waiting for a response, Josie fled for the quiet security of the house, her body and hands shaking from unspent adrenaline. Buttercup was at her heels when she reached the back door. “No.” She held out her hand to stop him from following her inside even though she was certain it caused her more pain than him. “You’re Carter’s dog, not mine.” She shut the door to his whine, the tears she’d somehow managed not to shed the last month running down her face. What had ever made her hope this might work?
Chapter 27
After seeing Zoe off on the bus, Josie made her way up to Myra’s bathroom before getting to work in the kitchen. She would be helping Linda with today’s special, a savory butternut squash soup, a perfect match with the cold front that was moving through.
Myra had plans for breakfast in town and was standing in front of the mirror wrapping curlers into her hair. Josie collapsed onto the rim of Myra’s tub and let out a long breath, one that didn’t escape Myra’s notice. The fact that Josie’s eyes were still puffy this morning probably didn’t help matters.
“Had your first spat, did you?”
Leaning against the wall, Josie tucked her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. She hadn’t needed to tell Myra when she and Carter first slept together either; she’d read it on her face the morning after.
“You’re too big to be sulking on the edge of a bathtub, Josie. Unless you’re finally regressing and letting yourself experience the youth that was stolen from you.”
Crying was supposed to be restorative. But Josie felt worse this morning, not better. A mother of headaches was practically splitting her skull in half, she’d barely slept, and there was a long day in front of her. It was early October and the start of the county fair, so they were sure to be packed to the gills today unless the gray clouds and cold front moving through kept customers away.
“If you’re not going to talk, why don’t you help me wrap my hair—what little I have left, anyway.”
Josie shoved off the tub and began sectioning off small swathes of Myra’s silky gray hair to wrap into the curlers. “You look beautiful with straight hair, if you ask me.”
“I look old, that’s how I look.”
“Who are you meeting again?”
“Bob Waxler. My friend who tempted fate by sending Carter here, remember? I thought he was due for an update on what he made possible. I have a wonderful nephew who I never would have known had it not been for him. Only fate—or the universe or whatever they’re calling it these days—wasn’t only sending Carter my way, was it?”
Josie opted not to answer. Earlier this morning in the kitchen, when Carter had closed a hand over her back and said he was sorry, she’d wanted to melt into his arms and tell him everything.
A part of her did, at least.
The other part—that part—wanted to send him packing and bolt the doors behind him. And she wasn’t sure which part of her was going to win.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or have you decided you’d rather sulk?”
While debating whether she was ready to unleash the flood of all that she was holding in, Josie accidentally twisted a curler a little too tightly.
Myra winced. “I need all the hair I have left, dear.”
“Sorry.” Meeting her gaze in the mirror, she said, “I can’t even sleep next to him without having nightmares, Myra.”
“Don’t you have nightmares regularly, regardless of whether you have a man in your bed?”
Josie pursed her lips. “I can’t believe Zoe sleeps through them if they’ve been waking you up again.”
“My sleep has been fitful for years, and thankfully, that little girl of yours can still sleep without a care in the world.”
“I think my being with Carter is making them worse.”
“You need a good therapist, dear. You and I have both known it since you came here. Don’t let my nephew slip through your fingers because of a series of mistakes and abuses that are no fault of your own.”
Without letting go of Myra’s hair, Josie used the tip of her comb to scoot the curler box closer and accidentally knocked over a pill bottle in the process. It rolled off the counter onto the floor.
“I’ll get that,” Myra said.
“It’s f
ine.” Josie let go of Myra’s hair and swept up the bottle in her fingers. As she set it on the counter, a New York address caught her eye, and she began to examine it in more detail. The pills were in Myra’s name, prescribed by a doctor she’d never heard of and dated the weekend of her trip to New York.
Myra held out her hand for the bottle. “It’s nothing, dear.”
“You didn’t tell me you saw a doctor in New York.”
“It was nothing, just a little reflux.”
Josie held the bottle a moment longer, staring at the name of a medicine she’d never heard of. Something was off; she knew it even if she couldn’t place it. She heard it in the nearly indiscernible tension in Myra’s voice and saw it in way she’d stiffened when Josie reached for the bottle. Suddenly she remembered a dozen snippets of conversations that had ended when she’d walked in the room.
Without offering an explanation, she took off with the bottle, heading downstairs to the empty parlor. Carter had been in it when she’d gone up to Myra’s room, but now his computer was in sleep mode. But he’d given her his new password, “Zoeinfairyland,” and offered her use of it whenever she needed it. It took only a second to pull up seemingly endless entries about the drug. She clicked on a lead article that focused on an emerging new drug being used to fight certain cancers in patients deemed too fragile to handle chemotherapy.
In the background, she heard Myra making her way down the stairs and Carter whistling as he walked down the hall from the kitchen. Ignoring them, she kept reading and skimmed a second article in confirmation.
Finally, she turned from the computer and took them both in. Myra was white as porcelain, though her hair only half set in curlers made her seem a touch comical. Carter was standing next to Myra holding a steaming mug of coffee. From the way he’d gone quiet, it was clear that he’d noticed the pill bottle next to his keyboard. And they were both staring at her as if she were a volatile substance that needed to be treated with caution.