Back to You

by Claudia Burgoa

  She sobs, searches for a tissue in her purse, and wipes away her tears. “It was stupid. Will and I tried to keep you distracted from problems we knew you carried. I suggested those trips because it was easier to hear you were happy over the phone than witness those nightmares.”

  “You only loved the fun Abby?” I frown, disappointed in my own question, but I just couldn’t stay quiet.

  “Yes. No.” She clamps her lips and closes her eyes for a moment. “That’s how I lived my whole life. In denial.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I denied that anything bad had happened to you, just like I ignored the fact that my husband cared more about his company—the power and money—than he did his own family. When he was at home, he was a good husband and father.”

  She lets out a cry and then laughs. “He was always at the office. In my head, I had this perfect life with my perfect sons and a wonderful husband. We were happy. In reality, I was lonely. I distracted myself by competing against other mothers and wives. I tried to show them I had a better life.

  “I decided to become a foster parent because it was the only way I could show that I was a good mother. Even better than the others because I helped children who weren’t mine. Then, when I had Wes and Sterling, I had to show them that I was so much better at raising money for causes. All my efforts were to show that I wasn’t just a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work so she could start her life.”

  “You’re a great mother,” I assure her.

  “After almost thirty years of waiting, my husband died. My sons were unhappy. You still had those unhealed wounds. And then, because I didn’t speak up, you almost died. I’m sorry I didn’t go to the hospital, but I couldn’t visit you. I couldn’t make myself go see you. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you, but because I knew it was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I state. I take her hand and squeeze it. “You kept me safe and gave me what you thought was best for me. You can’t blame yourself for something that happened to me before we even met. It hurt not having you there when I was in the hospital. It made me wonder if you’d rejected me because I’d been sexually abused. I’m sorry about Will. I knew his death affected you. I had no idea how much.”

  I take a deep breath. “Miscommunication is what hurt our relationship. You’re an important part of my life. Don’t ever doubt that. We can’t fix the past though. That’s behind us.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. You’re the closest thing I have to a mother. That doesn’t mean I want to force you back into a role you don’t want to be in,” I say, maybe a little too defensively and too fast. I regret it as soon as I say it, but I can’t lie about how I feel. She’s not giving me a lot to work with.

  “You’re important to me,” she says. “You’re my kid. Will and I both saw you as our daughter. I failed you the same way I failed my sons.”

  “Stop using that word. Parents don’t get a manual with instructions. You love your kids, and you do your best. That’s what you’ve done since Wes arrived at your house. Focus on what you’ve done right. The day I came to you, you opened your heart to a kid who’d been neglected for years. I was safe. You made sure I had everything I needed. You were overbearing but only because you cared. Being perfect isn’t what life is about. It’s about living—including making mistakes and loving our flaws. Will loved you in his own way, and maybe you two could’ve managed your marriage differently, but he’s gone now. Remember the good you two shared, and let go of the rest.”

  “I left you when you needed me most,” she insists.

  “You couldn’t have done much anyway. It was bad. I wasn’t myself,” I say, and that’s all I’ll share with her for now. “I’m here. You’re here. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, Abby. You’ve always been so good and sweet.” She cries and hugs me, and suddenly I’m sobbing because I missed this bond we’ve shared since the day I arrived at her door.

  I’m not sure how long we cry in each other's arms, but a significant weight is lifted from me as the tears flow without reservation. We move to my office when I realize that we have an audience and a little crowd has gathered around us.

  “Wes told me what you’re doing with the lot he’s giving you,” she says, fixing her makeup and making sure that she looks just like she did when she arrived.

  “I hope it’s okay.” I really do because he already transferred the property into the charity’s name.

  “Of course it’s okay,” she assures me. “I’m here to offer my help. We can start fundraising. I know just the right people.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  Linda gets serious. I smile as she talks about her plans and what she’s done so far. Apparently, there’s a lot she can do while traveling from Greece to Denver. She sent emails and made numerous calls between layovers and shopping trips. There’s already a high tea scheduled for next Monday at the Brown Palace to kick off fundraising for the center.

  “Once you’re well connected, I’ll let you take the driver’s seat on the development aspect,” she finishes her speech.

  “Why don’t you stay in charge of it?” I offer.

  “I’m not coming back, sweetheart. This is just a long visit to help you settle in.”

  “What do you mean you’re not coming back?”

  “I want to experience everything I couldn’t while I waited for Will. I molded myself into being the perfect wife, and I never want to be that person again. There are too many beautiful places in the world to get stuck in just one.”

  “You’ll visit us, won’t you?” I need her.

  “Of course, just for the pure pleasure of visiting my three children. I hope that you and Wes will consider doing the same for me,” she says, hopeful.

  Then she presses her lips together and does what Linda does best—meddle. “How is your relationship with Wes?”

  I’m about to answer, but she interrupts me. “It’s okay to ask for more time. Sex isn’t easy after what you went through. But if you want to discuss anything, I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you. We’re doing great,” I say as politely as possible.

  “Sorry. It’s hard not to meddle.” She clutches her pearls. “I’m trying to contain myself. The old Linda would’ve asked when you’re getting married and whether or not to expect grandchildren soon.” She stops for a second and sends me an inquisitive look.

  Great, here we go. I hold my breath waiting for the question.

  “Are you going to live here or are you moving to San Jose with him?” She angles her head toward the door. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I just can’t wait to meet my grandchildren.”

  Her excitement can be heard throughout the gallery—maybe even on the streets.

  “Mom!” Wes’ voice resonates through the space and seconds later he enters my office.

  I take a step backward when I see him. “You’re moving to San Jose?”

  He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “No, I live in San Jose, Tahoe, and Denver. We’re just starting this relationship. We’ll decide what’s best for us when the time comes, and I’m not pressuring you to do anything.”

  His attention goes to Linda. “Mom,” he sighs. “What part of let me warn her that you’re coming wasn’t clear?”

  “It’s okay. We settled our differences,” I stop him. “As you can see, she’s already comfortable enough to bring up both children and marriage.”

  “Life is short, and you’re my only hope,” she says with determination.

  “You’re forgetting Sterling, Mom,” Wes throws his brother under the bus.

  “Sterling will never settle down.”

  “Once again, thank you for your infinite trust, Mom.” Sterling walks into the room. “But yeah, I’m not having those pesky little things called children. They seem too fragile and whiney.”

  “We might not have kids, Mom.” Wes ignores Sterl
ing’s nonsense.

  Linda’s eyes open wide, and her shoulders slump like a little girl who’s just been told Santa Clause doesn’t exist and unicorns aren’t real.

  “I’m twenty-six,” I explain. “There’s plenty of time for us to plan our future. For now, we’re taking it one day at a time.”

  “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “You two being together is something I’ve been waiting a long time for. Years. You’re right, Wes. I’m intrusive.”

  “That’s not the word I used, Mom.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But you might want to hold back when it comes to our relationship.”

  “But it’ll be so much fun if we can all have the talk.” Sterling smirks at me. “Wouldn’t it be lovely, Abby? We can discuss locks, noise-canceling headphones, avoiding security cameras, and sex in the workplace. Like right here in your office.”

  My blood freezes.

  “What is he talking about?” Wes asks, frowning at me.

  “We have security cameras everywhere.” I flinch and tilt my head toward the security cameras.

  Fuck, fuck. I forgot about the cameras. Last night, when Wes came to pick me up, we had sex in my office. Wes scrunches his face, shaking his head.

  “Were you here last night?” I dare to ask, avoiding his gaze.

  “Yeah, in my studio working hard. More. Faster. Sound familiar?”

  “Oh God, I need to be somewhere.” I turn to Linda. “How about dinner tonight. We can talk about your plans and … I’m sorry—”

  I leave the gallery because I just can’t face Sterling and Linda right now.

  “Hey, baby.” Wes follows right behind me. “Did Sterling see us?”

  “I hope not, but he heard us. And there’s probably a recording. As you saw, I had cameras installed in my office.”

  “Can we watch it?” He grins.

  “Weston Ahern?” I say appalled.

  “It’s a question,” he says lazily. “I’m trying to lighten the mood. Although, you looked hot sucking my cock. I wouldn’t mind watching that in slow motion.”

  I come to a halt and look at him. “You know what, that might be a good idea—therapeutic—for me to watch myself doing something I liked and enjoyed. Another piece of myself I take back.”

  He shakes his head and wraps me in his strong arms. “Why don’t you come to Tahoe with me?”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, the architect just called. We need to discuss a few issues. We’ll reschedule with Mom. She needs some time with Slugger anyway, and I need time with you.”

  “Okay.” My breathing hitches just thinking about the trip and spending more time with him.

  Thirty-One

  Wes

  The dogs bark and wag their tails when we let them out of the car. I hold Chester on his leash. We’re still going through basic training. So now he sits and waits for me to finish serving him before digging into his bowl. I think he’s trying to impress Oakley, who unfortunately is learning some of his bad habits.

  At night, they sneak into Abby’s room and jump into the bed. Chester is used to snuggling next to her. Now we have two dogs right beside us, pushing us to the edge.

  “The place hasn’t changed,” Abby says, opening the door.

  She turns around and smiles. That beautiful grin knocks the wind out of me. I fucking love this woman. Everything about her is just breathtaking. Her gorgeous face glows, looking peaceful and vibrant at the same time.

  “Thank you for bringing me back.”

  “We should’ve come earlier. How could I forget how much you love this place? Maybe I’ll plan a date,” I joke.

  “What date number would this be?”

  “This isn’t a date, lady,” I protest. “We might go on six in a few weeks.”

  Six?” She frowns and starts counting. “One was in San Diego. Two was the following Friday when we went to watch some old grunge bands play.”

  She taps her chin a couple of times. “Three was the next weekend, when we went to Aspen. That’s all I got, mister.”

  “Aspen should count as three entire dates,” I argue. “In fact, if we add—”

  “Nope, don’t start adding all our outings to your ten-date challenge,” she says.

  “We’re still counting dates though?”

  “You said ten.” She touches her temple. “I clearly remember you saying ten dates.”

  “Will you break up with me after the tenth date?”

  “No, but I want to know how the ten will pan out.”

  “It wasn’t a big plan. I was making it up as we went along. The gifts are still happening though. I want to take you on dates, but now I feel like you’re pushing for that last one. You’re expecting fireworks, or a parade maybe. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I don’t know. You started with a big bang, so now of course I’m expecting something magical.”

  “Paris,” I say.

  “What about Paris?” She perks up because even though it’s not her favorite city, she loves it.

  “That should be number ten.” I begin to plan something spectacular for her.

  “We fly first class or use a large private jet, so we can have sex everywhere. We’ll become part of the mile-high club. Once we land, we take a cab to the Ritz hotel. You’ll love it because it’s close to Tuileries Garden and a walking distance from the museum. Not that we’ll plan to leave the room.

  “The first two days we’ll spend in the room, talking, making love over and over again. Only stopping to sleep or to eat. We’ll feed each other small bites of whatever delicacy you order from room service. We’ll talk, and we’ll make love some more, until we’re sore.

  “It’s Paris, the city of love, so we’ll be drunk on each other. Satiating our hunger will be impossible. We’ll take baths, fuck standing up. We’ll experience the longest orgasm in the history of us.”

  “Do we ever leave the room?” Her eyes look a little hazy.

  “Occasionally?”

  “Where do we go?”

  “You choose. We’ll visit a restaurant. Find secluded places that aren’t too far and where we can play with each other.”

  “In public?”

  “You’ll have to be quiet.” I place my index finger on top of her lips. “We’re going to be sneaky and daring.”

  “That’s number ten?” She grins.

  “Would you be interested?”

  “Sounds like it would take some planning.”

  “But possible?” I bring her close to me, setting my hands on her lower back and my forehead against hers. “We can start practicing now.”

  “Maybe we can go for your birthday,” she suggests. “Why don’t we take a shower? You have to meet the architect in less than an hour.”

  “Come with me. I want to show you the place,” I say, excited to show her the resort.

  “Okay.”

  — — —

  We leave the dogs at the house. Chester better behave, or I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do. He likes destroying cushions and pillows.

  “This place is beautiful,” Abby says as I park in front of the construction trailers. “You have an amazing view. It’s better than the house.”

  “Different,” I correct her. “Excellent for a resort. We have access to the lake, trails, and we’ll have transportation to take the guests skiing.”

  “It’s amazing. The location is far from other homes or tourists, but still close enough to the shops and restaurants. Where does the lot start and end?”

  “Come with me. I’ll drive you.” We hop in one of the golf carts, and I drive her north to the perimeter and then to the east and west ends. After showing her the grounds, I stop right in front of the main building.

  “How many rooms do you have?”

  “Three hundred and seventy-five, including the suites on top.”

  “Suites, interesting,” she says, lost in thought. “Why did you build this?”

  “Because of you.”

  �
��Me?” she squeaks.

  “Yes, I remembered how happy you were every time you visited this place. The lot was for sale, and it occurred to me that building it in your honor would be perfect. When the guests check in, they’re expected to forget their problems and just relax.

  “I know what you’re going to say?”

  “You do?” she asks skeptically.

  “Yes, there are tons more resorts and lodges in the area. What makes it special or different?

  “I agree,” I continue my speech. “There are plenty of them, but we get a lot of tourists. In less than a year, I guarantee this place will be the one everyone will want to visit.”

  “Always so sure of yourself, Ahern,” she chuckles.

  “I play to win, baby. But to answer your question. It’ll be the experience we offer. Our customer service is going to be our game changer. Our guests will feel like they visited the Ritz Carlton but at more affordable prices.”

  “What services are you planning to offer?”

  “Do you want to be part of the team that plans each season?”

  “You’re offering me a job, Ahern? The last time that happened we know it didn’t end well.” She glares at me. “By the way, I never got a severance package after you fired me.”

  “We never fired you. I honestly never looked into your file. We should check that out. What if we’re still paying you? Not that I mind.”

  “You’re not. I’d know. It’s okay though. I’m joking.”

  “So, you don’t want the job?”

  “Nope, I have plenty on my plate with the gallery and the center we’ll open in a couple of years. There’s a lot to do, and sadly I don’t think we’ll have the place up and running soon enough. The architect said it’d be ready for use eighteen months from the moment we break ground.”

  She groans. “It’s a long wait. Esperanza’s Home has a huge waiting list. If I had my place ready, I’d be able to receive them.”