Applewild (13 page)

“I’m not. I have to make a few appearances.”

“Okay. See you soon.” Madison ended the call and smiled.

“What was that about?” Will asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you meddling?”

Madison heard a squeal from the next room, saving her from having to admit her scheme to her husband. “Xan’s awake. Gotta go.”

She pulled on clean pants, kissed his cheek once more, and left the room.

She knew the truth. Soon Alton would, too. And hopefully he wouldn’t screw up his chances at happiness again.

XVI

Alton walked through the Virginia airport, escorted by security. The Applewild truck sat at the curb, but Madison had the good sense to send someone who couldn’t distract him into stupidity this time.

“Hi, there, Mr. Daniels. Let me get your bags,” the friendly cowboy-type offered.

“I’ll get them, thanks.”

He tossed his luggage in the back and slid in the passenger’s seat. The man pulled away from the curb and drove the familiar route to Madison’s farm. Memories, fresh as the day they had happened, assaulted Alton’s mind, making him crave a drink and a smoke.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asked.

“Nope, not at all.”

Alton pulled out a cigarette and hesitated, as if choosing not to light it could somehow keep the memory of Monroe sacred. But it didn’t deserve to be sacred. He cracked the window, lit up, and puffed.

“I’m David, by the way. If you ever want to take a horse out I’d be the man to talk to.”

“Thanks, David.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. The new full-time hand parked in front of Madison’s house.

“I’m guessing you don’t want help with your bags.”

“No, thanks.”

“Enjoy your stay, then.” He grinned and gave the actor a brief salute.

Alton nodded and grabbed his luggage. Madison was waiting for him at the front door, holding Xan and trying to coax the toddler into waving hello.

“Hi, Alton! Glad you could make it.”

Alton hugged Madison and shook Xan’s tiny hand. “Glad to be guilt-tripped.”

“Oh, poo poo. Don’t be like that.”

“Guess I’ll take these up. Same room?”

“Same room. But Ms. Hutter or one of the staff can take your bags.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Ugh.” Madison rolled her eyes. “Well, here’s your key. Come down for dinner. Unless you think Elsa’s going to blab to some magazine about what kind of sauce you like on your steak.”

“You never know.”

Madison rolled her eyes again and took Xan away to play. Alton climbed the stairs and waved to Will through the open bedroom door. He took a shower, changed into fresh clothes, and headed downstairs to the dining room with a wrapped package in his hand. Xan’s face lit up.

“Happy birthday, buddy,” he said, grinning at the boy’s excitement.

The toddler ran around his mother’s chair to retrieve the gift. He grabbed it and then handed it back to Alton. “Open it,” he said.

“Open it
what
?” Alton teased.

“
Please
.”

Alton unwrapped it, and Xan took it to show his mother.

“Mr. Potato Head.” She laughed. “Good choice.”

Alton shrugged. “It’s a classic. He’ll be wanting an iPad soon. Or a pony. Oh, wait…”

“Call him spoiled. See if I care.”

Alton grinned and sat next to Will while Madison put Xan in his booster seat. Elsa brought the food and a bottle of wine. That was odd. She was usually home by now.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Daniels,” she greeted.

“You, too, Elsa.”

She made brief eye contact with Madison, making Alton feel as though he was out of the loop about something. He dug into his steak and made small talk with Will. When dinner was finished, Madison asked her husband to put Xan to bed while Elsa cleared the table. Once alone, she clasped her hands together on the table and looked Alton straight in the eye. He had the sudden feeling he’d been called to Applewild for more than just a visit.

“What?” he asked.

“Would you like some tea?”

“If it makes you feel better.”

Madison glanced at Elsa. “Coffee, Elsa, if you don’t mind. And tea for Alton.”

Elsa nodded and returned a moment later with the drinks. Alton toyed with the string of his tea bag, dragging it through the water, suspicious and sulky.

“I want to talk about Monroe.”

He stopped dead and stared at Madison. “No.”

“Alton, if you’d just listen for a minute—”

Alton stood. “No, Madison, I swear to God—”

“Look!” Madison said, standing and rummaging through the drawer of a nearby hutch. “Just look. I just want you to consider the possibility you misunderstood.”

“Madison, stop this. Stop acting like you know me better than I do. Stop matchmaking. Your perfect life just doesn’t happen for everyone.”

“Perfect? It’s not
perfect
, Alton. I’m not with Will because fairies dance around our heads telling us we’re in love; I’m with him because, every day, I
choose
to be.”

“Will’s worth it. Monroe isn’t.”

“You never gave her a fighting chance.”

“I gave her three chances! Three of those fucking articles! I
saw
her talking to a reporter.”

Madison slammed her hand down on the table, and when she took it away, a small piece of metal remained in its place. He looked at it, then at her. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“What is it?”

“It’s a bug, Alton. Someone planted it. They were using it to hear your conversations. I know because they did it to me.”

“Monroe planted it.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“God, Madison, you don’t even know her!” Alton was on the verge of ripping his own hair out. “Why the hell do you even care? What is it to you?”

“She made you happy, Alton. And your life has gone to shit since the day you left here, since the day you left
her
.”

“So what if it has?”

“You having her fired was completely unfounded.”

“She never denied it. She never said a word.”

“How many times did you ask her to prove herself to you?”

“That first photo wasn’t taken at the barn. It was taken miles from here. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t, but she was
in
the photo, Alton. Asleep. Exposed. Do you really think she set all that up?”

“This was her home, Madison. She lived here for ten years, but she left without a fight. She had a life here; she had her goddamn horse here.
But she left without a fight.
”

Madison threw a newspaper down in front of him. “While you were so busy worrying about gossip magazines and your reputation, Monroe was making news of her own.
This
is why you saw her talking to a reporter.
This
is why she left without a fight. Have you really become so paranoid and self-obsessed you’ve forgotten that some people actually don’t care? Some people have their own problems? Their own stories?”

Alton looked at the paper. He saw the photo, saw the man being led away in handcuffs and caught sight of a head of blond hair on a stretcher.

Monroe…her father…murder…scars…parole.

He felt the blood drain from his face. He’d been wrong. Very wrong. Madison, as usual, had been right. He’d never even considered how the press could be affecting anyone besides himself.

He glanced at the date. It was the same day he’d blown up and gone to Ms. Hutter. Monroe hadn’t left because she was guilty. She’d left because she was scared. She just hadn’t bothered explaining herself to him, and why should she have? He wouldn’t have believed her.

Guilt and regret overwhelmed him. He finally forced himself to look at Madison. He’d loved Monroe, and he’d traded that for booze and one night stands. His heart threatened to break all over again.

“I made a mistake,” he managed.

“I know. But the thing about mistakes is you can usually find a way to fix them.”

“She could be anywhere.”

“But she’s not.”

Madison glanced toward the kitchen door. Elsa was there, and she nodded to her employer. Then Madison slid the final piece of the puzzle to him—a small piece of paper with an address written in the cook’s handwriting. He stared at it for a long time.

“She won’t want to see me after all this time, after all those women. They didn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t have to convince me.”

Alton slipped the paper into his pocket. “I have to go.”

*

Monroe had music blaring over the noise of her vacuum cleaner, so she couldn’t say for how long someone had been knocking on her door. Still, she took her time getting there, pushing back the ever-present fear that the next person she saw would be her father.

She looked through the peephole and was nearly as shocked to see Alton standing on her stoop. She hadn’t counted on seeing him again, and she didn’t want to. Why was he here? How had he found her? If he could find her, did that mean her father could, too? She hesitated. He knocked again.

“Monroe, it’s me. I know you’re in there. Please let me in. I just want to have a chat.”

She put her eye to the peephole again. That razor stubble was back on his jaw. He didn’t look as if he’d been sleeping well. And she saw something else in those deep brown eyes that made her want to open the door despite her better judgment—guilt, maybe.

“Monroe,” he pleaded again, placing his palm on the door, as if he could feel her through it. Too much had happened in the last few months. What could she possibly accomplish by letting him in?

But she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

Monroe had been alone in her home, cleaning. If she'd ever thought about how she might want to look in this moment, this wasn't it. She was barefoot in jean cut-offs and an oversized sweater.  Her long blond hair was pulled away from her face, and she’d forgotten her glove. She pulled the sleeve down to hide her hand.

“So. How did you find me?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice cool.

He looked miserable, brooding, the same way he’d looked over Sophie when they first met.

“Madison had your address.”

He smelled just the way she remembered, like cigarettes and musky cologne. The scent muddled her brain until she had trouble remembering exactly why things had gone awry between them; she could only recall the laughter they’d shared and the pleasure of his touch. She wondered what Alton saw, what he remembered.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Monroe glanced behind him. She wasn’t sure she wanted him in her home, but having the door open with only a dim light separating her from the darkness made her feel exposed. She nodded and locked the door behind him.

Alton remained standing in front of her, first looking at his toes, then at her long, exposed legs. Finally, his eyes landed on hers. He was anxious. She should have taken a certain amount of joy in that, but, instead, she found her own anxiety growing. His eyes were a storm of emotion—guilt, agony,
understanding.

He knew.

“I want to apologize, but that’s just not enough,” he said. “I was so wrapped up in myself. I was waiting for the next betrayal, and I thought…but Madison showed me the article. I know what happened.”

Monroe clenched her fists and turned away. She hated talking about it. It was too easy for him to find out, but a part of her had counted on his self-obsession, on him never knowing just how fucked up her life was or how deep her issues ran.

He grasped her arm and turned her gently around to face him. His eyes skimmed her body again, lingering on her chest and stomach, on every part of her she had never let him see. And now he knew why.

Where was all this leading? What exactly did he want from her? Just to see the freakishness for himself? Her heart beat hard inside her chest. Her body wanted his; her mind wanted him to go; her heart wanted him to stay.

“So what?” she breathed.

“So you never deserved it. It was my fault.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

His eyes locked on hers, and he tentatively reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. She let him, trying not to melt, trying to keep in mind all of the drinking and smoking and sleeping around she knew he’d been doing in L.A.             

“I love you,” he said.

Her heart stopped. How could he do this? How could he show up on her doorstep after months of
nothing
, after treating her like a spy, after having her fired? Who did he think he was? She was livid, but at the same time those words were all she’d wanted to hear.

“You’re out of your mind,” she said, shaking her head and pulling away from his touch. “How can you expect me to believe you?”

His arm dropped. “I can’t. All I can do is promise that if you give me another chance, I’ll never take my own insecurities out on you again. You’re too important.”

Monroe nodded. “That’s a really good speech.”

Alton ran his hands over his face, frustrated. “I love you, Monroe.”

“How many of your seventy-five or so one night stands have heard that?”

“None of them.”

His gaze was fierce and honest. Monroe’s defenses crumbled.