February Lover (5 page)

***

Aidan dropped Stacey off at the school. She had volleyball practice. No, he shook his head, he hadn’t done that in years. He was grown up. So was she. Then what the hell was going on? He looked left and right. Things looked like they had when he’d gone to high school. Nirvana blasted on his radio and as he sped down St. Charles Avenue toward his house, he passed the chicken place he and his friends had frequented back in those days. It had closed some time later, or moved, or something, because it wasn’t there now. He’d looked.

“Shit, I must be dreaming.”

He banged on the steering wheel of his Mustang. It had been a great car, and he had no idea what his parents had done with it after he’d taken off.

“If this is a dream, I’d really like to wake up.”

Only the automobile kept going. Apparently, his psyche had decided to he needed to go through this and wasn’t going to give him any choice. He pulled up in front of his house and parked in the driveway.

After he got out, he locked the door behind him. Swinging his backpack behind him, he whistled while he made his way toward the house. What had he been thinking about back then? Probably Stacey. Maybe she had let him touch her breasts. If he was seventeen, and he thought he was because of the shoes on his feet, it would be another year before she’d officially let him in her pants.

“This isn’t really a dream.” He spoke like he could wake himself up by doing so. “It’s more like a memory.”

Unlocking the door to the house, he entered, then threw his backpack down on the floor.

“Do you think we’re your fucking servants?”

Aidan stiffened, both in real life and in his memory-dream. His father’s voice would always make him cringe.

“No, sir. I don’t think that at all.” Being polite to the bastard never did anything. Yet Aidan had still tried. Over and over.

“Because you put your bag on the floor like you’re too good to pick it up yourself.”

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” He moved to pick it up, but his father blocked him.

“You want the backpack back? Get past me.” His father shoved him backward. “Get around me, you coward. What’s the matter? Are you going to cry? Can’t act like a man? Take the bag from me, cry baby.”

His father stood two inches taller than him with at least one hundred more pounds of fat and muscle. He hadn’t shed a tear, not in years. It didn’t matter. His dad’s fist slammed into his stomach.

“You always hit me where no one would see it.”

The second blow took him to the ground.

Aidan’s eyes flew open. He looked around the room, unsure of exactly where he was. The sunlight flew in through the window, and Stacey sighed next to him. Right. He’d spent the night in Stacey’s bed. They’d had incredible sex. His mother waited for him in the hospital. Her first full day of recovery would be a rough one.

There was no time for his memories to start pestering him. He wasn’t in denial. He knew exactly what had happened. All of it.

Stacey smiled at him from across the table. Valentine’s Day. Probably the last time he’d celebrated the particular event had been with her. Stacey’s family did holidays, while his had sort of presented themselves as celebrating for the neighbors to witness. This year, however, his mother wasn’t up for any kind of party at all. She’d waddled around the whole outside of the house that morning, a big feat for a post-heart-surgery patient.

Aidan had told her how proud of her he was. She’d teared up. He’d never been so grateful for a date in his life. The capable hands of the nurse would care for her until he got home. Hopefully in the morning.

Eight nights of sleeping in Stacey’s bed had become addictive. As had the woman herself.

“What are you thinking?”

Shit. She’d been talking to him, and he’d been daydreaming. What had she asked him?

Stacey held up the menu. “To eat, Red. What are you thinking you’d like to eat?”

He laughed. She’d seen right through him. “Shrimp to start. Steak to finish.”

“I’m going to have a salad to start. Have to watch my girlish figure. And then the blackened red fish.”

“Ooh.” Aidan smiled leaning back in his seat. “Blackened? Living on the edge tonight?”

“I am.” Stacey could brighten up the universe when she grinned. He felt like a million dollars when he could be the reason she smiled. “Of course, I might regret it for the rest of the night. A trip to the ER might occur.”

“Nah. You’ll spend it with a licensed trauma surgeon. I can revive you if all goes astray.”

“Why, Doctor. You do say the most romantic things.” She laughed, and then the waiter approached to take their order.

He took a sip of his wine. She looked so…perfect in her black dress. Although he would have preferred her showing more cleavage, it didn’t bother him she covered up a bit with a shawl. Other men didn’t get to look at what was his. He stuttered at the thought. Stacey wasn’t really his, couldn’t be. He’d be leaving in fourteen days.

“You know.” He spoke if for no other reason than to make his mind focus on something else. “When I first left here, everything tasted so bland. I didn’t realize the rest of the world didn’t eat the way we did.”

“We do like to spice our food.” She sipped her red wine. He watched as her lips caressed the glass. “So why did you?”

“What?” He’d lost the conversation again. Every move the woman made turned him into a raving idiot.

“Why did you leave, Aidan?” She set her glass down with a clink. “I mean, I know I’m not supposed to ask, right? We’re keeping everything casual. And don’t get me wrong, I’m having a good time. A really fantastic one. But I would like to know. Was it something I did? Had you always wanted to wander? Did I put too much pressure on you?”

“Shit, Stacey. It didn’t have anything to do with you at all.” His appetite for the upcoming meal vanished.

“I have a hard time believing you. Don’t get me wrong. I meant when I said we both had better careers because you took off. But if it was location and not me you wanted to be rid of, I would have dated you from afar or come with you. I think you know I’m right, too.” Her eyes pleaded for answers. After fifteen years of wondering, she must really want to know truth from him.

He took a large gulp of wine. “I left to free myself from the torture I lived with on a daily basis. I didn’t take you with me because I was in no state back then to handle anything more than surviving from one day to the next. I had nothing to give you. It seemed kinder to be cruel than to be endlessly disappointing you. Staying with you would have only dragged you into my little emotional shitstorm, there.”

Stacey’s narrowed gaze told him she had finally caught on. His heart raced as he waited for her to say something. How did he feel about her knowing what no one knew? A little sick about it—and terribly relieved at the same time.

“What was torturing you?”

The waiter picked that moment to serve the appetizers. He looked down at his shrimp like it was a foreign object. Had he ever eaten before? If someone asked him what to do with food, Aidan didn’t know if he could answer. His mind had gone completely askew.

“My father.” He spoke softly, unable to stop gritting his teeth. “Right around the time I turned twelve, he started teaching me how to be a man. He’d get shit-faced drunk and beat the hell out of me. Several times a week, at least. I realized as I lay on the floor, the last time it happened, I was twenty years old and if I didn’t get out of New Orleans, it was never going to stop. Ever. I’d be forty years old and he’d still be knocking me to the ground.”

“How could I have not known?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“It was always places people couldn’t see. Never my face. That would be too obvious. It would garner attention. They couldn’t let people know. My stomach. My back. They could all be explained as sports injuries.” And often had been.

She gasped, covering her mouth. When she finally dropped her hand, it thumped on the table, making the silverware clink and shake. “The football-practice injuries. And then later on you were always falling down or bumping into things. What is wrong with me? Why was I so blind?”

To his horror, a tear slid down her cheek. “No.” He reached out and squeezed her fingers. “Don’t cry. You were young. Thank God you never suspected. I would have hated it if you had found out back then. When I was with you, it was like none of it went on. I got to be me; I got to be happy because I was with you.”

“I wish your father wasn’t dead. I’d like to kill him.” She picked up the butter spreader. “With this.”

He laughed. “Eat your salad. They’re going to think something weird is going on if neither of us consumes any food here tonight.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Aidan sighed. “Neither am I. But we’re going to eat.”

“What about your mother?” she asked, before putting a small tasting of her lettuce into her mouth.

“Complicated. She actually spurred my taking off. Dad had knocked me over. I’d fallen into the bar. Cut myself. I stood up, and there she was with a group of her friends. They were all so shocked. None of them had seen Dad do what he did. Mom knew, of course. She announced to the group I’d developed a drinking problem.”

He shrugged. It had always seemed ridiculous. Better to have a drunken son than an abusive husband? Ultimately, it had all come down to who mattered more to their group. Michael Roux made a lot of money. None of them had ever much cared for her silent son. Easier to throw him under the bus. Or at least that’s what he had come to believe. The psychology of the whole thing could drive him mad if he really tried to work it out. He’d studied it all in medical school. Yet analyzing himself or his mother proved next to impossible for him to handle.

If they knew about Michael’s tendency to beat on Aidan, they’d have known her own shame, her own culpability. He got it. The question remained as to whether he’d ever be able to forgive her.

“I stood up. I hollered at her. I called her a liar and pathetic in front of her group. Then I turned out and left. Drove down to the local army recruiting station and signed up, then and there.”

Stacey rubbed her forehead. “At least it all makes sense. Thank you. I’ll never tell a soul, Aidan.”

“I know, Stacey. I should have told you then. I didn’t have the words.”

She wiped at her mouth with her napkin, leaving a little of her dark red lipstick behind. It was such a natural gesture, and watching her do it let him take a deep breath. This would be okay. He’d survive having told her.

“I still can’t believe you came back at all. Miss Linda paraded you in front of her group again.”

“She never recovered from my outburst. I heard about it in letters for a while. She wrote. Dad didn’t. I don’t know what I would have done if he had. When she asked me to come back, I figured I’d have to do some social fixing for her, even after so much time. All these years later and they’re all she has, those Uptown biddies.” He waved his hand in the air. “Let her have them. What do I care?”

He realized he meant it. Really, what did it matter at all? Aidan couldn’t change his mother. The best he could do was move on.

***

Stacey wandered through her studio. She worked in digital photography, the days of darkrooms long gone. Her computer could be called her best friend. Without it, she’d never be able to create what she did.

She stroked the side of a black frame while she stared at a picture of her grandfather. He held her in his hands, up toward the camera. She must have been a week old. ON her eighth birthday, he’d given her a Polaroid camera. No one could have predicted all the years later she’d be doing the kind of work she did. Not until Aidan, broken and abused, had stumbled out of her life in search of salvation from pain.

The army had made him strong. No one would beat him. Certainly not a drunken fool who hadn’t deserved his son. Oh, she supposed she should find her heart of compassion toward the man. Her year photographing the Nepal countryside had taught her the importance of kindness. But at the moment, she couldn’t muster any.

The men in her family were kind, gentle. Most of them horribly unsuccessful. Big dreamers who didn’t make much happen. On both sides of the family. But their women loved them to pieces. Not one divorce she knew of in three generations and despite their lack of finances, they loved their kids to distraction. She’d take adoration over the falseness of Aidan’s people any day of the week.

Even when she’d been younger and caught in the glow of his world, whenever he’d brought her into it, she’d known she liked her own world better.

Aidan had suffered, and she’d had no idea. All of those years. God, she wished she could take away his pain. Then and now. Could a person ever be more ineffectual than she’d turned out to be? Ha! She credited herself with the ability to see things others missed. That was, she’d told herself, why she took pictures people responded to.

Maybe she only knew how to line up the light.

Their last eight days together had been incredible. Aidan came to her every night and made love with her until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. He held her while she slept, ate breakfast with her in the morning, asked her how her day had gone each evening.

She rubbed her nose. Sometime in the last eight days she’d foolishly fallen in love with him again. Or maybe she’d never stopped. Her other relationships never lasted more than a few months. Because she’d long been waiting on Aidan’s return?

He’d never stay here, and she understood why. It all made sense. No one in their right mind could expect him to. He’d never ask her to go with him. Why would he want a constant reminder of a time that caused him nothing but pain? They’d have this one month—the shortest on the calendar, or what was left of it, anyway—to spend together. Her February love. And then he’d be gone. Somehow, she’d have to let him go.

Tears burst free, and she leaned against the wall, staring up at her grandfather’s kind face while she wept.

“Hey, I love the one back there of the couple with the dog. Did they know you were snapping photos? I think you should blow it up and hang it….”