Lost in You (23 page)

‘But a man who can’t –’

‘What? A man who can’t disappoint his mother to save your fragile feelings even though you continue to reject him is not a man?’

I swallowed hard around that little jab. ‘I just mean if –’

‘Look. You’re young. You’re a kid. You’re hurt. At least to me you are,’ she hurried on when I opened my mouth to balk at that. ‘But his father was an asshole. He publicly mocked his son on more than one occasion. The man hasn’t been dead but nine or ten months. He’s still trying. He’s still trying to win approval. Maybe even forgiveness, as well. It’s a whole ball of toxic psychological rubber bands, I bet. But if you say no and his mother has expectations and he doesn’t want to let her down …’ She tapped the paper once more. I had the fleeting urge to rap her on the hand with it. ‘He did what he had to do.’

I chewed my lip and studied his face. He did look miserable. So miserable I wished I could somehow make it better.

‘But he doesn’t look happy about it.’ Her dark-brown eyes seemed to pin me down. I squirmed.

‘Bran?’ my grandmother called from the next room.

‘Coming, babe!’ Brani turned back to me. ‘You want this to be a movie, Clover. This is not a movie. This is real life. He had a commitment and he managed to make it happen. But he certainly doesn’t look like a man whisking off for a few days in Paris with a woman he’s itching to bed. Or even cares for. So …’

I put my head down. ‘So I might as well have put her on the plane with him myself?’

‘I’m not saying that,’ she said, laughing. She patted my leg. ‘What I’m saying is we all have choices to make. And they trickle down. Your choice – for whatever reason – not to go with him led to him having to make an alternative choice.’

‘I get it.’ I wanted more coffee. But coffee heavily laced with maybe some Kahlúa. So it was way too early for that. So what?

‘And can I ask you one more thing? Can I be nosey, Aunt Brani?’

‘Do you ever need permission for that?’ She laughed and slapped her knee as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world. ‘No. Not at all. Why do you think you don’t deserve him? Why do you think you don’t belong together?’

‘I never said that to you,’ I said softly.

‘But it’s something we’d both like to know,’ Gram said from the doorway. ‘You think you put two old women in a room and they don’t gossip and speculate.’

‘Watch who you’re calling old,’ Brani said with a chuckle.

‘Sorry,’ Gram said. ‘Well-seasoned.’

‘I …’ I shook my head. I loved them both so much. Under their curious gazes I felt silly. ‘We don’t belong together. He’s in one world, I’m in another.’

Gram shook her head. ‘Dear Lord, girl. Some of the best things happen when worlds crash together.’

I looked up surprised. ‘What?’

‘Your grandfather and I weren’t supposed to be together. He was from money and I was from a farming family. We were dirt-poor and he had his own car when we met. Let me tell you, heads turned and talk was flung around but hey … we were in love. I learned to deal with people serving me dinner and when he came to my house, he learned to deal with going out with me to dig up potatoes for the dinner table. We worked it out.’

‘Granddad had money?’

‘Yep. His family lost a lot of it in later years and he took none that he hadn’t earned himself, but yes. And it didn’t matter a lick. What mattered was what was between us.’

‘And that was?’ Brani asked, grinning.

‘Magic,’ Gram said, fluttering an imaginary fan at herself.

She levelled her gaze at me and tapped her watch. ‘Now you chew on that for a bit. Brani’s taking me to my appointment and a late lunch, early dinner, whatever you want to call it. You do some thinking while we’re gone, Clover.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said.

‘That’s my girl.’ She blew me a kiss and then they were gone.

The rest of the day was spent in bed. Me imitating someone licking their wounds and cutting themselves some slack. But I sucked at it. What I really did was sit and stare at the unhappy face of a man I was pretty sure I’d fallen in love with while I wasn’t looking.

The next morning, the paper brought a whole different image.

‘Where’s the paper?’ I was feeling better. Much better. I’d even considered finding Dorian when he returned from Paris, which according to the
Sun
was tomorrow, and trying to talk to him. Trying to explain to him how I felt and maybe say … just maybe … let’s give this a chance.

‘What?’ Gram was drinking her coffee, studying a crossword-puzzle book.

I poured my own cup and sighed. ‘Where’s the paper? You know, the thing you have here every morning and usually try to read me sections. Where is it? I wanted to check and see if they put the teaser about the Rotunda’s grand reopening in like they were supposed to.’

Gram gave me a look. ‘Watch your mouth, missy. I’m still your elder.’

‘Sorry, Gram,’ I said, laughing. I put some bread in the toaster and found the butter dish, careful not to get any on my dress. I was wearing one of my favourite spring dresses today, only I wore a sweater over it since it was fall. The dress always cheered me up with its shades of lemon, orange and raspberry sherbet. Paired with some tall grey boots and a grey sweater it actually worked as an ensemble.

‘About that paper, though …’

‘Haven’t seen it,’ she said shortly. She looked off.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘You seem … not yourself.’

‘Just tired, I guess.’ She kept studying her puzzle, occasionally pencilling in an answer.

‘Fine. I’ll check outside. Maybe it’s still on the doorstep.’ I opened the townhouse front door and checked. Looking left, right and out on our small patch of lawn brought me no luck. Mr Maguire had moved ages ago and he was the only person who ever stole the paper. When I came back inside, my eye caught the mussed sofa cushions. I went to fix them and found they were mussed because someone had shoved the morning paper beneath the one on the farthest right side.

HEIRESS AND BEAU LIVE IT UP IN GAY PARIS!

The photo credits were to Natalie Hodgins via her smartphone.

‘Well, isn’t this cosy,’ I muttered.

Natalie and Dorian hamming it up for her phone’s camera. Beneath that one was a photo – a bit grainy but clear enough – of Natalie planting one on him. Her lips pressed with familiar ease to his lips. His face was obscured but one hand was raised to touch her elbow. He didn’t look as if he were distressed in any way.

‘Looks like a very posh event,’ I said. My voice was tough, my heart broken.

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ Brani said, opening the front door with her key. She stood there, key still in the lock, looking worried.

‘Yesterday you told me his apparent misery spoke volumes.’ I tossed the paper down without really reading the article. ‘What about his apparent happiness? And kissing! Will he end up just like the handful of jerks I’ve managed to date in my life? Another player out there to bag as many women as possible?’ Old wounds heal slowly. I hadn’t thought about my previous two failed love affairs for a while.

She sighed. ‘Clover, I don’t think he’s anything like –’

‘No biggie. I have to get to work, Brani. Gram’s in there pretending she didn’t see this. My toast should have popped. There’s even a cup of coffee I poured. Have at it. I’m just going to go.’ I grabbed my purse and my work satchel and slipped past her. She tried to say something but I didn’t want to hear it.

It looked like it could rain, possibly. The fall sky, devoid of sun, with a big pregnant belly of unshed drops, hung low over my head. Brightly coloured leaves skittered along the sidewalk at my feet as I stomped to my car. Now I felt stupid for wearing my spring dress with fall accessories. I felt silly for attempting to let my sherbet-coloured dress lighten my grey mood.

Dorian was just fine without me. Not suffering one iota. He was hamming it up in ‘gay Paris’ as the stupid newspaper had put it. The
Sun
needed a hint: no one had called it gay Paris in ages.

In the car I spared myself a single glance. My hair was done up in a messy knot that the sudden wind had made messier. But fuck it, I had no one to impress. My day would be dealing with Mario and Ed and maybe Matt if he was still working on the marble.

‘Matt …’ I said. Even I noticed the suddenly hungry look in my own eyes. The rear-view mirror was showing me something I didn’t want to see so I looked away. ‘Leave him alone,’ I told myself, putting the car into gear. ‘He’s too nice to be a revenge move or an ego boost.’

And he was. But who said he
was
a revenge move? Or even an ego boost? Who said I didn’t actually like Matt the marble guy? I called him that because my mind had temporarily ejected his last name. It was in my files.

‘Leave him be. He’s nice. He’s sweet. He likes you. Don’t use him.’

I turned onto 36th Street and came to a halt at the stop sign behind a short line of cars. Traffic during rush hour was slow but at least it moved some. Not like the Beltway.

‘Who said I’m using him?’ I said aloud. Then: ‘Should I worry? Talking to myself this much?’ I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and then said, ‘Yes.’

The only sane thing to do was turn on music and try not to think about the selfie of Dorian and Natalie. Or about broad-shouldered, quick-smiling, almost surfer-boy-pretty Matt the marble guy.

‘What can I think about?’

I thought about Brani and Gram and how they had tried to protect me. But in protecting me they’d hidden things from me. I was a grown woman. I was not a child. Toothsome anger overwhelmed me and I beat my hand on the steering wheel until it gave a little surprised squeak.

‘Damn it.’

Then it was my turn at the stop sign and I had to focus. I cranked the radio playing ‘And We Danced’ by The Hooters and realised it would be stuck in my head all damn day now.

‘All damn day,’ I muttered and finally found a parking spot in the Rotunda lot. ‘Go in there and get through this day. One day at a time until this job is over. Baby steps.’

* * *

‘Looking good.’

Matt looked up and grinned. He reached over to turn off the iPod that was blasting out The Black Keys as he worked. His jeans were speckled with paint and sealant and dust. His T-shirt was too. He’d been doing some magical marble thing that marble men do. I had no idea what it was as I looked around at his various bits of equipment. But he looked good doing it.

‘Shouldn’t be much longer,’ he said, smiling. ‘That bottom step over there had a crack in it. Your …’ He hesitated. ‘Your boss added that in. Wasn’t sure if he’d told you. He wants me to replace it.’

Dorian had not told me. Dorian had not contacted me at all since we’d left this very spot days before.

‘Good, good,’ I said, feigning knowledge. ‘Glad he’s getting what he wants.’

I bit my tongue then. Even I could hear the acid that laced the comment. Matt smiled and ran a hand through his hair. He either hadn’t noticed or was pretending not to notice. ‘You look good. Very bright and beautiful on a not so pretty day.’

I felt myself blushing. A twist of excitement curled in my belly but a small splinter of discomfort wormed its way in as well. I ignored it. I had told Dorian no, he’d taken me at my word, we were moving on. This was good. This was healthy. Soon, I wouldn’t even have to work near or for him. I’d be free of him utterly.

That made my stomach hurt. Not from excitement but from something that felt suspiciously like dread.

I shook it off and leaned against the wall, studiously avoiding the nook where my bare ass had rested the last time I’d had Dorian Martin inside me.

‘Thank you. I was trying to shake off a …’ I shrugged, crossed my legs at the ankle. ‘Mood. I had a mood going.’

He chuckled. ‘Been there before. The funky mood. My mom used to call me Eeyore when I got that way.’ Matt laughed, then put his hands in the small of his back and bent until I heard a crack.

‘Oh!’ I shrieked and then laughed. ‘Did that hurt?’

‘No. It felt great.’

‘Sounded painful.’ I kept trying to ignore the flash of flat, tan belly I had seen when he’d done it.

The best way to get over a man was to move forward. Matt seemed like a brilliant way to move forward. On top of that, he’d shown interest in me first so he was safe.

‘Not at all. After a few hours of this work you start to feel like you have a donkey standing on your back. So what about it, Clover?’ he said, grinning.

‘What about what?’

‘What about you let me take you on a date? Dinner? Dancing in your pretty dress? A movie?’

I almost blurted, ‘What, no Nantucket?’ but realised it would only be funny to me and even then … not so funny at all.

‘I’d love to.’ I forced myself to say it, though it made my heart feel leaden. Not because I didn’t like
him
but because I was still stinging from Dorian’s picture in the paper.

What nerve he has moving on when you told him to. When you told him there was absolutely no chance for the two of you.

It made no sense – me being upset – and yet I felt the way I felt.

‘Tonight? I can run home, change, pick you up and we can … do what?’

I shrugged. ‘What sounds good?’

‘Whatever will make you happy.’

It came to me and I laughed.

‘What?’ Matt asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, tell me. What?’

‘Have you ever … gone ice skating before? The Hilltop rink is open for the season.’

The rest of the day sort of drifted past. My attention was distracted by thinking of Dorian with mixed emotions, ranging from wistful to sad to angry to hopeless. Then I’d drag my thoughts to Matt. Cute and handsome and sweet. We had a date. He only had one flaw.

‘He’s not Dorian,’ I said softly, putting the final paperwork for the marble work in the appropriate file.

Mario and his men were officially done with the touch-ups of the dome room. The dome was good to go. I had gotten a call on my walkie-talkie and figured I’d take a walk down there to see before heading home for the day.

To get ready for my date.