Lost in You (27 page)

He was walking away from me and I felt like I was splitting open. Like my insides were going to tumble out to lie at my feet.

‘I’ll call you soon. Or better yet, scratch that, you think and you call me.’ He pulled the door open but turned to look at me. ‘And by the way, this isn’t a punishment. I’m not exerting some will over you. I just want you to know … to be sure. And I –’ he looked at his feet for a moment ‘– I need to be sure. That you understand who I am, what I am and that you still want me.’

He was gone.

I was very confused and more than a little stunned. The word ‘why’ came out far too late.

But then I got it. I’d rejected him. Turned my back on him. Pushed him away. I had taken the pain his father had inflicted and doubled, maybe tripled it. He’d offered me himself, beyond just the physical, and I’d rejected him.

Not because of him, but because of my own fear and my own damn father. I’d let my preconceived notion of class structure and money screw up the realest thing I’d ever experienced. I’d hurt him more than I realised. More than I’d ever imagined.

I gave myself a few minutes to deal with the fallout. My body was still beating a heavy, satisfied rhythm from him having his hands on me, his mouth on me. I had to go downstairs now and act like a normal person. A person who cared that the painting for the dedication area was too large. A person with a plan to fix the situation. A person who was wrapping up a really big job and for the most part doing well at it.

Not a woman who found herself suddenly painfully aware that she’d hurt someone she loved. It was shock enough to admit to myself that I loved him, but twice as startling to realise how forcefully I’d tried to push him away.

Add to all this the fact that he still had hope for us … It hurt my head.

I locked up the suite and took the marble steps slowly. When I passed the nook in the wall where he’d last taken me, I touched it. We’d made this old, beautiful structure ours. It had been the backdrop for our love story. The question was, would we ever get to tell it? I’d gone from convinced I did not belong in his world to afraid I didn’t deserve him.

‘Stupid girl,’ I said to myself and then I put on my big-girl expression and went to face my crew.

* * *

The rest of the day had dragged. We’d ended up having to take the painting up to the second level and lower it over the balcony into the dedication area. It had been a team effort and any other day, when my head wasn’t full of being in love with a man I’d hurt, I’d have enjoyed every moment of it. I’d miss the Rotunda team and I’d heartily recommend any and all of them. There had been a lot of hard work and laughter getting that damn painting where it needed to be. In the end it had been perfect, the extra two feet filling the space even better than the original size. I should have complained to the artist but decided to look at it as extra painting for our money.

When I pulled up outside the townhouse, I noticed my spot was taken. Normally, I’d grumble. But today I was worried about much bigger things than having to walk an extra few feet in the early-evening drizzle.

I’d almost called Dorian about a thousand times since he left. But I hadn’t. Standing there, I almost called him again but locked my phone before hitting the send button.

‘He wants you to be sure. Respect him enough to actually take some time to think. Not that you need to think. You’ve been thinking all along. Too much, in fact.’

I walked slowly through the rain recalling the feel of his hand on me. He was haunting my mind, occupying my soul. I had been occupied mentally for the entire drive home. My head in the clouds, I went inside the townhouse.

‘Hey, there.’

I cried out and then surprised myself by bursting into tears. I’d barely made it through the front door when my mother rose from the sofa and smiled at me. What is it about seeing one’s mother that turns on the waterworks?

Maybe it’s because, for most of us, when we see our mothers, we feel young and vulnerable.

‘Mom …’ I wrapped myself around her and was vaguely aware of Brani and Gram making clicking, tsking noises in the background. I hadn’t seen my mother in nearly a year and her hug felt like coming home.

‘I heard you’ve been having a hard time of things,’ she said in my ear. ‘You never said in your emails.’

‘I didn’t want to bother you. I wanted to be str–’ My voice broke on that part.

‘You never bother me with the details of your life, Clover. And you’re always strong. Sometimes –’ she patted me as she hugged me ‘– you’re too strong. If you don’t bend some, you’ll surely break.’

She pulled back to look at me and held my shoulders in her thin but strong hands. She smiled at me. ‘But it looks to me like maybe today you decided to bend. Did something happen today, baby?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Well, God, Kim, let her in so she can sit down and tell us,’ Gram said in the background.

‘I’ll get some wine,’ Brani said.

I wiped my eyes. My mother leaned in for one more hug. ‘They’re worried about you,’ she whispered. ‘They called me last week. It just took me a while to wrangle some time off. But here I am. And you’re going to sit down with your mother and spill the beans.’

Together we wandered into the living room where I dropped my bag and pulled my boots off. Brani passed out wine and my mother tucked herself on the sofa close to me. ‘Now spill.’

So I spilled, making sure to leave out some of the racier bits. But I don’t think anyone was fooled at all.

It took hours. We consumed two pizzas, cupcakes Brani had brought from a local bakery and copious amounts of wine.

‘I think you know what you need to do,’ Brani said.

My mother nodded. She smiled at me and I felt calmer. I was surrounded by a bunch of wonderful women. Nosy, buttinsky, telling-me-what-to-do women … thank God.

‘What do I need to do?’

Nothing seemed big enough to me when I took the situation and turned the tables. If he had dismissed me simply because of my ‘station in life’ there would have been an uproar. Anger and outrage at him looking down on the average-income person.

Was what I’d done any different really?

‘You need to be the man,’ Gram said, nodding.

I almost choked on a sip of wine. ‘Excuse me?’

‘What she means is, you need to flip those chick-flick movies on their heads,’ Brani said.

I blinked. ‘Look, you two are together all the time. You speak this … weird language that you both understand. Some of us don’t.’

My mother sat back and crossed her legs. She grinned. ‘I understand what they mean.’

‘Do you? Then will one of you inform me? Please.’

She took my hand and kissed it. We weren’t together often but I loved my mother and she loved me. It resonated when we were together. Apparently it was obvious too because I caught Gram smiling in that way that only grandmothers seem to have.

‘You need to make the big dramatic gesture. You need to woo him.’

I put my head down and rubbed my eyes, not caring at this point if I smeared my make-up. I held my wine glass out and Brani refilled it without a word – which was rare for her. Brani wasn’t big on silence.

‘Woo him how?’ I sighed. I was suddenly exhausted. I wanted a shower and my pyjamas and some fucking comprehension. I had a feeling that at this point I’d get two out of three.

‘Woo him the way you’d want him to woo you.’ My mother fumbled in the basket under the coffee table for a takeout menu. She snorted when she dropped it. ‘I think we all need some food.’

‘Wait! Wait! Forget the food –’

‘We need food,’ Brani said with a giggle.

I stared at her and then my grandmother began to chuckle. ‘Jesus,’ I sighed. ‘We’re all drunk.’

‘Yes, I believe we are,’ my mother said. ‘But as far as the wooing – the big grand gesture – only you know how to do that, doll. You know him and you know yourself and you are just filled with memories of the time you’ve shared. So use it.’

I sighed. ‘I will have to think about this.’

‘Why are you sighing?’ Brani asked. But she gave me a sly smile and I had to suppress the urge to pop her in the nose. She looked smug.

‘Because I know you guys are right.’

‘Sometimes the stuff worth doing is not so easy to do,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Yoda,’ I snapped and then downed the rest of my wine.

Two more glasses of wine, three pieces of pizza, one shower and a pair of sushi pyjamas later, I was in my bed pondering my big grand gesture. It didn’t come easily because I was afraid. I finally had an idea as I drifted off, listening to the fall rain tap against my window.

I had sent the text early. With instructions. Ed had assured me that they’d function just fine without me and that they had my list and instructions. The Rotunda project was nearly wrapped up and he’d sealed my fate by saying, ‘You deserve a goddamn day off, Clover.’

I packed my car and wore my heartiest boots and jeans. A huge caramel-coloured sweater coat over a thermal top was enough to keep me half warm. My mother had given me an ocean-coloured scarf to wear.

‘Where’d you get this?’

‘Florida.’

‘Why do they sell scarves like this in Florida?’

‘Because they like to pretend it’s cold in the winter.’

‘Is it?’ I asked, facing the mirror, liking the way the maritime blue-grey set off my eyes.

‘No. Not if you’re from up north,’ she said and laughed.

The scarf whipped across my face when I pushed the button to lower my window at the checkpoint.

‘Clover-honey-flower-child.’ Marcus grinned at me from the booth. I could see the small ceramic heater aimed his way.

‘Ah, that nickname never gets old,’ I said.

‘Sure it did. In sixth grade. How’s your Gram?’

‘Good. Yours?’

‘Excellent. Still telling me what to do whenever she gets a mind to.’

I laughed. ‘I think that’s their job, Marcus.’

‘I think so.’ He leaned through the window and waved off the six dollars I offered him. ‘You sure about this? You could have this meeting so many other places.
Warm
places.’

‘Has to be here,’ I said. ‘Best I can do. But I won’t get in trouble, will I? Or worse yet, get you in trouble?’

‘Nah. I’m here with two other guys. I’ve told them you’ll be here and not to worry. And to check with me if they’re not sure of something. I can trust you’ll behave yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Enjoy your stay at Hammerman Beach.’

I laughed. ‘But what about –’

‘I’ll be here when he arrives. I’ll let him through. Tell him where to go.’

‘Thanks, Marcus. You’re the best still-my-friend-from-sixth-grade a girl could have.’

‘Wait until my grandmother runs into your grandmother. They can compare notes on how wonderful we are.’

I laughed. ‘We are wonderful,’ I said and touched his hand, gave him a squeeze. ‘Thanks again.’

‘No problem. Good luck. I hope you get your guy.’

‘Me, too,’ I said.

I drove down the windy road past a playground built entirely of rubber truck tires and a picnic area that instructed people to watch for deer. Barring special circumstances, the park and beach were supposed to be closed for the season. I was a special circumstance. I had two hours to get ready. When I turned into the park, I heard my gear slide and rattle.

‘Hold on, fellas,’ I said softly and found the parking spot closest to the fire pits. I had a fire to build.

* * *

The water from the bay was grey and choppy. The recent rain, coupled with the super-storm, had served to bump the waterline up along the aged wooden pier. I worked fast to get a fire going on one of the Hibachi grills and wondered again if I was insane.

‘Couldn’t do something a normal girl would do?’ I snorted.

When I took the lobsters out I felt a wave of guilt, like the two other times I’d prepped them. ‘Sorry, boys.’ The corn, potatoes and a bouquet garni went in too. I replaced the lid and put an old checkered sheet from a thrift store over the ancient picnic table.

Classy.

I rolled my eyes at myself. If he wanted to be with me, this was me. Not to say I’d never go to Paris, or couldn’t even get used to Paris. But I was a normal girl from a normal place who never had any money. The one person in my life with any marked amount of money had been like Santa Claus in my life. Heard about but never seen.

The wind tossed spray from the water but there was no actual rain. Just a moody grey sky that kept a dark cap on the day.

‘Is this where the party is?’

I thought I’d jump out of my skin, but settled for a very unflattering screech. ‘Jesus Christ, Dorian Martin,’ I finally managed. ‘Where’s your car?’

He chuckled, the smile lighting up his handsome face. It made me want to grab him and kiss him.

Fuck it.

I grabbed his face and pressed myself against him so quickly we almost went down in a heap. I made another noise of surprise and this time he added one to match mine but I was too busy trying to get my lips against his. His mouth was yielding and warm as I kissed him and he kissed me back. Big hands settling on the small of my back to hold me close.

‘I’m parked up further. The hawk was circling the parking lot.’

My mind struggled – the hawk – oh, yeah, I’d read about her. Guarding her eggs, her nest in one of the parking-lot lights by the beach. They were hoping by spring when the beach reopened for regular visitors she’d be less territorial.

‘Hawk,’ I said stupidly. I kissed him again, running my tongue over his until he made a low growling noise.

‘Yes, hawk.’ He pulled back long enough to study my tableau. ‘And what’s this?’

‘This is …’ I kissed him again, capturing his lower lip with my teeth.

Dorian cupped the back of my head, holding me to him. He pressed his body against mine, holding me close with his free arm. I was bound by him, encompassed by him. I melted into it, gave over to the feel of his lips and teeth and tongue – of his desire. And mine.

We stumbled back a few steps and my back hit the trunk of a small tree. Dorian took the advantage and melded his body to mine. Thigh to thigh, belly to belly, he kissed me harder. The rough wood of the trunk scraped at my back and it was the most wonderful feeling.