The Davis Years (Indigo) (30 page)

“He ran out to pick up dinner. I sent him to that rib place in Ashland. Man, being close to that place is one of the few things I miss about this dump town.” Cole scratched the back of his neck and took a seat on the edge of the bed closest to Davis. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’m staying in the house.” Davis gulped in a breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. “I’m gonna work on things with Mom.”

“You’ve finally come to your senses.”

“But I want all of us to work on things.” He turned toward his brother. “With each other, Cole. You, me, Ashby, and Mom. We should try to save what we have left of a family.”

“What is this? You still thinking we’re trying to dump Lydia off on you and this is your insurance against it?”

“No, Cole. You’re such an asshole.” Davis focused on his mission—the reason he’d come there. “But you’re also my brother. And if you meant what you said the other night about trying to reach out, well, I’m not pushing you away anymore. Either prove me wrong or prove me right about wanting all of us to be able to put this behind us. Step up or step out.”

“She’s a bum and a leech. I’m not asking you to keep her there any longer than it takes her to get herself together. My conscience wouldn’t let me throw her out on the street. Why should I want anything to do with her? Why should any of us?”

“That’s what I thought about Bill when I first moved home. I wanted to be in and out of that house as fast as I could. Stay a month at most, I told myself. But the day I came home from PT and saw him passed out on the living room floor, all that changed. That was right around the time his kidneys started failing. I realized that there are things more important than being angry and proving a point. I almost forgot that when Mom came here. All those feelings about her I’d buried came to the surface, and it was ugly. You know what? I’m going to try not to forget that anymore.”

Cole was quiet for a long moment. When he looked at Davis again, his brown eyes were tired and unfocused. “You really believe she deserves another chance?”

“I have to believe she can change. How else can I hold out hope for me?”

“You’re nothing like her.”

“I’m no saint, either.”

“Point taken.”

They laughed.

“Besides, it’s almost like therapy. I think trying to understand her will help me understand myself better. I hope so anyway.” Maybe if he ever got another chance at love, he wouldn’t screw it the hell up the way he had with Jemma. Maybe it was possible for him to become a better person. He had plenty of time to work on it because he wouldn’t be getting over Jemma any time soon—if he ever did.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Cole, something kept you from kicking her out on her ass. I’d be willing to bet that same something wants to get to know her and see what she has to say for herself.”

“This, uh, all this family bonding you want to do, that mean things are cool between us?”

“I think they’re on their way to being. Really well on their way.”

“Good. Davis, I gotta tell you, despite all I said the other day, I’ve felt horrible. I just didn’t know what to say to you. I had no idea how to get things back on track between us. I mean after the funeral . . .”

Davis nodded. The funeral hadn’t been one of his better moments. What kind of son showed up drunk to his father’s funeral and had to be ushered out before the eulogy? The kind of son who had Bill for a father. Still, thinking of that day made Davis feel terrible.

“Well, I think we can do it, Cole. Pull things back together for all of us,” he said quietly.

“I hope we can, Davis. I really do.”

Davis stayed and talked with his brother a little longer before telling him he had to leave. Davis wanted to catch Seth in the office and tell him the news about the house. He knew Seth stayed around the office until at least seven most nights.

Cole walked him to the door.

He put a hand on Davis’s shoulder. “So what’s this about a girl, huh? Your neighbor, Ayn, says Jemma was over your house the night before we brought Mom there. Now, would this be the same Jemma you used to talk about all the time when you were in Philly with us?”

Davis tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah.”

“What’s going on with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Davis stepped out of the room. It took a lot of effort for him to not let the lie show on his face. He wanted to go to Jemma that minute, but they needed to stay away from each other. She’d been right all along. He wanted her to go to Florida and have a good life—the kind of life he could never give her.

Cole leaned against the door. “You know, the wife still asks about you. Kids, too. Ashby’s family would be happy to see you, too. Come up sometime and visit us. See your nieces and nephews.”

Davis nodded. “I think I will.”

He walked down the breezeway, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He stared at it all the way down the stairs and was still staring at it as he headed for his car in the parking lot. Finally, as he got in the car, he put it back in his pocket. He made himself realize that calling Jemma wouldn’t bring anything good to either of them.

Jemma spent the night before she left scouring Mary’s house from top to bottom. Cleaning helped her think, and she was trying to make sure everything was in order for her move to Jacksonville. The activity gave her structure that she needed—it allowed her to focus so that her mind wouldn’t stray into dangerous territory.

The movers had taken everything from storage in South Carolina to her new apartment in Jacksonville. She’d already sent a check to the landlord for her first month’s rent and deposit. She’d done that before leaving South Carolina. Everything was in place for her new beginning. She was finally going to complete her transition to her new and better life in just a few hours.

Jemma sang along with the lyrics blaring from the stereo in the living room as she scrubbed at the kitchen sink. One good thing about Mary living far from civilization was that she could turn the music up as loud as she wanted to—when Mary wasn’t around.

Jemma couldn’t remember the last time someone made her feel as whole and at home as Mary did. But Mary had to be wrong. She had good reasons for not staying, didn’t she? She had an amazing job in Florida. And although she’d made her peace with her Derring life, there was nothing in that town to keep her there. Not anything that she could have, anyway.

Thinking like that wasn’t going to do her any good. She scrubbed harder at the countertop. Frustrated with the song that started playing next, she hurried over to the stereo. She changed the CD from her favorite singer-songwriter compilation to Mary J. Blige. Then she headed to the bathroom, ready to attack the bathtub under the pretense of giving everything a good scouring as a surprise and a thank you to Mary.

“Not Gon’ Cry” started playing on the stereo and Jemma started bawling. She threw her sponge into the bathtub and stripped off her yellow latex gloves. She pressed her rubber-scented hands to her face and sobbed.

Thinking about Emily Rose’s words to her before she left for New York and Smooth’s words at the prison had filled her with regrets and second guesses. Then, Davis Hill filled her mind. Of all things her mind could have gone to, she thought of the night they’d made love.

Her first time had been awkward and almost impersonal. It’d been with one of her classmates. They’d gone out a few times and she hadn’t been able to come up with a reason not to sleep with him. He’d been a nice enough guy. Not the best of reasons, but she didn’t have any real regrets about it.

With Davis, she’d felt like a virgin all over again. Just thinking about his kisses heated her blood. He’d let her know without speaking a word that he belonged to her that night. He’d been hers and only hers. No one would ever make her feel like Davis had again. That wasn’t possible because there was only one Davis.

Then there was her first and only serious boyfriend. The guy who’d asked her to marry him a few weeks before graduation. He’d been nice enough during the “on” parts of their on-again off-again relationship. But she’d never really felt a click with him. The sex hadn’t been great with him, either, although it hadn’t been as horrible as it had with the first guy.

Davis was the only one who seemed to want to give more than he wanted to take. Making love with him had been a mistake. The memories of that night were making it almost impossible to stay focused on what was best for her—for both of them, really.

“It’s not good to want a self-destructive person who almost destroyed me, too.” Jemma said it out loud, as if that would make the words sink in better.

She scrubbed at a spot on the side of the tub long after it was gone. And after her arm ached with the effort. Until her arm lay trembling and uncooperative against the side of the tub. Then she pressed her hot face to the cool ceramic and cried again.

Why did she want what she couldn’t have, and shouldn’t want in the first place because it was bad for her? She wanted him so badly that forcing herself toward the right choice made her nauseous. Spending all of that time with him hadn’t been a good idea. But she wouldn’t have changed a moment for anything in the world—well, except maybe for the last, few sad ones.

After she finished cleaning, Jemma went back to her room to finish packing. She checked through the drawers of the dressers and desks to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. That was how she spotted her scrapbook in the bottom dresser drawer.

“Hmm. How’d I miss this?” She took the book over to the bed with her and lay it on the bedspread. She ran her hands over the red and white cover. Without really wanting to, but not being able to stop herself, she turned to the section it most hurt to look at. Her eyes fell on a picture of Davis’s Acura, and she slammed the book shut.

She folded her body close to the window and rested her forehead on the windowpane. She sat like that for a long time. And eventually came to the conclusion that as much as she’d tried to deny it to herself, Mary was right. She was running again.

Later, still staring out of that window long after her neck was stiff and sore, she realized that the solution she’d come to was a bad one.

***

The next morning, Jemma stared at the phone. She knew what she had to do, but that didn’t make her any less afraid to do it.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, she picked up the phone and dialed a number.

A tart voice greeted her from the other end. “Dale, Bigby, and Associates.”

“Hi, Amerie. This is Jemma,” she said to the receptionist she remembered from her summers at Dale Bigby. “Can I speak to Dana?”

She fought not to talk herself out of it while she waited to be connected to Dana.

“Dana Marks.” Her crisp, assertive tone came through the line so clearly that Jemma almost looked around the room to see if Dana was in the room with her.

“This is Jemma. I’m really sorry, but . . . I’m not going to be able to take the position.”

“You’re kidding. You’re supposed to start in three days. We were expecting a new assistant director in three days.”

“I know, but I’ve had—well, something’s come up. An emergency. And I can’t move to Florida now. I’ll do whatever I can to help you through telecommuting until you can find a replacement.”

“Jemma, this is really disappointing.”

“I know.” Jemma winced. Dana was the type of person who could make you feel worthless without breaking a sweat.

After a terrifying conversation with Dana, which mostly consisted of Jemma apologizing several different ways, she was exhausted. She went back to bed, not wanting to face the fact that she had thrown away the new life she’d spent so much time and effort building for herself.

***

Jemma had found the courage to own up to what she wanted and, more than that, to go after it.

She waved to Ayn when she got out of the car, calling out in a cheery voice, “Hi, Ayn.”

“Hey.” Ayn waved back, looking over Jemma’s ensemble. Jemma still wore pink pajama bottoms and a white tank top along with her running shoes. She hadn’t taken time to change before heading to Davis’s.

Her smile finally faded once she thought no one would answer her knocks on the door. She almost turned away when the front door opened. An attractive, slim woman resembling Davis stood there, peering at her. She had to be Lydia.

“You must be Davis’s mom,” Jemma said.

“You must be Jemma.” A worried smile flitted across the woman’s face. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger a few times.

“You know who I am?” She hadn’t thought about Davis telling his mom about her. It hadn’t crossed her mind. Especially after the way she’d left him the last time she’d come to his house.

Lydia glanced behind her and then turned back to Jemma, something in her face having changed. “Of course. Come in, honey. He’s inside.” She seemed unsure about every word she spoke, but Jemma didn’t understand why until she walked into the house.

Jemma stopped cold at the look Davis gave her. It was the closest thing to a look of pure hatred she’d ever seen on his face, and it hurt to have it directed at her.