The Palms (6 page)

“Oh my God,” Trent whispered somewhere between her lips and her left cheek. “Lauren, I’ve missed you. Look, I messed up.” He kissed her again. His tongue traveled in and out of her mouth, teasing it open, asking her to give him another chance. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m sorry. Can’t you accept it?” His lips covered hers once more.

As they kissed, Lauren wanted to give in to his pleas, to stop being so hurt, and to find peace. But she couldn’t do it. Not yet— she still had too many unanswered questions. Not only for Trent, but also for herself.

“I... this isn’t about... I can’t,” she mumbled, extracting herself from his arms and snapping herself out of the moment. “Nothing about this feels the way it should.” She stood up from the bench and looked down at him. The dark shadows of the night obscured Trent’s expression. She decided later that it was easier that way. Not seeing his face gave her the strength to take a deep breath and walk away.

“I have to go, Trent. Now.” She turned and looked down the street, trying to figure out how many blocks it would take to walk to The Biltmore. “I just— I can’t stay here like this.”

“Please, Lauren.” He stood up, frantic and a little desperate. “Wait. Don’t do this. Don’t leave.”

She looked over at him, the irony of his last statement not lost on her. She gulped back her emotions, aware of the conflict that grew in her stomach with every moment she spent around him. Everything about their story told her to leave and never come back. Trent had hurt her. He’d twisted and filleted her heart. For the last ten years, every man she dated had been a statement about forgetting him.

And that was the problem — the big problem.

“I’m leaving, Trent,” she told him in a firm voice. “This— I can’t do this. I have to go. Right now.” She stood up from the bench.

Trent mirrored her action. “But I haven’t—”

“It’s just too much,” she said, turning away from him.

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait, Lauren—”

“Don’t follow me. Just leave me alone for right now.” She didn’t meet his eyes, but no one would have mistaken the firmness in her voice. “Please.”

December 8, 2012

9:00 AM, S. County Road

’ll never get tired of this view,” Ellen Mathews said to Trent as he sat down on the blue metal chair on the family’s back patio.

He crossed his arms and tried to hide his frown. She’d lost more weight; he saw it for sure in the morning sunlight that streamed across the Intracoastal Waterway. He didn’t have to ask how — he knew. Depression.

She pointed at the newspaper. “I guess that woman from the car accident that we saw on the news last week died. And she was Darren Foreman’s fiancée, I think.”

“Darren Foreman? From Wall Street?”

“Just awful.” She pursed her lips and pushed the newspaper over to him. “The same one. So sad. She was 29.”

Trent exhaled. “Really sad. I just saw him do an interview on venture capital last week on CNBC.”

His mother took another sip of her drink and changed the subject. “You look so nice today, honey.” But even as she gave him a compliment, Trent thought her voice sounded strained.

Trent looked down at his blue polo shirt and black cotton shorts. “How are you feeling, Mom?” he muttered.

She pushed a glass of orange juice across the table at him. Even her elegant fingers looked so brittle they might break. She’d never been one to eat much, but he couldn’t deny that she ate even less now. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not.” His eyes took in the sight of her. No, he didn’t like what he saw at all.

She picked her sunglasses up from the glass table and put them on her head. Once she did, the dark frames hid her eyes. Trent didn’t like that, either. “I told you, Trent. I don’t want to talk about it— not all the time the way you do. Just with my therapist.” She threw up one hand and turned her head toward the view she loved. “And that’s enough.”

Her voice had a tone that told him she didn’t want to discuss it further. He ignored it. “You’re losing a lot more weight than I think you should. It looks like maybe fifteen pounds, and it’s only been a few months. Maybe we—”

She held up a hand but didn’t turn his way. “What did I tell you?” With a deep sigh, she added, “We can’t keep talking about your dad’s death every day. I can’t stand it.”

Trent drank some of the juice, and he shuddered. It tasted bitter, but maybe that came from his overall frustration with how things had turned out — not only for him, but also for his mother. “I know you’re seeing someone, but really I’m worried. It’s still so—”

“Stop.” He could hear her anger rising. “Now. Stop.” She hooked the left side of her grey bob behind her ear. “I told you last week. I’m happy you moved back to oversee the estate and help me out here, but sometimes, I just don’t want to talk about your dad. End of discussion.”

Trent grunted, still unhappy, but he knew better than to keep up the argument.

Neither of them spoke again until she broke the silence. They sat in silence for a while. Finally, she asked, “How was the party? You came in late last night.”

Trent reached for the bowl in the center of the table and took a handful of grapes. Ellen loved them, and they were the only fruit the bowl offered. He popped one in his mouth. “You must have heard the alarm click on and off.” He stopped and thought about his next sentence. “It was okay.”

“Okay? Just okay?” she asked in disbelief. “You know, Vicki told me Lauren’s at their place this month.” She took off her sunglasses and looked at her only son with tired eyes. “You haven’t seen her, right? Or have you?”

Ellen Matthews had the gift of a direct nature, too.

Trent swallowed, considering his next words. “I’ve seen her. But she didn’t like it.” He drank the juice and hoped his expression didn’t give away how uncomfortable this conversation already made him.

“Of course she didn’t like it.”

Trent looked out over the water at the beautiful view, but at that moment, it brought him no relief. “Lauren was there. I saw her last night.”

“She’s beautiful, now.” Ellen adjusted herself in the chair and propped her forehead up with her left index finger. She kept her eyes on Trent. “Well, she was beautiful when she was a teenager, too.”

“When did you see her?”

“Whoa. Excited a little?”

Trent stuttered an answer that came out a grumbling mess.

“I didn’t see her. Vicki sent out the Christmas cards early, and it came in the mail a couple of days ago. Looks like Spencer’s wife is pregnant, too.”

Trent’s lips twisted into a half smile. “And you had no plan to tell me, did you?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. Her tone turned wistful and a little sad. “Not after what happened that summer... when you all were kids...”

“We weren’t kids, mom. She’d turned 18, and I was 21.”

Ellen idly examined the newspaper again. “One thing I liked about Lauren was her feistiness back when you guys were younger. She stood up to you.” She looked up and met her son’s gaze. “Maybe the only one who did.”

Picking up some grapes from the bowl on the table, Trent grunted. “She did,” he remembered. “In fact, I had to spend a lot of time chasing her that summer— she didn’t give in so easily.”

“My son. Who always liked women. And the chase,” Ellen mused.

“But not with her.” Trent bit into the apple. “Wasn’t about the Chase with Lauren.”

Ellen studied her son. “Did you love Lauren?” She pulled her glasses off her nose for emphasis. “Really love her.”

“Of course I did,” Trent replied, his words coming out with little thought. He just knew that’s how he felt about her. Now, having seen her again, he knew that’s how he’d always feel. “I loved her. And I think I still do.”

Ellen sipped her coffee and turned her attention to Lake Worth Lagoon as she swallowed. Only a few boats had ventured out on the water so early in the morning. “I doubt Lauren’s the same girl you remember, Trent.”

“Maybe not.” He cleared his throat. “But I have to see. I keep thinking this is the second chance I never thought would happen.”

“But of course, that means revisiting the past.” Ellen shuddered. “Ugh, I hate thinking about it. Trent, the things we had to do that year—” She broke off and looked away.

“We’ve been through this. I was young, dumb and—”

“Don’t say something vulgar.”

Trent gave his mother a wry smile and sighed. “So you do know that saying.”

“I know where you were headed.” She rubbed her forehead. “And even if it was true, you don’t have to say it. Good grief. That poor girl. She was just a victim.”

“You know I have regrets, Mom. You know that.”

“I think you never forgave yourself, not fully, for what happened up at Amherst.” Her mouth twisted in a way that showed as she remembered it all, at that the past still bothered her as much as it did her son. “And when I think about how we had to face that poor girl’s parents—”She broke off and looked down at her coffee cup once more.

Trent settled back in his chair as the familiar wave of grief covered him. It settled in his stomach and twisted his intestines, ensuring he wouldn’t eat any more breakfast. “Cynthia. She wasn’t just a ‘poor girl’, Mom. Her name was Cynthia Livingston.” He paused. “And she loved me back then, too. Just like Lauren.”

His mother looked away. The conversation had ended, once again.

Noon, Taboo Restaurant

Madeline’s mouth hung open, and the action gave her face an interesting, speculative look. She held a Bloody Mary in her hand as she stared at her cousin. The two of them sat at a table draped in white cloth near the front of the restaurant. From their seat, they had a view of Worth Avenue, and a few of the rest of the lunch patrons, all eating their meals against the black, tan, and green decor.

“Wait. So you guys made out.”

Lauren picked at the chicken in her salad. “Yep.”

“Willingly?”

“Sort of.”

“Did he try to have sex with you?”

“I’m sure he wanted to.” Lauren drank her mimosa, hoping she seemed casual. She didn’t add that
she
had
wanted to, too. She knew that, even, as she tried to deny it to herself. She wanted more, much more, from Trent. She also wondered if she should have skipped the lunch with Madeline. Many times when she spent time with her cousin, she thought something similar.

“Wait. You mean Trent Matthews.” Madeline didn’t even try to hide the incredulousness in her voice. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her black and tan woven chair.

“Yep.”

“Jesus. Oh my God. Lauren, I saw him last night, and I knew— I should have—”

“It’s okay. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” Madeline's face clouded. She swirled her drink in her hand as she thought over what she remembered of her cousin’s love life. “Lauren, this is
that
guy. The one who left you broken hearted. The one who you almost went to Amherst to be with, and when he dropped you— this is the one you enrolled in Case Western Reserve to get away from, right?” She pulled herself up to the table and looked Lauren in the eye. “The one you never wanted to see again?”

“The very same.” Lauren cut a bite of salad and popped it in her mouth.

Madeline bit her bright pink bottom lip. Somehow, even as a redhead, she managed to pull off shocking lip colors that should have clashed with her coloring altogether. In the past, this trait had made Lauren jealous, but today, Madeline’s color choices only made her look distorted, and a little crazy. Lauren decided Madeline spent too much time trying to look polished, instead of actually
being
polished.

“I don’t like this. Nope. I don’t like this at all.” Madeline wrinkled her nose and regarded her friend. “But there’s one thing about you— at least you don’t have a boring sex life anymore.”

Lauren laughed. “You’ve never told me that.”

“You’re always dating the same losers.” Madeline took a bite of her flatbread pizza.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Lauren replied, getting another bite of the salad ready. “More like forgetting.”