A Collateral Attraction

by Liz Madrid

  By the time we’re scheduled to land in Santa Barbara, it will be ten at night of the following day, and I wonder how bad jet lag will be for me. I’ve never traveled this much in my life, and already the time and even cabin pressure changes is driving my body crazy.

  And that’s not including the emotional roller coaster I’m on, with my mind imagining every worse scenario to befall Blythe, and I have yet to figure out how on earth I can pry her from Ethan. I’m also not happy that Heath knew the embezzlement had been going on months before she came along, though the fact that her name is on those Swiss accounts tells me that it doesn’t matter if Heath withheld bits of information from me in the beginning. It doesn’t change the fact that Blythe is in trouble.

  “Earth to Billie, come in,” Heath says softly, grinning, as I look at him again. Somehow my gaze had drifted down to the iPad screen where the credits of some movie I don’t remember now are scrolling past. “Somehow I lost you there.”

  “Testament to your conversational skills, perhaps?”

  “Ouch,” he says, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I did warn you that I’m not as smooth as my brother.”

  “Oh, you’re smooth enough, believe me — or at least as far as this little town girl is concerned,” I say, laughing. “Back home, smooth is someone who wows me with his knowledge of my chakras and can’t wait to show off his recently learned crystal healing skills, at the same time telling me to forgive the burn he suffered on his nose because he lit up his bong too early in the morning — and missed.”

  Heath bursts out laughing and I can’t help but smile as the dimples make their appearance along his cheeks. They don’t make their appearance often enough, as far as I’m concerned.

  “But as to your question whether I’ve been to Santa Barbara before this, the answer is yes,” I reply. “When I was twelve, we stayed in this little motel, but we didn’t really stay there, like stay there. It was just a place to crash. We hung out at Henry’s Beach and Shoreline Park a lot, and we went window-shopping and people watching at State Street. We fished for halibut at Stearn’s Wharf and Blythe and I were even recognized as junior oceanographers at Ty Warner’s Sea Center. It was fun.”

  “Did you catch any halibut that day?”

  I smile, nodding. “Two halibut and quite a few mackerel. Dad loved to fish so whenever he was near the coast, he did what he could. Do you fish? Not like you look like someone who’d have the patience to sit there with his pole and wait for the fish to bite.”

  He chuckles. “What are you implying? That I don’t know how to fish?”

  “I’m sure you do, just not from some pier with a fishing pole,” I say. “If you ever did fish, I’m sure it’s either deep sea fishing, or one of those fly fishing things up in Montana or somewhere.”

  He smiles, almost embarrassed. “I’ve done both of those.”

  “I knew it,” I laugh. “Nah, my family’s style is just a bucket and fishing poles and live bait, whatever you can get at the tackle shop on the pier. And a hat. You gotta have a hat, and a jacket, in case you’re still there till dark. But we didn’t stay that long fishing though. It was just a day, hanging out at the pier, doing regular people stuff. Anyway, so that’s my Santa Barbara story. What’s yours?”

  “I’ve been there a few times, usually for work,” he says.

  “That’s it? Work? Do you do anything else to relax? Sail maybe?”

  He leans back against his chair. He’s wearing a white t-shirt beneath a chambray button down shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He stretches his arms above his head, and I can see the contour of his torso, his six-pack abs, through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

  “Contrary to popular belief, Billie, I’m not all work and no play. I do sail — and fish, even if it’s not from the pier. I also ride, run, hike, and rock climb.”

  “No way!” I laugh. “No freaking way do you rock-climb. I’m sure your hands are as smooth as a baby’s butt. Or you climb in one of those indoor climbing things where they have you in a harness anyway and you’ve got your spotter at the bottom.”

  “I can see you’re a tough one to impress,” he says, leaning forward over the table and bringing his hands towards me, his palms up. “Here, check them out.”

  I touch his palms and his fingers with my hands, surprised to see that instead of smooth baby-butt hands, he’s got rough fingers, hands that seem used to hard labor, even calluses at the base of his fingers. I look at him incredulously and pull my hands away, but Heath traps my fingers with his, his thumb moving along my knuckles.

  “Look who’s talking,” he murmurs. “You’ve got hands as smooth as a baby’s butt.”

  “That’s because I own a souvenir shop and the only work hazard I know is inhaling too much Nag Champa,” I say as he lets go of my hands. “Sure, I go swimming in the river sometimes especially in the summer, and I hike and ride my bike but I don’t climb rocks. Besides, that’s a hobby, not something you have to do for a living.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “It is just recreation. I should have warned you that I’m not perfect.”

  We chuckle before settling into silence, as if the joke between us had run dry. I can see lights below me but have no idea whether they’re of Los Angeles or of some other city. I’m wearing a blue sleeveless summer dress with white trim along the hem, along with a matching cardigan. If Alicia packed any jeans in my suitcase, I’ve yet to find one.

  “Who’s Andrew?” Heath asks and I look up at him, startled.

  I stare at him. ”Have you been spying on me?”

  “You talk in your sleep.”

  “Oh,” I say, sinking deeper into my chair.

  “So who is he? Is he someone you’re currently seeing? This guy with the bong perhaps, and a burnt nose.”

  “No,” I reply. “But what does it matter if I’m seeing someone or not? It’s not like it’s going to affect whatever we have together, at least not this charade as a couple.”

  “It does if this Andrew happens to see us, though that could be a one in a million chance if he’s too busy getting high back home,” he says. “Still, I don’t want to take any more chances than we already are. So, are you seeing him?”

  “No, we broke up three years ago,” I reply, frowning as I try to remember my dream. Vaguely, I see the American River in my mind, and along with it, the feeling of being young and stupid. And madly in love enough to allow Andrew to talk me into skinny dipping and giving up my virginity to him right there in the river. I’d been seventeen then, about to go to college in Sacramento, and I would have done anything to keep him from straying.

  “Three years is a long time to still be dreaming of someone,” he says.

  “It’s only because of my conversation with Blythe,” I say, “otherwise, I don’t normally dream about him.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Heath asks.

  “In person?”

  “Alright, let me rephrase the question,” he says. “When was the last time you saw him, whether in person or elsewhere? Heck, social media, even America’s Most Wanted, for all I care.”

  “Ha ha,” I smirk, though I’m smiling. “I last saw him in person a year ago, when he walked into my shop with his new girlfriend, Allorah Shane or something.”

  “The fashion model?” Heath looks at me incredulously.

  “Yup, that’s her,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “He’s pretty active in social media. He’s a painter now, and he posts his work online. And he also travels with her wherever she goes, and posts all these amazing pictures of his travels — just like Blythe does.”

  “So you’re stalking your ex?”

  “No, but Norah’s one of his followers on Instagram,” I say. “She is one of my employees who thinks Andrew Tennyson’s the most amazing man to have emerged from Nevada City, which is so far from the truth.” I’m trying to be as playful as possible, as if I’m joking and hoping that Heath doesn’t catch the real emotions boiling beneath the surface. />
  “Bitter much?” He smiles, but as hard as I try, the joke falls flat with me. Maybe I am bitter and so I glare at him and turn my attention towards the darkness below me, interrupted only by a few glittering lights here and there.

  I wonder how much I should tell Heath about Andrew and how I’d let Andrew take away, not just my virginity that day at the river, but the bond I’d had with Blythe when he called her name instead of mine. I still hate myself for not walking away when I should have then, instead allowing myself to overlook the many signs of how he saw Blythe instead of me whenever we were together. I was so determined never to let it happen again that I’d just about sworn myself from dating anyone from town — or anyone for that matter. Funny the things we never know till it’s too late, like that morning’s conversation with Blythe.

  “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” Heath says. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  I turn away from the window and look at him. “I do want to talk about it. Or rather, I’m finally ready to talk about it — only you’re the wrong person to talk to. It should be Blythe I should be telling these things, not you.”

  “Tell me anyway. Get it out of your system because it will only drag you down, if it hasn’t already.”

  And he’s right, of course. I’m tired of carrying the load alone — the mistake in blaming the wrong person for it all, the same person I’m trying to get to now.

  “I’ve always blamed Blythe for being more upbeat, more outgoing, more everything,” I say. “I always treated it as a competition, one that I unfortunately felt I was always second best — until Andrew.”

  I sigh, interlacing my fingers together in front of me, my right thumb rubbing the palm of my left hand repeatedly. “I thought I hit the jackpot with him, but what did I know? I was only sixteen. I thought that for once, I got myself a serious boyfriend before my sister did, and that he happened to be the school jock and was perfect in every way. We dated on and off for about three years, until the accident-”

  “What accident?” Heath searches my face, his brow furrowing. The accident is such a part of me that I forget it’s also something I never talk about.

  “A drunk teen-ager hit the car my parents and I were riding in one night,” I say and Heath covers my hands with his, slipping his fingers between my palm and thumb, as if stopping me from rubbing my palm raw if I could. “Mom died instantly. They say she broke her neck from the impact of the air bag, and dad, well, he died then, too. They didn’t find us till two or three hours later because we’d rolled off the embankment along Route 49 and it was raining. The kid, she just fled, drove home and slept it off.”

  “Billie, I’m so sorry.”

  “I heard she had a good lawyer who argued that she’d lost control of her car in the rain, and that it was us who’d been driving fast. I don’t remember much from that day, even with all the therapy. I was in a coma for two weeks and the last thing I wanted to know was what happened on that road that night, the same road I have to take when I want to go anywhere — which is probably the reason I don’t go anywhere.”

  “Was Blythe in New York then?” He asks.

  I nod. “She was studying Fashion Merchandising, and she took a leave of absence so she could come home and take care of me. Kathryn, our neighbor, took care of everything else with my parents — the memorial, the cremation, that kind of thing. She’s a sharp woman, that lady, even if she’s up there in the three digits.”

  Heath still holds my hands between us and at least I’m no longer rubbing my skin raw, not when he’s squeezing my hands reassuringly.

  “I don’t want your pity, Heath,” I whisper, drawing my hands away but he holds on.

  “I’m not pitying you, Billie. I’m listening.”

  “Anyway, when I got home from the hospital, after I waited for Blythe to pick me up but she never showed up, I heard these footsteps the moment I got home. And I saw her run into the bathroom, and in her bed, I saw Andrew — naked,” I say, pausing for a few seconds as I take a few deep breaths, remembering Blythe’s words to me just earlier that day, that what I thought I saw was not what I thought happened.

  “He said Blythe had been coming onto him the whole time, that she was rarely at the hospital and when she was, it was because he was there, too. He said that she’d asked him to come over — and of course, I believed everything he said. Everything. I shouldn’t have, but I did, even when Blythe told me he was lying.”

  “But he was the one in her bed.”

  “Exactly, and with Andrew, he could have told me the earth was flat and I’d believe him — I was that crazy about him and that insecure over my sister,” I say, my voice almost breaking as I force myself to continue. ”I kicked Blythe out that day, and she didn’t fight it. She asked Kathryn to take care of me, and left. I guess she got tired of fighting with me, especially if I wasn’t about to believe her anyway.”

  “And now, just when we finally get together after three years of emails and tentative phone calls, this happens.” I chuckle drily. “Sad, isn’t it? That I let a man drive a wedge between us for three years, all because it sure as heck wasn’t my name he called out when he, you know, did it with me that first time-” I pause, horrified. “Shit, that was TMI.”

  I pull my hands away from the table and rest them on my lap. “Anyway, so there you have it. This whole thing between Blythe and I is because of that damn moment when I allowed some idiot jock to stand between us. And now, apparently it’s another man that I’m using to drive a wedge between us again — you. That’s why she says I’m sleeping with the enemy.”

  Heath leans back against his chair. This time, he’s frowning — even annoyed.

  “I hope you know that whatever is standing between you and Blythe isn’t me, Billie,” Heath says. “And that’s something you can’t allow to stand in the way of trusting me. Because as far as I can see, you’re not sleeping with the enemy at all — at least, me. The only enemy I see here is you battling with yourself — between who you once were, whether it’s that immature girl who bought everything her boyfriend told her — and who you are now or want to be, a woman who knows what she wants, who can tell fact from fiction.”

  “Has someone ever told you that your sensitivity chip is missing?” I ask. “That was brutal, Heath.”

  “I’m sorry, Billie, but it’s also called moving on,” Heath says, leaning forward over the table. “Especially now that she’s in trouble and you both have to start trusting each other again.”

  “Oh, really? You mean like the way you and Ethan trust each other, or your sister, who hasn’t returned your calls in days, trusts you?”

  “Maybe,” he says, his blue-gray eyes pinning me. “But then I’m not the one still dreaming of someone else three years after he betrayed her. I’m not the one who hasn’t moved on.”

  For the next few seconds, I glare at Heath. It’s all I can do without leaping over the table to punch his lights out, even if what he said was true. But he’s right to say I haven’t exactly moved on, not when part of my resentment for Blythe is really linked to that day and she has no idea.

  “What about you?” I ask coldly, crossing my arms in front of me. “Have you moved on?”

  “From what?”

  “From your own demons, because God knows there’s got to be a reason why you’re such a cold son of a bitch. Why else does everyone say that you’re all work and no play? I’m sure you play, but I bet it’s not for the long-term. Maybe you prefer your women as Miss Right-Nows instead of Miss Right.”

  “And what if I do?”

  “That’s why you’re so cold then,” I say, shrugging and looking out the window even though the skies are dark and I really can’t see anything but hints of clouds. “Why am I not surprised? Typical.”

  “Typical of what? You mean I’m not the first millionaire you’ve met before. There have been others?”

  “What do you care?” I scoff. “The only thing you wanted to know earlier was whether s
ex with me would be on the table.”

  “And it’s no longer on the table, Billie,” he says, “not when we’ve made ourselves clear. Do you know how many women would have jumped at that chance?”

  “Like I care,” I scoff. “But what you said to me was cold-“

  “-yet it was true.”

  “It was still cold. You could at least be kind about it.”

  “In my world, Billie, don’t ever mistake tact for kindness,” Heath says. “You saw that with Harris. You saw that with Blythe. You’re going to see that with Ethan, and the people he’s traveling with. It’s cold behind the smiles, Billie. Remember that. Now, I’m not saying what I did was tactless, but I was only speaking the truth.”

  “Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t you get tired of having to have to read behind the smiles each time? What kind of a world is that?”

  “It s a world where billions of dollars are traded each day, and lost when you buy only the lies you want to see.”

  “So when do you ever let your guard down then?”

  “Now,” Heath replies. “Right now, with you, my guard is down. In fact, I have no security with me, Billie, in case you haven’t noticed. And right now, on the ground, everyone is freaking out as to where the boss is, and whether he’s with a stranger who could be a corporate spy-“

  “-but I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not, or at least, I’m hoping you’re not,” Heath says. “But even if I could be wrong, we have at least set the ground rules, haven’t we? A charade, nothing more, nothing less. That way, you and I can make our way through Ethan and Blythe’s world and you can do what you need to do.”

  “She really did hurt you, didn’t she?” I ask a few minutes later, just as Heath opens his laptop so he can start working again.