Eden planted her back against the headboard. She turned on the bedside lamp with trembling fingers and began to read.
Eden drove to the complex where she had once lived with Tony, thinking she would check out whether they’d put anything into storage she might want. Not things of Tony’s, but things she’d brought from home when he’d all but forced her to move in with him. Maybe she also wanted closure. She’d heard the word bandied about in these days of armchair psychoanalyzing, and wondered if she needed it to close this chapter of her life forever.
Merely driving through the gates had sent a shiver through her, but once there, she went into the office. A pretty brown-haired teenager jumped up from behind a desk. “Can I help you?” Her drawl was as thick as tomato paste.
Eden explained her reasons for coming and gave the building number and location of the penthouse.
The girl’s eyes widened. “You’re the one who lived with that drug lord? The guy who was shot to death in Memphis?”
Eden cringed. Was this how she’d be remembered in the town?
The teen didn’t wait for an answer but just forged ahead. “After he was shot down, the cops looked for you. It was in the papers and on TV.”
“I was out of the country at the time,” Eden mumbled, wishing the girl would hush about her and Tony.
“You don’t want to rent his penthouse again, do you?”
“I only want to know if some of my things might have been stored … afterward.”
“You mean after he was killed?”
Eden thought the girl denser than a lamppost and with about as much tact. “I assume that’s when his place might have been cleared out.”
The girl’s face reddened. “Oh yes, of course. Let me check my computer.” She quickly sat down and tapped her keyboard. “Here it is,” she said brightly. “His stuff’s still in storage, but I think the property owners plan to sell it at auction come spring. To recover financial losses he left with them. You understand.”
Eden’s patience was wearing thin. “Some of the contents are mine and I want them back. My name was on the mailbox. I was a legal tenant.”
The girl looked hesitant. “Well … I … I … Do you have proof?”
Pressing her advantage, Eden said, “You cannot sell my things without my permission!” Eden flashed her driver’s license. “Is the unit locked?”
The gal leaped up. “Well, certainly!”
Eden held out her hand. “The key?”
The girl rummaged in an unlocked desk drawer and fished out an envelope marked master keys. “I have to take you,” the cowed girl said.
They drove to the storage units in a golf cart, and the girl unlocked the door and handed Eden the key. “You can drop it in the outside box when you’re finished.”
Inside the unit, Eden sighed, dispirited by the furniture stacked and shoved into the space every which way. Boxes were stuffed with clothing, lamps, kitchenware, linens. Valuable rugs had been rolled up and pushed into corners. The bottles in Tony’s expensive wine collection had been set upright, probably ruined. So many bad memories haunted her as she started through the contents, especially when she looked at the bed where she’d lost all innocence, all self-respect. What had she been thinking, coming here?
She saw Tony’s desk wedged between the wall and the heavy mattress of the bed she’d shared with him. Suddenly she recalled the day Tony had had a carpenter come in to create a special feature for the drawer, a sliding panel that concealed a two-inch false bottom. If the cops had gone through Tony’s stuff, as she suspected they must have, maybe they hadn’t discovered it. She shoved hard against the mattress, inching it just far enough to one side to expose the bottom left drawer. She pulled it open and groped inside, fumbling with the cleverly designed panel. It slipped open and she closed her fingers around a stack of money. Her heart hammered. Tony’s cash! Probably the results of drug transactions he hadn’t had time to launder, and it was too late for that now. Who would know about this or even be able to ask about it? She shut the panel, stood and stuffed the cache into her purse, then resumed her search for her personal possessions, the things she’d come after.
The hunt was short, and she quickly filled an old grocery sack with the few things she wanted. She took one last look around, locked the unit, and left. She drove away in bright sunlight, with a cold breeze blowing through her open car windows, pushing the stink of the storage space’s dead air off her clothing and skin. Somewhere in the big wide world, there was Garret. Somehow, someway, she would find him. And when she did, she’d find out if love, true love, was real or a romantic illusion. Eden left the condo complex knowing that along with a stash of cash, she had indeed found closure.
Jon was waiting for Ciana when she came into the barn to saddle Firecracker for her morning ride. Without preamble, he said, “I got a phone call yesterday. A bed’s opened up for my father in Texas.”
Ciana stopped short. News she hadn’t expected. She held her disappointment tightly, determined to hide it. “When will you be leaving?”
“I have five days to get him there or he loses the spot to someone else. I’m checking him out tomorrow afternoon at the county place. May be easier to drive all night.”
Tomorrow. So soon. Too soon. “I understand.”
“He can’t live alone and I … well, I need to go home.” He walked to the tack room doorway, his quarters at Bellmeade for months. “I’ll get my stuff packed up and out of your way.”
Her world had been rocked. What would it be like to get up every morning and not have him come to breakfast in the kitchen? Or to not see him working the horses? She saw a hole in her life big enough to drive her truck through. “Taking your daddy home isn’t the only reason you’re going, is it?” Intuition drove her to ask.
She watched his back stiffen. He turned, studying her with his clear green eyes, drawing out the silence, as if gathering his words from a deep place inside. “I came here for the summer. Just three months to help my old man and for the experience of working with wild mustangs. But not much went the way I thought it would.”
Her summer hadn’t gone the way she’d planned either. “How so?”
He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “One night, I wandered into a dance saloon and met someone. Didn’t plan on that.”
“Me neither.”
“Then I go to work and find I’m helping a girl with cancer to train her horse. I’d known her from a one-time visit years before. I liked her. But I couldn’t get the other girl out of my head. And then, on a fluke, girl one shows up and turns out to be best friends with the gal I’m working with. Which was hard enough, ’specially when gal one asked me to keep a secret I never wanted to keep.” He shook his head. “And then the damndest thing happened. I found myself in Italy. A European side trip wasn’t in my plans, or my budget. But I went. And going damn near wrecked my life.”
The old hurts grabbed at her. She shrugged them off. “You had help with that one,” she said, meeting his gaze. “My fault too.”
He walked to her and stopped, keeping his hands in his pockets. “And when I came back here, after having stayed away from Texas longer than I ever planned, I find out my dad’s an invalid and that the cancer girl’s sick to death. So no, Ciana, nothing’s gone the way I planned it.”
He paused, but after a few heartbeats said, “And so I’m remembering all the dreams I once had—following the rodeo, saving my cash, buying property for a little spread in Texas where I can work and train horses. And dreams die hard. I still want those things. But no one can make them come true except me.”
His words struck like arrows. He’d told her the first time they’d met what he wanted for his life. She was a complication, an unforeseen liability. And all that had happened to him since coming to Tennessee was an entanglement he had never asked for, and mostly her fault. Her throat burned.
“But the hardest part for me, the worst part, is being around girl number one day after day, and know
ing she’s out of reach.”
Ciana’s eyes brimmed and her chin trembled. She knew what it was to chase dreams. She wanted Bellmeade, her inheritance, and her lifelong commitment to untold ancestors. And she wanted him. Even without the complication with Arie, the lines between them were clear—she wouldn’t leave her land, and he must go after what he’d planned long before she’d come along. She had no right to stand in the way of Jon’s dreams.
He again walked away but stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “And, I might add, I have nothing in me that can stay and watch Arie die. So I’m leaving now, before her last dance ends. And I’m going over to tell her I’m leaving tonight. I think I owe her that much.”
“Yes, she needs to hear it from you.” Ciana’s voice quavered. Her friend would be devastated, but Ciana certainly understood his desire not to be around when the inevitable happened to Arie.
Jon headed to the tack room, the distance between him and Ciana widening in every way. In the unlit doorway, he said, “I’ve caught up on most of the outside work. You’ll be able to start spring with a clean slate.”
“We … we owe you money. I can write you a check right now if you come up to the house,” she threw out desperately, hoping to make him stay with her a little longer.
“Mail it to me. Your mother has my mother’s address, which is where I’ll be staying until the spring rodeo circuit starts up.”
She imagined him moving west, riding broncos, getting busted up. Back off, she told herself.
“I best get a move on,” he said.
“Regrets?” she asked before he could leave.
“Life’s too short for regrets, Ciana. So no regrets.”
To his back, she flung, “We’ll miss you, Jon. Me and Mom.”
He didn’t turn around but walked through the door of the tack room, into the dark.
Eden met with the realtor the next day. Sharon Weber was a vivacious young woman, eager to make a deal.
“It’s an excellent offer,” Sharon said with a cheery smile. “And in these hard times—it’s a buyer’s market, you know—offers don’t come along every day. But the couple who want your house are delighted with the way it’s been upgraded.”
Eden could only think about the generosity of Arie’s family to Gwen and herself. Without their help, where would they be? “Yes, the house was almost completely rebuilt on the inside.”
Sharon opened her file folder and removed sheets of paper that she laid out on the conference table for Eden. “I think you’ll find the offer generous, especially when you read the comparables of homes sold in your area over the last year.”
Eden squinted at the papers and was surprised to see the letters and numbers squiggling on the paper before realizing that the movement was caused by moisture in her eyes. Shocked, she wondered how she could possibly feel sentimental over that old dump of a house? She didn’t exactly hold fond memories of living in it. She cleared her throat, picked up the papers, and skimmed them. The bottom line sale price did look generous. “I … um … have an appointment with my attorney later. I’d like for him to look this over. Can I have an extension on the deadline?”
Ms. Weber’s brow puckered, smoothed. “I’m sure I can ask my clients. They’re motivated because they want to move in by mid-March, in thirty days.”
Thirty days! “I’m motivated too,” Eden lied. How would she manage? The house held a lifetime of accumulation and clutter. Gwen had texted her once about the house: YOUR HOUSE NOW. Perhaps Mr. Boatwright could counsel her. “I’ll call you later,” Eden told Ms. Weber, standing and shaking the woman’s hand.
Outside in the bright light of the afternoon, Eden fished sunglasses from her purse. She got into her car but didn’t start the motor. She merely sat and stared out the windshield and fought the desire to cry. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t her fondest desire been to blow this stupid town? Now she had the opportunity. She had cash money, no entanglements. Except for Arie. She would have to stay until Arie died. Eden hiccupped and let tears slide down her cheeks. She would take Ciana up on her offer and live at Bellmeade. Together she and Ciana would help each other through the dark days ahead. Together they would hold on to Arie until life let go of her.
Arie checked herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time and realized that this was as good as she was going to look this evening. The pink sweater and extra blush could only help so much. She’d also taken her pain medication in order to feel her best during Jon’s visit, even knowing it would make her drowsy. She planned to bring him into the living room, where her daddy had laid a fire that danced brightly. Her parents had already retreated to the den in the back of the house and to the wide-screen television. Swede would have cornered Jon and talked forever, but Patricia knew the score—Jon was special to Arie, and in the silent code between women, her mother had signaled that Arie and Jon would not be interrupted.
When the doorbell rang, Arie rushed to open the door.
“Hey,” Jon said with the smile that always made her heart sing.
She wanted him to hug her but had to settle for him taking her hands in his.
“Come into the living room,” she said, leading him into the softly lit space.
“You look nice,” he told her, removing his sheepskin jacket and settling beside her on the couch. He gazed appreciatively around the room, then looked up, grinning, and pointed. “Who painted the Sistine Chapel up there?”
Arie had taken Jon to Vatican City once her tests were completed that day at the Italian hospital. She’d wanted him to sit with her in the chapel, see its beauty.
“My goofy brother. My ‘chapel’ is made up of posters he’s pasted on the ceiling. I talked about the chapel so much when I returned that he thought he’d surprise me by giving me my own copy.”
Jon laughed. “Clever guy, your brother.”
What she didn’t tell Jon was that soon the living room would become her bedroom, a better and bigger area to have family and friends visit her than her tiny upstairs bedroom. A hospital bed was being set up next week. Her father had already mounted a track across the ceiling near the bay window where the ceiling-to-floor curtain would hang when she needed privacy. And of course, Eric had already installed his gift to her—God about to touch Adam into life, as painted by Michelangelo.
“I like it,” Jon said.
“Me too.” Arie could feel the heat of Jon’s body. Her body held little heat these days. She was always cold. “Would you like some coffee? It’s ready in the kitchen.”
He shook his head and turned partway on the sofa to better look at her. “I came to tell you something, give you something, and ask you something. But maybe not in that order.”
“Okay. Is this one of those good-news-bad-news things?”
He grinned. “Depends on what’s good and bad news to you.” He locked his fingers together and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’m going back to Texas tomorrow. A bed’s opened up for my dad.”
His words caused her heart to stutter step. For although she knew his father’s circumstances, she didn’t want Jon to go away. Knowing he was near brought her comfort. Seeing his face made her happy. “So you’ve come to say goodbye.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I have.”
Her throat tightened. She would never see him again, and the sense of finality bruised her. “Have you told Ciana?” Dumb question. Of course he had.
“Yes. Chores are pretty well caught up. She won’t have too much to do except keep up with the animals.”
And her dying friend, she thought, because Jon’s catching up on the chores would free Ciana for that also. Arie sighed, knowing it was probably best in the long run. This way he would remember her in pink, not someone wasting away in a drugged stupor until death took her. “I’ll miss you.”
He nodded self-consciously but didn’t say he’d miss her too.
She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. “That’s one of three. I’m guessing that’s the ‘tell-me-something
.’ What do you want to ask me?”
He cleared his throat, staring down at his big rough hands. “I want to ask you to let me buy Caramel. She’s a good horse, and I’ll give you a fair price. I want to take her with me to Texas. And on to summer rodeos.”
“She isn’t for sale, Jon.”
He blinked, obviously surprised by her answer. “Not at all?”
“She’s spoken for.”
“Oh.” He nodded, but his disappointment showed. “All right. Okay. I’m sure her new owner will be pleased with her.”
Arie laughed softly. “She isn’t for sale, Jon, because I’m giving her to you.”
“What?” He shook his head. “But I can’t just take her. She’s valuable, so it isn’t fair.”
“It’s fair. She’s always been more yours than mine.”
“Arie, I don’t feel right—”
“You have to take her,” Arie said. Unable to keep her hands to herself, she clasped his wrist. “There’s no one else who’ll love her the way you do. Plus,” she added, “I’ve already written it into my will.”
He startled. “Your will?”
“Everyone should have one.”
The rims of his eyes reddened. He coughed, said gruffly, “I’ll take good care of her.”
“I know you will.”
They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. After a few minutes, he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small object. “I … um … I made this for you.”
He opened his hand and she saw a small, crudely carved horse. Around the horse’s neck, Jon had tied a colorful beaded string.
The Year of Luminous Love Page 27
