No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  Walking along the paths gave me a small break from the pressure of being the new girlfriend when Dorothy pulled a small camera out of her purse and began happily snapping pictures of all the unique plants. I looked up at Donovan, curious and about to ask, but he offered the answer without me having to pose the question.

  “She bought me my first camera, and she still has the first picture I ever took hanging in the living room, much to my dad’s displeasure.” He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s awful, an out of focus dandelion I found in the lawn. She refuses to take it down.”

  Smiling, I leaned against him. “Of course she does. She cherishes everything about you. It’s very sweet.”

  His hand rubbed absently up and down my arm. “I didn’t know about your mother. I’m sorry my mom asked. I should have warned her not to pry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “It’s not a topic you like discussing, clearly.”

  Frowning, I said, “It’s not about her. It’s what people might think of me because of her. A child dumped on a doorstep because her mother didn’t want her. People judge that sort of thing, not caring that my dad took me in without even knowing for sure I was his child. He’d dated my mother for a few weeks, and went their separate ways when it didn’t work out. Then she showed up with me.”

  “Did he find out for sure?” Donovan asked. “Later on, I mean?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but not because he wanted to get rid of me if I wasn’t his. He waited until I was ten, and asked me if I was okay with it first. He said it wasn’t fair to me to not know for sure, that if I had another father out there, it was my right to know about him. He wouldn’t give me up, no matter what, but he put me first, and when I said yes, he had our DNA tested.”

  “And he was your father?”

  “Yes, though he already was before, in my mind and his. It was a relief to have proof, though. I knew he wouldn’t let me go if he had a choice, but I’d always been afraid someone else claiming to be my father might show up and take me away from him,” I said. “I think he worried about that too.”

  Donovan nodded. “That’s understandable, but I’m glad you got the results you were hoping for.”

  “Me too.”

  We walked for a while longer, until Dorothy came sauntering toward us looking flushed, though the spring weather was mild. “Donny, would you go with your father to get some water bottles? It’s been a while since I’ve been out and about this much.”

  Donovan eyed his mother, seeming to suspect she was sending him off to steal a little alone time with me. Sighing at her antics, he kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  I shoved my anxiety down deep and smiled. “Okay.”

  Regretful to leave me, he was almost sulking as he walked away with his father. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t stop her, Dorothy grabbed my hand and towed me toward a gorgeous flowering tree. “Now you stand right there. That picture of the two of you Donny posted was adorable, I will admit, but he should know better than taking a picture of a woman first thing in the morning. Frankly, I’m surprised he took it at all what with the way he’s acted about photography since Keira’s death. Even so, it’s not polite to post a picture before a woman has a chance to put her face on for the day.”

  She certainly didn’t have the demanding nature of a professional photographer, simply telling me to look natural, before snapping off a few shots. She was so adorable as she worried over whether or not her son would think the pictures were good enough, I ended up smiling enough that she finally got a shot she was happy with.

  “Okay, now, do you have your phone with you?” she asked.

  Not exactly sure why she needed it, I took it out of the handbag I’d set down on a nearby bench and retrieved it. “Right here.”

  “Oh good. I just sent you a friend request. You’ll have to accept before I can tag you in the picture.”

  Startled by the command, I didn’t know what to say at first. Pointing out that it was a little presumptuous to think things would last between Donovan and I seemed harsh. Doing as she asked struck me as somewhat bizarre, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Sure, of course.”

  As soon as I opened the app, her request was there. I hesitated for just a moment before figuring I could always unfriend her later if things went south with Donovan and she never wanted to see me again. Actually, she’d probably unfriend me first. Accepting her friend request, I was rewarded with another burst of excited chatter.

  “Wonderful. Okay, now let me send the picture to Facebook, yes, now I’ll have to post it first and then tag you on my phone, because the camera doesn’t let me do that. Just a minute…”

  I waited, still unsure of the whole thing.

  “There, it’s done,” she said a minute or two later. Now all my friends will have a nice picture of you. I tagged Donny, too, so he’ll hopefully take the hint.”

  “The hint?” I asked.

  She nodded. “To give you a chance to be ready for the picture next time.” She shook her head at her son. “Honestly, you’re a beautiful girl even at six o’clock in the morning, but he was rather impolite about the whole thing.”

  “That’s kind of a thing for him,” I mumbled.

  Dorothy’s curiosity piqued. “Oh really?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I assured her, the corners of my mouth turning up as I thought about my pet project at the magazine. Then I remembered being pulled aside by Marie on Tuesday, and how the topic of my project had come up, as well as why she’d so wholeheartedly put her stamp of approval on it.

  Marie confided in me that Donovan had told her he just wasn’t ready to pick up his camera yet, and that he hoped she’d tell Rudolph he was sorry. Thinking she was doing her friend a favor, she’d lied to Rudolph and told him Donovan had agreed to contribute. I’d begged her to tell Rudolph the truth, but she was insistent it was exactly what Donovan needed to “get his head out of his ass,” as Marie had put it. She hadn’t even come close to convincing me of that, but I had zero power to change her mind. When she pressed me to help her make it happen, I hadn’t really known what to say.

  “Is everything okay, Reagan?” Dorothy asked.

  “What?” I looked up to find her watching me with concern and realized I must have been letting my thoughts show throw to my emotions. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking about Donovan and his unwillingness to touch a camera anymore. I looked up some of his old work, and I was stunned. He was amazing.”

  Dorothy nodded, “He still is, and he knows that. I think that’s what scares him the most. Finding his passion again and not being able to walk away.”

  “Why would he need to walk away?”

  Frowning, Dorothy’s head tilted to the side. “Because of Anderson Keeling.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Now she really seemed uncertain. “The man who killed Keira. They never caught him.”

  None of the reports had ever mentioned the killer’s name, and neither had Donovan. I assumed, for his part, it was too hard to speak it. Thinking about it now, I supposed Keira’s family had pulled strings to keep the killer’s name out of the papers as well, not wanting to give any fame to the man who’d murdered their daughter. I didn’t understand, though, why Anderson Keeling being loose would do anything to stop Donovan from taking pictures more than his own guilt already did.

  “Reagan, Anderson Keeling, nobody ever saw him again, and the police weren’t able to track him down, but Donny…he received a letter a few weeks after Keira’s death.”

  “From Keeling?” I asked.

  She nodded, deeper wrinkles forming around the corners of her eyes and mouth. “He blamed Donny for taking Keira away from him. He said he wouldn’t have had to kill her if he’d stayed away from her.” Anger and grief flashed in her eyes, but she pushed both away. “It’s utter nonsense, of course, but that wasn’t even the worst of it. Maybe if it had just been delusional blame…Donny would have eventually
dealt with his guilt and grief and gone back to what he loved. The threats have held him back more than anything else.”

  I felt sick, but I had to ask. “Threats?”

  “Keeling, he said that if Donny ever tried to steal another woman’s beauty from them, he’d come back and make him pay,” she said sadly.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Dorothy shook her head. “I think he not only blamed Donny for taking Keira from him, but hated him for photographing her and ‘using her’ to further his career.” She sighed and tossed her hands up, clearly upset by the idea. “The man was insane, but it terrifies Donny to think he might put someone else in danger. I don’t know if he’ll ever take more than a picture on his phone again. It breaks my heart, but I understand his reasoning.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “me too.”

  And so did Marie.

  TWELVE

  Half a Life

  Something was going on with Reagan, but I couldn’t figure out what. She surprised me by adoring my parents. Every invitation to have dinner with them was accepted, and she even rode with me when I took them to the airport the morning after their weeklong visit. I thought my mom might try to stuff her in a suitcase and take her back to Nebraska with them. My dad was smitten with her as well, but settled for a polite hug before dragging my mom toward the terminal.

  Every time I tried to ask Reagan what was bothering her, she changed the subject. Whatever it was had something to do with Marie, I was pretty sure. When we’d gotten to work Monday morning and Reagan realized Marie was gone for the week at a conference, her response had been a poor attempt at blowing off her disappointment and irritation. I was at a loss as to what was going on between them.

  Are you almost done? I texted Reagan.

  Her response came a few minutes later. Close. Brandon’s being picky. I’ll text you when we wrap up.

  Switching contacts, I tapped Brandon’s name and typed a new message. Hurry the fuck up. It’s bad enough you scheduled this shoot on a weekend. Do you have to keep my girlfriend all day?

  Brandon’s response was immediate, which pissed me off because it meant he was standing around doing nothing at the moment, instead of shooting. Stop being a pussy. We’re almost done. Wasn’t she with you every night this week anyway?

  With me and my parents! I replied, jabbing my fingers at the screen with each letter.

  Ha! Reagan didn’t want to fuck while your parents were in the next room, I take it? Serves you right, you bastard. Make a girl meet your parents that soon? What the fuck is wrong with you? Beautiful deserves better.

  Grinding my teeth to hold back a nasty response usually helped keep my mouth shut, but it didn’t work so well to control my typing. Stop calling my girlfriend Beautiful, you asshole. I didn’t force her to meet my parents. And she loved them, so fuck you.

  Didn’t force her? he replied, the scoffing fully implied. He knew about the staff meeting challenge even though he’d refused to attend a single meeting since taking the job at the magazine. And I’ll call her Beautiful all I want. Suck it, princess.

  That was the last I heard from him, which I hoped meant he’d gotten back to work and Reagan would be back soon. Yes, not being able to do more than kiss Reagan goodbye each night before she went back to her apartment had done a number on me. The office staff had been treading a little lighter toward the end of the week as my impatience grew. That wasn’t the full reason for my shitty mood.

  Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, I scowled at the invitation lying on the counter. Invitations. Reagan had brought hers over, leaving it with mine so we could go together. Why the fuck had Brandon scheduled an outdoor shoot across town for that afternoon when his show was opening that night? Didn’t he have other things to do? I didn’t want to buy Reagan’s reasoning that Brandon was nervous and wanted to keep himself occupied right up until he had to get ready for the opening, but I knew him well enough to know she’d pegged him pretty accurately. As much of a star as he’d become, he still agonized over the response to his work. Not to mention, an earlier issue with one the photos getting ruined during printing and having to be redone had put him on edge even more than usual.

  I stalked out of the kitchen, not wanting to think about Reagan’s body being put on display for everyone in the art world to see. She was nervous as well, but had seen the final image proofs and had been impressed all over again by Brandon’s work. Trying to be supportive of her while I wanted to punch Brandon in the mouth was difficult.

  The sight of a dress bag hanging in my room slowed my pacing as I walked by the open door. I wasn’t supposed to look at it. My mom’s instructions, not Reagan’s. I hadn’t yet, but that was fear more than anything else. I loved my mom, but I wouldn’t consider her the most fashion forward person. She’d helped Reagan pick the dress out. The urge to peek and see what my mom had talked her into was tough to resist. Closing the door, I went back to the living room and flipped on the TV to wait.

  Nearly an hour later, I’d pretty much driven myself crazy by the time Reagan knocked on my door. I was there to open it a second later, yanking open the door and pulling her inside before she could say a word. Ignoring whatever the hell she had loaded up in her arms, I pushed her against the wall and devoured her.

  It proved more difficult than usual with the box she was carrying. “What the fuck is all this stuff?” I mumbled against her mouth, not willing to break contact but hoping she’d ditch it so I could get serious.

  The break in my ravenous attention gave Reagan the opportunity to wedge a hand between us and push me away. “I certainly wouldn’t mind coming home to that welcome every day, but can I at least set this stuff down? I’m exhausted and Emily went overboard, as usual.”

  Home? Suddenly, I didn’t care what she was carrying or what Emily went overboard with again. That wasn’t anything new. “You should come home to that every night,” I said, emphasizing that one word she’d so casually thrown out.

  Reagan cocked her head to the side and considered me. “What?”

  “Home. To me. Every night.”

  She shook her head. “I have been here every night. What are you talking about?”

  “Move in with me,” I said as I took the box of whatever from her arms and tossed it on the hall table.

  Reagan’s eyes widen. “What? No. Are you crazy?”

  “You need a new apartment anyway, and I want you here.”

  “I don’t need a new apartment, and you already have me here, all the time.”

  “Then move in with me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s too soon.”

  “Says who?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Who the fuck cares what everyone says?”

  “I care, and I say it’s too soon.”

  Pulling out my phone, I start tapping, making Reagan’s eyes narrow.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “You’re judgment is skewed because you care to much about what other people will say about us moving in together, but since you do care, I’m asking,” I said as I hit send.

  Reagan lunged for me. For my phone, to be more accurate. I let her have it and enjoyed watching her expression as she read my post.

  “Is it too soon to ask Reagan to move in with me? She says yes, but I say no. We need the opinion of ‘everyone’.”

  I laughed when her hand slapped against my shoulder, which only pissed her off even more. Hands on her hips, she glared at me. “What is wrong with you? You posted that on Facebook?”

  “That’s where things become official, isn’t it?” I challenged.

  Her expression went sour at my dig and the realization that she could hardly chide me for that after what she’d done with the picture. She continued glaring at me as my phone chirped, and chirped again. After half a dozen, she looked down at the screen angrily, only to find it dark and locked.

  “I bet you can guess my
password,” I said, grinning at her irritation.

  She hesitated half a second before typing in “Reagan” and shaking her head at my predictability. I should probably change the password now that everyone in my life knew my feelings for her, but I resisted the thought. It had softened Reagan’s anger a tiny bit, which didn’t give me any more motivation to choose something else. That only lasted a few seconds before she tossed the phone at me with a huff and walked away.

  Curious, I read the comments popping up under my post.

  “Definitely not too soon! Your apartment sucks. Sorry.” Emily

  “Yay! Say yes, Reagan.” Mom

  “Put him out of his misery, Beautiful.” Brandon

  “Do it.” Marie

  “Do what makes you happy, baby girl.” Derrek Castell.

  I could only assume that was Reagan’s father. The comments kept coming, but I suspected that was the one Reagan had stopped on before walking away. She’d mentioned that she and her father didn’t talk about relationships, at all. I understood that better now that I knew more of their history, but it must have affected her to see him comment. He was pushing her to be happy, even if she was scared of being exactly that.

  Picking my keys up off the table where I’d dumped Emily’s box of what looked to be shoes and makeup and hair supplies, I took a key off the ring and went in search of Reagan.

  I found her sitting on my bed, head in her hands with her hair falling down around her face in a curtain. Her refusal to acknowledge me, even though I was sure she’d heard me open the bedroom door, didn’t stop me from approaching. I knelt in front of her. Figuring the vantage point would make it more difficult for her to ignore me, I wasn’t prepared for her to scramble back in panic.