by Jenni Moen
"Not at all."
She ushered me into the house. A small tan and black dog came wheeling around the corner. The dog paused when he saw me and issued a very vocal greeting.
"This is Bear," she said over his noise.
I bent to let him smell my hand, hoping little Cujo didn't bite it off. He sniffed for a moment and then, placated, flipped over onto his back.
"He wants you to scratch his belly," she said. "He's a complete belly rub whore."
I laughed and complied. Based on Celeste's adoring expression as she looked at him, I didn't stand a chance with the woman if I couldn't get in good with the dog. I noted the rubber mat just inside the door. A pair of purple rubber boots rested on top. "Should I?" I asked, gesturing to my own boots with my free hand.
"Oh, no. Those are muddy. Bear and I like to go tromping through the woods together." At the sound of his name, the dog flipped back over, butt wiggling even as he tried to sit on it. He looked at her with the same adoration.
"Come on. I'll show you where the bathroom is, and then I need to feed the mongrel."
I followed her into a large open living room with vaulted ceilings. The windows on the back wall extended a full two stories, even more open and impressive than the front. From the living room, she led me down an adjoining hall to a large guest bathroom.
"I'll meet you in the living room," she said.
When I came out a few minutes later, there was no sign of her or Bear, so I took the opportunity to look around. I circled the living room, taking everything in and wondering if she'd decorated it herself. Either she had a natural knack for it or she'd hired someone. It looked like something straight out of a magazine.
The knickknacks and books that filled the shelves seemed more likely to have been chosen because they matched the color scheme of the room than because of the subject matter. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd rented this as a vacation house for the weekend. Like most of our conversations, there was nothing to give me any insight into her. No wedding pictures. No vacation pictures. No framed newspaper articles. No sports memorabilia. Nothing that would even hint she'd been married to the great Chase Reid. Other than a stack of books and movies on the coffee table and a blanket piled on the couch, nothing even suggested she lived here.
I ventured into the attached dining room and finally discovered a framed photograph. Until I picked it up, I wasn't entirely convinced the picture of two small girls hadn't come with the frame. The lighting, the slight fading of color—it was almost too perfect. Even the excitement on the two girls' faces and the blurry balloons in the background looked staged. But I when I pulled it closer, I recognized the matching smiles and the emerald eyes on both girls.
One stood in front of the other, looking directly into the camera, her lips pursed and arms up in a V in the sign of victory. The other stood slightly behind her waving at the camera, a more subdued smile on her face. I wasn't sure why, but somehow, I knew the one hiding in the back was Celeste. And now that I’d seen what she looked like as a child, the resemblance to Daniela was uncanny.
A throat cleared behind me and I set the photograph down with a guilty thud. A very grown-up version of Celeste stood behind me, two glasses of wine in hand and an odd expression on her face.
I felt guilty for snooping.
"Twins?" I asked, gesturing to the photo.
"Yes."
"If you met my brother, you'd ask the same thing. It's one of the reasons I was happy to move to Chicago. I was tired of people confusing me with the jackass," I joked.
Her face softened. "Really?"
"He's only eleven months younger than I am, so by someone's bastardized definition, we are twins, too."
"Irish," she stated matter-of-factly.
"In this case, Italian."
She laughed. "That was my second guess."
"It’s exhausting being confused with someone else. Does your sister live around here?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, something I’d noticed her do a few times. "Not exactly.”
"Probably a good thing you have your space. Your sister looks like she has a big personality, like my brother."
She looked at the photo. “Yes. When we were little, she was always the free-spirited one, and I was more serious. She was the golden child.” She smiled then, looking a bit wistful, as if she wished she could be a little more like her.
“You’re not always serious,” I said, remembering the woman who’d twirled on the driveway, arms spread, eyes closed, nose pointed at the sky. She hadn’t seemed to have a care in the world.
I was going to help her find that woman again.
She held out one of the wine glasses for me to take. "I opened a bottle. I hope that's okay."
I took it, happy it gave me a reason to stay.
HER
The sexy policeman was here. In my home.
Though I knew what I shouldn't do with him, the opposite wasn't as clear to me anymore.
His fingers brushed against mine when he took the glass from me, making me momentarily forget the crooked photo on top of the buffet. I led him to the living room and headed for my usual spot on the couch. Instead of following me, he crossed the room. Gazing out the window, he studied the dark night.
"Do you mind if we go out back?" he asked. “It’s a beautiful night.”
I grabbed the blanket from the couch. "Not at all," I lied.
I unlocked the back door and flipped the switch for the lights. Instantly, the exterior of the house glowed with illuminated stripes. The inky water of the pool turned an inviting aquamarine blue.
I shivered and pulled my eyes away from it.
Scott looked at me with concern. "If it's too cold, we can go back in."
I shook my head. "No, you’re right. It's a beautiful night."
He took the blanket from my hands and wrapped it around me. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms a few times before resting them on my shoulders. "Better?"
"Yes. I guess I'm what you call indoorsy."
He looked back toward the entryway, one eyebrow raised.
I wasn’t used to having someone hang on my every word. I forced a smile. “Or maybe I just don’t know myself very well. After all, I had no idea how much I would love your bike.” That much was true, and I sighed, a bit dreamily, remembering the feel of the wind on my face and his body so close to mine. "Maybe I should get my own," I said with a smile.
"Now, that might be the sexiest thing I've ever heard."
A battle waged in his eyes as they dropped to my mouth. I didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. He wanted to kiss me. Yet I could see his hesitation as clearly as I felt my own.
I wondered what his lips would feel like. Would they be soft and sweet or hard and demanding? Where would he put his hands? Would he leave them on my shoulders or drop them to my waist?
With the slightest shake of his head, he took a step backward, taking his warm hands and his inviting lips with him. The disappointment I felt was as severe as it was unexpected. How had I let myself get to this place when I'd fought so hard against it?
I watched his back as he walked the path around the perimeter of the pool. Right on his heels, Bear explored the unfamiliar space with him. "Too bad it's too dark to see the lake. I’d sit out here every morning and drink my coffee if I were you. The sunrise must be amazing."
I faked another smile and pointed at a two-seater bench closer to the garden. “Would you like to sit down?”
After he had sat down next to me, I realized how small the bench was. When he leaned back, he had no choice but to put his arm around me. The left side of his body pressed against my right from knee to shoulder.
I reached for my glass of wine. "Where's yours?"
"Oh, I must've left it inside."
I started to get up, but his arm wrapped around me tighter, holding me in place. "Stay. I still need to drive home anyway."
I nodded and settled back in. "When do you start your new job?" I asked, making
an attempt at small talk.
"A week from tomorrow."
I shot him a knowing smile. "A week, huh? What a crazy coincidence."
He met my gaze and held it. "No coincidence. Until I met you, I was dreading this week."
"Dreading a week of vacation? Why?"
"I'm not good at being idle."
"Why not go somewhere then?" I asked. “Like a real vacation. Maybe a beach somewhere?"
"By myself? That doesn't sound like fun. I'd rather spend the week exploring my new town with a beautiful woman."
"Any beautiful woman? Or do you have a particular one in mind?" I teased.
He arched a dark eyebrow at me, his gaze very serious. "I think I've made my intentions pretty clear."
I smiled and looked away, suddenly feeling shy. I sipped from my glass. His proximity was enough to make me foggy-brained by itself, but I needed a little more liquid courage if I was going to go through with this.
My resolve to keep my distance from Scott was almost gone. Piece by piece, he had whittled it away. Like a typhoon, he'd breezed into my life, rattled my windows, and rained down a tumult of hail and debris. I was sure he had no idea the devastation our encounter Friday night had left behind.
For two days, I'd told myself it was a good thing I didn't know how to find him. I'd stared out the living room window and let it be a reminder of what could happen when I let someone in. I had no faith that Scott would be any different. I'd almost convinced myself I was still content being alone.
Until I saw him at Epilogue and gave up the lie.
There was no denying, even to myself, that he stirred things in me I'd thought didn't exist anymore. But he did it in a new and disarmingly unexpected way.
Something was fiercely protective about him, a sharp awareness that was entirely new to me. The way he'd placed his hand on my back as we crossed the street together. The way he'd stood up for me with the man on the train. Oddly enough, this man I hardly knew made me feel safer than I ever had.
It wasn't that Chase hadn't loved me. He most definitely had. But he hadn't had a protective or possessive bone in his body. Maybe because there'd never been a question that I'd always be there. Our relationship had been built on my devotion to him, not the other way around.
Somehow, I knew that this thing with Scott—if I allowed it to happen—would be entirely different. That didn’t mean I should let it.
"I know Ryder told you about Chase. Why aren't you running for the hills?" I asked.
He chuckled softly. "He asked me the same thing."
The idea of that was equal parts heartwarming and terrifying. "It might do you good to heed the warning."
He turned slightly, pulling me even closer, if that was possible. "You said something on the train about being cursed. Enchanted was what you said, I think. You can't really believe that?"
I looked at him with surprise. He seemed to remember the slightest details, able to recite bits of conversation most people wouldn't register the first time, let alone commit to memory.
"Well, yeah. It's just that …" I stopped myself, the truth on the tip of my tongue. I waited for him to push me to go on, but when I looked at him, he had turned his face away from me, though his hold on me hadn’t lessened.
The words burst out of me, needing to free themselves from the place I kept them locked up so tight. "Before he died, if you'd asked me if I could remember a time when we weren't a couple, I would've told you no. We went to grade school together. We went to church together. We were a couple by the age of fifteen. He was such an integral and constant part of my life, I didn't know any different. At times, we were all each other had, but we were never one of those couples that smothered each other. He had his dreams, and I had mine. We gave each other space. We were good together that way."
I paused and looked down at Bear. He blinked up at me with an expression that suggested he agreed with my characterization of my relationship with Chase.
Other than his thumb, which brushed gently across my shoulder through the blanket, Scott hadn't moved.
"The week he died, he'd been sick with the flu. I'd been waiting on him hand and foot. Whatever he needed, I was there. After five days of it, we were both grouchy and stir-crazy.
"There was this charity ballgame we'd helped organize to benefit the Pediatric Asthma and Lung Center at the children's hospital. Of course, he wasn't planning to go to the game … on account of being sick. But that morning he'd woken up feeling much better, and he asked me if I thought we should go."
I exhaled heavily. My body suddenly heavy with regret.
"I told him yes. I wanted to get out. I even went out to the garage and found an old mitt and a bat for him. They were propped up beside the door, so I thought he'd set them out just in case. I didn't look inside. I just threw them in his car and off we went."
Scott turned his intense gaze on me, but I didn't dare look or I'd lose my nerve. I blew out another breath and continued. "About halfway through the game, he started complaining that his whole body hurt. At first, we thought it was just symptoms of the flu—that he'd overdone it—but when he took off his glove, his hand was covered in bites."
I shuddered at the memory.
"Seventeen of them, so red and angry looking. Within an hour, hives covered his whole body and he was having trouble breathing. By that night, his heart rate was dangerously high, and he was vomiting. They gave him the anti-venin, but he had some sort of allergic reaction to it that caused a different set of problems. By morning, his organs were shutting down, and he'd slipped into a coma.
"And then he was gone. Just like that." My voice broke. "It shouldn't have killed him. If he'd been healthy … if I hadn't pushed him to go …" Scott squeezed a hand I hadn't realized he was holding. "It was my fault. We'd had lots of spiders around here that spring. Chase had asked me to call an exterminator weeks before, but I hadn't gotten around to it. I was busy …"
Doing what? I couldn’t remember now.
For a few, long moments, the only sound was the quiet lap of water against the side of the pool. "You're so quiet. Either I’ve completely freaked you out, or you're the best listener in the world," I finally said.
"A wise woman once told me that there are times when women just need to talk. Men—we're fixers by nature. We have a natural tendency to want to try to do something to make it all better." He placed his hand over mine so that it was completely covered. "Sometimes, you can’t do anything. I suspect you don't really need me to tell you what happened wasn't your fault or that he could've looked inside that dirty old glove before he stuck his hand in it."
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
"Please tell me someone's already told you those things?" he asked, his voice earnest.
I nodded. I'd heard the rationalizations over and over from everyone I knew. My mom. Ryder. The therapist my parents had hired. No one could change how I felt.
A few tears slipped down my face. I resisted the urge to wipe them away, hoping he wouldn't notice. "They have," I said, my voice giving me away instead.
He turned to me and with a single finger traced a damp trail down my cheek. "Sometimes, we don't need someone to unpack our baggage for us. Sometimes, we just need a little help carrying it until we're ready to unpack it ourselves."
After a few seconds, I cleared my throat. "So who was this wise woman? Your Casablanca-loving grandma?"
"My ex-wife. She left me four years ago."
"Oh."
"I know what the blame game looks like, Celeste. I've spent the better part of that time blaming myself and only recently decided I needed to let go of it. I definitely know what it's like to lose the person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with."
"What happened?" I asked. Maybe we had more in common than I thought.
His thumb traced slow circles on the back of my hand. "Well, I told you I don't do well with idle time. I think it's fair to say I really suck at it."
"So you're a workaholic?" I aske
d. "Your bosses must love that. It's good for catching bad guys."
"And losing good women," he said. "I took the job home with me. A lot. Elena didn't appreciate it."
Remembering the days Chase brooded after a lost game, I nodded.
"Like you guys, we got married young. She was eighteen. I was twenty. Everyone thought we were nuts. Of course, we thought we had it all figured out. I worked for the NYPD while she went to college. When she finished, she got a job here in Chicago, so we packed up and moved. We rented an apartment, got a dog, did all of the domesticated things married people do." He gestured to Bear, who was snoring soundly by our feet. "Then one day after twelve years of marriage, we got into a fight about a toothbrush, and she took my dog and left."
I nodded. "Chase and I once got into a huge fight over the optimal darkness of toast and didn't talk for two days."
He laughed. "Well, it wasn't really about the toothbrush, as you can imagine. We had much bigger problems than that."
"Who doesn't?"
"We grew up together. We should’ve been a perfect match, but we weren’t. I forced a relationship when I shouldn’t have.”
“You can be very tenacious,” I agreed.
"I'm one of those people who doesn’t need much more than a purpose," he continued. “She gave me one, but the opposite wasn’t true.”
“She was always more ambitious than I was. She was the first in her family to go to college. She always wanted more. Nicer cars. A nicer house. A different life, I found out later.”
I looked around my backyard. At my house and my pool. At the dense grove of trees that hid my parents’ house to the north. I had an obvious overabundance of things I'd never earned. I suspected Scott had earned everything he had.
“All I’ve ever wanted to do was make a difference. I come from a police family. My pop was one just like his dad before him. If anyone should’ve understood what made me who I am, she should’ve. But she never got it.”
I swallowed. He obviously loved his job if it had cost him his marriage. He didn't know it yet, but it would be a dividing line for us too. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out.
