by Aria Ford
“Did you remember mayonnaise?” a voice called out of the kitchen as we walked in. Brett laughed.
“Yes, dear. I bought enough to sink a battleship.”
We all laughed. Brett had, in fact, brought a massive jar of it, which he hauled out of the bag with triumph and plonked on the counter.
“Ooh!” Cayley said admiringly.
“Well, someone’s impressed,” Brett said, patting his daughter’s head as we all chuckled at them both. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s playing with Uncle Carson,” she informed him. “He took him to see his trucks. Boys!”
The last was said with such scorn that I must giggle. I knew, not for the first time, I liked her.
“Well, I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Reese said from in the pantry. Brett laughed.
“At least it’s not trucks that obsess me.”
“Well, cars - fine. And anything with four walls and a roof. Or three walls…whatever.”
We both grinned at her. “Brett’s always been like that.”
“Such betrayal, from one so young,” Brett said dramatically, cuffing my shoulder. I giggled.
“Let’s find them!” Cayley announced. She went hurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Amelia, could you keep an eye on things?” Brett asked as he bent down to unpack the shopping. “She does tend to get a bit rough with Josh.”
“Okay,” I called. I walked after Cayley as she walked briskly up the stairs, gold hair streaming out behind her like a little Christmas fairy.
A voice came drawling out of the bedroom ahead of us. I followed Cayley in to find Carson on the floor with Josh, a small rubber tank between his palms. He looked up at me blandly. “Military equipment 101.”
I had to laugh. He looked so comfortable with the kid, so relaxed and at ease. It was a pleasure to see him like that: a pleasure, I realized, because of how wired he usually looked.
Brett’s right—he has changed.
“Can we join the class?” I asked.
“We were just about done, actually,” Carson said with that same lazy softness that was making my insides melt. “We’ve moved to active deployment.”
He waved a hand to where Josh was driving the tank against the legs of the bedside table, making growling noises in his throat. We smiled at each other. Cayley came to join me on the floor, arms round my neck.
We could be a family.
The thought knocked into my head like a freight train. I looked over to where Carson was sitting with his hand resting on the little boy’s shoulder, another tank in his hand.
His brown eyes caught mine and there was such sweetness in them, such care, that my heart flipped over.
“Carson,” I said.
“Yes?” He grinned at me lazily. I moved instinctively closer.
My head rested on his forehead, just as we often used to sit, our eyes gazing tenderly at one another. I blinked, my own vision blurred. He carried on looking into my eyes.
My hand moved to take his and we sat like that. For a moment, I lost all awareness of everything—time, place, sound. All that mattered was the feel of his skin and the way his thumb, tenderly, stroked my hand.
I moved so that I could see his eyes clearly. He carried on looking back at me, gaze soft and firm. Then after a moment, it felt as if a shutter came down, hiding that tenderness from me.
“I should go,” he said abruptly. He stood, wiping his hands down his jeans.
I felt my heart tighten like a fist. “Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Supper’s not for ages yet.”
“I have things to do,” he said shortly. I blinked. Why was he suddenly so closed, so aggressive? His eyes were blank, his voice flat. It was as if his feelings had instantly turned off.
What did I do wrong?
I sighed. I had never understood Carson and I probably never would. He was always an enigma, even in the height of our love.
“Auntie Amelia, can we play dress up?” Cayley asked me. I sighed.
“We can play after dinner, sweetie.”
“Why not now?” she asked, going over to the bed and sitting down, bouncing insistently on the soft, springy mattress.
“Well, I have things to do,” I explained. As the words left my mouth, I realized I sounded like Carson. I reached out and ruffled the little girl’s hair affectionately. “I promise we can play after dinner. And then I’ll even do the makeup. Okay?”
“Hurray!”
The bouncing on the bed intensified, and I sat down beside her, wrapping my arms around her and tickling her until she squealed for mercy. Then, flushed and laughing myself, I headed downstairs.
I saw Carson in the doorway of the kitchen, talking to Brett who was busy at the table. I sighed.
So much for things to do. He was avoiding me.
I was surprised by how much that hurt. Was I so terrible, that he couldn’t even be in the room with me for more than a few minutes? Why did he dislike me so much?
I remembered his words when we split: We don’t suit each other.
I sighed, feeling tears of frustration dampen my eyelids. He was right. We didn’t suit each other after all. At least, it seemed like I didn’t suit him. Which was sad, because he suited me so perfectly. He was, and always would be, the man I wanted most.
Brett was right, though. He had changed. I wished I could understand more. I wished he would let me in. But then, he never had. He never would. He was the perfect man for me and, tragically, the one who seemed the most indifferent to me in all the world.
Blinking back sudden, surprising tears, I hurried upstairs again to my room.
CHAPTER TEN
Carson
Upsetting Amelia hurt me more than it hurt her. At least, I would like to believe that. After I left her in the attic, I went to my room, sat down on the bed and covered my face.
The moment had been so tender, so good. The way her head had rested on my forehead, exactly like when we were kids. It had felt so perfect. And, that close, I could smell the fragrance of her, my body hungering for her like a starved creature.
But I couldn’t do it. After that chat with Brett, I knew that. I had exposed to myself all my flaws. The way I was still so jumpy had surprised me. I thought I had gotten over it. But there was still a forest of broken things inside me and I couldn’t pretend otherwise now.
What if she dropped something, and I went off at her like I did at Brett? The level of my aggression had surprised me. If I took a turn like that and she was there, defenseless and confused, what might happen?
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that I might turn violent. But it was there. I had to acknowledge it.
I will not endanger her by putting her up for that kind of treatment.
In my heart, I could admit I loved Amelia. I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her the way I might, inadvertently, do. So I had the added duty of protecting her also from myself.
I should go away, I thought wildly. This wasn’t working out right. Every time I saw Amelia, I lost control of myself. I couldn’t maintain the aloof, cold exterior I wanted to.
Without any conscious thought, I started to pack. The habit of years meant that I could pack my cases in an instant, ready to move on to the next place I was needed. As I rolled my socks into a ball and shoved them into my suitcase, I blinked, shaking myself.
Carson, stop acting crazy. You can’t just walk out!
What would Brett say? It was a few days before Christmas and he’d invited me here for the holiday. I couldn’t very well just throw my things into the car, drive off without any farewell. Much as it would have been what I wanted to do to save my sanity from the constant torment of loving Amelia, it wasn’t what I could do.
You’d regret it.
I sighed. Dropped the socks soundlessly onto the carpet, lay back on the bed. There was just too much going on in my life to make sense of anything. As it was, I thought miserably, I should probably cut my ti
me here short. It wasn’t like I had no commitments.
I closed my eyes and felt wretched. I had no idea what to do. Making sensible choices and dealing with interpersonal issues wasn’t something I had a skill set for.
I even know a bit about defusing bombs, I thought, laughing a little hysterically. But I had no idea at all how to defuse the wild, devastating bomb that was my love for Amelia.
The thing is that I won’t be the only casualty when it erupts. It’d hurt her.
The thought of Amelia called her vividly to mind. Her soft skin, that glistening pink mouth that made me want to kiss it as I pressed against her on the bed, my lips chewing the side of her sweet face and moving lower…
I groaned as my cock responded with some urgency to the picture in my mind of Amelia, nude and defenseless, lying on her back with that alluring look she used to level my way.
I wanted her so much. She was in the room next door right now, possibly nude and lying on her bed and my mind couldn’t get around that. I gritted my teeth.
In my mind, I built another picture. Based it on what happened the other day in the kitchen. Imagined Amelia washing up, dropping a plate. Imagined myself turning on her with the same cold fury I had leveled at Brett. I let my mind conjure her response, which would probably, like his, only make me worse. I made myself imagine her crying, wounded irreparably by my hatefulness.
You see, Grant? That’s how your life would be.
I sighed. I sat up on the bed. The mirror on the wall revealed me to myself, my brown eyes a little shattered, my face tight with nervous tension. I stood, brushing my brown curls flat. I couldn’t very well go around like that: someone would notice.
“A shower. Now.”
I gathered my shower caddy and marched myself to the shower with the same efficiency with which I would have handled soldiers in my battalion. Once inside I showered briskly, shaved and tried not to cut myself, then headed into the bedroom again. The clock by my bedside told me it was around lunchtime. My stomach clenched ambivalently and I decided I had nothing to lose. At least if I went downstairs, Brett and his wife—or the kids—were probably also there, and they might act as a buffer. I had made up my mind that I’d do my best not to be alone with Amelia again.
“Carson?” Brett’s voice called me as I went downstairs. He was in the sitting room, so I headed in there. He had his laptop open on his knee.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to show you that building I was talking about the other day,” he said peaceably. “And to give you the details of that guy I told you about; the one who went to Logistics?”
“Oh?” I frowned. I didn’t remember any guy. Probably because I was thinking about Amelia. I felt my mouth twist ironically.
“Yeah. Preston Brinkley. Here we go,” he added, finding an email address. “Should I forward it to you?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes. Please,” I nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if I had anything to lose, after all.
He pressed some buttons and then leaned back, brushing faded blond hair out of one eye as he looked up. “What’s it?”
“Nothing,” I said, blinking rapidly. Why the heck was my face so transparent? “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Brett said carefully. “Only, everyone seems a bit subdued around here and I was wondering if I’ve done something. Only my wife is normal.”
“What was that, Brett Carlyle?” a voice called ominously from the kitchen. We both laughed.
“I said, you’re normal, honey.”
“And what a cheeky thing to say!” Reese said with a big grin, coming out of the kitchen with her hands stained with some sort of berry-juice. “I’ll have you know, I’m extraordinary.”
Brett roared with laughter and I had to smile. “Yes, honey,” Brett agreed firmly.
Reese blew him a kiss. Then she went back to the kitchen, shoulders shaking with mirth.
I sighed. It was inspiring and bittersweet to see them. I wished, from the bottom of my heart, that I could be like that. Friendly, and simple, and normal. But I couldn’t.
The war had left big holes in my heart and in my mind. I only had one major scar—a wound high on my chest where shrapnel had struck me. But inside there were so many more.
“Is…is Amelia around?” I asked. When his eyes widened, I prayed he hadn’t made the leap of linking my odd mood and her.
“She was,” Brett nodded. “She went up when I came in. Said she had a headache. Why?”
“No reason,” I said mildly. “Just wanting to know where everyone is, I guess.”
“Well,” Reese appeared again. “Everyone ought to be here.”
“It’s ready, is it?” Brett said, sitting up and shutting the laptop quickly.
“It will be in about two minutes,” Reese said wryly and I smiled.
“Lunch?” I asked.
“Yup,” she nodded. “I’m making my famous roast pumpkin, with a berry tart to follow.”
“Oh!” I smiled. My stomach rumbled and I remembered I was hungry. Brett chuckled.
“There you go. Sounds good, right?”
“Sounds awesome,” I agreed fervently.
“Could you find the kids?” Brett asked, as he stood, taking his laptop over to a side-table. “I just have to go and help with the oven door.”
“Sure,” I nodded as he headed into the kitchen. I heard low voices coming out of it as Brett and Reese performed some intricate operation around lowering the pie dishes to the oven shelf.
“Kids?” I called. I tensed at the door to the attic, praying inwardly that Amelia wasn’t in there. I was nervous to confront her alone now, for fear of my resolve wavering.
“Yes!” Josh appeared immediately.
“Is it lunch?”
“Yes,” I answered the inquiry briskly.
“Finally!” Cayley sighed, making me laugh.
“We thought that’d never happen,” Josh lisped, rushing past me and into the corridor, heading for the bathroom to wash their hands.
“Auntie!” Cayley called outside Amelia’s door. “It’s lunchtime.”
I sighed with relief. At least I wouldn’t have to call her by myself.
A voice called back through the whitewashed door. “Coming.”
It was bright and brittle and cheery and, if I hadn’t known Amelia so well, I would have thought she was enthused about the lunch, just like all the rest of us. But I did know her. Too well. So I knew that tightness in her voice and how it covered she’d just been crying.
I shook my head. I was such an asshole.
I sighed. I hadn’t much choice, had I? I could either be an asshole now, and avoid hurting her in future, or I could do what I longed to now—renew our closeness in every way possible and then be an asshole later.
It will hurt her less if I am an asshole now.
I walked briskly down the stairs to the kitchen.
I took a place at the table, sitting beside Brett who looked about expectantly as Reese dished out the steaming roast, then turned to the kids as they swarmed in and took their seats.
Amelia came in last. Her face was pale and she had combed out her hair. She was quiet and composed and I think it was clear only to me that her eyes were soft and fluid with recent tears.
“Hey, Brett,” she said, giving her brother a tired smile. She went and sat at the head of the table, the last vacant seat and as far away from me as anyone could get. I winced.
As I watched her from my place opposite, I felt my heart clench. I wished I could do things differently, but I knew I couldn’t.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amelia
Later on, I decided to make a firm resolution to catch up on work. It was my holiday, and I had no reason for doing anything, but work had always been my refuge, so after lunch I took out my laptop and set myself up at the dining-room table. There wasn’t nearly enough left to do, so I resorted to sending Christmas cards to my colleagues and absent acquaintances.
I just don’t want to think about
Carson.
All these mixed emotions were getting to me. I thought if I focused on the contradictory messages he was sending, I might actually go mad. Corporate finance was a safe, predictable place in comparison to the crazy, unknown waters that were opening up between him and I.
“Mel?”
I looked up from the screen of my phone when Brett’s voice cut through my thoughts. I had been busy catching up with my colleagues. My interest in being on holiday had dropped abruptly now: really all I could think about was getting back to work.
“Mm?”
“I need to go out with Reese to fetch something from the store—to get her Christmas present, actually. But anyway, could I ask you to keep an eye on the kids? I think Carson’s with them in the yard right now.”
“Oh.” I blinked, surprised. “Okay.”
If Carson’s out there, I’m staying where I am until they come inside.
I had enough of him by now—enough of his confusing ways, his changing attitude toward me. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t exist. At least that’s what I wanted to think.
“Great! Thanks, Mel. You’re great with the kids. Carson’s good too,” he added, seeming surprised. “I’d better head off now,” he added. He was, I noticed, already dressed for cold weather. “Honey?” he called to his wife.
“Yes, dear?” Reese’s voice came down the stairs. A moment later I heard the distinctive sound of heeled boots on wood and she appeared in the hallway, wrapped in a coat that looked like it cost a small fortune.
“There you are,” Brett smiled. I was moved by the softness in his eyes as he looked at her. They had been married for ten years and the love was so evident it touched my heart.
“Are we going to Barney’s?” she asked, meaning the department store.
“I guess,” Brett said, grinning.
“Okay!” Reese said enthusiastically. Brett laughed.
“Bye,” he called to me. “If you’re looking for Carson, I just saw him pass the back gate.”
“See you, brother,” I called as he left. I didn’t want to know about Carson Grant.
