“I still have one or two tricks I never shared with the folks at Livingston Properties.”
She bit her lip. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
“Oh, jeez.” What more can there possibly be?
“I want you to know, I’ve been seeing a counselor. I think…I may have always known what you couldn’t tell me. I may have been hateful to your brother and…others like you because I sensed…”
When she didn’t continue, I guessed. “You thought I might be gay?”
“I didn’t need ESP to know you weren’t that into me. You substituted precise, almost clinical control for passion pretty early on. I was angry and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I resented the hell out of you for not wanting me. It made me feel unattractive and… Whatever. I must have known something wasn’t…”
What it cost her to say that, I couldn’t imagine. Bree did not like to apologize. So naturally, I made her clarify. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve said some pretty hateful things. Things that—looking back—I can’t believe came out of my mouth.”
“And?”
“Must I say it? I was vile to you and your brother. I was vile about your sexuality and insulted you every chance I got. But I knew I was losing you. I had lost you long since, and I—”
“Stop.” Suddenly I didn’t need her to say it. I could let her off the hook and tell her what she needed to hear because after all that time, it just didn’t matter anymore. “I understand. It’s okay. We both—”
“I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry that I treated you the way I did. I never meant for things to get like that between us.”
“Neither did I. It wasn’t only you.”
She blinked and tried to wipe the tears that glittered on her lashes from her eyes before they ruined her makeup. “I swore I wouldn’t do this.”
“I have a box of tissues around here somewhere.”
“No doubt,” she said drily. “But you can keep them.”
“I beg your pardon? They’re not used or anything.”
“You know I can’t use anyone else’s tissues. I have some in my purse.” She snorted and gave my shoulder the tiniest shove. I got the briefest glimpse of the girl I knew before everything went so wrong. “You made me say that out loud.”
“Looks like we’re both falling apart.”
She leaned against me then. Or rather, she slumped, and I caught her. I felt her arms slide around my waist and then she was hanging on, almost hugging me, and I put my arm around her shoulder and held her there.
“I never meant to hurt you.” I said. “I swear I tried to do the right thing.”
She shook her head, but said nothing.
“I wish I could have been the man you wanted—the man you needed—I wish…” I couldn’t say it out loud. I wished, at that point, that I had never been born.
I held her, and we both looked out the window as if there was something fascinating there. People walked to and from the parking lot with shopping bags, or they led dogs along the winding pathways. We could hear children playing on the swings in the distance. Her voice, when she finally spoke sounded tired.
“When I met you, I saw something in you. A core of intelligence and passion and promise. I thought I could build a future with that man, not the successful con artist you became. I would have been glad for a life with a man who would risk everything he had for the love of his friends.”
“Oh, Bree.”
“You’ve become the kind of man I can believe in, Dan.” She swallowed hard. “And you could never have done that with me by your side. That’s…hard to take.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She tried in vain to wipe her tears, then left to retrieve her purse from where she left it by the sofa. “I’m a mess.”
“Bree, you are always, always beautiful. You need to believe me when I say that, if for no other reason than because I can’t lie worth a damn anymore.”
Her lips formed what was sure to have become a genuine smile if she’d allowed it. “I know.”
“It’s a curse. Minerva from Rune Nation wrote these symbols on my damned driveway in sidewalk chalk, and I haven’t been able to lie since.”
“So it’s a magic spell?” She didn’t look too impressed. “Right. But good for her.”
“Them. There are three of them, and they followed me around like the witches in Macbeth.”
Bree was digging around in her handbag, no doubt to retrieve her tissues, but she stopped and glanced up at me. “You don’t really believe in witchcraft.”
“Of course not. But that’s as good an explanation as any for my inability to hide what I’m thinking or feeling at this point. I’m so…extremely uncomfortable.” Vulnerable. Naked. As things stood, I was afraid to leave the safety of my apartment. Apparently I could still omit some things even if I couldn’t outright lie, because I didn’t tell Bree that.
“Maybe,” Bree suggested, “you simply don’t need to lie anymore. I should think you’d be relieved.”
“No such luck.”
“All right. Well. Maybe you should see someone. I’ve had some success with my therapist. Maybe you need to see about getting yourself a good therapist and a good PT for that hand.”
“This is odd, hearing you concerned with my welfare.”
“Tell me about it. But it seems I have a conscience too.” She pulled an envelope from her purse and left it on the coffee table. “Who knew?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t open it until I leave. And do as you’re told, Dan Livingston. Take care of yourself.”
She crossed the room to me and rose up on the balls of her feet. On autopilot, I leaned over and let her kiss my cheek. For once, she didn’t rub at the smudge of lipstick she left behind.
“I’ll be off, then.” I watched her put on her gloves then hoist the little chain of her handbag over her shoulder. She turned with a swish, leaving a Chanel-scented breeze in her wake. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“All right.”
* * *
A long time after Bree left I sat quietly on the couch, nursing a beer and staring at that envelope. Darkness fell all around me. I didn’t know what she might have written, and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to find out. Had her counselor instructed her to put her thoughts into words? Was this her final indictment of me for marrying her in the first place? Her last opportunity to tell me how I ruined her life?
I opened it with shaking fingers, eventually, and took it into the kitchen to read. But…it wasn’t a letter at all. It was a legal document reassigning the ownership of Livingston Properties to me, both the portion I’d given up to her as part of the divorce settlement plus the rest, which I’d sold back to her to get the St. Nacho’s land parcel. I was once again half owner of the company I’d started from a couple thousand dollars, a decrepit beach cottage, and a lot of backbreaking physical labor.
There was a pink Post-It note stuck next to Bree’s signature.
Make me proud.
Chapter Twenty-six
The miniature horse I purchased in the beginning of October was officially the best, and the worst, idea I’d ever had.
The best, because taking care of a tiny horse as autumn’s brightly colored leaves drifted down from the trees around my new home turned out to be the most joyful work—and the best therapy both emotionally and physically—that I could have undertaken at that point.
The best, because it cemented my status as the coolest, most perfect adult who ever lived, in the eyes of Al’s girls. All of them, not just Katy and Jana, but Ellie too, loved that tiny hairball with every fiber of their being so my place became the favorite weekend destination for their entire family.
The worst, because every so often my diminutive pintaloosa looked at me as if he knew he’d been purchased as a shiny lure for a certain firefighter named Cam, and since he’d heard me admit it once or twice, in the
deeply personal dialogue we carried on while I cared for him, perhaps he’d begun to believe it.
“So. Who’s the best-looking guy around, huh?” I groomed him conscientiously, giving him a good, thorough daily brushing as well as performing a thousand other horsey chores. Even so I swear he was still lower maintenance than Bree had been.
“I guess I could have gotten myself a spirited little mini stallion in the first place and saved myself a boatload of alimony.”
He nudged my arm.
“That’s right. You need to stop me when I start bad mouthing my ex, boy. If it weren’t for Bree, we wouldn’t be here.”
My new best friend, a 32-inch-tall bay with spots on his hindquarters and a fiery copper mane and tail—aptly named Fireball—gazed at me reproachfully with one blue and one brown eye as I tangled my fingers in his mane. He was uncommonly vain about his hair. He nipped at my hand without actually catching it in his teeth and gamboled off to play in the small paddock.
It was a fine day to lean against the white rail fence and watch him play. I caught up a colorful plastic beach ball and hurled it. He jumped like a dog, charging it and nudging it around with his nose.
That just never got old.
I went into the paddock with him, and kicked the ball away. He fairly flew after it—tail like a flag—and nudged it back, trying to dodge around me.
When I saw dust rise in the distance, I tried not to get my hopes up. I really tried, because most of the time anyone coming up my driveway was lost. I continued playing with Fireball, but I was aware at the same time that a truck that looked a lot like Cam’s was heading purposefully toward me.
Finally. Oh, my fucking… Cam is finally, finally here.
Since I’d moved back, all the television news broadcasts had been full of California’s wildfires. A spate of arsons—and the wild Santa Ana winds that make them particularly deadly—had caused even our own local firefighters to be rotated out for backup in the Southland as more and more men were needed to battle the blazes. I’d hoped and prayed for Cam’s safe return, and I pried every single piece of news I could from Jake and JT, but until I saw him rolling up the drive, some part of me had been afraid I’d never see Cam again.
That I’d never get a chance to tell him why I hadn’t come back sooner.
Cam’s truck pulled to a stop by the barn, and I forgot to breathe when he opened the door to get out.
He was thinner. That’s what I saw. That’s all I saw, as he walked toward me. His jeans were loose around his hips, and the SIFD T-shirt and jacket he wore didn’t bind on his pecs and his arms the way they had before. An SIFD cap shielded his eyes.
I kicked the ball to Fireball and headed toward the gate. Fireball ran off and retrieved it, pushing it after me, disappointed that I’d called a time-out on our game.
I watched Cam’s face when he caught sight of my little pony, and realized exactly what it was. His head whipped around again, and he looked back at me, eyes wide.
As though he were trying to make sense of things, he said, “That, sir, is a horse.”
“Be quiet, he’ll hear you.”
Cam smiled faintly. “Jake told me you were back, but—”
“I’ve been here for a while.”
“I’ve been all over hell and gone. I was in the Angeles National Forest for a week, then in South Orange County. Then the Cleveland National Forest, near Julian.”
“I know. I saw all the fires on the news. I thought you weren’t a wildlander.”
“My unit was defending structures. It was like living in hell. High winds and arson fires. Southern California’s unique cocktail for disaster. We lost one hundred twenty-four homes all told. No lives, thank God.”
“I’m…” I was at a loss. Should I have said I was sorry about the fires? Or I was glad he was safe? Instead, I simply went with, “It’s good to see you.”
Fireball decided he didn’t like being ignored. He poked his nose through the slats of the fence and nudged me.
Cam squatted to look him in the eye. “Who’s this?”
“Fireball.” I hadn’t been the one to name him, but I thought Fireball fit rather well.
“He thinks he’s a dog.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.” I hadn’t forgotten Cam’s oddball cat.
I studied every minute detail of Cam’s face. He’d been sunburned, and his nose was peeling. Did he look careworn? Surely he was drawn. Tired. This wasn’t the laughing, lively Cam who filled my fantasies and eluded me in my dreams. This Cam had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his cheeks looked almost gaunt.
He pulled off his cap, and I saw his hair was buzzed off short, a golden fuzz next to his skin. He looked military.
He ran a hand over the top of his head. “Do you think I could have a beer or something? It’s been a really exhausting few weeks.”
“Of course.” I gave the beach ball a last shove and made sure the gate was latched. “Follow me.”
We walked up the tree-lined path to the house, a tiny, tidy bungalow with shuttered windows and flower boxes. It was a little run down but had boatloads of charm. It had potential.
“This isn’t the kind of place I’d have expected to find you.”
My heart quickened. Had he wanted to find me? Had he looked for me? “What kind of place did you think I’d have?”
“I don’t know. Some loft full of steel and glass and leather. Abstract art on the walls.”
“You forgot the coffee tables made of glass-topped statues of nude men.”
He grunted a laugh.
“This suits me perfectly.” When we got to the wide front porch, I gestured for him to sit in one of the rockers I’d purchased with Cam’s very own, very fine ass in mind. “Have a seat. I’ll go get us some drinks. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“All right then. I’ll be back.”
“Thanks.” Cam put his cap in the pocket of his jacket before drawing it off and laying it over the rail. “This is nice here.”
“It gets the shade in the afternoon and a nice cool breeze.” How shameless. I’d said that like I was selling the place—which I was. And myself, if he’d have me. I was prepared to use every trick I knew to make it happen.
In the kitchen, I pulled a couple bottles of Corona from the fridge and cut up a lime. Food was more difficult, because I found my hands shaking with anticipation—part terror and part longing—and it made slopping mayonnaise and mustard on a long roll and then trying to open little plastic baggies of lunch meats with slick fingers nearly impossible. I topped his sandwich with lettuce, tomato, pickles and olives and finally, I crowned the whole ugly creation with cheese and sliced it up, placing it on a plate with chips.
It was haphazard, but it would be filling. I grabbed the food, the beer, a bottle opener, and some napkins and headed outside.
When I got back to the porch, Cam was asleep. I tried to be quiet, but he gave a start when I put the plate down.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face, which looked red and painful.
“How’d you get sunburned? On the job?’
“Not like you’d think. I fell asleep in a camp chair on a break the other day. This looks good.”
“If that’s the case, you must be starving.” He took a big bite, nearly half the half, and I worried that I should have made two sandwiches. “I can make more if you’re still hungry after that one.”
“This will be fine, thank you.” He popped a chip into his mouth. “It’s rude to invite myself over like this and make you work.”
“Nah. I’m glad to do it. I’m happy to see you.”
He glanced around. “You’re happy in general, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad.” He nodded. “It’s not St. Nacho’s.”
“No.” Jake had accused me of channeling Moses: I’d saved the tribe but was unable to live in the Promised Land. But St. Nacho’s didn’t fee
l like my promised land. I’d made the right choice for me. The question was, could Cam live with it? I worried about that—a lot. “I found this place, and it just called to me.”
“Look,” Cam said suddenly. “I know what you did.”
My heart tightened. “What?”
“I know it took everything you had to buy that land. I know what you did to save St. Nacho’s.”
No one was supposed to find that out. What if he accused me of using money to solve every little problem again? “It’s not like—”
“You didn’t think you could keep your part in saving the day a secret, did you?”
“That part? Yes actually, I did. But considering I couldn’t keep my part in nearly ruining everything a secret, I can’t imagine why. Apparently Jakey’s still got a big mouth.”
“It wasn’t Jake who told me. It was Ken Ashton.”
Ah, yes, St. Nacho’s very own real estate mogul. He could easily have gotten wind of what happened. “I see.”
“And I made sure everyone else knows. You’re a local hero. Or you will be if you ever show your face in town again. The way he tells it, you were really hard up against it for a while. No one could find you. Jake was frantic. He said you’d live under a bridge somewhere rather than ask for help.”
“Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.”
“How’d you get back on your feet?”
“Believe it or not, it was Bree.”
“No way.”
“Way. Of course, she kept the money. She hasn’t changed that much. But she returned ownership in Livingston Properties to me and she’s helped in other ways. Bree is—remarkably—a good friend. She and Jim have a baby on the way.”
“No kidding? I thought she didn’t—”
“Apparently she’s over some of her objections to intimacy. She’s been taking really good care of herself. Forcing herself to eat well and gain weight. It’s hasn’t been easy. She’s working with a therapist.”
“A baby.” He sat back and rocked for a bit. “It could have been yours. How does that make you feel?”
“Delighted for her.” I really meant that. “Delighted for both of them.”
St. Nacho's 4: The Book of Daniel Page 21
