The Sugarhouse Blues

by Mariah Stewart

  The next day on the set, Brandon acted as if nothing had happened. He’d been his normal, teasing self, but he’d smiled at Des as if daring her to tell, which of course she did not. And she’d never bothered to ask why her, because deep inside, she knew. He’d never have attempted such a thing with Allie, whose beauty was intimidating. Allie was assertive—never passive—and would have laughed at him before she’d screamed her head off. Even as young as Des was at the time, it hadn’t taken much for her to figure out that she was the perfect target.

  Des had gone on as if nothing had happened, but she made sure she was never alone with him again, and from that day on, never neglected to lock her dressing room door.

  Now it was out in the open, at least between her and Allie. The words she’d swallowed for so long had been spoken. She’d told. And Allie had acted as Des had wanted her to react all those years ago, with the same shock and disbelief Des herself had felt. Yet she still felt the same sense of shame that had all but suffocated her back then, the feeling that somehow she’d been at fault, even though she knew she hadn’t been.

  Des went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She was no longer hyperventilating, but she still felt raw. Gutted.

  She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and without giving it a second thought, sent a text to Seth.

  Are you busy?

  Never too busy for you. What’s up? Seth texted back.

  Would you come get me?

  Where are you?

  Home.

  On my way, he wrote.

  On the bike, I hope.

  * * *

  “That sounds like Seth.” Barney looked up from the travel magazine she was reading and glanced out the front window when the Harley pulled into the driveway.

  “It’s Seth. He’s here to pick me up.” Des grabbed her bag.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll be back later,” Des told her before Barney could say anything else.

  Seth stood next to the bike holding the black jacket Des’d worn last time in one hand and a helmet in the other.

  He held the jacket out to Des. “My sister might start charging you rent.”

  “It’ll be worth it.” She smiled at him, and for the first time since her argument with Allie, her heart lifted.

  She strapped on the helmet, slipped her arms into the sleeves, and met Seth’s eyes. “Could we go?”

  “Sure.” Seth got onto the bike and waited while Des situated herself before asking, “Anyplace in particular?”

  “No. Just drive.”

  He started the bike and headed for the road. Des wrapped her arms around him, the strength of his body giving her comfort, and she felt the tension leaving her back and her shoulders and her mind like vapors rising from the falls behind Barney’s house.

  Seth hit the gas and took off, headed for the back roads outside Hidden Falls. The road he chose had more than its share of curves and hills, and there were times when Des felt she was hanging on for dear life. But at the same time, she felt free, and for just a while, she forgot about angry words and tearful confessions. She closed her eyes and let the wind blow into her face, wishing it were that easy to blow away bad memories and hurtful accusations.

  Seth slowed a little, and the roar of the engine became a purr.

  “Ever been to Rose Hill?” he shouted.

  “No. What’s Rose Hill?”

  He accelerated the bike again and took off in the direction of two church spires she could see in the distance. Ten minutes later, the friendly message WELCOME TO THE VILLAGE OF ROSE HILL greeted them as Seth coasted to the bottom of the hill where the main street stretched along three short blocks.

  Seth looked over his shoulder and asked, “Hungry?”

  “Sort of.”

  “There’s a nice restaurant right down the road, but there’s also a really good market. If you’re up for a steak, I can guarantee the best you ever had. No one grills beef better than I do. Not bragging, just stating a simple fact.” He stopped the bike at the curb and turned to look at her. “Your choice.”

  “You’re on.”

  “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  He parked and they walked three storefronts down to the market, where Seth bought one of the biggest steaks Des had ever seen and a couple of potatoes.

  He stopped in front of the dairy counter. “To sour cream, or not to sour cream?”

  “I pass.”

  “Me, too. I’m a purist when it comes to my potatoes. Unless, of course, they’re in potato salad. Then all bets are off.” He was doing his best to keep the conversation light for her sake, and she knew and appreciated his sensitivity. “Oh. Dessert.”

  He grabbed her by the hand. “They have a bakery section. Really good baklava. Excellent chocolate cake.”

  “I haven’t had baklava in . . . I don’t even remember the last time.”

  “Baklava it is.” He ordered two, then changed the order to four. “Might as well pick up breakfast while I’m here.”

  “You eat baklava for breakfast?”

  “Hey, it’s honey, nuts, and a little bit of almost bread. So it’s almost like toast with honey.”

  “Phyllo pastry is not almost bread.” She laughed at the face he made.

  “What else do we need?” He looked around the store.

  “Nothing. We’re done.”

  They neared the checkout counter, where he paused and said, “Not quite.”

  He grabbed a bunch of yellow roses from a display and handed them to Des without a word. She could feel her heart melt inside her chest, and she smiled.

  He tucked the packages into the saddlebag and they set off for Hidden Falls.

  The dogs were happy to see Seth, and happier still to see Des. She crooned and praised both Ripley and the Lab for having been good while Seth was gone. “No furniture chewed. No accidents,” she said as she gazed into the living room. To Seth she said, “You’re either very good at making your expectations known, or you’ve been very lucky in the dogs you took in.”

  “Maybe a bit of both.” He smiled and went into the kitchen, where he fed both dogs. “Besides, they mostly sleep while I’m gone.”

  “What can I do to help?” Des asked.

  “Glad you asked.” Seth opened a cabinet door and pulled out a colander. “You remember where the garden is?”

  Des nodded.

  “While I get the grill going, you go on out and pick some green beans for dinner.”

  “Sure.”

  She found the beans growing on small bushes planted in very straight rows. Des pushed aside the leaves and began to pick, filling the colander as she moved between the rows. It was early evening, and the sun was sinking just enough to color the fields with a soft glow, and the air was heavy with the scent of clover. She felt the day’s stress slip away, and she was grateful to be in that spot at that moment.

  “I like your farm,” Des told him when she walked back to the patio. The dogs were side by side, watching Seth handle the steak, lured by the scent of the meat. “It’s beautiful and peaceful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  Seth had opened a bottle of wine, which he was pouring into two stemmed glasses.

  “Thanks. It suits me. It’s always seemed like home to me, even when I was a kid.” He passed one of the glasses to Des.

  “It’s a lot of work,” she thought aloud as she looked at the fields beyond his barn and the orchard that lay to the left of his house.

  “Keeps me busy.” The steak was on a large round platter, and he lifted it with a long-handled fork to place it on the grill. “Makes me feel like I have a place on this planet.” He looked up to the sky, where the very first stars were barely visible. “Everyone needs to have a purpose. Bringing back this farm, growing things, that’s mine.”

  Des thought for a moment what her purpose might be. Until now, she’d contributed little more than rescuing lost dogs, and she said so.

  “That’s your way of making things better.”
He turned and smiled.

  “Some people say they’re only dogs.”

  “Some people are stupid,” he said. “We’re all creatures of the universe, Des. We’re all in this together.”

  She smiled at his back, knowing he understood her in a way every other guy she’d ever known had missed.

  “You can put those flowers in a vase—there’s one on the sideboard in the dining room—and put it on the table here. Then you can work on that wine while you wash off those beans. There’s a pot on the stove if you wouldn’t mind tossing them in.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  Seth’s giving her a task had pleased her. Yes, she was his guest, but by including her in the dinner prep, she felt he’d offered her a place there, and the thought warmed her. She liked feeling part of his world.

  True to his word, the steak Seth served was the best she’d ever had. They ate out on the patio at the small round table under a maple tree and drank a second glass of wine. They finished up with the baklava, which was every bit as delicious as Seth had promised.

  The sun had all but set, and Seth brought out two fat candles to the table and lit them with a long wooden match. A breeze picked up, making the flames sway slightly, and in their light, his tan skin seemed to almost glow. She liked looking at him, and she knew it was more than the wine.

  “I bet it’s really pretty across the fields when the fireflies come out.”

  “Come back in a few weeks and see for yourself. It hasn’t been quite warm enough for them yet.”

  “I guess you never miss living in town.”

  “I like having space. I like being able to shoot tin cans off my back fence if I feel like it without worrying about disturbing anyone or, God forbid, hitting anyone. I like being able to get up early and walk into the morning with a cup of coffee and my dogs to greet the day.” He set his glass on the table. “I think everyone needs to know where they belong, then find that place and go there.” His gaze pierced her and he asked, “Where do you belong, Des?”

  “I’m not sure. I used to know. At least, I thought I knew.”

  “What changed your mind?” He leaned back in his seat, one arm over the back of his chair.

  “Coming here. Finding family I didn’t know I had. Cara, Barney. They mean the world to me. I don’t want to ever not have them in my life.”

  “And Allie?”

  “That’s a little more complicated.” She toyed with the stem of her glass. “Growing up, we had such a mixed-up life. I told you about my parents, and how my sister resented that I had this TV show and she didn’t. The thing is, she always wanted to be the center of attention, and she couldn’t understand why I didn’t.”

  “I guess you got used to it after a while, though.”

  Des shook her head. “I didn’t. You never knew who was your friend, and who was trying to use you for something. I had this one friend, she was one of my character’s classmates on the show. I liked her a lot. We started eating lunch together every day on the set, and it was nice. I finally had a friend. I thought.”

  Seth raised a questioning eyebrow. “You thought?”

  “Turned out her father had her recording our conversations. I never did find out why, but how creepy is that? Who cares what two thirteen-year-olds talk about?”

  “Was he looking for gossip or something?”

  “I don’t know.” Thinking about her old friend led to thinking about Brandon, and thinking about Brandon made her think about the fight with Allie.

  “I hurt my sister,” she told Seth. “I said some terrible things to Allie today. She was trying so hard, and I laid something very heavy on her conscience.”

  She could feel Seth’s eyes on her, then felt his hand reach out for hers. He tugged on her hand, bringing her close, then he reached over and led her from her chair to his lap.

  “Talk to me, Des.” She rested her head against his shoulder, and he listened without interruption.

  She told him everything, starting with Brandon and how Allie had sworn she hadn’t known.

  “Wait. Stop right there. Are you telling me this guy actually tried to rape you?”

  She nodded.

  “And you were how old?”

  “I was twelve.” She sat back and watched his face tighten from understanding friend to a man with fire in his eyes.

  “He tried to rape a twelve-year-old.” He repeated the words flatly. “Where is this guy now?”

  “Last I saw, he was on a sitcom. That was about two years ago.”

  “He’s a predator. He ought to be in jail, Des.”

  “If you’re suggesting I blow the whistle on him now—not gonna happen,” she said, shaking her head. “It was hard enough to admit to my sister what had happened, harder still to repeat the story for a second time in the same day, telling you. There’s no way I could tell a stranger about what he did to me. When you talk about it, it’s real again.”

  “Des, it’s always going to be real, whether you talk about it or not.”

  She shook her head again. “No.”

  “What if he’s still doing it?”

  She held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t try to guilt me into doing something I know I’m not capable of doing right now. Maybe someday, but not today.”

  He nodded slowly. “All right. I get it. ‘Maybe someday’ is better than never.”

  “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Because it matters to you. Because it was a terrible thing to happen to an innocent twelve-year-old, and because you’ve carried that burden alone for a very long time. Sometimes just letting someone else share it helps. Sometimes it takes more than that. Sometimes it seems you can’t be free of it until you confront the person who hurt you. But it’s up to you—always. No one can tell you how you should feel or what’s best for you. You’re a very smart woman. You’ll do what’s right, and what’s right for you, I’m certain of it.”

  “You really are my best friend, Seth.”

  “I always will be.” He pulled her close again. “But none of this explains how you think you hurt Allie. What’s that all about?”

  She told him about the plan Allie had come up with to repair the painting on the theater ceiling and how she’d crushed Allie’s ego by all but mocking her.

  “I told her she was delusional if she thought she was good enough. I told her she wasn’t a real artist, and I had no right to say that.”

  “Does she have any artistic ability?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know. And because I don’t know, I should have kept my mouth shut. Worse, I shouldn’t have made her feel so incompetent and foolish for thinking that her idea was a good one.” She turned to face him full-on. “Especially since now that I think about it, it doesn’t sound so stupid.”

  “Did you tell Allie that?”

  “Not yet. I was so upset I had to get out of the house. That’s when I sent you the text. I just wanted to run away.” She paused. “Actually, I wanted to ride into the sunset on the back of your bike, the wind in my hair.”

  “Sorry, no helmetless riders allowed. But I am glad you thought of me.”

  “You were the only person I thought of.”

  “So did the ride through the countryside and the steak make you feel better?”

  Des nodded. “The ride was great, but the steak was amazing. And I do feel better.”

  “See? That’s why it’s always good to talk things over with a friend.”

  “We are good friends, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  “I don’t think that’s enough anymore. For a while, I thought that was all I wanted, but now . . .” She took his face in her hands and kissed him unexpectedly. She waited for him to kiss her back, but when he didn’t, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her.

  “Why didn’t you kiss me back?” she asked.

  “I’m still in shock. That was the last thing I expected you to do. All that BFF talk, I figured you really did just see me as a friend. Which really wasn’t
my first choice when it comes to you, but it seemed to be yours, and I’ve been trying to respect that.”

  “That might have been really dumb on my part.”

  “Want to try it again?”

  In the light from the candle, she could see his mouth form a teasing half smile.

  She kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back, slowly at first, as if savoring his first taste of her. His arms tightened around her, and his lips claimed hers as if they’d been his all along. He tasted like honey and red wine and smelled like fresh air and early summer, and when his tongue slipped into her mouth, she sighed. Suddenly everything seemed so clear to her, so right.

  A moment later, she pulled back and said, “Did you feel that?”

  “Ahhh—I’m not sure if you’re asking me if we felt the same thing.”

  She laughed into his neck. “That zingy feeling. Didn’t you feel it?”

  “Girl, I get a zing every time I look at you. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the night I first saw you in the Bullfrog.” He tucked one of her errant curls behind her ear. “Though a simple thank-you for dinner would have been sufficient.”

  “The steak was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Forget I said anything. This was way better than thank you.”

  She shifted in his arms. “I remember that night at the Bullfrog. It was the first night we’d all gone out together. Barney drove us in Lucille and she parked illegally—as she so loves to do—so no one could scratch the car. Allie and Ben had the first of their many scuffles and I remember watching Cara dancing with Joe and thinking how perfect they looked together.”

  “You got that right. They do belong together. I hope Cara stays. I think it would really mess him up if she left.”

  “We never talk too much about leaving or staying when the theater’s done. Not really. I think we’re both torn.” She thought for a moment. “Not Allie. She’d leave tomorrow. But Cara . . .”

  “You said both. Both torn.” He turned her chin gently toward him. “Are you?”