by Jo Michaels
“That was amazing!” she said as she pulled her hand back.
“Feeling a little better?” Tristan asked.
All the nervous energy she’d stored up had gone, and she nodded at him, smiling.
“Best thing for the inside of a human is the outside of a horse.” He took her hand and started toward the house.
“That’s a beautiful saying.”
“I didn’t come up with it. Some famous person did. Can’t recall who it was.”
When her foot contacted the wood of the porch, the front door opened. Filling the frame was a slip of a woman, with bare feet and a messy bun of blonde hair, standing in front of the biggest man Simone had ever seen. He was wearing a cowboy hat, a button-down shirt, and boots, but he had a million-megawatt smile that showed too many teeth.
“Simone. It’s so lovely to meet you, darling.” Tristan’s mom rushed forward and enveloped Simone in a hug. “I’m Annabella.” Pulling back, the lady gestured to the man behind her. “And this is my husband, William—but you can call him Willy or Will.”
Will stepped out and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you, young lady. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Shooting Tristan a quick, sideways glance, Simone returned the gesture and put on her best smile. “Nice to meet you both. I hope it’s only been good things he says about me.” She laughed, adjusting her backpack with her free hand.
Will pulled her inside before letting go. “It has been so far. You can put your bag on the rack by the door. Let’s head on into the dining room. Annabella’s been cooking up a storm today, and my stomach’s been eager for the company to arrive.”
Rich, warm aromas assaulted her nose, and she closed her eyes as she inhaled. “Wow. It smells amazing!” When she looked again, both Tristan’s parents were smiling and gesturing. She turned and took his hand. “I’m ready. Let’s get to it.”
Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, sweet potato casserole, green beans, and an apple pie graced a table set with dishes that looked old but well kept. Simone lifted her white plate and peered more closely at the grape leaf design around the edges. “These are gorgeous, and I love your table arrangement.”
“Those were given to me by my mother. She said they were called milk glass. They’re from the sixties,” Annabella said.
“They’re stunning.” Carefully, Simone put the plate back and allowed Tristan to pull out her chair.
Once everyone was seated, they held hands, said grace, and started passing dishes of food.
Conversation flowed around the room as smoothly as the food went down her throat. Before she knew it, she’d come to the end of her slice of pie. Time had passed too quickly, and she wasn’t quite ready to leave when Tristan rose from his seat. Hugs were exchanged with his parents, and Simone thanked them for the amazing dinner before promising to visit again soon. She floated to the truck on cloud nine, got in, thanked Tristan for holding the door, and reflected on the evening.
Once he’d closed the driver’s door, he smiled at her. “What do you think?”
“Oh my gosh! They’re fantastic! I don’t know why we didn’t do this eons ago. I could hang out here every day. Your mom is an amazing cook, and your dad is so funny. How long have they been married?”
“Long time.” His eyes lit up. “I’m so happy you like them. It means a lot to me.”
“Didn’t all your girlfriends like them? I mean, how could they not?”
Turning back to face the windshield, he put a hand on the key and started the truck. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever brought home.”
That response stunned her into silence, and she deflated into the seat, wondering if it was a good thing or a bad one. Why would he have taken me to meet them and not anyone else? Were the others that bad? What kind of girls has he dated? Why does he want me? Does he want me? He said he does… On and on the questions and musings went, and by the time he turned down her road, her thumbnail was a nub.
He pulled up to the apartment complex and shut off the engine, but he didn’t get out; he just sat there with both hands on the wheel, looking a little bit broken.
It caused her worry to spike.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“I’m not sure.”
Trying to stay calm on the outside, even though her brain was screaming at her in a panic, she put a hand on his knee. “Wanna talk about it?”
Suddenly, he turned toward her and put his hands on either side of her face, locking her in a hard stare.
She shook, not knowing if he was going to kiss her or yell at her. If the former, she was sure she’d pass out, but if the latter, she was positive she’d cry. So, she waited, her breathing stopping completely.
“I’m in love with you. This all became a much bigger deal. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Unable to respond right away, she only blinked. Everything in her mind was jumbled, and all she could do was stare back into his beautiful face and wonder if she felt the same way. She knew she felt something, but she still wasn’t sure if it was love. However, she was pretty sure she had an idea what he was talking about, so she moved her head up and down in tiny nods that were more like a vibration than an agreement.
“This is unlike anything I’ve felt before. I mean, I’m scared as shit, Simone.”
“What are you afraid of?” she managed to whisper.
“That you’ll hurt me—beyond repair—worse than any of the others have ever done. Because, what I feel for you consumes me completely. When you’re not nearby, I wish you were, and when you are, I want to be as close to you as one human can be to another.”
It was obvious what he was saying, and the blood rushed into her head. There was no way she was ready for that. Before she could say anything, he pressed on.
“I know you’re not ready; we’re not there yet. But I feel like I have to tell you that I’ll wait until you are, until the moment is right, and I promise you, I’ll love you until my dying breath. No matter where life takes us.”
If there were ever a time for a kiss, it was that moment, she was sure, but he pulled her into an embrace that caused her to gasp from the ferocity and passion behind it. Everything in her stomach twisted and warmed, and she wrapped her arms around him, grateful he didn’t demand a response. She was positive she’d find a way to screw everything up if he had.
Finally, he released her and got out, coming around to her side to open the door.
He loves me. The thought brought a smile to her face, and she reached down for her bag, but her hands grasped at empty air.
Tristan opened the door, but Simone couldn’t move. Terror had its claws in her throat, and it was being ripped out. Her memories of the evening panned backward on rewind, and she realized where she’d left the bag.
“Oh my God! Tristan! We have to go back to your house!” she screamed.
“Huh? Why? Are you okay?” He moved forward with his hands out and his brows pinched together.
“Now. We have to go back right now!”
“Simone? What’s going on?”
“For the love of fucking everything that’s holy, get in the fucking truck and fucking drive! Please!” Her hands were in her hair, and she was trembling from head to toe. He had to move, go, drive. Everything was in that bag. If she lost it… “Please!”
“Fine!” he screamed back.
After slamming her door, he got into the driver’s seat, started the truck, and gunned the engine, making the tires scream against the pavement.
His anger flooded the cab to the point she was nearly choking on it.
When they arrived at the house, she moved as though she was going to get out, but he snapped at her. “Stay here. I’ll go get your shit.”
Anxious, she stared at his form through the windshield as he walked up the driveway to the door, went in, and stepped back out in another moment, the bag swinging from his hand. Her heart rate slowed with each step he took toward the vehicle.
He opened the door, flun
g the bag at her, and jerked the truck into reverse. “There’s your stupid bag. Happy now?” His tone hadn’t improved.
With shaking hands, she unsnapped the clasp and slid her hand into the depths of the sack. A sigh burst out, and her eyes slid closed as her fingers curled around the spine of the book. She nodded.
They didn’t say anything else, and when Tristan pulled up at the complex, he didn’t make a move to get out or put the truck in park. He sat there, glaring through the windshield, hands in fists around the steering wheel.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do, but then she nodded, opened the door, whispered goodnight, and got out. Before the door was even closed all the way, he was rocketing out of the parking lot.
Her legs were rubber, and she collapsed on the pavement, both arms around her little backpack, allowing her heart to break.
After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity and shame at her actions, she managed to pull herself together, get to her feet, and make her way inside. As luck would have it, her mother was sitting on the couch reading; she looked up when Simone entered.
“Hi, honey! Did you ha—” With one leap, Yvette launched herself over the back of the couch and sped to her daughter’s side, pulling her into an embrace. “Are you okay?”
All she could do was hold on and cry.
“Shhhh. It’ll be okay.”
Those words made her sob harder. There was no way it would be okay. Things with Tristan had gone to hell in five seconds, and she doubted he’d stick around to be spoken to like that again. Grief for what was surely a lost relationship flooded her.
They stood there a long time, neither saying a word.
Finally, Simone managed to pull back and stand on her own two feet. It was nice to have a shoulder to lean on, but she felt like a baby for crying over something she caused.
“Wanna talk about it?” Yvette asked.
“I do. I think I need some advice.”
She nodded and led the way to the couch. Once she was seated, she crooked one leg under her, folded her hands in her lap, and nodded. “Now, tell me everything.”
Simone launched into the story of the evening, and when she got to the part right before she screamed at Tristan, she paused to catch her breath, unsure whether to reveal what he’d said about loving her.
“And then?” Yvette prompted.
Play by play, word by word, Simone regurgitated the next few scenes. When she was done, she put her face in her hands.
Nothing was said for a long while, and when she dared to look up, she found her mother staring at the bag, her face red.
“Mom?”
“What I’m about to say won’t be easy to hear, but I need you to listen to every word and really digest it, okay?” Yvette asked.
“Okay.”
“First of all, from what I know of Tristan, and from what you’ve told me about his past, he’s probably thinking you’re scared he’s going to look through your bag and find something that has to do with another man.”
“What?” Simone screeched.
Yvette leaned forward and took her daughter’s hand. “Honey, every girlfriend he’s ever had has cheated on him. I’d be willing to bet he thought you were worried about leaving your cell phone behind.”
Her mouth went dry and then filled with bile as her stomach seized up. Not in a million years would that idea ever have occurred to her; cheating wasn’t in her vocabulary. But what her mother said made perfect sense, and the pieces clicked into place.
“I can see you’re getting it,” Yvette said.
“Oh, Mom! Oh, my God. What have I done?”
“But you know what the bigger problem here is?”
Simone shook her head but then stopped, reconsidered, and nodded. She whispered, “The book.”
“Absolutely. You let an item, something that’s worth no more than the paper it’s printed on, come between you and the man you love. That’s unacceptable. Simone, you need to get rid of that thing. If you won’t, I will, and I won’t tell you when I do it.”
Her emotions whipped around her like a maelstrom. Fear of losing the two most important things in her life was at a zenith. There was no way she could let either of them go. One guaranteed she’d never lose another person she loved. The other held her whole heart and then some. She knew she needed to lie and buy herself some time. After a deep breath, she nodded.
“You’ll get rid of it?”
“Yes. But I need to do it in my own time.”
“I’m setting a limit, Simone.” Her mother’s tone bordered on the scary one she used when she was super pissed.
“Limit?”
“Time wise. You have three weeks.”
Simone knew there would be no leeway, so she agreed.
“Now, go call Tristan and ask him to allow you to explain. You need to do it in person, and you need to tell him the whole truth. Show him the book. Tell him your insane story. You may be crazy, but your brand of crazy is what he’s signed up for. He’ll know that.” After a moment, Yvette leaned forward and caught Simone’s eye. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let him decide when, but be open to now or tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good girl.”
They hugged, and she trudged to her room, grabbed her cell out of the backpack, and tossed the bag on the bed before flipping the phone open and hitting the buttons to create a new text.
CAN YOU CALL ME?
It was forever before a response came: SERIOUSLY?
PLEASE, I NEED TO TALK WITH YOU.
She jumped when the phone rang a second later. Hands shaking, she put it to her ear and spoke fast, not even bothering with a greeting. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need a chance to at least explain myself. I feel terrible. I’m willing to show you what was in that bag if you’ll let me. I’ll leave it up to you. You can come tonight or anytime tomorrow, but we need to do this in person for you to understand.”
“I’m not sure I want to understand. You screamed at me. Actually screamed. Is that any way to talk to someone you care about?”
“No. It’s absolutely not. I was so wrong. It’s not a good reason, nothing would be, but I feel like I need to show you what it was all about. Not so you forgive me, but so you’re clear about what’s going on.” Tears threatened to soak her face again, and her voice shook. “Please?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Simone. I’m still pissed.” He took a deep breath—she could hear the air being pulled into his lungs—and sighed. “I’ll text you. Bye.”
There was a click, and the line went dead before she could respond. For a long time, she sat on her bed and stared at the black screen, her heart a five-ton brick in her chest.
Something tapped at her window, and her head shot up. She scrambled over the bed and yanked back the curtain.
Tristan was there, his eyebrows pulled together, and he mouthed, “Let me in.”
Her phone bounced twice on the bed she threw it down so hard, and she raced for the front door. When he stepped over the threshold, she wanted so badly to throw her arms around him and feel his return embrace, but she stood fast, rooted to the floor.
He held his arms out to the sides and shrugged. “Well? What did you drag me out in the middle of the night to tell me?”
“Actually, if you could come to my room, I need to show you.”
“Fine.” Hands shoved deeply into his pockets, he followed.
When she led him into her room, she locked the door and asked him to sit on the floor. He complied, one eyebrow way up into the middle of his forehead. Carefully, she grabbed her phone and the bag and sat across from him.
“Here.” She extended the bag to him.
A sneer on his face, he took the tiny backpack and dropped it on the floor where they could both see it.
“Look inside.”
He shook his head
and huffed, then reached out, undid the clasp, and upended the bag so the contents spilled out. “What am I looking for?”
“The book”—she pointed to the leather-bound tome—“right there. Pick it up, please.”
With another huge sigh, he did. “Okay?”
“That’s the reason I got so upset.”
Those words seemed to have his attention, and he cocked his head to one side. “This?”
She nodded and waved the phone she’d retrieved from the bed in the air. “Yeah. Not this.”
Gently, he laid the book in his lap and lifted the cover with one finger. His confusion seemed to grow as he leafed through the pages. “Why?” he finally asked. “It’s blank.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Look, are you fucking with me, or what?” It was clear he didn’t believe her because his face turned bright red.
“No. And if you have time, I’ll tell you the story behind that book. Maybe then you’ll understand; maybe you won’t be able to wrap your head around it at all. Either way, we’ll know.”
“I have all the time in the world right now.” Pushing the book back into the pile of stuff, he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the side of the bed. “I’m listening, and this had better be really good.”
Before starting, Simone handed over her cell phone. “Feel free to look through that. I’m also happy to show you the phone records. There are only three numbers called or texted: yours, Lilian’s, and my mother’s. So, if you think any of this is about someone else, let that ease your mind.”
That seemed to get his attention, and he sat forward, opened the phone, and spent a few minutes looking through things. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded, closed it, and threw it on the pile before looking into her eyes and giving her a lopsided grin. “Okay. Now tell me what the crazy chick I saw in the parking lot earlier was about.”
“This book”—she picked it up off the pile and cradled it—“cured my mother’s cancer.”
When he chuffed, she held up a hand and closed her eyes.
