by Julie Cannon
*
Callie pulled into a crowded parking lot not far from Dillon’s house. She had remained in control while in front of Dillon, but as soon as she parked and turned off the ignition, her hands began to shake and her stomach lunged into her throat. She fought back the urge to vomit and took several deep breaths. That didn’t work so she simply sat cocooned in her car until the sensations passed.
When she finally looked up, it was dark. The lights were on in the parking lot, throwing harsh shadows all around her. She turned the key just enough for the clock to illuminate, telling her she had sat there for over an hour. This time she was calm as she thought about what she had just done, probably the calmest she had been since this charade was exposed. She controlled her life again. She was in charge and planned to stay that way.
Over the past few days she had done some research and discovered that the sale of Bill’s land to Dillon was still in escrow, which meant that either party could pull out at any time and for any reason. The person who withdrew would incur a stiff penalty, but Dillon had a lot more to lose than Bill. Callie could do this, she would do this. She had to do this.
Last week when she’d gone to Lompak, Michael’s appearance shocked her. He entered the visitation room with a large bandage across his forehead and ambled listlessly across the small room to the phone station. He looked twice at the hard stool and, after a moment of obviously weighing the alternatives, he gingerly sat down. His bottom lip was spilt and sewed together with black stitches, and his nose appeared to be broken, which would account for his two black eyes.
He refused to talk about what happened to him and even told Callie that if she mentioned it, he would leave and their visit would be over. She imagined what her brother must have had to endure to be as battered as he was. The way he had studied the stool, as if deciding if he could sit on it or not, had given her nightmares every night since.
On the long return drive from Lompak, Callie had made the decision that would affect the rest of her life. She had adamantly refused to consider Audrey’s suggestion, but after seeing Michael she knew she didn’t have another choice. She wrestled with her decision for days, and when Dillon opened the door, she almost changed her mind. Dillon still affected her in a way she didn’t want her to. Her own body betrayed her. Intellectually she knew she should only feel anger and hatred toward Dillon, but her body craved Dillon’s touch.
That craving continued and was even stronger when she saw Dillon again. Callie closed her eyes. The image of Dillon standing on the porch danced across her eyelids. Dillon’s eyes were cautious, her expression weary, but she still had that same smoldering sensuality that drew Callie closer. Dillon didn’t try to defend her unspeakable actions or excuse her behavior. She didn’t beg or plead or get angry. She didn’t attempt to say anything. She simply let Callie talk.
Callie had watched Dillon objectively as she contemplated her proposal. Dillon gazed at her as if she could see right through her and clearly weighed her options carefully before she answered. In one sense Dillon’s decision didn’t surprise her. If Dillon was the type of person who could go through with her plan secretly, she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to continue now that it was out in the open. Callie had read her perfectly.
*
The house smelled of pine oil and flowers when Callie opened the front door. It was Wednesday and she wasn’t sure if Dillon would be here when she arrived. She didn’t ring the bell. It was her house too, and she refused to be treated as if she were a guest. She planned to hold up her end of the bargain, and with it came all the privileges of being Mrs. Dillon Matthews.
Audrey had been surprised when Callie told her that she planned to return to the house. Even though she had originated the idea, she tried to talk her out of it. But Callie was firm, and eventually Audrey accepted her decision.
This time when she took her things into Dillon’s house she put them in the guest bedroom at the top of the stairs. Dillon’s bedroom, previously their bedroom, was at the end of the hall. The door was open and Callie had no interest in returning to the scene of that crime.
She put her clothes away and her toiletries in the adjoining bathroom. This room, like the others, had a king-size bed flanked by two nightstands, a headboard, dresser, and bureau. The cherrywood had recently been polished and gleamed in the midmorning sun. The architectural touches in this room were as unique as Dillon. The ceiling was vaulted, giving the impression that it was actually larger than it really was. The casings around the doors and windows were four inches wide and tied in with the crown molding high on the tan walls.
Several throw rugs covering the wood floor added a homey atmosphere, but she felt anything but at home. At one time she had embraced the massive residence as a sacred space, walking from room to room imagining what her life would be like living in such grandeur. Now she felt as bought and staged as the furnishings in the professionally decorated room.
A noise from Dillon’s room drew her out into the hall just as Dillon herself emerged from it. Wearing a pair of khaki shorts, a blue polo shirt, and deck shoes, she stopped in the middle of the hall, as if she didn’t expect to see Callie standing there.
“Callie.”
She was momentarily unsettled because she hadn’t had the opportunity to prepare herself for the onslaught of Dillon’s raw sexuality. Her heart pounded and her mouth was suddenly dry. She squared her shoulders and recovered quickly.
“I told you I’d be back today.”
Dillon seemed to recover from her surprise a little more slowly than Callie and tentatively stepped forward. “Yes, you did. I wasn’t sure when, but I wanted to be here when you came home.”
It unsettled Callie to hear Dillon say the word. It had been her home. She had tended to it, cared for it, and made love in every room of it. Dillon had made it a home, Callie’s home. But now she preferred to think of it as only where she lived. She needed to maintain her distance from Dillon and all they shared at one time, and the best way was to depersonalize everything.
“You didn’t need to be here.”
Dillon walked toward her. “I wanted to.” She had rescheduled her appointments, freeing the entire day to be with Callie. “I’ll help you get the rest of your things,” she said, and began to move toward the stairs.
“I don’t need your help,” Callie replied harshly. “I’m settled in and have to go to work. I’ll be back around six thirty.” Callie headed down the stairs.
“Callie, we have to talk,” Dillon pleaded from the top of the stairs.
Callie turned and looked at her, impatience written all over her face.
“About us, this.” Dillon put her palms up, indicating their surroundings.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to do and not do. Callie had made it perfectly clear that they would not be sleeping together, but what about everything else? How was she supposed to act when they were in public together? Was she allowed to hold her hand as people would expect? Would they pretend they were still madly in love? Would they live under the same roof but maintain separate lives? Would they eat dinner together or was it every woman for herself? What level of roommates would they be?
“We do need to set some ground rules, Dillon. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
With that, Callie strode across the foyer and out the door, for the second time in as many days leaving Dillon staring at her receding back. Dillon stayed where she was until she heard Callie’s car start and drive away. She sat down on the top step and put her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? She wanted to be here to welcome Callie home, and she was dumb enough to think that her presence mattered. Callie didn’t want to be in her home, let alone welcomed as if nothing had happened.
Dillon toyed with the idea of still taking the day off. Maybe she’d go to the marina, perhaps play a round of golf or sit out by the pool and read one of the books she’d ordered last week. Seeing Callie again in her house was nerve-racking enough, and she wouldn’t be able to conce
ntrate on anything that demanded her full attention.
She stood, fully intending to retrace her steps to her bedroom, but stopped just outside the door to Callie’s room. It was closed, and Dillon would be invading her privacy if she went inside. As much as she wanted to see that Callie had actually moved back in, that her brush was on the counter, her shoes lined up neatly on the closet floor, Dillon couldn’t do it. She had screwed up enough and didn’t want to risk doing anything to add ammunition to Callie’s hatred of her. Frowning, she continued down the hall.
*
Audrey met Callie for lunch at the park not far from the flower shop, and they had barely sat down at a table before Audrey peppered her with questions.
Callie held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, give me a minute and I’ll tell you.” She had refused Audrey’s offer to go with her when she took her things back to Dillon’s, preferring to face her demons alone. She would have to sooner or later, so she opted for sooner.
She popped open her Cherry Coke can and took a big swig, preparing for Audrey’s twenty questions. Even if there was nothing to say, Audrey would still have twenty questions.
“I took my stuff over this morning.”
“Was she there?”
“Yes. She took the day off to be there. I don’t know why. It’s not as if I was moving in for the sheer pleasure of living with her. For God’s sake, did she actually think I wanted to see her?” Callie tore open her bag of Cheetos with such force, bright orange curlicues flew everywhere.
“What did she say? How did she look?”
Callie sighed. Three down, seventeen more to go. “She didn’t say much, I didn’t say much. She said we had to talk, and because I was late for work, I told her we would tonight. I jetted out the door before she could get another word in. That’s it.” Callie made light of the scene, but she imagined it was only round one.
“Did you put your things in the guest room?” Callie had told Audrey the terms of the arrangement and that sleeping with Dillon was definitely not one of them. “Did she say anything about that?”
“We didn’t talk about much, Audrey. She knows I’m not going to sleep with her. Where else would I put my clothes? I’m certainly not going to put them in her closet if I’m sleeping in the room down the hall.” Callie’s temper was understandably short today.
“Are you sure you can go through with this, Callie? I mean, you really loved her and she majorly shit on you. I’m worried about you.” The concern in Audrey’s voice was sincere.
“I know you care, Audrey, but I can do this. Remember how we were in the play Oklahoma in high school? This is just like that. I’ll pretend I’m someone else. As a matter of fact, I can probably do it with my eyes closed. After all, I’ve learned from the best, haven’t I? If Dillon can fake it, so can I.” Callie wished it were only going to be that easy.
*
Later that evening Dillon walked into the kitchen wearing the suit Callie had told her was her favorite, a gray Chanel pinstripe with a darker gray blouse. The suit set off the color of her eyes, making her look powerful and professional, yet the silk shell under the perfectly tailored jacket added a touch of femininity. Dillon was pulling off the jacket and stopped when she saw her.
“I thought you were off today.” Callie’s pulse raced at how sexy Dillon looked in her power clothes. She was disgusted with herself for reacting like that. Callie hadn’t even been sure Dillon would be coming home, and here she was already beginning to admire Dillon’s appearance.
“Obviously there was no reason for me to be here all day. Greg is on vacation, and the place goes to hell if at least one of us isn’t there.”
The smell of spaghetti sauce filled the air, and for the first time since Callie left, Dillon was actually hungry. She wondered if the fact that Callie was cooking dinner was a good sign. She hadn’t had a chance to think about that possibility when Callie told her dinner was almost ready and for her to change her clothes and come right back.
Dillon practically flew up the steps and raced down the hall, unbuttoning her pants and pulling her blouse over her head before she reached her room. She didn’t want to miss a minute that she could be with Callie. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a green tank top and glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a mess and her face was flushed from the exertion. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and took the steps down two at a time. Her feet landed hard at the base of the stairs and she slid into the dining room just as Callie was setting the bowl of spaghetti on the table with one hand, the pot of sauce in the other.
“Here, let me help you,” she offered, taking the pot from her and placing it on the warming cloth. “Is there anything else, anything you want me to do?” Dillon didn’t want Callie to think she had to wait on her as payment for Michael’s defense.
“No, that’s everything.” Callie sat across the table from Dillon instead of to her right, as she had before.
“It smells wonderful,” Dillon commented, piling spaghetti on her plate.
“Thanks. It’s quick and easy, and I didn’t get home much before you did. I got held up in traffic.”
So far, so good, Dillon thought. We’re having a normal conversation, that’s good. Safe topics—the meal, the traffic. That’s good too. Maybe next we’ll talk about the chance of rain tomorrow or how much snow Lake Tahoe got this year.
But actually they didn’t talk about anything. They ate in almost complete silence, with only the clinking of silverware on plates breaking the loudest sound in the world.
When dinner was finally over, Dillon gathered up the dishes. Callie had always teased her that the cook never does the dishes, and she had gotten into the habit of taking care of them each evening she was home for dinner. If Callie had gone to the trouble to make dinner, Dillon could at least clean up.
She dawdled in the kitchen as long as she reasonably could before she joined Callie on the back patio. She hadn’t been invited and wasn’t sure she would even be welcome, but she wanted to be with Callie. They had to establish some sort of routine or she wouldn’t able to cope.
“May I join you?”
“It’s your house.” Callie didn’t look at Dillon.
She let the caustic comment slide. She didn’t want to get into an argument on Callie’s first evening back.
“Dinner was delicious, thank you.” More benign chatter.
Dillon had never felt so verbally impotent as she had since Callie moved back in. They used to talk about everything and nothing, their silences comfortable and full. Now silence hung in the air like the proverbial elephant in the room, the tension so thick it was suffocating.
“You said you wanted to talk,” Callie said.
Dillon’s stomach jumped and she was suddenly nervous. She had never been in this position before with a woman. Someone else was calling the shots, determining what she would do next. Other than Bill’s holdout on the land purchase she couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t in complete control. She didn’t know what to do.
“Obviously we’re not your typical loving, married couple anymore—”
“We never were.”
Ouch. “Point taken. We need to lay some ground rules. About our behavior,” Dillon added carefully.
“Our behavior?” Callie couldn’t believe they were even talking about this. Callie’s anger snapped. “And what behavior is that, Dillon? When you lied to me? When you used me? Or the dozens of times you fucked me to get what you wanted?” She had no idea her rage was sitting this close to the surface. She had expected it to surface a day or two after she found out, not now.
Dillon leaned back as if she had been slapped, and though she recoiled, she weakly defended herself. “It wasn’t like that, Callie.”
“And just how was it, Dillon? Tell me, hmm? No, wait, I think I can fill in the pieces. You needed Bill’s land to prove something to your father and he wouldn’t sell it to you. You needed a relationship, something to show Bill there was more to you than business. Better
yet, a wife. You find me sitting alone in a bar nursing a beer and feeling sorry for myself, and you come in on your white horse and save me from myself. You sweep me off my feet, promising to love, honor, and cherish. Oh, and let’s not forget the little matter of paying for Michael’s defense lawyer. That was brilliant. You knew just how to get to me. You knew just how to get me to fall in—”
Callie caught herself just in time. She would not be humiliated again by declaring her love for Dillon. “You had it all figured out. You got both the land and the right to sleep with the girl. Quite a coup, Dillon, I’ll give you that.” Callie sat back in her chair.
“Do I get a chance to say anything?” Callie hadn’t taken a breath during her tirade, and even though Dillon hoped it was over, she doubted it was. Dillon took advantage of Callie’s silence. “You’re right. About everything. You even got it in the right order. But you missed a couple of things. First, I saw you at the bar and was attracted to you, and I will admit that my first thought was to take you home, but I didn’t. Give me some credit for a little self-respect. Second, I did not see you as a meal ticket to Bill’s land.”
Dillon stopped. She had just said what she knew Callie wanted to hear. In the past she had said plenty of things she didn’t mean to other women. She had also said things she didn’t want to close deals. She was the master negotiator, and if she wanted, she could choose to treat this relationship like any other deal. But this time she couldn’t. This was Callie and she was in love with her. Even if Callie could never love her, she had to make amends.
She took a deep breath. “At least not at first. I liked you. You were genuine, which was something I hadn’t seen in a woman in a long time. You seemed innocent, and other than Michael’s situation, you weren’t jaded by the world yet. And speaking of Michael, I don’t want to see anyone who has been wrongfully convicted in jail.” Dillon downed several swallows from her bottle of water. “I didn’t fuck you, Callie. I never thought that making love with you was payment in kind for anything, nor did I think it was my right to have you. Did it bring you closer to me? Yes, it did, but it also brought me closer to you. I know you’ll probably never believe this, Callie, but I wanted to make love to you because I desired you. Not because I expected you to perform some conjugal duty.”
