LaClaire Touch

by Dori Lavelle

I don’t respond. But something is shifting inside of me again. The piece that had slid into place to complete me, is sliding back out, leaving emptiness behind. Reality doesn’t give me a warning before crashing into me. Some of those things he said sound familiar. Other men said those words to me before, strange men. In a few words, he reminds me of how low I had gone to make money, how dirty I allowed myself to get. He thinks I’m still the innocent girl he used to know.

  Even though I don’t intend on prostituting myself ever again, Derrick has seen that part of me. There will be times he might make remarks that remind me of working at The Mirage. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute. The knowledge that Derrick has seen the dirtiest part of me makes me realize as much as I want this beautiful dream, I can’t have it.

  I watch him dispose of the condom, as I pick up my panties and get dressed. It hurts to know that everything is different again. For a moment there we had been swept up in a cloud of passion, but it’s only a matter of time before we break each other’s hearts.

  “What are you thinking?” He picks up his jeans. “You seem far away in your thoughts.”

  “That’s because I am.” I reach for my linen dress. “Derrick, it won’t work.” I lower myself back into the couch.

  He sits next to me. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” I close my eyes. “You and I can’t be. There are many painful reasons why this is all we’ll ever have. You’ll always remind me of the baby I lost . . . our baby.”

  He takes my hand and holds it tight. “Brooke, after what happened just now, you can’t tell me you want this to be over already.”

  “We were never together, not even for a moment. This was all a dream, a chance for both of us to hide for a while. But now it’s over. It was beautiful. I promise you, it was amazing, but I have to go back to the US.”

  “You said you’re staying—”

  “I want to. I really want to, but I can’t. I have obligations, I have pieces of my life to pick up and fix.”

  “You don’t have to struggle anymore. I can take care of you from now on. I’m here now.” He runs his thumb over the top of my hand.

  “No.” I give a small smile and withdraw my hand from his. “I won’t let you do more than pay off my debts. I won’t be a kept woman. I prefer to stand on my own two feet. I’m strong enough now to rebuild my own life. Seriously, don’t feel pity for me.”

  “It’s not pity I feel for you. What I feel is—” He shakes his head as though he changed his mind about what he was about to say. “I want to be there for you. You’ve suffered so much and I wasn’t there.”

  “You weren’t there because you didn’t know. Whatever happened between us in the past, I forgive you. Let’s stop here and start new chapters in our lives. I’ll start fresh and you can continue traveling the world. Continue doing the things you love.” I smile at him. “I’ve read the papers. I know how you love chasing amazing adventures. I won’t be the woman that stops you from living your life to the fullest.”

  “Why don’t we write those new chapters together? I don’t want to do those things any more. I now know that I was seeking danger to find a sense of life. And you’ve just shown me what life is all about. That’s what I want. This.”

  “This is what you think you want. Tomorrow, you might feel differently. You’re a free soul. I don’t want to chain you.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is it something I said that made you change your mind? You looked so happy.”

  “No, it’s not what you said,” I lie. “But Derrick, don’t forget how we met again, where we met. I was a prostitute. I sold my body to many different men. Would you ever be able to forget that?” The heat of shame fills my cheeks.

  “I don’t care what you did. You did what you had to do. I’ll never judge you for that. But I wish you would allow me to make up for the past.”

  “You already have, in more ways than I can ever imagine.” It’s not only about the money he’ll give me. Making love to him has repaired me in a way I cannot explain. It has made me realize how much I care for this man and that I have to move away before we both hurt each other. “Whether you like it or not, there will be times where you will think of me as a prostitute, and if not you, then someone else in your life. I don’t want you to live a life of shame on my behalf.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.” His nostrils flare. His words should give me the confidence I need to know he will protect me from the world but I’m still terrified.

  “You’ll be surprised at how people react to different things.” I slide my gaze from his. “Have you told anyone about me? Your brothers perhaps?”

  He doesn’t answer. My heart twitches with pain. That’s all I needed to know. “I’m sorry, but this is how it has to end.” I kiss him on the cheek. “We’re from two different worlds. We have to go our separate ways. But know this, this time, you’re leaving me changed in a good way.”

  23

  Derrick

  “Come on in,” I call out and the door to my bedroom opens.

  Grace LaClaire, Bryant’s wife, steps into the room. The flowing, white kaftan she’s wearing makes her look fresh and happy, as happy as she makes Bryant.

  My brother had also gone through a lot and Grace had entered his life in time to repair it. I’ve never envied what they had before, but since meeting Brooke and talking about Eric, every time I see them together, every time I watch them gaze into each other’s eyes, an ache unfurls inside my chest. For once, I want what they have. And not just with anybody.

  “What have you got there?” In her hand is a sheet of paper that looks as though the pieces have been sewn together, a patchwork.

  “This, my friend, is your letter. I’m done.” She closes the door behind her and gives me a bright smile.

  “That was fast. I didn’t even think you’ll be able to fix it.”

  She comes to sit on the bed and hands it to me. “The hardest part was keeping Bryant from seeing it.”

  “Thanks for not telling them.” Grace is the only person in the family I confided in about my story with Brooke, about the baby. The only story the others know is that of the prostitute I was obsessed with for a short while. They don’t know her real name.

  I will tell them eventually. They’re my family and they deserve to know that they would have been uncles to a little boy, if he hadn’t died. For now, I want to keep everything to myself, to digest it all, to heal. The last couple of days had been rough but caring for Lance helped distract me.

  Yesterday, we drove Lance to a rehab facility on the edge of town because as soon as he got home, he started drinking harder than ever before. He fought us tooth and nail, but in the end we made him see that he was playing a dangerous game with his life. He still insists he had not wanted to commit suicide, but the pills he had taken—which almost killed him—had been washed down with booze to create a deadly cocktail in his system. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive.

  Currently, he’s not speaking to any of us, but that’s fine, as long as he’s safe. He can be furious now, but he’ll come around.

  “Just so you know, I didn’t read it.” Grace tickles Liam’s foot. Giggles erupt out of her son, who’s lying next to me on the bed.

  Liam is a happy little man. The two of us have spent a lot of time together the past week. When I’m with him, I try to get hold of the feeling I would have had if I had been with Eric, how my son would have felt in my arms. Sometimes when Liam giggles, I pretend I’m listening to Eric. At times the sounds in my head are comforting, sometimes they hurt. But I can’t stop, can’t escape the pain of losing my son. Late at night or while running on the beach, I wish Brooke were here to talk to, the one person who truly understands the pain.

  I’d failed at convincing her to stay. Since we parted, we had talked on the phone twice. The last had been two days ago, when she thanked me again for paying off her debts and told me it would hurt less if we both let go. She wants to escape the pain and I wan
t to swim in it. As long as she’s not in my life, I’ll continue to drown in agony with no one to save me.

  Ignoring her wishes, I called her again last night and this morning. She didn’t pick up or call back. I’d been tempted several times to return to Boston, to show up at her door again unannounced, but I realize that forcing myself into her life won’t change anything. I’ll have to live with the guilt and the regret for the rest of my life, and with the memories of her.

  “I wouldn’t have minded if you read it,” I say to Grace. “You already know everything. I’m just curious to know who wrote it.” I glance down at the letter.

  “We should leave you alone. You’ve been such an awesome babysitter. But you need some time to process all this. He needs changing, anyway.” Grace lifts Liam off the bed and holds him to her body. He grabs hold of a golden strand of hair and brings it to his mouth, drooling on it. “I’m so sorry again about what happened to your son. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling.” She reaches down to touch my arm. “If you ever need to talk some more, I’m here. And I won’t say a word to anyone, unless you want me to.”

  “I appreciate that, Grace. I’ll tell them when I’m ready. I can’t do it now.”

  “I fully understand. By the way, Bryant said dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Will you join us?”

  “I’ll be down in a bit. I need a minute.”

  Grace leaves and I squeeze my eyes shut for a long time, holding onto the letter I supposedly sent Brooke, dreading to read it. Finally, I find the courage and step onto the terrace. Two minutes later, I’m back inside the room, feeling as though I’d been hit by a truck, experiencing Brooke’s pain. I may have been a bad boy, but those words could never have come from me. I still have a heart. I’d never have treated her so callously.

  Who the fuck wrote the damn letter? I don’t recognize the handwriting.

  Needing to talk to Brooke, I dial her number again. No answer. I leave a message.

  “It’s me again. I know you don’t want to hear from me anymore, but I wanted you to know again that I’m sorry. I read the letter. I swear to God those words didn’t come from me. I would never have treated you that way. I apologize for what you went through because of someone else’s cold-heartedness. I’ll find out who it was. I promise you that.

  “Please call back. There’s still so much we need to talk about. We can get past this and start fresh. You only need to say the word.”

  I hang up and stare at the letter, trying to look past the faded black ink, to decipher the handwriting. Perhaps it would have helped if it had been written in cursive rather than print. Pissed off that I’m getting nowhere, I throw it onto the bed, where it falls next to the phone.

  Anger raging through me, I drive my fist into the wall, gritting my teeth as pain explodes through my knuckles.

  Maybe I should tell my brothers sooner than later. They might be able to help me figure out who destroyed my life. What if Brooke hadn’t been sent the letter? What if the baby died because of the pain she had been carrying? If someone hadn’t been so determined to keep us apart, maybe Eric would be alive.

  The door is pushed open and I swivel around to find Bryant watching me, concern written all over his face. He closes the door. “You okay?” He crosses the distance between us and comes to stand an arm’s-length from me. “Something’s going on with you. Don’t deny it.”

  “Yes.” No point in hiding the truth. If Bryant noticed, I’m sure everyone else did as well.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’ll tell all of you at dinner.”

  Bryant folds his arms. “It must be huge. Does it have something to do with Lance? He’ll make it through this, you know. We have to hold on to that. Rehab is a step in the right direction.”

  His gaze moves to my bed. He picks up the letter with a frown. “What’s this?”

  I consider taking it from him, but I change my mind. Maybe I should go ahead and tell him before everyone else. “This is mom’s handwriting. Why is the letter addressed to someone named Brooke?”

  My stomach drops. “Mom? That’s Mom’s? Jesus!”

  “Yeah, her fancy handwriting, used only for official correspondence, since she hated typing.” He turns the letter over in his hand. “I’m surprised you don’t remember. Who the hell is Brooke? And why does this letter look like it survived a storm?”

  I’m unable to speak from the shock raging through my system. My own mother ruined my life? Why would she do something like that? The year I slept with Brooke, was also the year our parents died. In fact, they died about six months after. Mom carried a devastating secret to her grave. If she had lived longer, would she have told me?

  “Derrick, are you with me?” Bryant waves the letter in front of my face. “Who is Brooke?”

  “The woman I told you about a while ago . . . from The Mirage.”

  “The prostitute?” His brow crinkles with humor. “Why would mom write a letter to a prostitute?”

  “Do not call her that.” I jam my hands into my pockets and pace the room. “Mom went to great lengths to keep us apart.”

  “I don’t understand. Mom knew—”

  “The woman from The Mirage is Brooke Rayner.”

  “You’re not serious. You mean your old flame from school?”

  “Yeah.” Before talking to Brooke, I wouldn’t have admitted to her being an old flame, just some girl I once fucked. But I guess she’s an old flame. She’d left a little fire burning inside my chest, one that got revealed at the same time the truth came to light. The flame I had been hiding from the world and myself for years.

  “I’m sorry, man. It must have been awkward to see her at The Mirage.” He sits on the bed. “But I still don’t get why Mom wrote to her. What did they have to talk about?” Bryant drops into the chair at my desk and flattens the letter on the glass table. “Holy shit.” He looks up with wild eyes. “Derrick, you’re a father?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

  “You mean she lied and Mom knew about it? Was that why she wrote this?”

  “She didn’t fucking lie.” The words explode out of my mouth like sharp stones. “She was pregnant with my child.”

  Bryant dips his head to the side. “And where’s the child?”

  “He’s dead, okay? He is dead and I didn’t get a chance to be there for her because Mom decided to mess with my destiny.” I blink away the heat in my eyes but it refuses to be banished.

  “Bro, I’m so sorry.” Bryant comes to put an arm around my shoulders. “What Mom did was wrong. I can’t believe she did something like that. But you shouldn’t keep this to yourself. We’re your family. Don’t carry this burden alone. Come down and tell the others.”

  I nod and a few minutes later, we’re all sitting at the dining table, and my brothers are staring at me, stunned by my revelation.

  “Mom once said that she was worried some girl may show up at our doorstep claiming to be pregnant with your child.” Caleb reveals. “Maybe she really thought Brooke was lying. And she wanted to protect you.”

  “She should’ve let me deal with my own business.” I retort. “She should have insisted on conducting a paternity test to find out the truth. We don’t live in the Stone Age, for God’s sake. What she did destroyed not only one life but three.” I blow out a breath. “She didn’t give a damn.”

  My brothers nod, lost for words. Grace wipes her cheek with a napkin.

  “Now you all know. I’m out of here.” I toss my napkin onto my plate, on top of the untouched honey-glazed chicken Bryant had prepared, and rise from the table. “I’ll be back next week to see Lance.”

  “Where are you going?” Bryant asks, gazing up from feeding Liam his baby food.

  “Don’t go and do anything stupid,” Caleb says. “I’m sorry about what happened, but you will make it through. You’re a LaClaire, don’t forget that.”

  I shoot him a glance. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not in my shoes.”
My temples throb with rage. “If any of you needs me, I’ll be in Boston.”

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Let him go, Caleb,” Neal cuts him off. “Time alone helps sometimes.”

  Having lost a child himself, Neal is the only one in the position to understand my pain. “Call us when you’re ready,” he continues. “We’re here for you.”

  24

  Derrick

  The day of our parents’ funeral was the last time I stepped into our Beacon Hill family estate. I never thought I’d return before it’s sold. Four months ago, we all decided there’s no use in keeping the property when none of us want to live here, to be surrounded by all the memories of our childhood, to be reminded of Mom and Dad and the pain of their loss.

  My childhood home was once my haven. When I walked through the door into the sunlight-splashed rooms, I turned my back on the crap outside and found peace. Not anymore. Now, as I make my way through the hallways, past covered furniture, the air that fills my lungs is tainted by secrets and betrayal.

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs, clutch the banister with both hands, and dip my head forward. I lift my head, tighten my jaw and climb the stairs, disturbing dust, sending it swirling upward to my nostrils. Except for covering the furniture, we haven’t touched the house since the day of the funeral. Everything is where Mom and Dad left it.

  I ignore the black and white pictures on the walls of our big, happy family. My mother’s face is in most of them and I can’t handle seeing her right now.

  Our parents’ living area take up the entire second floor, made up of a room bigger than most people’s apartments, two bathrooms, a gym, and even a small movie theater. Although Mom and Dad were not the kind to rub their wealth into other people’s faces, they did enjoy it.

  I plant my hands on the heavy oak door leading into the bedroom, and push it open. More dust is released after years of being trapped. I wave away the dust particles and stride in, halting in the middle of the room. I wish I didn’t have to be here, but I feel this is where the secrets are kept. I need more answers than Brooke could give me.