by Celia Aaron
“And before that?”
“Jack’s from Birmingham.” Maria interjected before taking a long pull from her wine glass.
“Oh? What high school?”
“Cranham.”
Mother made a hmm noise, disapproval in the note. Cranham was one of the worst-performing schools in the city, not to mention the nation. “And when did you graduate?”
Jack put his knife and fork down, preparing for the worst. “I didn’t.”
Mother raised her eyebrows before sipping her wine. “And why didn’t you?”
I held my breath. Jack looked at ease, ready to tell the truth. I envied him at that moment. The truth meant something to him. It was immutable, the one thing all others were measured by. I, on the other hand, dealt in lies far more freely than the truth.
He looked at Adele, worry only then creasing his smooth brow. Of all the people in the room, he worried most about what my daughter thought of him. Something clicked inside me, and a warm cavalcade of emotions welled up. Desire, protectiveness, something stronger—they all swirled into a cocktail that made me almost giddy. I clutched my napkin under the table.
Jack took a deep breath and dove in. “When I was fif—”
“Georgie, did you ever go to Spain, like we talked about?” Maria cut through Jack’s truth and my mother’s inquisition. I could have kissed her. Wait, Georgie?
Mother faltered, her words lost as she turned to Maria. They exchanged a long look.
Mother folded her napkin and placed it beside her on the table. “I’m afraid I’m feeling somewhat poorly. I think I’ll retire for the evening.”
She rose, but before she could leave, Maria said, “It doesn’t have to be like this. Not anymore.”
Mother looked around the table, her gaze lingering on Adele and me, before continuing out the door. “I’m afraid it does.”
Adele glanced at me to interpret the situation for her, but I was just as in the dark as she was. I turned, instead, to Maria. She sighed and gazed up at the ceiling.
“Okay, am I the only one who’s confused right now?” Adele asked.
I pinched her leg under the table, and she gave me the dirtiest look she could muster.
“You know how Mother can be,” I said. “Let’s just finish dinner.”
Maria pushed back from the table and laid her napkin next to her plate. “I’m sorry. I don’t much feel like eating. Would you mind if I wandered around a bit?”
“Um, sure.”
“Thank you. Don’t worry about Georgie. Please enjoy your dinner.”
She didn’t seem particularly wandersome when she strode purposefully through the door after my mother.
The moment the door clicked shut, Adele and I spoke at the same time.
“What’s going on?”
“Jack, what was that?”
He held his hands up. “I have no idea, ladies. Ms. Temple has never talked to me about your mother. I’m just as surprised as you are.”
“Rosa?” Adele asked. Smart girl. I never thought to ask Rosa, even though she knew everything there was to know about the Rochesters and then some. I was glad she always kept my secrets. But would she keep Mother’s?
The housekeeper dispensed with pretense and pulled up a chair next to Adele.
She gestured at Adele’s plate. “Just because I’m talking doesn’t mean you don’t have to eat.”
Jack, Adele, and I obeyed, though it was no burden to eat the delicious meal.
Rosa smiled at Jack. “I didn’t mean you. But you do need to eat. A large man like you? I bet you would eat everything I cooked and ask for seconds. Muy bueno.” Her Spanish accent thickened even more when talking about food and handsome men.
He took a large bite of vegetables, the non-verbal equivalent of “Fuck yeah, I would.”
“Que hombre!” Rosa fell silent, either getting her thoughts together or pausing for dramatic effect.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Adele said around a mouthful of food.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling it now.” She took a deep breath, setting her scene. “I know Miss Maria. I recognized her from before, when your mother was young. She used to come to the house to visit a lot when they were teenagers. Sleepovers all the time. They were inseparable, always going on trips together, talking, reading, laughing. Everything, together.”
Jack and I exchanged a look.
“So, what happened?” Adele asked.
Rosa ran her age-spotted hand down the back of Adele’s head, stroking her hair. “Your grandmother met your grandfather.”
“So?”
“So, your great-grandparents made it very clear that the Rochester family needed an, how you say, advantageous marriage. So, the Fairfaxes would join the family, keep the Rochester name, and everything would be fixed. Very advantageous.”
Adele stopped chewing. “So like, for money, you mean?”
“Yes, for money. Your grandfather, Mr. Fairfax, was what the Rochester’s called ‘new money.’ His family made a fortune on iron mines or some such. He was a nice boy. Very polite. Good looking. But your Gramma didn’t take to him. Not at first, anyway. They weren’t simpatico together.”
When Adele’s face fell, Rosa hurriedly added, “You must remember I was young, too, at the time, so my memory may not be perfect.”
Nonsense, no one was sharper than Rosa. I knew most of the story, even the marrying for money part. But with the addition of what now appeared to be Mother’s long lost love to the mix, nothing was quite what it seemed.
“Anyway,” Rosa continued, “one night, the week before the wedding, we couldn’t find your grandmother anywhere. We searched the house, the grounds, the neighbors’, everywhere. She was gone.”
“She ran away?” Adele’s eyes lit up.
Rosa nodded. “She did. My Papi found her. He never told me where, but it was in town. And she was with Miss Maria. They were intending to travel far away together.”
“So they were like Thelma and Louise?” Adele asked.
Rosa looked at Adele kindly, the wrinkles that reflected her lifelong joys multiplying around her eyes, her mouth. “Something like that, mi corazon.”
My mother, running away with her lesbian lover? What? My head spun.
“So, Gramma’s a rebel?”
“Don’t be getting any ideas from this story,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not, Mom. Besides, who would I run away with?” She glanced to Jack.
He shook his head. “I had no idea about any of it.”
“Secrets, secrets, everything around here is all secrets. Seems to me everything would be better if there were no secrets.” Rosa turned toward me but I ignored her look. “Anyway, she returned home and married Ms. Rochester’s father. She seemed changed after she came back. She used to be like you, mi corazon. Smart, talked a lot, laughed a lot. But when she came back, and even long after she was married, and even after she had your mother, she wasn’t the same. She was colder, withdrawn. And I never saw Miss Maria again until tonight.”
“Do you think she’ll change back now? Since her friend is back?” Adele’s hopeful tone tugged at my heart.
“I don’t know.” Rosa’s gaze rose toward my mother’s room. “Hearts are like plants. Some go dormant when they don’t get sun or water. Some wither away to dust.”
“I hope hers is the first sort.”
“Yo tambien, mi corazon. Yo tambien.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JACK
I LEFT THE ROCHESTER home in a somber mood that night. I couldn’t find Ms. Temple and assumed she found a way back home without me. Adele was enthralled with the story of a friendship lost but not forgotten, but something in Rosa’s words reminded me of darker times, of the world forcing a person to make choices that were far too big. I lay awake that night, wishing Eden was stretched out beside me instead of far away on her mountaintop.
The rest of the week flew by, plans, calls, and contracts stacking up as the clock ticked away on our
allotted time to sell out the project.
By the time we pulled up in front of the metal and glass marvel on Saturday afternoon, Eden had already sold over half the building. The only unit that wasn’t getting any major interest was the top floor penthouse. It would be a tough sell, given the price tag, but Eden was certain a buyer would show up at the party.
We’d had a smooth flight down to the coast, Tom making his usual banter during the trip. He told some great stories about Top Gun school, but Eden was distracted. “Obsessed” might be more accurate. She was intensely focused on this project, though I supposed that’s how she moved up the ladder at Thornfield so quickly—setting them up and knocking them down.
The flight was quick, as was the drive to the soaring metal and glass structure of Belle Mar. The exterior was completely finished, slick and shining in the late afternoon light. Twelve stories of glitz where the wealthy could come to play. If the outside was any indication, the inside was going to be more luxurious than any high rise the Gulf Coast had ever seen.
We strode into the lobby, our driver on our heels, when all three of us came to a dead stop. It was nowhere near ready. The floor was laid, the walls were spackled, men were working on sanding and painting; otherwise, the room was a lifeless void of open air, no shape at all. Nothing was finished.
Bess, wearing a hardhat and a sundress, was bent over a set of plans and giving the foreman a piece of her mind. Eden cursed under her breath before getting a full head of steam and barreling ahead.
“You said it would be done early!”
“Ms. Rochester, I presume?” The foreman tipped his hard hat. I didn’t envy him, standing between two extremely pissed off control freaks.
I stayed put and watched the show.
“You bet your ass I am. And why the fuck aren’t the walls painted? Where are my fixtures? Where’s the bar? Where’s the granite and the chrome and the glass and the tile?”
The foreman hitched a thumb toward the side of the building. “There’s a flatbed out there with everything you mentioned loaded up and ready to go. If you two ladies think you can go out there and heft it in here any faster than we can, be my goddamn guests.”
Oh, shit.
Eden fisted her hands at her sides. “You son of a fucking bi—”
“Rochester!” Mr. Poole dashed in from what I presumed was the pool area and gave Eden a too-friendly hug. “Glad to see you. Coming along great, isn’t she? Frank here will have her finished in no time. Right, Frank?”
When he released her from his grip, I relaxed. I didn’t realize I’d tensed until that moment. He was touching what was mine. It was irrational to think Eden could ever be mine. She wasn’t meant for the likes of me. Not in this life. But I couldn’t stop the feeling, the possessiveness.
“A week is plenty of time. At least it would be if you got these two banshees out from under me.” Frank rubbed his potbelly, as if comforting his food baby.
Mr. Poole barked out a harsh laugh and clapped Frank on the back. “You know how women get. Can’t control the hysterics. They don’t understand how the real world works.”
A mental image of me slamming Poole onto the floor floated across my vision.
“You got that right.” Frank smirked at Bess and Eden before going back to bossing his painting crew.
Eden was on fire, and Bess wasn’t much better.
Mr. Poole slid his hand down Eden’s back and rested it at the top of her ass. Too familiar, too close. Eden wasn’t the only one whose blood was hot enough to boil at that moment.
She shot me a glance and stepped away to peruse Bess’ plans.
Mr. Poole took a long look at both women before walking toward me.
When he passed me, he gave me a saccharine smile and said low enough so only I could hear, “And that, Jackie boy, is called pussy control.”
I imagined myself knocking out his too-straight teeth. I met his gaze, staring down at him so intently I noticed the burst blood vessels along his nose and the slight yellowing of his eyes. I wanted to hurt him for touching what was mine and for what he’d said, either reason was plenty. My mask of cool indifference seemed to have faltered, because he took a step away from me.
He bristled. “Boy, what’s got into you?”
I could knock him flat before he even knew what hit him. Instead, I gave a slight nod, which he took as me seconding his earlier comment.
“That’s more like it. Team player, that’s what I like about you, Jackie boy.” He seemed as if he were going to clap me on the back, then thought better of it before retreating back the way he’d come.
I looked over to Eden and Bess and realized they’d been watching the entire exchange with bated breath.
I forced myself to cool down, to become still again. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Eden put her hands on her hips. “Don’t worry? This place is a disaster, and you looked like you were about to clock the developer. Everything is not fine!”
“I wish he would have,” Bess muttered before pretending to inspect her designs some more.
“You aren’t helping, Bess.” Eden pinched the bridge of her nose. “Where are our rooms? I think I need to sit down for a moment.”
We were staying on site now that the majority of the condos were finished. I’d chosen two of the fully furnished, unsold apartments just one floor down from the penthouse, though I hoped we’d only be using one of them.
I herded her to the glass elevator and to the room in a matter of moments. The driver had already deposited our luggage. She sat on the bed before throwing herself backwards in a particularly teenage move. She rolled over and buried her face in the duvet.
I sat next to her and rubbed her back with one hand. “Talk to me, Eden.”
A muffled reply.
“What was that?”
She rolled onto her back and draped her forearm over her eyes. “You can’t be looking at Gray like that, understand? You just can’t. This has to work.”
I was at once angry that she wasn’t taking my side and also sorry that I’d caused her even more stress. “Look, I’m sorry. The way he talked to you, I just… Anyway, it won’t happen again.”
“Gray is the key to this. This deal has to close. I have to get this sold.”
“You will.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I have faith.”
She threw her arm off her face and let it lay out beside her. I saw fear in her eyes. The kind I recognized.
I smoothed her hair from her face, brushing against her soft skin with my palm. “Hey now, what’s got you so worried?”
She blinked hard and turned her head out toward the dark expanse of the sea. “I just have to get it done, is all.”
We ordered dinner in that night—Eden, Bess, and I—and went over our game plan to make the lobby and the as-yet un-tiled and un-filled pool area a wonderland for potential buyers as we ate. We stayed up until the early hours, Bess talking and me sketching as she went. Eden’s eyes lit up at the many pages of ideas, the images in graphite of topiaries, flowers, lighting.
“This is really going to blow the lid off this place.” Eden lay back against the sofa and finally closed her eyes.
Bess rose from the floor and stretched, her lithe dancer’s figure unfurling before my eyes. “I’m going to take this opportunity to actually sleep. But I intend to be on the foreman first thing and drive him hard.”
“That’s my girl,” Eden said, her voice already cloaked with sleep.
I followed Bess out into the hallway, pretending to go to my room.
She trailed her fingers along my upper arm and down to my elbow. “Changed your mind yet?”
“Tempting, but no. Sorry.”
She smiled up at me, weariness weighing down her usual sparkle. “I’m just busting your balls.”
I laughed. She was growing on me by the second.
She hit the elevator button as I swiped my key card.
“See you two lovebirds
in the morning,” she called before the doors shut.
So, Bess knew. No real surprise there. I dropped the pretense and went back to Eden’s room. She was snoring lightly on the couch. I picked her up and carried her to the king size bed before undressing her.
Her eyes fluttered half open. “Now this is what I call service.”
“You know me. I live to serve.” I tucked her under the covers, though I was sad to lose the sight of her pale skin, pink in all the right places.
I stripped and slid in next to her, the brand new sheets cool and smooth against my skin.
She scooted over to me and lay her head on my chest. “I’m glad you’re staying.”
She sighed, half sleepy, half sexy. I wanted her, but doused the thought, giving way to what she needed. At that moment, she needed sleep.
I turned over and pulled her into my arms. “Me too.”
The sun had barely risen when my phone rang. I reached for it, knocking it onto the floor and under the bed. Eden grunted and threw the duvet over her head as I disentangled myself from her. She turned into an octopus in her sleep, arms and legs slung this way and that over me.
The ringing stopped before I could answer. I finally found the phone and stared at the screen, my eyes taking more than a few seconds to focus. It wasn’t Ms. Temple’s ringtone, so I wasn’t worried. The number had a Birmingham area code. The phone rang in my hand. Same number calling.
“Hello?”
“Is this Jack England?”
“Yes, who’s speaking?” Sleep thickened my words.
“I’m Lydia Gibson. I’m a nurse in Birmingham. I do hospice care. My patient has been asking for you nonstop for the past two days. I’ve only now tracked you down.”
My mind began to sharpen, sleep draining away. “Who? Who’s your patient?”
“Sarah Reed. Well, everybody calls her Mama Reed. She says she was your mother?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “No, she’s not my mother.” It came out gruffer than I intended.
Eden smoothed a hand over my back. She was wide-awake now, her auburn hair mussed and the hazel flecks in her eyes warm in the morning light.
