Love, Lies and Shattered Hearts

by Carol May

  Looking at Nash, I say, “You have been in this house what a good fifteen or twenty minutes?” Nodding his head he agrees, “That is about correct.” I continue on with what I was saying, “So can you explain to me what you are doing here?”

  Again nodding, he levels his eyes at me, glances over at John and asks a question I have heard before, “Why do you think?”

  Rubbing my hands across the top of my thighs, I answer with, “This time, I actually have no idea why you are here. I do know you are here because of me but not what you are doing here in John’s living room. I would have thought you would have been in Sydney with him.”

  John looked over at me, with a what the hell look, asking, “I’m guessing the him you are referring to is Houston Donovan. Now can you explain to me Charli why you know where that bastard is?”

  Tightening my lips into a thin line, then chewing on my inner lower lip, I start to answer but before I can, John jumps in with “Oh, hell no! I know those signs. You are going to say something that will really make me mad, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  In his best big brother voice he asks, “What is it?”

  My inner city girl conscience is saying, “Go ahead and tell him. It really isn’t any of his business if we saw Houston last week. We are grown!”

  The Mid-west side of me is mumbling, “He isn’t going to like it. Are you sure we should tell him? Don’t tell him Charli.”

  City is shaking her head, “What do you mean don’t tell him. It is none of his business. Where was he for the entire weekend? Not here.”

  Taking a deep breath, preparing for what will happen when I answer, “I saw him last weekend. He was here in Salina.” Holding up my hand to stop him before he can say anything, I continue. “Like I said, he was here last weekend. You didn’t know because you were with Amber.”

  With fire shooting from his eyes, he stands up, looks at me and says more calmly than I expected, “Let me get this straight. The man you could have drunk yourself to death over was here, in town and you just calmly saw him? This is the same man that caused you to leave your business, your home and go half way across the country to get away from the memories of him. What the hell, Charli?”

  “You can do it, Charli. Just tell him, it really isn’t his business,” says my inner voice. However, the other side of me says, “You may think that but think about it, he was the one that came and got us. He is the one that has been helping us.”

  I stand up, walk over and look up at him. I give him a big hug, step back and say as I look at him, “It was closure, John. I am going to be alright. You have to trust me. I love him. I will probably always love him but I can’t have him. You know how bad I was when we left Miami but I am better. You know that, too. Last weekend was one of the reasons I can go home and move on.”

  Giving me another hug, he says, “Alright, if you say so. I just don’t want you to hurt. After what you went through with Tyler and all the hospitals, I just think you have had enough sadness in your thirty two years to last you two life times.”

  “I know. I love you for feeling that way and for loving me that much. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past weeks if you hadn't come and rescued me from the place I was in. I mean literally the place, that motel, and emotionally. If I had stayed there much longer, I might have gone over an edge. If I had, I am not sure I could have come back again.”

  Hearing Nash clear his throat, we both look over at him. “Sorry Nash. I almost forgot you were in the room.”

  With a grimace he says, “Well that is not something I like to hear. I must admit, I’m not sure I have ever heard anyone say they forgot I was in the room.” Trying to lighten the mood, I’m sure, he says with a little chuckle, “I know you are the first woman that has ever said that to me.”

  Shaking my head and rolling my eyes at him, I say, “Ok mister. I am thinking we need to have a conversation.” Turning to John, I say, “Can you give us some time?”

  “Sure.” Turning and walking away from the room, John heads to the back of the house. Leaving me with Nash and our conversation.

  We both sit back down. Looking at him, I say, “Go ahead and answer my question now. Why are you in John’s living room when you should be out of the country?”

  Giving me a look that asks are you really that stupid, he finally speaks, “I am here to make sure you get back to Miami alright.”

  “What?” After letting that absorb, I continue, “Let me get this straight. You are here to make sure I get back to Miami safely?”

  “Yes, I just said that, Charli.”

  “Hum, but why Nash? Why?”

  “Why what?

  I tilt my head down and rub my forehead with my fingertips as I continue, “I want to know why you are here? Houston and I are finished. The paparazzi has disappeared (thank goodness) from my life. I do not need any type of security or protection. So once again, why are you here?”

  “Apparently you need me to say it, so here goes. I was in Sydney with Houston, if that makes you feel any better. Things were going ok over there and he ask me to come back here to get you to Miami safely because you are important to him." Holding up his hand as if to stop, he says, "No. Let me clarify what I just said. I was never ask about coming back here, I was directed to. You will always be important to him. I believe he will love you until the day he dies. I have never seen him like this about anyone. If you ever tell him this next part, I will deny it. I Especially, never over a woman. Believe me there have been plenty of women."

  Interrupting him, I say, “So you keep reminding me but keep going. I assume you have more for me to hear that you will deny.”

  “Never has he changed meeting dates or missed meetings for a female. You Charli Jensen are under his skin. He would move heaven and earth to ensure your safety.”

  Leaning my head back against the top of the sofa, I simply say, “Alright. So you are going to take me to Miami.” Looking up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before I look back at Nash, I say, “It’s a long drive and I could use the company.”

  “About that, are you sure you want to drive back?”

  “Ah, you do know I don’t fly, right?”

  Exhaling he looks at me and says, “I know you don’t fly in airplanes. Do you fly in helicopters?”

  Shaking my head, I can’t believe he has just ask me that. “I have never thought about flying in one. That has never been an option for me. Honestly, I don’t think that is something I can do.” After thinking about that for about thirty seconds, I add, “No! No helicopters.”

  Nodding, he says, “I didn’t really think so but I thought I would ask. I will let Bill know that he can head home. I came here in one of our larger helicopters just in case that was something you were open to. I will be here in the morning, around seven. We’ll get you back to Miami.”

  Looking at him, all I can really say is, “Ok.”

  Chapter 13

  Three days ago, Nash and I began this road trip. I wasn’t surprised when I walked out of John’s house to find a luxury SUV in the drive. So typical of Houston to send something like this. I heard John let out a long whistle when he saw it sitting there. “Holy cow! Is that a Porsche?”

  Nash smiled, as he stood by the silver metallic vehicle, “Yes, a Macon.” I don’t think his smile could be any larger. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought by the look on his face he was showing off a new born baby. In a way maybe he was. Who knows what is going on in a man’s mind?

  Looking up, I see the sign hanging above Interstate 95 that directs us to either stay straight for Miami or to go right to Homestead, which is the way to the Keys. I really feel like I am home. I can almost smell the city. The sun is setting as I look at one of the largest urban areas in the United States. It really is beautiful.

  “Ah, Nash I know you know where I live.”

  “Yes Charli, You know I know where you live.”

  Laughing I say, “You know, we just said the w
ord know a lot?” I am reaching over to adjust the thermostat for my side just a little when I finish with, “Why are we going to Bricknell? That is where you are taking me isn’t it?" I look over at him, even though his eyes are on the road and the crazy drivers here, I am very sure he understands what I am asking but he doesn’t answer me.

  “Nash, I know you heard me. I am going to ask you one more time. If you don’t answer me, I’m going to go redneck ballistic on you.” I begin not just waving my finger at him but both my hands are moving. If he only knew what that means then he would have been spouting answers out faster than Niagara Falls has water running over it. “Why are we going to Bricknell? You better not be taking me to Dade 303. That is the last thing I want to do. Dade 303 isn’t my home. It is Houston’s home. Do you hear me? I said, I DO NOT want to go there.” He is just driving. He hasn’t answered me. I am looking out the window trying to calm down. I take several deep breaths then my rant begins again as he pulls into the under the building parking.

  “You have got to be kidding me? At what point did I not make myself clear? You can just pull right out of this garage, Nash whatever your last name is. By the way, why do I not know your last name? What do you have against last names? Please tell me your last name is not Donovan. OMG it is isn’t it? You are his brother. Everything you have told me is a lie also. You are all nothing but a pack of liars.”

  Grabbing the handle, I am trying to get out but he is holding the lock down, I suppose because it is locked. My eyes squint, my mouth puckers. Just as I am about to start yelling, Nash speaks.

  “Thomas. Not by blood. No” Looking over at me, in a very calm voice he continues, “if you are finished with whatever that was…”

  “a rant.”

  “What?” he asks.

  Looking back at him in a calm voice, I say “A rant. You asked what it was and I told you. It was a rant. I warned you I would go redneck ballistic. I suppose that is what happens when I spend time at home with my brothers. I revert back to my Midwestern roots.” Taking a really deep breath and exhaling, I close my eyes, thinking about the last time I was in this building.

  We sit here quietly. I suppose he is giving me what he thinks I need. I realize he told me his last name. I look over at him and give him a little half smile and say, “Well, Mr. Thomas, was it? Thank you for sharing your last name with me. It only took how many months? Seven?”

  “Charli, you know exactly how many months it has been since you met him. Why ask?”

  Rolling my eyes, I answer, “Yes seven, you're right I know exactly. Now, can we have a conversation about why we are here?

  Shifting in his seat, he gives me a long look. Finally, he says, “Charli, I can only imagine how difficult this is being in this building. I can assure you of two things. The first is if you are worrying whether Houston is here, he isn’t. He is still in Australia. I know that for sure. The second thing, I want to ask you to go up just this once. I don’t think you will regret it. I will go with you.”

  With a tremble in my voice, I say, “Ok, if you go with me and promise he isn’t here. I trust that you are being honest. I’ll go. You know this is the one place I never imagined I would be ever again.”

  Nodding his head, we go up. It seems as if I have held my breath for twenty floors. My heart is racing. My palms are sweaty. I really have no idea why I am doing this. I close my eyes just before the doors open. Stepping out of the elevator, I am confused. This isn’t the same place I left a month ago. Gone is the white and navy along with everything I had come to love. It is replaced with warm tones of taupe, multiple shades of blue accented with hues of orange and golds.

  Silently, Nash leads me into the open space. Walking to the wall of windows that offers the feeling of being at one with the birds, I find the veranda has different outdoor furniture also. Turning, to find him watching me, my mouth is still closed. My brain is attempting to process this as my eyes move to each piece of furniture.

  Honoring my confusion, Nash finally speaks. Let’s walk through the rest of the space. Suddenly, speaking as if he is a relator, we walk. Opening door after door, I find empty spaces. When Nash opens a special door that I have never seen unlocked we enter Houston’s office. “The boy’s clubroom” is what I secretly called it, this room is empty as well except for an antique desk and chair that is beyond stunning. Walking over to the desk, I find an envelope. My heart is in my throat. Staring at it, I immediately recognize handwriting. It is something I would be able to recognize anywhere as Houston's. I pick the envelope up but instantly drop it as if my hands are burned. It isn’t my hands that are burned but my heart. Standing here, I look at it for a time which more than likely was seconds but it felt like hours. Finally, I look up and realize Nash is standing in the door watching me and my confusion as I back away from the desk.

  Walking to Nash, I say, “I’ve seen enough, I’m ready to go.”

  Standing in front of him, he looks as me with sympathy and asks, “Where are you going to go? You don’t have an apartment, remember? He knew this would be a problem for you when you finally came back. He has gone to great lengths to have this place ready for you. Let’s go upstairs.” Fighting with all my might not to become emotional, I simply nod my head.

  Nash stays in the hall outside the room giving me the privacy he knows I need as I walk into the master bedroom. I find the same as downstairs, all traces of Houston are gone. There is new furniture even down to the television being different. Smiling at the daisies in the vase, I walk toward the closet. Opening the door, all touches of masculinity have been erased and everything feminine now stands in its place. I have clothes that I have never seen before along with coordinating handbags and shoes.

  Returning to Nash, with tears pooling in my eyes. I am fighting hard not to let them escape. “He has thought of everything hasn’t he?”

  Taking a deep breath Nash continues, “Yes, he always does. Especially when it comes to you. Right now, I think we need to go back downstairs and have a long conversation about exactly what has transpired during your time away. This will allow me to explain. I saw you pick up an envelope. I am sure the contents will provide an in depth explanation, if I know him. Right now, I think it is time you heard the things that I can explain.”

  Retuning downstairs, I move to the veranda. Looking over at him, I explain. “I anticipate that there are things you will say to me that are really going to push me.” Pausing for just a second I continue, “I would prefer to hear them while I am looking at the ocean and not into your eyes. The ocean calms me.”

  Nodding his head in understanding, we move outside. Walking out, we sit side by side. Nash runs his hand through his hair exhaling a very long deep breath as if he is preparing for some type of battle.

  “It has been a long day, which I am use to but I really don’t want to get into the entire thing about Houston. So I will give you the highlights, if that is alright with you. Then I'll move into the last month but I have a slight suspicion that envelope upstairs is going to give you quite a bit of the same information just in-depth.”

  Biting my upper lip, I say just above a whisper, “alright." Then I ask, “This is going to break my heart, isn’t it?”

  Looking over at me Nash’s only reply is a grunt then I hear, “If you have any kind of heart at all.”

  Bracing myself emotionally, I reply, “I’m ready, I think.” I lean backwards against the new high backed outdoor furniture, fix my eyes on a spot in the ocean and listen.

  Nash begins, “You know how I met him. I am not going into that story again but let me add some things for you. One of the things I always omit in my Houston story is how angry he was. Of course, I am not sure I really understood that back then but looking back and knowing the things I now know, I understand a lot of his emotions. He would be on top of the world, laughing, joking, having a great time. Then suddenly he would change. It was as if something would click in him and he would be trying to pick a fight with anyone myself included.” Shaking
his head and staring off into the sky, he continues.

  “Man, he could fight both verbally and physically. I have seen lots of men pissed off and fighting because of it but never have I seen anything like the way he would be. We, the guys on our floor, never knew which Houston we would face. Finally, most of us left him alone. He made good grades, he is smart. I mean like really smart. High IQ like in the one hundred and sixty smart. The only reason I know that is because I remember one of the few times I ever met his bitch of a mother she threw it up in his face. I had gone home with him for a weekend. I walked in on a conversation they were having. Actually, I paused just outside the room as I eavesdropped. I took it from what I heard she didn’t approve of our friendship. I can still hear her with sarcasm dripping from her, “My God Houston, if I haven’t taught you anything else, I would think you would have enough sense to make friends with someone that is smart. At least as smart as you are. Use that intelligence those doctors said you have. With an IQ as high as yours I would think you could find someone that at least compliments you. Apparently they were wrong about you. What good is an IQ over 160 if you don’t use it?” That is when I walked into the room. I had been standing just outside the door. I looked at Houston. He looked as if he had been kicked in the stomach multiple times. He looked at his mother and said, “Go to hell, Mother.” We left that house and as far as I know that is one of the last times he was there. Of course, after I enlisted I have no idea what he did. I do know he bought the house and eventually had it torn down. That is what has happened to all of the houses he lived in when he was younger. Not one of them is still standing. I can only imagine what his life must have been like. A bitch of a mother, step brothers and who has any idea about what the stepfathers he has had were like. It is a miracle that he isn’t really and truly messed up.”

  Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees he just sits there staring out at the ocean. Nash looks lost in some type of turmoil. I am trying to absorb what he just told me about Houston’s mother but failing miserably. I can never imagine my mother saying anything remotely near that. She always welcomed my friends into our home with open arms.