Enflame

by S. Layne

  Donovan nods. “Everything’s fine. I’m here to whisk you away.”

  Surprise and confusion swirl inside me, making my thoughts jumbled and unclear.

  He rolls his eyes and smacks the desk once, pushing off. “Come on. I have plans for you, and they don’t involve a teenage chaperone.”

  My interest is piqued and I look down at my simple tunic sweater, distressed jeans, and black boots. Donovan is, as always, dressed impeccably in a suit. “I should probably change.”

  “You look beautiful the way you are. Come run away with me.” His eyes twinkle with interest, and I can’t help it.

  I smile. I want him.

  I love him.

  In order to avoid the question he’s sure to ask by my expression, I point my thumb toward my door. “Just let me grab my things.”

  Marisa shoves them into my hands. “Here you go. Go on and have some fun.”

  I twist so I’m facing her. “You have something to do with this?”

  “Me?” she asks, her hand over her heart in mock outrage. “Would I do something like that?”

  I scowl again and take my purse and coat from her hands. “Fine.”

  “Come on or we’ll be late.”

  “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” I mutter dryly. Tossing on my coat, I meet Donovan on the other side of the desk and allow him to escort me outside.

  He slides his fingers behind mine, and the last thing I hear before the door closes is the overdramatic, romantic sigh from Marisa.

  “She’s quite fun,” Donovan says, a crooked smile on his lips.

  “She’s a pain in my ass.”

  He laughs. It takes my breath away. What I wouldn’t do to see him laugh so loud and free more often. My earlier thoughts that I’ll be leaving him soon pop into my mind and I look away.

  He ushers me into his car, and once he’s seated he doesn’t seem to notice my change in mood.

  I should be thrilled. He’s surprised me at work, and I have a feeling his real surprise is going to be much better than mine was last week.

  “How’d you meet her?”

  “Marisa?”

  He nods and pulls the car onto the street.

  I look out the window and wonder where he’s whisking me off to. “I’ve known her for years. She was friends with my mom. When I wanted to open my own free clinic instead of going to work in someone else’s office, taking cases I wasn’t really interested in, Marisa helped me start this place.”

  The mention of my mom seems to sober Donovan, like it does so often and he reaches over, resting his hand on my leg.

  We spend twenty minutes in the car, driving from one side of Grand Rapids to the other. I’m on pins and needles the entire time.

  Donovan has the ability to break my heart worse than he did the first time, and I don’t know if he fully realizes the impact he has on me.

  And maybe that’s my fault for not being honest with him, but I don’t know how I can be when there’s already an expiration date on our relationship.

  Two more weeks and I’m outta there. He hasn’t once mentioned a relationship past our thirty-day arrangement, and the idea of leaving not only him, but not seeing Jeremiah every day, makes me rub a pain that aches inside my chest.

  My eyes are closed and I’m trying not to think about the future—to enjoy the present and keep my heart from becoming too involved. But who am I kidding? That ship sailed weeks ago.

  “We’re here,” Donovan says, pulling the car to a stop.

  My eyes open and almost bug out of my head.

  He looks at me nervously and my hands ball into fists.

  “Why are we here?” I ask, looking at the entrance to the best long-term care home in the area. I know exactly why we’re here, but I’m stunned.

  And pissed.

  He can’t even think to offer this to me. I know the expense of having a patient stay here. Even with the additional million dollars he’s promised to give me, it wouldn’t cover my costs if my dad stays alive and needs extensive rehab.

  It’s why he is where he is.

  “I strongly encouraged them to make room for your dad.” He opens his door and comes around to mine.

  I’m frozen in his lush leather passenger seat, and don’t move when he opens my door.

  “Let’s go take a tour.”

  “You already have this set up?” My voice hardens. I don’t look at him.

  How dare he chain me to him for longer?

  “Hey,” he says and crouches down. He brushes hair off my shoulder, but I flinch away from his touch. “What’s going on? I wanted your dad to have the best.”

  “And how am I supposed to pay off this debt?” I seethe, and he flinches.

  I can’t help it: all my insecurities, all my fears, and all my jealousies over the fact that he’s got so much freaking money that he doesn’t understand the stress of not having it bubble over, and before he can answer, his mouth agape with shock, I blurt, “You’re still married, and I’m only at your place for two more weeks.”

  I stare out the front windshield, but not quick enough to escape his reaction from the painful lashing I just gave him. It shows in his pale skin and his eyes.

  “You think I’m trying to buy you?”

  “Isn’t that what you do?”

  “Holy shit, Talia. What the hell is the matter with you today? You love your dad, and I…I wanted him to get the help he needs. That’s all this is.”

  I notice the way he trips over his words and close my eyes. “I want to go home.”

  “Talk to me.” He reaches out and I shake my head.

  I can’t have him touch me again. I’ll fall apart, and I hate being emotional—especially in front of him.

  Suddenly I can’t see anything except his mother’s disgust, Cassandra’s evil smile, the money he tosses around, and the way he strong-armed me into his house in the first place. I can’t become any further in his debt.

  “Take me home,” I tell him, already feeling tears burning my eyes.

  “Fine,” he clips. I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter something about irrational women right before my door slams shut, the car rocking from the impact.

  The drive back to Denton is filled with tension. Several times Donovan asks me to explain, but I cut him off.

  I’m being a bitch, I think. This should make me happy, right? Him taking care of my dad. Taking care of me.

  But if it doesn’t come with promises of a future, then it just makes me more of his mistress/whore.

  I can’t do this anymore.

  When Donovan reaches Denton’s city limits, I whisper, “My house, please.”

  His jaw clenches and he presses his lips together. “You agreed.”

  “I agreed to a million dollars. Not a long-term contract where you think you can continue to buy me to sleep with you.”

  His hands twist on the leather steering wheel, making an eerie squeaking sound.

  “That’s not what that fucking was. Jesus Christ, T, can’t you just take a gift?”

  Not when it comes with these kinds of strings. This is my dad, the man who has always taken care of me, and now it’s my job. I might be failing, but it would crush my dad’s heart to think I lived in some guy’s bed to move him into the lap of luxury.

  “You don’t get it,” I mutter. I focus on the winding street, the trees, the cars that get junkier, and the houses that get older the closer we get to my house.

  “Then explain it.”

  I let out a sigh of relief when he pulls into my driveway. “Do you see this?” I point to the houses. “This is my world. It’s not mansions and tossing money at everything that comes my way. I might have taken your first offer because I was willing to do whatever it took to save the kids I care about, but my dad would shit a brick if he found out I did something like that for him.”

  Hypocritical, since I already have. But most of that went to the kids. This is different.

  “I told you—”

  “It’s a gift, I
know. But your gift comes with unspoken strings that I can’t accept. Jesus, Donovan. You’re still married.”

  “For two weeks,” he bites out. The veins popping out on his neck tell me how frustrated he is with me.

  “Funny.” I laugh sardonically. “That’s how long our arrangement is for.”

  His eyes widen and his hand clamps down on my wrist. “That’s what you think? That I’m actually thinking of a timeline with you? For fuck’s sake, Talia, I just got you back.” He drops my hand like I burned him. Maybe I did.

  With disgust clear on his features, he turns away from me. I feel the loss of him instantly.

  It hurts deep in my chest, a burning distaste I already feel in my mouth, but I can’t take it back.

  Not when my head is pounding and I’m so confused.

  “I’ll give you the weekend to realize how ridiculous you’re being. If you don’t know how I feel about you yet, I’m not sure there’s any hope for us.” He looks at me, sad eyes hiding behind thick lashes, and my heart jumps to my throat. “Take the weekend and run, Talia, but for fuck’s sake, I hope it’s the last time you do it.”

  He waits while my trembling fingers open the door and my wobbly legs carry to me to my front door before I hear his tires peel away.

  Tears stream down my cheeks before I open my front door, and once I’m finally inside, I’m hit with the emptiness of my home.

  It may be filled with clutter and look cute, but compared to how I’ve just spent the last two weeks, it’s empty of everything that really counts.

  “Well, I’m just not sure I see the problem here.” Mrs. Bartol huffs and tosses her gray hair over her shoulder, throwing herself into the couch.

  I roll my eyes, but inside, my gut is churning.

  It could be the excess wine.

  Or I’m a liar.

  “He can’t just buy his way into my life.” I’m repeating myself. I think something has happened to Mrs. Bartol’s hearing in the last few weeks.

  I turn to Laurie. She’s sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, her thumb languidly running up and down the side of her wine glass.

  She’s staring into the dark red liquid as if it holds the answer to my problems.

  I’m not sure wine is helping me at all. It sure isn’t giving me answers, and it’s only going to leave me with a headache in the morning.

  It already hurts enough. I set my glass on the table next to me and frown.

  When she showed up after Donovan dropped me off, only a few hours after I called her, I crumpled into her arms before she had walked through my front door, weekend traveling bag behind her.

  This is why she rocks as a best friend.

  When Mrs. Bartol showed up, seeing me at home and with company, shortly after, the drinking and confessing began.

  “What?” I finally ask Laurie.

  “I think you should give him a chance,” she mutters quietly, as if voicing her opinion might cause me to go ballistic.

  She might be right. I’m angry at Donovan. I’m more angry at myself for not thinking clearly earlier. It was just…too much.

  Having dinner and drinks with two women I respect more than anyone has helped me see things more clearly.

  Sort of.

  Maybe he was just trying to help.

  “He’s married,” I reply, and watch her flinch. Laurie’s husband cheated on her and their marriage was put through the wringer when, in her anger and confusion, she turned to a man—her now ex-boss—for physical affection. While she and James have been trying to put it behind them and move on with their lives together—including a move back to their hometown of Ann Arbor—I know the reminder that I’ve been sleeping with a married man forces all of this to the forefront of her mind.

  “He said two weeks. Did he tell you what that means?”

  I shake my head. In my anger and confusion I’d glossed over that comment Donovan made earlier. Last I knew, Cassandra was delaying their divorce and making everything difficult for him. The fact that he has an end date in sight now makes my head spin.

  Next to me, Mrs. Bartol starts laughing quietly.

  She must be drunk, and perhaps becoming slightly senile in her old age.

  “What?” My lips pull to one side.

  “You girls today.” She shakes her head in total befuddlement. “You’re all so intent on wanting to be these strong women, independent, having everything you can possibly dream of. You know what’s important to a woman?”

  I press my lips together. Whatever she’s going to say is going to make me think of two old people bumping nasties. I’m not sure there’s enough wine in the world to wash away the visual images Mrs. Bartol creates with her slurred words.

  “Hot sex and a man who can give it to you—a man who wants to give it to you hard and fast every day of your life.”

  Laurie sputters. Her wine splashes into her glass and into her lap, and I look at her to see her covering her mouth. Wine spills through her fingers as she tries to regain control.

  In all the years we’ve been friends, her interactions with Mrs. Bartol have been minimal.

  She’s getting the full effect of advanced-age crazy tonight.

  “That’s not all we want.”

  Mrs. Bartol silences me with a look. “It’s the only thing that’s important. Trust me, Harold and I have been married fifty years this summer, and if there’s one thing that always works, it’s his pecker.”

  I snort. She continues.

  “That can get us through anything—and on top of that, you have a man who wants to not only do that for you—and he sounds quite capable of providing it—he wants to take care of you and your family. He’s lightening your stress, making your life easier. What in the hell is wrong with you?”

  I’m taken aback by her bluntness, although I shouldn’t be.

  I rethink my ability to be sober with her in my house, spewing things I don’t want to have in my head about Harold, and take a large swig of my wine. “He’s trying to trap me.”

  “Girl!” Mrs. Bartol howls. She throws her head back and cackles so loud I shoot Laurie a wide-eyed look. The woman’s losing it. When she recovers, she sets her glass down and stands up. “That man is trying to love you, and you’re so wrapped up in the pain of your past with him you can’t see that he’s trying his damnedest to make you see what you mean to him. He might be going about it wrong, but that’s because he’s a man and they’re usually pretty stupid. Doesn’t mean he’s not trying.”

  Donovan’s last words filter through my ears. If you don’t know how I feel about you yet, I’m not sure there’s any hope for us.

  He couldn’t have meant what Mrs. Bartol is proclaiming.

  Could he?

  I stare into my wine glass and frown.

  “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

  She pats my shoulder as she shuffles by, flashing me a wink. “I knew you’d see reason eventually. Call him. Beg for forgiveness, and his cock, and he’ll make everything right.”

  “God, you’re horrible.”

  She shrugs and I stand up, following her to the front door. I see Laurie doing the same thing with a grin the size of the Cheshire cat on her lips, too.

  “You’re young, honey. You’ll see. A man who gives good sex, a pocketbook that’s open for you to not have to worry about anything, ever, and a heart big enough to take in his nephew? That’s too good to pass up, even if there’s obstacles like bitchy soon-to-be-ex-wives in your way.”

  I pout. “She’s still his wife.” And still just as gorgeous as ever. Anger boils at the mere memory of Cassandra.

  “On paper. Wait the two weeks out if you have to, if that makes you feel better, but if what you’ve told me is true, you’re the only woman he wants.”

  She rolls onto her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Bartol.”

  “Bye. Have a good night, and it was good to see you again,” Laurie says from behind me.

  I open the door and grin when Mrs.
Bartol shoots me a scathing look. “Now, all this talk of sex has my womanly parts raring to go. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go pop some pills into Harold and let his energizer bunny wear me out.”

  I blanch at the image. Not enough brain bleach in the world will erase that.

  But still, I laugh. Because she’s insane.

  And awesome.

  “On that note,” Laurie mutters.

  “G’night!” Mrs. Bartol gives her final farewell, and Laurie and I stay in the doorway, watching her make it safely back across the street.

  When she reaches her front door, it flings open and I catch a brief glimpse of Harold, butt naked, scooping her into his arms before he shuts the door again.

  Next to me, Laurie leans on the doorframe and sighs. “You know, that woman is batshit crazy, but if what she says is true, I want to do whatever she tells me just so I have a husband who still looks at me like that and wants me like that after fifty years.”

  I smile. “I think you have that.”

  “Yeah.” Her grin matches mine and she runs her hand through her dark brown hair. “I think you might too.”

  My smile falters and my eyes mist over.

  She might be right. And I was a complete bitch to the man who wants to give it to me.

  In my garage, with my iPod blaring Ellie Goulding in my ears, I am calmer than I have been in the last forty-eight hours.

  I have my plan in place to make amends with Donovan, and I’m anxious for tomorrow afternoon when I can see him. Unfortunately, I’ve tried calling him a half-dozen times to speak to him and he hasn’t answered, nor has he returned my calls. I’m trying not to be worried, thinking that maybe I’ve screwed us up before we truly began again, but it’s hard. It won’t stop me, though, from continuing to try to explain what happened last Friday. That I was just afraid.

  Saying goodbye to Laurie earlier this afternoon made tears burn my eyes. Fortunately, I have an aching belly from the countless amount of laughs we shared over the weekend.

  Spending time with my best friend, who I rarely get to see anymore, was needed more than I could imagine.

  I sent her home with a hug and a kiss, and she left reminding me that sometimes it takes giving someone a second chance to truly see what they’re made of. I admire her strength—her ability to forgive and admit her own mistakes.