by PE Kavanagh
“Really? You might need a spreadsheet. Or maybe a whiteboard.”
“That complicated?”
“Yup.”
“Well, let’s start.”
“They’re all mostly around San Francisco. That’s where I grew up.”
“Oh, I thought you were from the Midwest.”
“That’s where I went to college and grad school. My great escape. So there’s my mom and my stepdad, my dad and his collection of ex-wives. My younger sister Claire still lives there - she's a tech mogul - and then there's my half brother and sister from my Dad's second and third marriages. I also have two step-brothers. One is a designer in LA and the other is a doctor, here in New York.”
“You have a brother in the city?”
“Well, he and his family just moved to the ‘burbs a couple of years ago. They outgrew Manhattan, I guess. They have three kids.”
“Are you close?”
“Yes, we are. I mean we’re both so busy, but we get together at least once a month. We’re headed out there next weekend.”
“We?”
“Maddie and I. She’s crazy about those kids. And she is their favorite person on the planet.”
“Wow. You’re right, there are a lot of parts.”
Lola’s smile flatlined. She’d said too much. Not only was all of it boring, it was also too personal. She hardly knew this guy.
“Tell me about your parents. How long have they been divorced?”
The urge to deflect and avoid was squashed by his voice. Like truth serum. “A million years. I was pretty young. It was bad for a while.” A tightness gripped her throat whenever she thought about this part of her life. It had always been difficult to understand or avoid that tinge of sadness. “My Mom had to leave her career because it was too hard to be a chef and take care of two young kids.”
“A chef? That’s the coolest job for a mom I’ve ever heard of.”
“I know she struggled, but then she met Marco, who is a real-life Prince Charming.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, he’s this super famous architect, builds amazing buildings all over the world. And most importantly, he treats my Mom like a queen. They’ve been married for at least fifteen years and they act like newlyweds. It’s borderline embarrassing.”
“That sounds inspiring.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Are you close to your mom?”
Lola shifted her head from side to side. “We really love each other. It’s just, sometimes, we don't see things the same way. Even though it was hard to be her daughter, I've always admired her, and respected her brilliance. She went back to work as a chef and built this amazing career. I can’t imagine how she did it, as a woman in one of the most competitive culinary cities in the world. But she did. It’s mind-blowing, really.”
“My favorite restaurant is in San Francisco. What’s your mom’s name?”
“Monique Malone.”
He whipped his head around so quickly that the car swerved in and out of the next lane. “Your mother is Monique Malone?! Of Ocean?”
“Yes, that’s her restaurant.” Lola didn’t know whether to look at the shocked expression on his face or the road.
“Holy shit, Lola! Your mother is a superstar. I used to plan entire trips to San Francisco based on getting a reservation there. And the only reason I could even get one was because some of my clients were very powerful. Those were some of the best meals I’ve had in my life. I can’t believe it…”
“Well, thanks. I’ll let her know she has another fan.” There’s no way she was going to tell her mother about this man. Not for quite some time.
“I can’t believe you let me cook for you and your mother is Monique Malone. How humiliating.”
“Don’t worry. I inherited zero cooking skill. You made an amazing meal. There’s no competition here.”
“I’m still shocked.” He paused to look at her before turning his attention back to the road. “It sounds like you grew up in a house of high-achievers. How was that?”
“It was interesting. The pressure was subtle. No one ever said it - you have to do great things! - but it was understood. I was surrounded by people not only brilliant at what they did, but in love with their work. And their lives. I’ve always been on the outside in that regard. It’s taken me a little longer to find my way.”
“You run a magazine, Lola. I’d call that impressive.”
She swallowed. “It’s a good job, yes. I’ve worked hard to get there. But it doesn’t really feel like what I’m here to do. It’s more like a placeholder.”
“The book. You want to write that book.”
“Many books, hopefully.” She desperately wanted the lump at the back of her throat to dissolve. A gulp of the warm coffee helped.
"I have no doubt you will. No doubt."
Lola focused on the horizon. She wanted to get the attention off her. “It’s your turn. Tell me about the Connellys.”
“My parents live in Florida. Still doing okay, but old age is rough. My mother is strong and healthy, my Dad not so much.” His jaw tightened.
“Are you close to them?”
“Yes, I am. They’ve been great parents. Deeply flawed, but loving. Good people. I go down to see them a few times a year. As far as the extended family, I’m much closer to my mother’s side. Beautiful, amazing people. My dad’s family… well… they were less into the whole thing. Had some unkind opinions about my Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are… an interesting bunch. Mostly laborers and criminals. My mother’s family are the complete opposite, more like royalty. Educated, powerful, worldly people. But the Connellys looked down on them because they're black. It was pretty messed up.”
“How did they treat you? ” She gazed at the beautiful light brown of his skin, knowing the fact that she was mesmerized by him didn’t change what the world saw.
“It wasn’t so bad for me. I think they just convinced themselves I was white, because I look so much like my father. My brother had it much harder.”
“Your brother?”
Aidan paused for long enough that she almost repeated her question. “He died in the towers. On September eleventh.”
“Holy shit.” Lola's hand reactively went to her open mouth.
“I don’t talk about it much. He was just a kid, had been doing a summer internship at one of the law firms. It was his last week."
Lola tried not to gasp.
“It’s okay. I know it’s hard to respond to that.”
“I… I… I'm so sorry. How heartbreaking.”
“It was a long time ago. Life goes on.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
She wanted to reach out, to connect, but something stopped her. The moment required something beyond a flirtatious touch, and the idea of it pinned her hands in her lap. She wasn’t ready to go there.
“You have a sister, right?”
Lola pressed her lips together, glad for the change of subject but disappointed at her emotional withholding. She hated feeling like a coward.
“Lola?” His voice snapped her out of the self-consciousness.
“Yeah… sorry. I have a younger sister, Claire.” Whom she owed a return call. Claire had been trying to reach her for some time.
“Do you get along?”
“She and my Mom are super close. I often felt like a third wheel. And Claire has always been a bit of a bully. Even though she was the baby, she was also the bossy one. When I got big enough that she couldn’t push me around anymore, then I became less interesting to her. Or useful.”
“That sounds pretty bad.”
“Yes and no. We don’t really engage each other. At least not like sisters.”
“But you have Maddie.”
“Yes, explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.”
She squirmed in her seat at the look on his face. As if he could see all the ways she was a bad sister. And a bad person.
/> His smile said otherwise. “Thanks for introducing me to the wonderful world of Lola Jennings. It’s all beginning to add up.”
“To what?”
“To you. To us.”
The big green sign appeared just in time. “Look - just five more miles. We’re nearly there.”
It was colder than Lola would have liked, but it smelled so great in the country. As if someone had filtered the air and given it a tinge of sweetness. Different than Manhattan, undeniably.
After getting their tickets and baskets, they headed out into the orchard. Fat, speckled apples hung from the branches and littered the ground. Families of all varieties surrounded them - frazzled parents, bored teenagers and hyperactive little ones.
Lola wondered if that level of domesticity was in her future. Perhaps she and Aidan would one day be walking there, hand in hand, telling their son to stop trying to climb the trees, while sneaking in kisses under the arbor of multicolored leaves. As soon as that image formed in her mind, a jolt ran through her body. It was nothing short of terrifying.
Whenever the chill seeped through her jacket, she burrowed herself into his. Those breaks, snuggled into his warmth, were the best part. His strong arms wrapped around her as he breathed into her hair. Each time, it was more difficult to break away and continue with the quest of collecting more apples than the other pickers.
“Thanks for keeping me warm.” Lola grazed his jaw with her lips.
He pulled away and brought his hands to her cold cheeks. “We should go. It’s too cold. And I would never forgive myself if your nose permanently stayed that shade of red."
She gave him a slightly embarrassed snicker.
“Don’t worry, Lola. You are as beautiful as you’ve ever been.” He moved toward her as if aiming for a kiss, but instead nuzzled her nose. She drank in the warm breath covering her face, savoring the sweet smell of apples on his breath. How delicious it would be to take a bite of one of his cold red lips.
Even after a couple of hours picking apples, as well as tours of the cider mill, farmhouse, and grounds, it was still only mid-day, the sun perched high above them.
Aidan tilted his head. “Is it time for lunch?”
“Perfect.” Something other than apples and donuts in her belly was a good idea.
They drove a short way, through the small town and out again to a residential area. She smiled as Aidan turned into the gravel parking lot of a large black-and-white house.
He put the car in park before turning to her. “We’re here.”
“We’re where?”
“Brunch. Or lunch.”
“Is this someone’s house?”
“Used to be, I suppose. Now it’s an Inn, and the best brunch spot for a hundred miles. I think they keep an actual stable of grannies in the kitchen doing all the cooking.”
“That’s a bit sick and twisted, Aidan.”
“But funny.”
She gave him a smirk. “Fair enough.”
They were seated right away and wasted no time ruminating over the menu. The food arrived right before Lola began looking in her purse for a snack. She was surprised at her hunger and how delicious the food was. Involuntary moans escaped from her with each bite of her stuffed french toast, while Aidan looked on, amused, his eggs benedict barely touched.
“It’s a bit pornographic, watching you eat.” His eyes twinkled.
The food was too good to ruin by getting embarrassed. “Well, I hope you’re having a good time.”
“You have no idea. It’s really working for me.” He leaned back in his chair, giving her an even better view of his upper half.
“Do you need a moment? Some private time?”
“I don’t need to go up to the room just yet.”
Her hand froze midway from her plate to her mouth. “The room?”
“Oh.” He looked away, briefly. “I didn’t mention it. I got a room here. Just in case you wanted somewhere to rest, or get changed, or something. It’s not a big deal. It’s just for the day.”
It was funny that he was nervous. Defensive, even. For such a smooth player, he consistently got uncomfortable, even awkward, about sex. She looked at him for several seconds, not worrying if he noticed her staring.
He broke the silence. “What’s up, gorgeous?”
“You are quirky. Unusual. Mysterious, even.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way your confidence shifts, when certain things come up.”
“I see.” His face tightened.
She didn’t like his expression. She shifted in her seat. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? My belly full of brunch should keep me warm for a bit, if you want to go exploring.”
“That sounds great. Maybe we’ll walk around town? You don’t happen to be into antiques, do you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Me neither.”
“But I’m happy to look around.”
“Great.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Thanks for being a good sport. About all of it. I…”
“It’s okay, Aidan. I don’t need to know all your secrets.”
Concern flashed across his face so quickly she doubted whether that was what she had seen.
“How do you know I have secrets?”
“I know.” She didn’t understand how or why she knew. But she did.
* * *
They walked hand-in-hand for the three blocks of the old-fashioned town, ducking into the dusty shops whenever they needed to heat up, and back out for the fresh air. An ornate bench across the street from the empty ice cream shop provided a sunny spot for a brief rest.
Lola looked at the block full of quaint storefronts, comparing it briefly to their neighborhoods in the city. “You’re definitely creative with the dates. I’ve never had a man take me apple picking. Or ballroom dancing, for that matter.”
“Maybe I’m trying to change your mind about surprises.”
“That’s dangerous territory. Trying to change someone’s mind so soon.”
“Well, there are big changes and little changes. Ones that distort who someone is and ones that expand who someone is.”
“Perhaps…” She wanted to think about that a bit more before committing to an answer.
“I wouldn’t want to change a single thing about who you really are, Lola. Even the parts I don’t understand. You’ve made me pay attention.”
What an odd thing to say. She stood up and offered him her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“I want to see this room.” If he was actually paying attention, there’d be no question about what she was hoping would happen next.
* * *
They arrived at the Inn, entering at the far right entrance this time.
“Hi there,” Aidan said to the tall, gaunt older man behind the desk.
“Good afternoon.” He eyed them curiously.
"I’d like to check in. The name is Connelly.”
“Certainly, sir.”
He pulled out a clipboard and scanned down the page until he found what he was looking for. He turned to the cupboard behind him and pulled out a large metal key attached to a carved wooden scroll. Lola took it, wondering if she had just been transported back in time fifty years. Or one hundred years.
They went up a single flight of stairs to find their room at the top of the landing. She slid the key in, suddenly conscious that she was entering a hotel room with him. Nothing had been said.
All her concerns dissolved as the enormous, bright room came into view. Oversized windows and dark cherry wood caught her attention first. And the fairy tale bed, with four posters and a dozen pillows stacked on an embroidered cover. It was not in the slightest her design taste, but she had to admit it was beautiful.
Lola turned back to Aidan, whose expression was not entirely pleased.
“Everything okay?” Her attempt to keep concern from seeping through her voice did not succeed.
“Yes. It’s a grea
t room, right?”
“Yes. Like something from another time.” Thoughts popped out of order in her head. “Wait a minute… We’re still going back to the city tonight, right?”
“Yes. Definitely. I just… I just thought it would be nice to have someplace to get out of the cold and to get cleaned up after being at the orchard. We’re not staying here. It’s just for the day.”
“Great idea.” Lola felt compelled to reassure him, as if something was, in fact, wrong.
She took the few steps into the middle of the room, turned around to see the small white door, and walked over to it. The bathroom, she guessed.
Not just a bathroom. The biggest bathroom she had ever seen, complete with a clawfoot tub, sitting in the center of the old-fashioned tiled floor.
“Holy shit.”
Aidan walked over. “Cool. I love those tubs. I’ll probably never have a place where I can pull that off, but I think they’re wonderful.”
“Me too.” She turned her head up to look at him. “I want to take a bath.”
His eyes opened wide. “Oh. Uhhh… Okay. Sure.” He did not sound sure.
“I wonder if they have any salts or bubbles or something,” she said as she went to the vanity and examined each of the small bottles. “Perfect!” She held up a light green liquid. Would you like to join me, she wanted to ask.
His face softened, but his body remained tense. “I’ll just wait out here for you. Unless you want me to go. I can go back to town or something. Make myself scarce.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why don’t you take a nap on that bed? You’ll probably dream you’re Sir Lancelot or something.”
“Okay, Maid Marion. You have a deal.”
“I think Maid Marion was Robin Hood’s girl. Not Lancelot’s.”
“Maybe I’m rewriting history.”
“Maybe you are.”
My body is so cold. I’ve gotten used to the darkness, expected it, but the cold is unrelenting and brutal. If only she would let me out of my shackles, I could move my body, keep myself warm, even relieve some of the tension. But I can’t even touch myself, much less do anything vigorous.
I pick up the sound I long to hear every day - the click of her shoes on the stone floor. I can tell exactly where she is by listening to the changes in pitch as she approaches. My hearing has grown more refined, as I've had to rely on it, knowing better than to look up and try to see her shadow in the dark. I crouch down and stare at the floor, as she demands. The tops of her boots come into view. Her body, that close to me, raises my temperature a few degrees.
