by Ward, Deena
“I think so.”
“I’m off then. Come on, Nonnie.”
I settled on the barstool across the counter from Xavier. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
“Okay. I’ll come get you when I’m ready for my show.” She sailed away.
“Want some coffee?” Xavier asked.
“Yes, please. I’ll get it.”
I helped myself to a mug of coffee then resettled in front of Xavier. I loved to watch him chop food. There was something mesmerizing about the confident way his big knife attacked the vegetables, so fast and sure, a skill that came from much practice.
I sipped at the hot coffee and waited for the caffeine to do its trick.
Xavier looked up at me from time to time. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.”
“You look tired.”
I shrugged. “No biggie.”
“You’ve got quite the schedule now. Are you handling everything all right?”
“Yeah.”
“School?”
“Love it.”
“Work?”
“It’s work.”
He smiled. “Not as scintillating as you’d hoped?”
“It’s okay. Pays the bills. Not that I have any bills.”
He dumped a pile of sliced carrots into the pot, then poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside me. “So, if it’s not school or work that’s the problem, it must be Gibson.”
“I didn’t come here to dump my troubles on you.”
“I know. But since you’re here, and I am, too, why not share? Maybe I can help. I’ve known Gibson most of his life.”
I traced the lines of the mosaic tile on the countertop with my fingertip. “Was Gibson involved in some disastrous love affair or something, in the past?”
“No. You’re the first and only woman he’s lived with.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yes. We’d long since given him up as a confirmed bachelor. Then he met you.”
“Well, I thought maybe he’d been burned in the past by someone and it gave him trust issues. Like in romance novels. The hero has always been ruined by some evil bitch who ripped his heart in two.”
“Sorry. No evil bitches or ripped hearts. Not that I know of.”
“Too bad. I mean, too bad it won’t explain things, not that he hasn’t had an evil ... oh you know what I mean.”
Xavier smiled. “I do. So, you’re having trust problems with Gibson?”
“Kind of.”
“I can tell you I’d trust him with my life. I have trusted him with my life. He’s the sort of man who would never betray you.”
“Oh, I know. I trust him. He doesn’t trust me.”
“He’s jealous of someone?”
“No,” I said. “I wish it were that. It’s not that kind of trust. Hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I guess what I’m wondering is, how can you be with someone who doesn’t trust you on a basic level? Isn’t that a flaw in the relationship that’s impossible to ignore?”
Xavier expression turned serious. “I think it’s something that should be addressed, certainly. Have you and Gibson talked about it?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?”
I took a sip of coffee. “It means everything’s all screwed up and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Talk to him.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Talk again.”
“I don’t know.”
He patted my hand, that grandfatherly gesture of his that always melted my heart a little. “Work it out. Don’t let him duck it, if he tries. Keep on him.”
I sent him a bleak look.
“I can tell you this,” he continued. “He’s never reacted to anyone the way he has to you. He cares about you more than any woman I’ve seen him with. And he’s been happier now than I’ve ever known him to be. That must mean something to you.”
I blinked my burning eyes a few times. “It does. Thanks.”
“I know he’s stubborn and proud. And he’s had it all his own way for too long. He’s not used to compromising. He hasn’t had to, so you’ll have to teach him how. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I do. You’re the perfect woman for the job. You have been all along.”
I gave him a weak smile. Wanted to believe.
Lilly chose that moment to bop into the room. “I’m ready to show you my new clothes,” she sang out, her chipper cheer cutting through the hopeless aura that cloaked me.
Before I headed off with her, I gave Xavier a hug of thanks. If nothing else, he’d given me fresh material to consider.
I had to go home to Gibson eventually, though I put it off until late in the afternoon. When I made it to the bedroom, got changed, then slipped into my studio without encountering him, I thought to check the messages on my phone. Sure enough, there was an hours-old text from him, telling me he had to go into the office, but he’d be back by dinner.
I gratefully accepted the reprieve. I rearranged the pile of garden debris on the floor, found the angle I wanted, and settled down to sketching.
Hours passed without my noticing, until I heard someone knocking on the door. I opened it to Gibson. He passed by, bringing with him his familiar spicy scent and the delicious aroma of ginger and garlic. He carried a pair of bags.
“I brought Chinese,” he said, and set the bags on one of the work tables. “Thought you might like to eat in here for a change.”
“Okay. Sure,” I said, thinking it was unusual for him to eat anywhere other than one of the dining rooms.
I pulled over a pair of stools while Gibson unloaded the food from the bags and laid out paper plates and chopsticks. I added a couple of bottles of water from the supply I kept in the studio, and we were set.
We ate together quietly. I didn’t know what to say, and as for Gibson, he was as blank-faced as I’d ever seen him. He asked me how my visit with Rose went, and I asked him if there was trouble at work. Other than that, it was conversation-free. At least the food was good.
When I finished and was nursing my water, wondering what to do next, Gibson answered my unspoken question.
“We need to talk, but I didn’t want to do it while we ate. It didn’t work out so well last time,” he said.
I recalled Charity’s uneaten lobster salads.
“Perhaps we could sit on your sofa?” he asked.
I walked across the room, wanting to make a left turn and get the hell out of there. My meal didn’t sit well in my stomach. If we had to have this conversation now, then so be it, desire to bolt be damned.
We sat and for a few minutes, he appeared to gather his thoughts. I picked at the label on my water bottle.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you last night.”
I looked over at him. He didn’t appear so blank anymore. He seemed worried. Good. He should have been. This wasn’t a conversation I could ease into.
“How could you think I’d want to turn you into Michael?” I asked.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I was angry. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Then how do you know what you didn’t mean?”
He plucked at his pant leg. “All I meant was that I didn’t want to go too far with you. I said it wrong.”
“You blame me for what happened with Michael. If I’d used my safe word that night with him, it never would have happened, the video, none of it. So you blame me.”
“Oh, God no. Nonnie, I’ve never blamed you. Never.”
“But you’re hung up on this safe word stuff because of what happened with him. I’ve put the video and everything behind me, but you haven’t.”
“I won’t lie and say it doesn’t weigh heavily in some of my concerns. It does. It’s not a criticism of you, bu
t it’s a worry that you have a history of —”
“Of letting things go too far? That’s it, right? My fault it goes too far.”
“I didn’t say that. I was going to say you have a history of, sometimes, giving more than you should.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
I screwed the lid onto the empty water bottle with a hard twist. “Whatever. Bottom line is, you don’t trust me.”
“I have concerns.”
“You don’t trust me. I let you tie me up, supposedly do what you want. I have faith you won’t turn psycho on me. But you don’t trust me enough to believe I know my own limits, that I’ll use a safe word if I have to.”
He blew out a long breath. “I don’t see it as a matter of trust.”
“When you were with Dorothy or Doll, whatever you called her, did you have these concerns with her? How about your other subs? Safe words were part of the business deals, I bet. You trusted those women to use them, didn’t you?”
I could tell he didn’t want to answer, but he did, with a terse, “Yes.”
“It kills me that you trusted them but not me. And I can’t deal with knowing you once trusted me, at least some, before you watched that god-forsaken video.”
He held out his hands, palms up. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t change this, not when I know I’m right, that it’s what’s best for you. The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, but it’s impossible right now. We need time, that’s all.”
He was right about one thing. It was impossible. How was I supposed to respond to that?
“I would ask you to give me a chance, Gibson, to prove myself to you,” I said. “But it won’t work, and I’ll tell you why. Because you don’t push me far enough that I actually need to use a safe word, that’s why. Your tests were pointless, lightweight set-ups to reaffirm what you already believed. I can’t win. I can’t convince you with words or actions. You’ve left me nowhere to go.”
“Not true.”
“It is. And it won’t help to remind you that I have used a safe word before. I used it with Kamun, if you’ll recall.” I despised having to say his name, but there was no way to avoid it.
“I do.”
“And knowing that doesn’t change your mind.”
“It was an extreme situation which never should have reached that point to begin with.”
“So once again, it’s my fault. I should have stopped it sooner.”
He frowned. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. And anyway, like I said, it doesn’t make any difference. Nothing I say or do can change your opinion.”
“This has just blown up too fast. You need more training, more experience. We can work through this, but it has to be slowly. Not be so impatient.”
“You mean I shouldn’t be so impatient.”
“Damn it! Quit being so certain that every word out of my mouth is an accusation.”
“I’m certain because that’s what you’re doing.”
He ground out his words. “I am not.”
I stood up, marched over and tossed my bottle into the recycle waste bin. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said with my back to him.
“Maybe you’re right. We’ll try again, later, when we’re both in calmer states of mind.”
I heard him walk over to the table and begin bagging up the leftover Chinese food. “I’ll get it,” I said. “You can go ahead and leave.”
While he headed to the door, I waited where I was, arms crossed over my chest, closed off from him.
“Nonnie,” he said before he left, “I wish this were different. I hate upsetting you and I only want what’s best. I hope you know that.”
I was too angry to acknowledge him. I didn’t turn around until I heard the door close behind him.
A day can be a remarkably long time when you’re at stalemate. The next day, Gibson and I parted in the morning with few words, ate dinner together with even fewer words, slept together, then woke up to another awkward morning. It was a horrible, uncomfortable stretch of time.
We had nothing to say to one another. Even small talk was difficult.
And then another day passed the same as the one before it. And another. And so on, until it was the weekend again and I didn’t know if I could stand spending it with Gibson. So I didn’t.
I made dates with Lilly, and the Hoytes, and took a few cooking lessons from Xavier, locked myself in my studio for hours on end. I even helped Paulina and Toy in the greenhouse gardens, which proved how desperate I was to escape the discomfort of Gibson’s company.
He didn’t say it, but Gibson must have felt the same as I did since he didn’t complain about my absences or try to spend time with me either.
Stalemate.
The more I thought about the chain of events that led us to this place, the more apprehensions I had that this wasn’t something we could settle or work out. There seemed to be no middle ground. No compromise.
And when I began to have those thoughts, a hollow ache flared inside me and a vise settled around my heart.
I couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t. I loved him.
Damn that video. It was incomprehensible that Michael might get what he wanted all along: to destroy my relationship with Gibson, no matter that the destruction would be realized in a different way than he intended.
Avoiding Gibson, then, became more an act of putting off what I dreaded was the inevitable outcome of our standoff rather than lingering anger from our argument. Foreboding obliterated resentment.
The more I feared an ending, the harder I searched for potential solutions. What could I say? What could I do? It seemed there was no way to go back, to find that happiness from before.
I despaired of finding actual answers, and eventually, convinced myself there was an option of a different kind. Funny, what hopeless panic can accomplish which reason and sense cannot.
And love. Desperate, dogged love that wouldn’t brook surrender. Too much was at stake. I loved him enough for anything, I thought, even pretense.
It was Sunday morning, and I found Gibson in the TV room, stretched out in a recliner and watching a ball game. He turned off the TV when I entered the room. I thought he looked tired, a little drawn. I knew I certainly was tired, and looked it.
I sat in the matching recliner. “So.”
“So.”
“This week sucked.”
“Yes.”
“I have an idea.”
A few beats passed. Then he said, “Good.”
“Let’s just forget everything,” I said. “Go back to how it was before I asked you to show me your dungeon. Forget subs and doms. All of it. For now.”
“You think you can do that?”
“I can if you can.”
“It’s not a real solution.”
I shook my head. “I know. But it’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what else to do.”
“We can try taking it slower.”
“No. It won’t work for me. And not for you, either, if you’re honest with yourself.”
His answering nod was a minute thing, the barest acquiescence.
“Besides,” I said, “given time, we might work back into it in the future. When we’re ready.”
“I’ve missed you.”
I was taken in by his eyes, so dark and proud, hopeful. “And I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Let’s not go over that again. Forget it happened,” I said.
“How?”
“We just do.”
“I want to touch you so badly.”
“Go ahead. There’s nothing to stop you.”
“It’s too easy,” he said. “Nothing is this easy.”
“Never mind that. This time it will be.”
And we stood, together, and he took my hand. I followed him to our bedroom, where he kissed me and we undressed.
And he made love to me.
And it was as easy as I said it would be.
While it lasted.
Chapter 19
It was late November. Cold and wintry, barren. The landscape seemed bleak, but perhaps that was simply my emotions draining the color out of my surroundings.
School was the only bright spot in my life, my refuge, my savior.
I loved Gibson, but every time he held me, every time he smiled at me, and every time he told me I was beautiful, I remembered that he didn’t trust me. Black of the blackest sort oozed over every action, everything we did together, a sludge on the happiness I pretended to feel. For him. For his sake.
No, that’s not true. I pretended for myself, also. The same as I pretended I could forget everything that happened. Because I couldn’t face the truth. Couldn’t stand up to it.
I held out as long as I could. And now here I was, facing the inevitable, again. Only one, desperate gambit remained, and I had never planned to use it. Unless. Unless there was no other choice.
A last chance.
I lingered in front of the double glass doors in our bedroom, looking out over the brown grass of the south lawn. Some stray, dead leaves bounced by, the wind scooting them toward the lake. Small whitecaps dotted the surface of the water. It was a freezing, blustery day.
I wrapped my robe tighter around myself and shivered.
“Come back to bed,” Gibson said. “It’s cold in front of those doors.”
I turned to him. So handsome, he was, sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, bare-chested, the blanket snugged up to his waist, his hair mussed from our recent lovemaking. He was flipping through his favorite business journal.
A perfect picture, he was. In fact, the whole room was perfect. A picture.
A fiction.
I walked over and sat on the side of the bed. “It’s not working.”
He knew what I meant, right away. I saw it in the blink of his eyes, in the sudden catch in his breath and the clench of his hand on the magazine. But he wasn’t ready to admit it. “What’s not working?”
I gave him a sad smile. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About the past.”
“I thought we agreed to forget the past.”
“We did. But I can’t. I’ve actually been thinking about my ex-husband. I’ve never told you much about him.”
