Crazy Love (5 page)

Finally, our waiter arrived. Sam wasted no time ordering a vodka tonic and I asked for a glass of chardonnay. Trip asked a couple of questions about appetizers, and then ordered the Oysters Rockefeller, fried green tomatoes and an iced tea.

After the waiter vanished, Sam turned doubtful eyes at Trip. “Didn’t you mean to order a Long Island Iced Tea?”

“You’re not the only quitter in this family, Sam.” Trip proudly pulled out his cigarettes and an emerald token, which he tossed to Sam. Sam caught it out of the air. I recognized it immediately, and my stomach sank to the floor. This new item instantly catapulted to number one on my KYPO list, and his club soda orders at the piano bar certainly made a lot more sense.

“Three month sobriety chip.” Sam read emotionlessly as he flipped the medallion over. He wore no discernable expression. His apathy seemed cruel, and I felt like I was invading what should have been a private conversation.

“Yep.” Trip’s earnest smile seemed wasted on Sam, but it tugged at my heartstrings.

“90 days. Is this a joke?” When Sam finally looked Trip in the eye, it wasn’t pride or love I saw on his face, but outright disbelief. The way Trip’s eyes flickered with thinly disguised pain at Sam’s belligerent tone made me want to throw my drink in Sam’s face. Under the circumstances doing so seemed highly inappropriate.

“Five months, actually. I got this one a while back.” Trip instantly recovered from Sam’s lack of enthusiasm. He was trying so hard to win Sam’s approval it made me feel sorry for him. Trip stood and began to pack his cigarettes. “I’ll be right back. I need a breath of fresh air.”

Sam shook his head and huffed. I waited for Trip to be out of earshot before tossing down my menu.

“Well, for someone who doesn’t say a whole lot, you sure choose your words for shit.” I snapped, and if I offended him, you’d never know if from the blank expression he wore.

“Excuse me?” This wasn’t so much a question as a filler line that he seemed to deliver on autopilot.

“That was mighty supportive of you, Bro.” I waved after Trip while glaring daggers at Sam. As I reached for the stem of my wineglass, the irony of my momentary need for liquid courage was not lost on me. Sam’s unapologetic nature annoyed me. He came off to me as the polar opposite of his brother: rude, antisocial, and judgmental.

“It’s a bold-faced lie.” Sam shrugged casually and took a long swallow of his drink. He set down his glass and folded his hands, fixing me with a look that dared me to challenge him. I frowned at him and shook my head.

“What on earth makes you think that?”

“I know Trip. He can’t go a day without a drink.”

“Is that so? ‘Cause I’ve known him for months and I’ve never seen him drinking, let alone drunk.”

His eyes narrowed and though he seemed to be staring at me, I was pretty sure he didn’t really see me. It was as if he were miles away.

I pressed on. “What’s the deal with the two of you? It must be pretty bad if you can’t even pretend to be excited for him.”

Sam leaned his elbows on the table. His perfectly etched jaw and raw energy was distracting, but the intensity of his stare almost made me flinch. “Listen carefully, Annabelle. Don’t be fooled by the act. Prince Charming is a toxic monster.”

I can’t really say if it was the harsh cadence of his voice or the overwhelming sadness I saw brimming under the surface of his cool facade, but I swear he curdled my blood. I searched his features for signs of malice and found nothing. What I did find was that I felt uncomfortable with the way his eyes penetrated mine, and I turned away and took a sip of my wine.

“Don’t you think he deserves a second chance?” I forced myself to look at him. I was so fascinated by his beautiful features that it stung when he threw his head back and chuckled at me in a conciliatory manner.

“Do you think he deserves a seventh or eighth chance? Because if you plan to spend any amount of time with Trip, you’ll have to ask yourself that question…and soon.” He delivered this speech without emotion, as if he were stating that he took his coffee with cream and two sugars. He seemed practiced at the art of shutting down, stuffing his emotions in a trunk and locking them away for later examination. Unfortunately, I’d met his type many times before. Most friends and family of addicts wore a similar expression when their wounds were fresh. I was pretty sure I wore that exact expression when I was in a room with my mom. But Trip was nothing like my mom. I could feel it. Since Sam was a virtual stranger, I grasped for something insightful to say, but the usual platitudes seemed too cheesy to bother with.

Our waiter had been hovering nearby, blatantly eavesdropping. When he approached the table with the tomatoes and oysters, I glared pointedly at him. He smiled broadly back at me, as if our “table tension” was giving him a contact high. His nosiness pissed me off, but his interruption bought me time to gather my wits. After weeks of talking myself out of messing around with Trip and the last week talking myself back into it, Sam and his revelations were particularly unwelcome. My mom was an addict, and I’d ridden that roller-coaster enough to see that Trip definitely needed to work the twelve steps with Sam. I glared at the waiter as he leisurely refilled Trip’s water glass.

“Enjoying the show?” I sneered. Sam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline at my snarky remark to the man. As the chastised waiter fled as if his pants were on fire, I turned both barrels on my table companion. “Tell me this… if Trip’s so unredeemable, why come to lunch with us?”

His near lavender eyes swept me with a frigid detachment. I saw a flicker of something…some twisted mournful…something. “So I could have
this
conversation with you. I wanted to spare you the trouble that follows Trip around. I guess I’m still my brother’s keeper, whether I want the job or not.”

I blinked in surprise, but his conflicted behavior made a hell of a lot more sense. He’d come here solely to warn me off. Sam’s handsome, angular features were set in a manner that suggested he took no pleasure in what he was about to say. I braced myself when he glanced around and leaned in closer to me.

“That hostess…Jen? She hooked up with Trip once. This was shortly after Trip’s wife left him, and he checked himself out of rehab. He called me and said he’d picked up some chick and was going out to this bonfire on Tybee Island and wanted to know if I’d like to come along. So I went. I wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to drink and drive again. Trip spent most of the party off in a back bedroom with Jen. But he got so trashed that he ended up in the E.R., and I had to drive her home. She sobbed the entire time. She even showed up at the hospital the next day to see him. And he doesn’t even remember her.”

As I processed what he’d told me, my eyes drifted to the view through the windows. I saw Trip across the street smoking. He leaned carelessly on a lamppost, bobbing his head in time to a street musician’s tune. His wide smile as he applauded along with the tourists contradicted Sam’s clinical description of him. I continued to observe Trip thoughtfully as he shook hands with the guitar player and dropped some cash in his open case.

“People are capable of change, Sam. Maybe he’s finally ready to clean up his act.” This hadn’t exactly been my experience, and I wasn’t sure if I said this to challenge Sam or to make myself feel better.

He heaved a sigh and tossed his napkin on the table. He glanced at me, then lifted his drink to his lips and muttered “Forgive my lack of optimism. I’d love to be wrong. But I very much doubt that I am.”

I found myself reexamining Sam as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the screens. Except for the stubble and denim, he looked like a prep school darling. The epitome of “white collar”. How could he claim to be his brother’s keeper when he’d been gone for months and hadn’t seen him in such a long time? I wondered how much of his animosity toward Trip was about his brother’s past skeletons and how much was just old sibling rivalry bathed in the juice of sour grapes. I was just about to ask why he’d dropped out of law school when Trip reappeared and hastily took his seat.

“Oysters! Fantastic.” He smiled broadly and scooted his plate in my direction. “You know what they say about oysters-don’t ya, Angel?”

A silent spectator, I brooded over lunch as my brother sprinkled compliments all over Annabelle like unholy water. To my horror, she seemed to drink in his attention like a lost soul gulping down sand at a desert mirage. If anything, she seemed
more
into him than before our conversation. From the moment I saw Trip kiss her cheek, she was off limits. I vowed to wash my hands of the entire mess, but I had a wriggling feeling that doing so would be easier said than done.

First impressions are Trip’s specialty. He is a legend when it comes to making people fall in love with him, and if a competition existed for this talent, he’d flawlessly land the dismount. Unfortunately, his charm wasn’t a sustainable resource these days. I hoped for Annabelle’s sake he’d show her his true nature before she invested too much time in him and that his inevitable fuck-up wouldn’t leave permanent scars. Though my dream girl had turned out to be a delusional, know-it-all Yankee, she didn’t deserve to drown wearing Trip’s designer cement shoes.

As the waiter removed our plates, Annabelle turned to Trip. Determination shone in her dazzling eyes, and her full lips curved in an impish grin.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” A light, musical laugh erupted from her that nearly shattered me.

“Do what?” Trip wiped his mouth with his napkin, and I could tell by the lascivious twinkle in his eyes he had a good idea what she meant.

“I’ll pose for you.” When Trip chuckled devilishly, she held up her hands, blushing. “On one condition. I’m wearing my bra and panties. Take it or leave it.”

The image of her in a bra and panties just about made me spit my drink all over the table. Focused completely on each other, neither of my companions noticed. Trip let the silence hang in the air just long enough for dramatic effect. “Fair enough.”

I was racked with sudden indigestion.

I chose to blame the vodka tonic.

As the heinous luncheon came to a close, I tried to make a break for it, but Trip guilted me into coming along to his new place to help carry in his purchases. Tension constricted every muscle in my neck and shoulders caused partly by their incessant flirting as Annabelle drove us past lush Forsythe Park, skirting the edge of the Victorian District. I could tell by the subtle expressions Trip wore when he looked at her that he had a soft spot for Annie. Bad blood or not, he was my only brother, so this placed her immediately in the “off limits” category. Though by now it was obvious I wasn’t her type, I still found myself disappointed.

A block later, we pulled up alongside the curb of an immaculate Victorian. I couldn’t help but notice this address was still within stumbling distance of Violet’s place. My mood lifted a little. I covered a smirk with my hand, taking odd comfort in the fact that some things never changed.

As we entered Trip’s condo, I fought to contain my surprise. The home had been painstakingly remodeled with impressive crown molding, meticulously restored hardwoods, and modern light fixtures. As we passed by the kitchen, I noticed a new butcher-block island and stainless steel appliances. Other than scattered charcoal pencils, sketch pads, and other various artistic accoutrements, the place was tidy and lacked the frat house feel of his previous bachelor pads.

“This place is amazing,” Annabelle gasped, moving toward the ornate fireplace for a closer look at a painting of Trip’s daughter, Maisie. It was a fine piece, much more of a literal interpretation than his usual work and understandably deserved this place of prominence in his home.

Trip shrugged and looked pleased by her response. “I like it. Lots of natural light.”

I could feel him looking at me, as if he were expecting some sort of reaction. I refused to look in his direction.

“Any trouble with the neighbors?” It came out before I could stop myself. Though I knew my attitude would lead nowhere good, I found myself back in the role of the bitter nonbeliever. Annabelle’s fiery eyes bore into me.

“No, I own it. I live in the front half and use the back half as a studio and storage,” Trip responded, and at that, not only did I look at him, I gaped. He’d finally invested in real estate after a couple of years deluding himself that he’d reconcile with Violet. I was more astonished by this revelation than the sobriety chip, and doubt began to gnaw at me. It had been eons since I’d dared to hope my brother would climb out of the bottle. I honestly never thought we’d find ourselves having a sensible conversation about owning property and natural light. Wondering why Mama hadn’t told me about Trip’s journey of self-help, I crossed to the windows and admired the impressive view.

As I puzzled over whether my brother was actually clean and sober, I heard Trip mutter something about being a bad host and leaving the room. I felt Annie next to me before I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Her sudden nearness had my body on high alert, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. She looked out onto Forsythe Park as if searching the tree line for something. I cleared my throat nervously, and she turned toward me.