Fearsome (25 page)

When I sink into the hot water, I slip down far enough to realize that the tub could easily hold two people comfortably. Why did I always rush through showers when I could have taken a long, hot bath and soaked as long as I want? I have no place to be.

I take my time, shaving my legs, deep conditioning my hair and trying out one of my aunt’s mud masks. It’s a very slow process to wake up all of my senses, but after a half hour in the tub, I feel like I’m coming back to earth.

My hair takes a while to dry with the low wattage hair dryer, so I swing my head upside down to help hurry it along. Then I slather on body oil that smells like roses and makes my skin baby smooth. Then I dab on one of her perfumes and find a simple cream-colored cotton sheath dress in her closet to wear.

My aunt left behind a lot of little luxuries I never noticed in her room when Lois and Eleanor helped me clean out her closets. Her friends obviously saved some of the special toiletries and clothing for me, and it’s a treat to discover everything I missed up until this point. I imagine my aunt getting ready for a date, going through the same rituals with the same products I’ve used. She was very beautiful and I suspect she had admirers and lovers even in old age.

Before I leave Aunt Ginnie’s bedroom, I take the jeweler’s bag from the closet shelf. I haven’t looked at the ring since the night Imogene found it. I kept it in the bag with the receipt and shoved it in the back of the closet.
As if that would stop me from thinking about it
, I laugh.

I pad barefoot back out to the porch to watch Carson and Leo haul the rest of the yard debris onto the truck bed. I lean against the porch railing and watch them lift the heavy broken limbs. Carson glances at me only briefly, before giving his full attention to the yard work.

The sun beats down on them as they haul the heavy branches over their heads with loud grunts and a final ARGH as they dump it on a flatbed hooked up to Carson’s truck. They use cables to secure the large limbs from rolling and then take a break from their hard work. Carson wipes his sweaty brow with the bottom of his t-shirt and slugs back a full bottle of water.

I wonder if some of this Paul Bunyan activity is for my benefit.

When the yard is cleared and the truck is loaded, Leo takes out his cell phone to make a call. He sits half in and half out of the cab of the truck talking to someone.
What Lauren wouldn’t give to see this
, I think.

Carson makes his way over to the porch and eyes me with suspicion. I am groomed and dressed, nothing like the zombie he encountered earlier.

“Feel better?” he asks, stepping up on the porch.

“I wasn’t sick. Seventy million,” I whisper.

“You do that around me a lot.” His shirt is soaked with perspiration and his face has droplets that I’m tempted to touch.

“I’m sure I’ve done it around many people, but they were polite enough not to mention it. I know Dylan caught me at it.”

“Do you only do it around guys you’re interested in then?”

“Hah! I don’t think that’s how it works,” I tell him.

“I do. I think it’s a nervous tic that happens when you’re with—”

“Why are you here?” I cut him off.

“What do you mean? I told you I’d come clean the storm debris.”

“No, I mean in general. You have a contracting crew that does all this work. I know that because Lauren told me you never handle the work at a client’s home.”

“Gin was more than a client. She was a friend, like a second mother.”

“She’s not here. I am. And you’ve been coming to my house for months doing an awful lot of work when you could have had your men handle it.”

“They’re working up at the Peterson house and the Tuturro place. I need them on those big projects. Is there a problem with me being here?”

“No,” I answer. We look at each other quietly for a moment and then he looks at the pretty little gift bag in my hand. “The ring.” I hold it up for him. “Take it with you.”

“It doesn’t feel right, but I will. I’ll give it to Dylan.”

“Thank you.”

He takes the bag and his calloused fingers brush against mine. The sensation of his rough skin against mine sends a firestorm of lascivious signals screaming through my body. Carson lets his fingers linger and at one point we’re both holding the ring bag.

“I like being around you,” he finally says. “That’s why I’m here.”

I consider his words for a moment, trembling with joy that he would say that, however, I’m realistic enough to know that I had already made my choice when I slept with Dylan. I sabotaged this from the beginning. To think I could then move on to the next brother and start over sounds incestuous and ugly. I don’t want to be a woman who does that.

He looks frustrated by my unresponsiveness to his confession while he stands there a bit longer, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

“I have an errand to run, so I have to get back inside, but thanks for doing this and tell Dylan… well…”

Carson regards me with disappointment.

“Never mind.” I head back into the house so I don’t have to see Carson’s confused, handsome face.

Twenty-Four

As the yoga class ends, I’m doing one last stretch when I see Dylan look through the front window, directly at me. His face is expressionless. It’s similar to viewing someone who has the same disease as me, the loss of will to move on quickly and the ability to flounder in one’s own world. Like me, he’s lost some weight and his general spark has been diffused. I hear Lois call my name and I turn away for a moment. When I turn back to the window, Dylan is gone. Perhaps he wasn’t really there to begin with and now my guilt is haunting me.

I leave Beyond The Pants and head across the street to Archie’s office. We spend some time on the investment accounts and he hands me another check from the trust. There are investments that Archie was instructed to liquidate upon Aunt Virginia’s death. The taxes take a huge chunk, but the remaining balance is supposed to go into a special interest-bearing account to cover house maintenance, Bert’s expenses, and general needs for living in a home that’s much too big for me with property that extends beyond what any single person could possibly need.

“What do you think the house is worth?” I ask Archie.

This catches him off guard and he studies me with a slight frown before responding.

“I’m not sure exactly. Comparable properties in the area have sold between six and seven figures. It would have to be appraised. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I’m not sure I should stay in Hera.” I try to think of a way to explain it without all the dramatic parts included, yet it seems impossible.

“That would be a tragedy,” Archie says softly. He places his hands on the stack of papers in front of him and lets out a deep, wounded sigh. “I thought life was going well for you here. Am I mistaken?”

“It’s a wonderful town. I’ve made some very nice friends.”

“But that whole business with Dylan didn’t help,” Archie includes.

“You know about that?”

“This town has no secrets. That’s what you get with a small place like Hera, but it’s also one of the reasons to live here. Ginnie thought this would be the perfect remedy for you.”

“Remedy for what?’

“Oh, let me see how Gin put it,” he says, thumping his fingers. “Ah, yes. She said ‘your life in New York was utterly conventional with you being one of the many Generation XYZs or whatever they’re called today. They’re all working long hours in jobs that make them miserable while being saddled with student loan debts in a terrible economy which only makes the recipe worse’. She wanted Hera to be a refuge, a home where you pursue art and all things grand. Nice, isn’t it?”

“That’s a lovely idea, but I actually have a good job. I’m kind of the exception for my age group. Plus, I went to school on an academic scholarship and my parents helped cover whatever else I needed, so I’m not buried in debt. I had a few lousy jobs during school, but I’m not one those college grads who can really say I’m struggling.”

“Point well taken. How about this then? Gin wanted to give you something wonderful. It’s certainly your right to sell the property and you could put a tidy sum of money in your savings, but would you really be happier?”

“It’s not about happiness. It’s about getting out before I cause more damage.”

“I see you have a talent for the dramatic flair like your aunt. Let me stop you before you go any further with your creative storytelling. I have an idea I think might appeal to you.”

“You’re a crafty one, aren’t you?” I tease him. “I’m listening, Bixby. Tell me what you’ve got.”

The idea of grilling pizzas like they do in restaurants sounded like a good idea, but we burn three crusts until they are nothing other than charred, black discs. Imogene and Lauren launch them like Frisbees across the yard. Upon the failure of our brilliant plan, we decide to take our unused pizza toppings and make an antipasto plate along with a pot of linguine swimming in olive oil, garlic and herbs. We feast in the dining room and open a nice bottle of red wine that Lauren brings up from the cellar for our special celebratory occasion.

After Archie told me his idea, I couldn’t wait to share it with Imogene and Lauren. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. Having them in the house instantly lifts my spirits as we gorge ourselves on our rich cuisine. We’re reaching for a toast when the front door slams open and Imogene plunks herself back down in her chair.

“Not again,” she says.

Carson and his angry testosterone army of one comes whirling through the living room and pushes a dining chair aside to lunge across the table at me. His fists are on the table and his face is inches from mine. “So you’re going to run like a coward?” he shouts at me.

I’m frozen, holding my glass of wine as my mouth remains hanging open.

“What the hell are you doing, Carson?” Imogene yells back. She stands and yanks him away from the table. “Where do you get off storming in here in your goddamn muddy boots, yelling at Jess in her own home?”

“Archie said you’re thinking of moving back to the city.” Carson points a finger at me. He’s really good at dramatic entrances and he never hides his anger. This makes the night he wrestled Dylan to the ground look pretty tame.

“Get your finger out of her face and calm down,” Lauren interjects.

He puts his hands on his hips and leans forward like he’s getting ready to smash the table, the only barrier protecting me from him. I put my wine glass down and walk around the table to meet him. “We can discuss this outside so my friends can enjoy their meal,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”

“But I want to hear what’s going on,” Lauren whines as Carson follows me out to the porch.

“First of all, don’t ever talk that way to me in front of my friends.” I am terse, though not shouting. “Second, stop walking into my house whenever you feel like it. You don’t see me storming into your home, ever. Third, you don’t know the full story, and even if you did, you have no right to judge what I do with my life.”

“So you’re moving back? You’re selling everything Gin worked so hard to give you, just like that? You’re going to take the money and run?” He looms over me, but speaks in a much more measured tone.

“Archie didn’t tell you that.” My fingers nervously fiddle with the key necklace Carson gave me. He glances at the necklace and then back at my face.

“Not in so many words. He said you inquired about selling the property and that you have reservations about living here. Why? Because of Dylan? Or is this place too boring for you?”

“No and no. I am a little worried about how I’m going to talk to Dylan and for a while there I did tinker with the idea of moving back to the city. There were a few weeks where I thought this place was a bad idea and that I had really screwed up. I hurt Dylan and I’ve never felt responsible for someone else. No matter what you told me, I did think that I had some serious part in his breakdown or whatever it was. Being here, alone in this house, became pretty oppressive. I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I went to talk to Archie about selling the house.”

“But you’re not?” he asks and I think I see something that resembles hope in his eyes.

“Why do you care so much about what I do, Carson?” My voice cracks as I ask it. “You’re really good at showing up and giving me a piece of your mind.”

“You think I’m an asshole, don’t you?”

“No. I have never thought that about you, but I’m not Dylan. You can’t force your way in and tell me what to do. I can’t stand your lectures.”

“That’s understandable,” he says.

“So why do you care so much about what I do? Is it the house? Are you afraid of losing a pleasant part of your childhood? At least, I assume the time here with Aunt Virginia was a nice time.”

Carson smiles a little. “I love how you analyze and try to get in other peoples’ heads like a shrink, but sometimes you miss the bigger picture, Jess.”

“Then what’s the big picture? What’s lit a fire under your ass?”

He’s quiet for a moment and we stare at each other. Yelling or not, his beauty upends my reserve. He cranks my anxiety dial up to the maximum and the excitement of being near him draws me in.

“It’s you. I don’t want you to leave.” Carson says it more as a demand and my stupid insides swoon a little bit. “I told you I like coming around here to see you. I meant it.”

Every thought and image I have of Carson, from the first day I saw him in Archie’s office scowling to this moment, plays like a montage in my head. The nerves in my body swirl with elation and I want him to hold me close like he did that night on Barron’s Creek, yet the woman in me says I’m rushing into something blindly again. Dylan is no longer in the picture; however, it would be vulgar for me to throw myself at his brother while Dylan is in the midst of working out his issues. I’m not supposed to be going near Dylan or talking to him, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be doing anything with Carson, either. Anything that gives off a romantic vibe has got to be off limits.