Fearsome (31 page)

Dylan’s bruising has faded completely and his follow-up medical exams have been clear. He started seeing a new psychiatrist two weeks ago when he went back to work. The new anti-depressant he’s trying needs another week or so before its full effect kicks in, but Dylan thinks they’re working and his spirits are up. He’s hopeful.

I know this because, when I’m not bogged down in 5 Alpha work or attempting a yoga class, we meet for lunch at least twice a week at Bonnie’s and talk like we’re old friends. He sometimes brings Leo and Jeremy along so we can hang out with Lauren and Imogene while they work.

During those times our conversations are light, mostly about life in general, but when Dylan and I are alone, our conversations turn to our personal, yet separate, struggles. There’s nothing sexual or romantic about it. Dylan is still beautiful in that angelic way, yet we have evolved into friends with a shared past and my affections for him have become more of a sisterly fondness. He seems more serene in general and is looking forward to moving into the residential treatment center in Massachusetts next week after the annual Blackard Designs party that Carson hosts in his home every year.

I have been invited to the party, too, along with three hundred other people. Although I see Carson periodically, at this point, I don’t trust myself and I’m still uneasy about spending any time alone with him. Dylan and I have been officially over for a couple of months and it makes it easier for me to talk to him since I’m not worried about how he perceives me sexually or romantically. That’s what makes it tough, too. Dylan is my past, and Carson is my present and future; if I have a future with him.

We’re sitting in a window booth, the last diners at the end of the lunch rush. The staff is in the kitchen eating their own meal and cleaning while I watch Dylan wolf down a burger and fries. He keeps his head shaved and it shows off the scars that have gone from a fleshy-neon pink to an opaque whitish-rose color. I want to reach over and rub his head, which I and the other women do often. His fuzzy scalp is irresistible.

“Keep your hair like that and the women are going to fawn over you, touching your head. And the scars make you look a little dangerous,” I say as he grins at me.

“Just what I need, more women.”

“They are going to be all over you at Carson’s shindig. You wait and see. They’ll come out of the woodwork.”

“I have no doubt. I expect to get laid before I go off to the crazy house.”

“Don’t say that. I’m really proud of you. So is Carson.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, we haven’t spoken. Other than ‘hello’ when we bump into each other at the store.”

“That’s the problem. You have to talk to him, the same way you’re talking to me. Well, except we’re not together anymore, so maybe you want to talk to him in a guy-getting way. Whatever spells or Jedi mind tricks chicks do to get our attention. Does that make sense?”

“No, not at all, but I’m really relieved you and I are on speaking terms. We’re better friends now, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” He finishes gulping his water and puts the glass down. “My new medication makes me really thirsty, or maybe I’m imagining it. Anyway, you should be with Carson.” He blurts that last part out. I assume the medication makes him a little incoherent, except I understand him perfectly.

I sigh and avert my gaze to the empty diner.

“I’m serious. Carson is the best human being on the whole planet.”

“That’s quite an endorsement,” I say dryly.

“It’s true. You’ll never regret being with Carson. He’s been in love with you this whole time. I was so persistent with you because I wanted something that belonged to Carson.”

“Gee, thanks. I don’t belong to anyone.”

Dylan leans across the table and takes my hands in his. “And you don’t get to decide who Carson loves. He loves me and you. Maybe you’re not ready to love him back, but Carson doesn’t change his plans. He’s like you. He thinks about something a long time and follows through on it. I wouldn’t be here today if Carson hadn’t picked up where my parents left off. He raised me and planned a future for me. I fucked up a lot of times, but here I am. Carson saved me again and again, and this time I’m going to follow through on the plan. I’m going to live and breathe that therapy program for however long it takes. Six weeks, three months. I’m going to succeed and then I’m coming back to make Blackard Designs even better.”

“Good.” I smile and squeeze his hand.

“Good? Did you not hear the part where I said you and Carson are alike? Stop putting me in this position where I have to talk about you and some other guy. Seriously.” He’s trying to be jokey, yet it’s not an easy topic for either of us.

“I didn’t ask you to talk about Carson.”

“Yeah, but if you won’t talk about him, then I’m sort of obligated to push this along. He’s my brother and I screwed things up for him. Plus, you’re my friend and I owe you some truths. I’m trying to point out how perfect you two are for each other.”

“You don’t have to.” I don’t think I can hear another lecture nor have someone sing Carson’s praises to me.

“See, you sound just like Carson.”

“Well, there you go. I don’t want to date myself.”

“Ha. Funny. Listen, you spent years following through on your academic goals and your painting. He did the same with his furniture company and me. I have been Carson’s biggest project. You and Carson are both very strong, persistent people. You take your time and you do the right thing.”

“You don’t think I’ve made some hasty decisions since you’ve known me?”

Dylan laughs loudly. “You mean me?”

“Yes, you.”

“In your defense, I got you when you were very vulnerable. I was like an eagle diving in on its defenseless prey.”

I scoff and laugh with him.

“A lot has changed in the last five months, hasn’t it?” He’s serious again.

“Yes.” I put my hands back in my lap. “I feel like a different person, too. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dylan says quietly. “But not Carson. He’s the same. You can always count on him.”

“You could sell used cars. You can count on this one!” I mock.

Dylan chuckles. “You should call your parents more often.”

“What made you think of them?” I ask.

“You’ve been here long enough. I don’t know why you haven’t asked them to come visit. It’s nice that you have parents. I wish I did. I don’t want to sound preachy. I know you haven’t seen eye to eye with them over the last couple of years, or ever, but they did push you in the right direction, getting an education. They raised a great daughter. You should give them some credit and throw them a bone sometime. I bet they’d love to hear from you.”

“Huh. Well, I’m still a little miffed about them keeping me away from my aunt all these years and they have never cared much about my art.”

“Big deal. I used to complain about Carson being too bossy and controlling, but he was there for me. I’ll give him credit for that. You need to stop acting like you’re all alone, that you have to make every decision by yourself. You have parents and friends. Did you even notice I’m using the speech you gave me about not doing it alone?”

“Yeah. Clever.”

We sit in silence for a moment. It’s strange to be receiving advice about life from someone who is about to go into a therapy program for his emotional instability.

“I never got to apologize for being such a shitty girlfriend to you.”

“You were perfect.” He gives another devilish grin.

“Hardly.” I laugh.

“I’m serious. You never promised anything more than what was offered. You were honest with me and I appreciate that. I’ll never regret the time I spent with you.”

I lean across the table and Dylan leans in to listen. “You were my first, so I’ll never regret my time with you either.”

“I know and I think everyone already knows your secret,” he whispers loudly.

“Very funny.”

“Jess, I have made some bad decisions in my life, but you were not one of them. I hope you listen or at least try to believe what I’ve been telling you. Stop thinking you could have prevented any of this from happening. I really didn’t want to get married and moving in on you was a mistake. I dragged you into my screwed up brain; that’s what happened.”

“Okay. I believe you and now I want you to listen to me. I know you idolize Carson. That’s understandable. But you’re also a very good person. He’s not better than you.”

“Huh. Yeah, well thanks.”

“Huh, yeah, you’re welcome.”

“Smarty pants, I want you to come visit the shop and see what we’re doing. Carson’s business deal came through a while ago and he’s expanded the place. We’re doing these weathered pieces of furniture—aged wood—and I helped get the operation going. Carson has a great appreciation for your art, so you need to see his.”

“Maybe so.

“You see me moving forward, you don’t have to tip-toe around me or feel responsible anymore. You are free to date Carson without feeling any guilt.”

“Ah. It’s not that simple, Dylan.”

“It’s also not as difficult as you make it out to be,” he says.

Thirty-One

The Friday before Carson’s party, the snow comes down like a thick, white, fluffy blanket. As I watch the peaceful flakes float down from my library window, Lauren is busy in the next room working on some new necklaces that she and Imogene want to post on their new website soon. She listens to classical music while she strings beads and crimps wire.

Imogene is cleaning the house. She’s decided I am a slob and she will clean once a week in return for a hefty rent reduction. I don’t argue with her, especially since I’m not sure I’m brave enough to hire Talia just yet. She’s too close to Carson and it would put me in another very awkward position if I drag Carson down into the black hole where all my dates go to die.

Since Imogene and Lauren are both occupied with tasks, I convince myself to make a trek into town. I need the exercise and I want to take Dylan up on his offer.

Jogging through the snow along the main route to town requires more stamina than I expected. By the time I arrive at Blackard Designs, my wool cap and running shoes are soaked.

“Hi, Jess!” Daisy greets as I walk through the door of the shop. I tell her I’m just visiting, no need to buzz anyone.

I peel off my soggy watch cap and run my hands through my damp hair, trying to fluff it up. I hang my down vest on the front coat rack and wipe off any remaining snowflakes on my black running tights.

On the left side of the building, in the showroom, I can see Dylan talking to some men and women in business suits. He must be giving his pitch to some sales reps. I watch him for a moment, admiring how he’s at ease talking with such authority on the subject of their craft.

I turn and walk back by Daisy’s counter and through the right side to the actual workshop. I spot Leo and Daniel right away, both are wearing goggles and gloves, painting or staining furniture. They wave and give me silent hellos as I walk by. There are projects everywhere, most in the finishing stages, but the crew is unusually sparse in this part of the shop.

In the back I see where the extension has been added, the new addition Dylan mentioned. The back wall has been knocked out and a glass wall has been installed in its place that allows me to see the whole new addition without going in. It’s very industrial looking with concrete flooring, a high ceiling, metal doors with rivets, metal skylights and tall windows, machinery that looks like ovens and lots of timber. It has an artisanal ambiance, a place for real craftsman who work with basic elements of earth, fire and wood. It reminds me of Carson’s home. Every bit of this workshop has Carson in it. It even smells like him.

There are more people working here, even a few women, so Carson must have used the investment loan to increase production as well as number of staff. I’m watching the activity without really understanding their process when I see Carson. He is speaking to a man by the enormous oven with a tool that resembles a pizza paddle.

Carson looks up and sees me then says something to the man and walks towards the partition door. In that instant I realize how much I have missed seeing him. His dark hair hangs loose down to his chin and frames his handsome face. His stride is long and shows off the hard lines through his arms and legs. He runs his hand through his hair to push it back. I love that move. When he opens the heavy, metal door, the sounds of machinery and crackling wood carry into the workshop area.

“Jess,” Carson says. He offers a conservative smile, a pleasant version for greeting business people.

“Dylan said I should come by and visit.”

“He’s in the showroom if you want to see him,” Carson tells me. His jeans and boots are dusty with wood chips and he smells like a campfire. He holds his heavy work gloves in one hand and keeps the partition door open with the other.

“I saw him. He’s with customers or reps. I wanted to see the new addition.”

“Oh. Great,” he says, genuinely surprised. “Come in, I’ll give you the tour.”

I walk by him through the door and feel like a panther in my body-hugging black attire.

“Did you run here?” he asks.

“No, I jogged and it turned into more of a brisk walk before the final half mile changed into a limp.”

He smirks. “Well, you’re here. I’m glad.”

“Me, too. This looks impressive. You never told me about any of your plans to expand.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Come here.”

I follow him to the big oven where the man with the paddle is shoving wood inside the high flames.

“We’re doing a new line of furniture. It’s all aged wood. It looks similar to our recycled barn wood furniture, but waiting for wood to age naturally is slowing things down so we came up with our own process. This is a boiler where we cook the wood at high temperatures. Then we put it in the season chamber for drying.” He points to a set of ominous, black metal, double doors. “After that, those guys over there use steel brushes on the cooked wood to give it a more weathered look.”