Heaven and Hell (62 page)

This was because, since Luci realized she
needed to come to terms with the loss of her husband and look to
her future, I was never sure about that meaning she needed to move
back to Italy.

This was partly selfish. She was my only
friend in North Carolina and we’d grown super close.

This was partly because of what Sam told me
about her before I even met her.

She was, of course, sultry, exotic,
glamorous and beautiful.

But she wasn’t only the kind of woman who
was just as comfortable drinking a beer on a deck as drifting in
elegant clothes through posh events. She was actually
more
comfortable drinking beer on a deck than she seemed drifting in
elegant clothes through posh events.

Sometimes home wasn’t where you grew up.
Home was where you were meant to be.

And I sensed Luci was meant to be here.

She’d changed. The sorrow wasn’t gone but it
was nowhere near the intensity it used to be. Her smiles were more
genuine. Her laughter came more easily. She never tried to fake
anything. And she seemed more at peace.

At the very least, I didn’t think she should
shake up this process by moving to a different country even if it
was the nation of her birth.

“Talk to me,” I urged, she pulled in another
breath then she leaned into me and I was shocked to see it was with
excitement.

“Okay,
cara mia,
I… it’s hard…” she
trailed off, her eyeballs slid to the side then she looked back at
me and declared, “Travis ruined me for other men.”

Uh-oh.

Were we back to this?

“Luci, honey –” I began but she shook her
head and her hand darted out to capture mine.

“No, what I mean is… Kia, you know. They,
men like that… you can’t find just any other man. You have to find
a man like that.”

This was not good.

Carefully and gently, I said, “Luci, there
isn’t another Travis.”

Her head tipped slightly to the side and she
replied, “I know, Kia, I mean an American.”

I blinked.

“Italian men don’t wear baseball caps,” she
went on.

What?

Baseball caps?

She kept going.

“Or say ‘fuckin’ this’ or ‘bullshit that’ or
take so much pride in their pickup trucks you’d think they were
their children.”

It was then I had to stop myself from
laughing.

She wasn’t done.

“I mean, Travis wore baseball caps and had a
pickup truck, though not as big as Sam’s, but I don’t need a man
who wears a baseball cap or owns a pickup truck. I just mean a man
who’s
a man.
And I know Italian men or French men or
whatever can be men. But only American men can be, well… so… very…
American.
”

I couldn’t help it, I started giggling.

She let my hand go and sat back looking
adorably disgruntled.

“I wasn’t being amusing,” she told me.

“Yes you were,” I replied. “But I can’t say
you’re wrong. American men are the only men who can be
American.”

She rolled her eyes.

I kept giggling.

Then I sobered and it was me this time who
reached out and grabbed her hand. I held it tight and when her eyes
came to mine, mine locked on hers.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t
want to do. You don’t have to take that offer on your house. You
don’t have to go home. If you go home, you can come back. You can
do whatever you want to do, Luci. Your whole life is in front of
you.” Then I gave her my Dad’s advice. “Listen to your heart and
find your happiness.”

Her face grew uncertain and she asked, “I
know that, Kia, but what do
you
think I should do?”

I was learning that Luci needed a lot of
advice. She ciphered this and went her own way but to cipher, she
needed input to cipher through and asked for it.

“If I were you, I’d keep that offer, sell
the house you shared with Gordo and look for smaller properties
here. You already own two homes and can afford it. That way, you
have your options open. And, if your preference runs to macho
American men, you’ll find a lot more of them here than you will in
Italy so you need a base from which to launch your offensive.”

She grinned.

I let her hand go and sat back

But Luci surprisingly didn’t cipher and
decided right away. “I will do this. I will call my real estate
agent when I get home and set up viewings.”

Excellent!

“Good,” I murmured.

The waitress came with our bill and we did
our usual arguing over who was going to pay for it. I finally
convinced her of the truth that it was my turn, I paid then we
gathered our purses, left the restaurant and headed to our
cars.

Her Corvette was parked in front of my
Cherokee and I asked something I’d wanted to know since before I
met her.

“What is with your cars?”

Her head snapped to me and the way it did, I
realized she wasn’t quite there and I’d messed up. I should have
been more sensitive. This had something to do with Gordo and she
wasn’t ready for me to blurt the question like I did.

Then she looked at her car and her face grew
pensive.

God, I was such an idiot.

“Luci, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked like
that. It wasn’t nice.”

Her eyes came to me.

“Travis would hate this car.” Her gaze moved
back to the Corvette. “
I
hate this car. It is not me.”

“It’s a cool car,” I said softly and she
looked back at me. “But you’re right, it isn’t you.”

I didn’t know what was her but she wasn’t
about flash and dazzle or the need for speed.

She was… well, like me.

“Maybe…” she said quietly, pausing then,
“maybe I thought, if I did something he hated, he’d show up and
stop me. He worked hard for his money, he didn’t come from it.
Although I had it and he made a good salary, the way he grew up, he
didn’t throw it away. He would dislike me doing it. Clothes, shoes,
bags, makeup, things like that he didn’t mind.” She smiled sadly at
me. “They made me pretty and he liked me pretty. They made me happy
and he liked me happy. But this,” she tilted her head to the car,
“was just madness. It would not make him displeased, it would make
him angry. And maybe, well, maybe
I
was angry. Angry at him
for leaving me. So I wanted to make him angry too.” She looked at
the car and whispered, “Foolish.”

“Understandable,” I whispered in reply and
she again looked at me.

Then her face changed and the way it did, my
breath caught.

“I love you, Kia Clementine,” she said
suddenly and I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them and moved into her,
folding my arms around her and holding her tight.

“Right back at you, Luciana Gordon.”

She gave me a squeeze. I returned it.

Then we broke apart but leaned in and
touched cheek to cheek. She got in her car and I hoofed it to the
Cherokee and climbed in. I started it up and headed home to
Sam.

Then I smiled.

After our blowout three weeks ago when I
almost decided to leave him, Sam changed and stayed changed. We
were back. Things were good. No more mysterious outings and long
workouts.

Two days ago, we even had a chat about my
future. I liked Kingston. I liked clothes. I liked handbags. I
liked jewelry. But, although Kingston had some fun shops, it didn’t
have a cool women’s clothing and accessories shop. It didn’t even
have an uncool one. It was a female clothing and accessories
wasteland.

So Sam told me there was a community college
close by, I could take business courses, get an associate’s degree
but before that, pick his Mom’s brain and learn from the master. He
even suggested we fly out to California and I work with her in her
shop for a couple of weeks to see if it was my thing.

I liked this idea. It was something to
explore. Something exciting. Something I may or may not be good at
but it was
something.
A direction. A possible future.

As for Sam, although the mysterious outings
had disappeared, the private phone calls didn’t.

I had chosen to ignore this. They didn’t put
him in a bad mood that he took out on me or a bad mood at all. They
didn’t take him away from me for hours on end. And they didn’t send
him off to do stuff unknown.

He didn’t want to share, okay. Maybe one day
he would. Maybe he wouldn’t and one day it would get to me.

Now, it wasn’t.

I was going with that.

It was part of Sam and I was accepting what
he could give to me since the dark days were gone and we were back
to everything he gave me being beauty.

And that was definitely something I could go
with.

I drove home and a couple houses down from
ours I hit the remote for the gate then hit the button for the
garage. By the time I was ready to pull in both were open. I did
the button thing again the minute I cleared the gate then shut the
garage door behind me after I turned off the car.

Then I went up the stairs to the
kitchen.

I thought I’d hear the game but I
didn’t.

And Memphis didn’t yap at me.

Hmm.

“Honey! I’m home!” I called and that was
when I heard Memphis yap.

It was coming from upstairs.

But nothing from Sam.

I rounded the stairs and looked through the
living room.

No Sam.

“Honey?” I called and got another yap from
Memphis; I looked up and saw her at the top of the stairs. She
yapped at me again. “Hey, baby,” I called as I moved up the
stairs.

Memphis yapped her reply.

Three steps from her, I leaned in and she
bounced into my arms.

Cuddling her, I was heading toward the
office but heard something in the bedroom so, brows drawing
together, I moved there.

Then I stopped dead in the doorway.

Sam was packing his big black leather
duffle. The duffle he used when he went to Italy then went with me
to Crete and Indiana.

I didn’t get a good feeling about this.

“Sam?” I whispered, my eyes going to him to
see his movements were economical, practiced and swift.

He dumped something from the dresser into
his bag, what, I didn’t care and his eyes came to me.

“Baby, got a gig I gotta do. I’ll be gone
three weeks, month tops.”

I froze.

He had a
gig
where he’d be gone three
weeks, a month tops?

What.

The.

Fuck?

“Sorry?” I asked and my voice sounded
strangled.

Sam didn’t repeat himself. But as he moved
to the walk-in, he kept talking.

“I’ll text or call to let you know when to
expect me home.” He disappeared into the walk-in and kept speaking.
“But until then communication will be random and infrequent.”

He was suddenly and without notice leaving
for three weeks and telling me communication would be random and
infrequent.

Was he high?

Seriously?

I forced myself to come unstuck, wandered
partially into the room and he came out with a load of jeans and
shirts.

“You’re leaving for three weeks?” I
asked.

He shoved the stuff in without folding it. I
already knew this was why his shirts were so wrinkled. I didn’t try
to break him of this habit before and, for obvious reasons, I
didn’t mention it now.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“You’re leaving for three weeks,” I repeated
as a statement this time.

His eyes came to me but only to skim through
me before he looked down at the bed and I saw him pick up his
passport.

His passport!

Then he repeated, “Yeah,” as he shoved it
into the back pocket of his jeans.

“You can’t be serious,” I whispered and he
looked at me but this time he held my eyes.

“You might wanna take this opportunity to go
home,” he suggested. “You do, let me know, just text me or leave a
voicemail if I don’t pick up. You decide to stay awhile, when I’m
done, I’ll go to you in Indiana.”

Then he went to the nightstand, picked up
his watch and started to strap it on.

This wasn’t happening. He didn’t seriously
think that I could leave him to have lunch with Luci, be gone a few
hours, come back and find him packing, taking his passport and
telling me he was going to be gone an indefinite amount of time
with little to no communication, no understanding of where he was
going and what he was going to be doing there and I’d be okay with
that.

“Sam, honey, you need to stop a second and
give me a little time,” I said quietly.

He looked from his watch to me. “Kia, baby,
wish I could but I don’t have a little time. Wheels up in an hour
and the drive is forty-five minutes. I gotta hit the road.”

“Wheels up?” I asked.

“The plane is taking off,” he answered.

I sucked in breath and tried to pull in
patience with it.

Then I said carefully, “You’re telling me
you’re getting on a plane in an hour, taking off to parts unknown
to do deeds unexplained and, for me, this is all at the definition
of a moment’s notice.”

He finished with his watch, eyes still
locked on me and he confirmed, “That’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

“And you expect me to accept that,” I
whispered.

He started to look impatient. “Kia, I told
you, I don’t have time.”

He didn’t have time.

He didn’t
have time.

My heart started hurting, like
a
lot.

“You need to make time.” I was still
whispering when I gave my warning.

“I cannot do this now,” he muttered,
definitely impatient, he moved then bent to his bag and zipped it
up.

Then, Memphis in my arms, we watched him go
back to the nightstand and tag his phone. Then we watched him shove
it in his back pocket. Then we watched him haul up the bag by the
strap and hook it on his shoulder. Then we watched him move to
us.

Then I stood immobile as Memphis shook
happily in my arms and Sam gave her a head rub. Then I stayed
unmoving as his hand came up, wrapped around my jaw, he tipped my
head back and kissed me hard and closed-mouthed.