Nowhere but Here (5 page)

I swallowed. “Tell me the truth. Do you really think you love me?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think by now you should know.” My voice cracked.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“So that’s your answer?”

Without waiting for him to respond, I hung up, feeling more stupefied than sad. The tears had stopped. I was shocked—not that I was losing Stephen, but that I had wasted two years of my life with someone who didn’t love me. I guessed my reaction meant that I wasn’t in love with him, either. Stunned, I stared at a tiny crack in the wall for several moments until I heard three rapid knocks. A shiver ran through me before I hopped off the bed and ran to the door, swinging it open dramatically. There was an older man carrying a tray. Had it been Jamie, I might have jumped into his arms. “Your dinner, ma’am.” I stepped aside and let him set the tray on the small dining table in the corner of the room. “Truffle mushroom risotto and a bottle of our 2009 Pinot Noir, compliments of Chef Mark Struthers and R. J. Lawson.”

“Oh, right!” I laughed maniacally, making a crazy cackling sound. The day had really gotten to me. The waiter gave me a frightened look as he opened the bottle of wine and proceeded to pour a glass.

“Enjoy, ma’am,” he said and then hurried out the door. Once he was gone, I plopped onto the bed again as the tears began flowing once more. I thought about Stephen and tried to conjure up one truly happy memory with him besides him fucking me on the washer in the basement, which could hardly be deemed as happy. In retrospect, our time together was mediocre at best.

Rose never liked him; she had said he was cold fish. I thought about the dream Stephen referred to in our argument. Shortly after Rose died, I began questioning my life so deeply that it started to unnerve me. Not having any family or knowing where you come from can make you feel like you don’t exist.

I would look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I would say, “Who am I?” over and over, and the feeling, the anxiety of not knowing the answer, would send me into a panic. I wished I’d asked every question I could think of before she died, but I didn’t. There were just a few pictures and a tiny bit of information that I knew about my parents and grandparents, but it wasn’t enough to imagine their lives. In my mind, if they didn’t exist then I didn’t exist, and it was when I started believing that to be true that the dreams began, those tiny whispers that sent me reeling.

Rose’s funeral was closed casket, but in my dream it was open and she was lying there, looking nothing like herself. In my dream she wore white, a color she never wore and a dress she certainly did not own and one I definitely did not bury her in. It looked like a wedding dress with lace sleeves and a satin bodice, but Rose had never married—like my mother, she lived a solitary and mundane existence. I walked toward her and could feel someone else’s presence next to me, but I didn’t know who it was. I leaned over and stared at Rose, lying there lifeless and appearing much younger than she had been in reality when she died. She had long brownish-red locks that tumbled over her lace-clad shoulders in the most angelic way. Even though she appeared to be about twenty years old—much younger than I ever knew her—there was an obvious sense that the body lying there was my Rose.

When I turned to look at the figure standing next to me, something stopped me, an invisible force. It was one of those dreamlike moments when you try so hard to do something physically, but your body won’t let you. I felt paralyzed. All I knew was that the figure gave off a peaceful and soothing presence. I wondered if it was my mother or my father or God. Looking back down into the coffin, I noticed a tiny movement, and then the motion became more pronounced. I leaned in closer. Rose’s mouth was moving, but I could tell she was having trouble. I knew it was wired shut, the way a body is traditionally prepared for burial. Her eyes bolted open as wide as could be, and she was violently moving her lips, trying to open her mouth; it was horrifying.
She’s alive! Help her
, I kept shouting, but my voice made no sound. She finally pried her lips apart. Her expression was urgent. She was desperately trying to give me a message, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. All I could hear was the sound of heartbeats, and that’s the moment when I would always wake up.

Every time I had that dream, I would wish for one more second. I would replay the scene over and over, wanting so badly to decipher what she was trying to tell me. Her dead body lying there in a casket trying to speak to me was the most frightful vision. Still, I wished I could get an inch closer, just to hear her, because I knew it was a whisper. Even terrified, I knew it was a whisper that would change the course of my life forever, if only I understood what the message was.

Perhaps she was warning me about Stephen. Maybe it was her last plea for me to kick him to the curb. And maybe, just maybe, she had sent Bob down to remind me that I’m all I’ve got.

I composed myself, took a deep breath, walked over to the table, sat down, put the napkin across my lap, and began eating. Table for one, and I was okay with it. I was going to concentrate on my job, write the article, hopefully impress everyone at the paper, and move on with my life.

One glass of that fine Pinot was not enough; I had two, then three. The risotto was divine. I ate every single bite and thought,
See, this is the life. Nobody gives a shit about me and that’s okay, because I give a shit about me.

It was dark out on the balcony, I could see every single star in the sky as I polished off my glass of wine. It made me feel as insignificant in the world as I knew I was. I walked in and called the front desk and told them they could collect the tray. I had drunk three quarters of a bottle of wine and was feeling numb when I heard the same three knocks. My plan was to apologize to the poor man for my wacky behavior earlier, but when I opened the door he wasn’t there. In his place stood Jamie, in all his glorious beauty. He had a small box in one hand and something else behind his back in the other. I took a step back and let him enter the room.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Don’t you ever go home?” One corner of his mouth turned up, revealing the dimple. I realized my comment sounded rude. “I mean, do you work twenty-four hours a day?”

“I live on the property.”

“Here?” I motioned around the room.

“No, I live in . . .” He laughed a little before speaking again. “I live in the barn.”

“You live in the barn?” My eyes went wide.

“It’s a really nice barn, okay?” he said in a low voice. There was something about the way he said it that made my fingers tingle, like he was promising me something—an invitation, perhaps.

For a few moments we were quiet and shy. I’d had a lot of wine.

“How was the risotto?” He glanced down at my mouth.

“Delicious.”

“I like the way you say that word, like you really mean it.”

“I do,” I said, and then brazenly looked him up and down.

“I brought you something.” He held out the small box and then set it on the long entry table, along with another bottle of Pinot. “In case you need backup. And that’s just a little treat,” he said, pointing to the box.

“I doubt I should be drinking any more wine.”

He shrugged. “Well, just in case.” He turned to walk out. At the door, he looked back at me. “It was nice to meet you, Kate. I hope you have a good night.”

“Wait a minute.”

He turned immediately, and there was something hopeful in the look on his face. “Yeah?”

“Well, I want to see what you brought me so I can thank you properly in person.” I took the small box and opened it to find two of the most decadent-looking salted chocolate caramels seated on two tiny doilies. “Oh, my favorite. How’d you know?”

“Good guess, I suppose.” He was still standing near the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“And thank you for the wine, but really, I shouldn’t have any more.”

“We can share it if you want.”

I smiled then took a chocolate from the box and bit into it, the caramel stringing out over my fingers. Taking a few steps toward him, I reached my hand out, holding the chocolate near his mouth. “We can share.” I was drunk, but I didn’t care.

He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling it closer. He never took his eyes off of mine when he slowly took the chocolate with his mouth and then sucked the caramel off my index finger. He leaned in next to my ear and spoke softly. “Does your boyfriend like to share?” Flushed from head to toe, I stood there, speechless. He stepped back and laughed a little.

“I’m just messing with you, Katy.” He searched my face. I was shocked. “I’ll be respectful, I promise.”

I mock-punched him in the chest. “All right, open the wine then.”

“Is that how you ask nicely?”

“Oh, you’re pushing it.” We both laughed. “Okay, please, let’s have some wine.”

He grabbed the bottle, bottle opener, and two glasses and then said, “Let’s take a walk. We should be outside on a gorgeous night like this. I’ll show you the pool.”

Taking nothing but my room key, I followed him toward the door. I glanced in the mirror. I was still wearing my demure work clothes and matronly shoes. I had piled my hair on top of my head in a messy bun and had faint black mascara streaks under my eyes from crying. I was the picture of a man’s worst date.
It’s not a date
, I reminded myself, but I was also beginning to realize Jamie wasn’t just any man. It didn’t seem like he was turned off.

It was hard not to stare at him. There was something sweet but innately confident about the way he carried himself. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, he gave a chin nod to the man behind the front desk.

“Going to the pool, George.”

“Okay buddy, I’ll send some towels over.”

I started to object. What on earth would we need towels for?

Jamie jutted an elbow out for me to loop my arm through, and then he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, towels are good for sitting on.”

“Right,” I said assuredly.

We walked through the large great room, out to a huge veranda, and down several small sections of stone stairs to a gate. I read a sign on the fence that said the pool closed at ten.

“It’s got to be after ten.”

“I clean this pool. I can swim in it any time I want.” He winked.

“I thought we weren’t swimming? Wait a minute, you clean the pool, too? What don’t you do around here?”

“I’ve worked every job on this property for at least a day. I even did housekeeping for a week.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity, I guess. I wanted to know how to do each job, and Susan really loves me so she let me give it a go. Sometimes I just fill in for other people because I’m always here, you know?”

“Is R.J. always here?”

“He’s here a lot.”

The pool was gorgeous, with a stone waterfall on the opposite side from where we were standing near a table. While Jamie opened the wine, I pulled a chair out.

“Let’s dip our feet in.” He looked up at me eagerly. “Want to?”

“Isn’t it cold?”

“It’s heated.”

“Okay.”

I kicked my shoes off and rolled up my slacks, then followed him to the edge of the pool, where he set two towels down. He rolled up his jeans and sat gracefully before dunking his feet into the water. My fingers twitched with a desire to smooth back the disheveled hair that had fallen into his face. I watched intently as he reached up and ran his hand through it, displaying the flexing muscles in his arm. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When he handed my wine over, he noticed me staring.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just want to forget about everything for a little while.”

“Really?” He looked excited. I nodded. “I have a great idea.”

I dipped my feet in. The water was very warm, like bathwater. It was immediately calming my nerves.

“What’s your idea?”

“Well, curious Katy, I’ll show you.”

He jumped up, ran to the gate, tinkered with something, and then all the lights went out—the lights in the pool, all around the patio area, even the waterfall. Everything was silent. I could see steam rising from the surface of the water. A million more stars became visible. I sipped my wine and then heard Will Ryan’s soulful voice filtering softly through the outdoor speakers. Jamie appeared at my side.

“I love this guy. He’s so good,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s awesome. He and his wife are playing at a little local bar on Saturday, if you want to check it out with me?”

“I’d love to, if I’m still here.” I finally looked up and noticed that gorgeous Jamie was shirtless and undoing his belt buckle. Even in the dark, I could see the sinewy muscles of his arms and his defined abs and chest. He just smiled playfully at me. “What are you doing?” I whispered loudly.

“We’re gonna take your mind off things with a little dip.”

“
I’m
not taking a dip.”

“Okay, fine.” He yanked his jeans off and leaped into the pool, wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue and gray plaid boxers.

When he surfaced, he held his boxers by a finger above his head and spun them around as if he were doing a striptease. He flung them toward me and they landed just to my left.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What? You can’t see me. Anyway, I know you have the crazy in you. You’ll be in here in no time.”

“How do you know that?”

“The pretty ones are always a little cray-cray.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he said with no trace of humor. “Just get in here, Katy. I promise I won’t look.”

At that point, it’s fair to say that I was drunk, completely and utterly drunk from the wine, and Jamie’s presence did nothing to sober me up. His long, wet hair left little glimmering droplets on his shoulders. I giggled. “Turn around, you better not peek!”

“I promise.” He waded to one end of the pool and turned his back to me.

I quickly stripped down to my black bra and panties. Looking down, I thought it could easily pass for a swimsuit except that it was silk.
Oh well.