Playing for Love at Deep Haven (28 page)

He felt his own
anger rise up, his own needs, his own desires and hopes and longings, which had
been ignored for so long, for most of his life. He approached her purposefully
and she backed up a step as he reached out, snaking a strong hand around her
waist.

“You don’t get
it, Violet, do you? When you said that to me? When you told me you loved me? It
was the first time, the
only
time, anyone’s
ever said that to me. In my whole life. My parents never once told me they
loved me, and I seriously question whether they did. I was a prodigy, a
commodity. And I know Cora did—does, whatever—but we don’t get touchy-feely and
say things like that.

“And there you
were in my dorm room, looking at me with those big brown eyes, telling me you
loved me and you meant it.
You loved me
.”

His eyes burned,
and he swiped at them with his free hand, feeling like a pussy, but it was too fucking
late to turn back now. He may as well just say all of it.

“I had no idea
how to respond. I didn’t know what to say! It took half a lifetime of regret to
figure it out. Just words? Don’t ever say that to me again. They’re not just fucking
words. They mean everything. And when you don’t say them, it slices me in half
until my guts are inside out and I feel like I’m dying. And maybe that makes me
weak, but it is what it is. Why’s it so important to me? Because you’re the
only one who’s ever loved me. You’ve
always
been the only one.”

“Zach,” she
whispered, holding a trembling hand over her lips, tears pouring down her
crimson cheeks. “I . . . I care about you so much, so much, Zach . . .”

He released her,
turning away to put his guitar case in the trunk and closing it.

“Please, Zach. Just
give me a little more time! That’s all I need.”

“That’s exactly
what I’m doing, baby. I’m giving you a little space. A little time.”

“Not like this.
Not with you walking away!”

He turned to
stare at her, and, unable to help himself, he approached her again and drew her
back into his arms. He cupped her face, kissing her salty lips lightly before
holding her against him and speaking gently near her ear. “Don’t you see? This
is perfect, Vile. This is how it has to be.”

He leaned back
to look at her face and hated her trembling lip. Hated that she’d walked into
Deep Haven fifteen minutes ago with a heart bubbling over with joy and now he
was tearing her to shreds. But what he was saying was the truth. Everything he
was saying needed to be said, needed to be worked out between them—the tour was
just facilitating it. He held her blood-shot puffy eyes with his glassy ones,
running the back of his fingers over her cheeks to catch her tears, as he
emptied his heart to her.

“Listen
carefully. I’m standing here in front of you, telling you I love you, telling
you that I will love you, no matter what, until I die. But I’m also telling you
that if you aren’t all in, Vile, this won’t work. I need all of you. Sorry that
I’m such a greedy bastard, but I’m not
Shep
Smalley,
and I can’t be with you if your heart doesn’t totally belong to me. I waited
too long to hear those words in my life, and I paid a high price for turning
them away.

“I know what I
want: I want you. There’s no such thing as me loving you until I don’t anymore,
because I’ll never stop. I’ll love you forever. But, I want you as much in love
with me as I am with you. You need time to be sure? Take it. Figure it out.” He
clutched her chin, forcing her to look at him. “But let’s get one thing totally
and completely fucking straight, baby. I’m
not
walking away from you. This is a break, not a breakup. I’m waiting. Do you
hear me? I’ll be waiting for you. As long as it fucking takes.”

He tilted his
head and crushed her lips with his, holding her brutally close as his tongue
found hers and his hands dug into her hair. He poured all his anger and regret,
his love and longing, into that kiss, demanding from her, possessive of her,
hating like fuck to leave her, acutely and desperately aware that it was the
last time he would kiss her for a while, if not forever. And she met him—his
beautiful girl, the second half of his soul—stroke for stroke, her fingers
flattening and flexing on his chest as she kissed him back. And if kisses were
“I love
yous
,” he’d swear she was saying it with
every passing second that he held her in his arms.

But kisses were
kisses. Zach needed the words too.

Melancholy intruded
and his hands moved from her hair to her cheeks which he held them gently,
reverently between his hands as his tongue slid languorously over hers, gently
saying good-bye the only way he was able. He finally drew back from her and her
lips were puffy and bruised, and he was glad.

Tears pooled in
her eyes. “I hate you for this.”

I hate me for this too.

“I hope that
changes, Vile. I really, really do.”

After one final
look at the woman he loved more than anything else in the world, he turned from
her, got in his car, and drove away.

Chapter 20

Technically she
still had Deep Haven to herself for three more days, but it was too painful to
stay. For the remainder of the afternoon, she alternated between crying and
fuming, never stopping to lie down or sit down and weep, but in constant,
almost furious, motion. She swept the kitchen and took out the garbage, packed
her giant suitcase and her smaller duffels. She called her mother and left a message
saying she’d be three days early. And everywhere she looked, there was Zach.

Zach in her
bedroom, leaning against the doorway and asking her to come have a glass of
Scotch. Zach in
his
bedroom, running
his fingers over her body as she recited “My Spot.” Zach on the porch massaging
her feet. Zach in the studio kissing every inch of her body on the sound room
floor.

He was
everywhere and nowhere, and Violet was breathless with longing.

She finally
locked the front door and slid the key under the mat. The sun was starting to
set now, just as it had the Friday before last, when she’d first arrived. She
remembered how she’d stared out at the harbor, thinking about
Shep
, wishing that she could let him go. At least she’d
gotten one thing right on this roller coaster of a sojourn. Now she looked out
at Winter Harbor again, at the boats bobbing lightly in the cold, dark water, and
knew she would probably not be back again.

“Good-bye,
Shep
,” she murmured and was relieved that her eyes didn’t
well up. She leaned on the railing, looking at the boats bobbing lightly in the
cold, dark water. “You were a good man. Thank you for loving me.”

And just as he
had last Friday, Zach Aubrey invaded her thoughts almost immediately blowing
Shep
out of the water of her mind.

When you told me you loved me? It was the first time,
the
only
time, anyone’s ever said that to me. In my
whole life.

Now her eyes
did
fill with tears as she thought about
Zach as a little boy, forced to practice and compose mercilessly with only his
twin sister for comfort and affection. Violet had suspected as much but hadn’t
known for sure. He spoke so little of his family—at Yale
and
now—it was hard for her to get a bead on his relationship with
them. Suddenly it was crystal clear why he’d been so confused about her
feelings in college, why he was so desperate for their return now. Her heart
wept for the little boy who’d never been told he was loved.

As though on the
breeze, soft and tentative, she heard her own voice whisper, “
I
love you, Zach.”

And then she
closed her eyes tightly and curled her fingers around the porch railing. She
breathed in the sea air deeply and waited for a wave of nausea or panic or
regret. But those feelings weren’t forthcoming, and she was strangely pleased
with herself that she felt only peace.

The words were
small and soft and not very sturdy, but they belonged to him. It was a start.

Her heart
dropped as she turned away. She had two long months to do better.

***

Three days
later, Violet was packing up her things again to return to Connecticut. She’d
had a nice visit with her mother, although
Jalyn
Smith, who’d gotten into the habit of working long hours to take care of her
daughter, had worked two double shifts while Violet was visiting. Violet had
had ample time to think about Zach, and one memorable conversation with Sophie
as she strolled around the grounds of the apartment complex.

“He left you?
Again? Oh my God, Violet! If I ever get my hands on—”

“It’s not like
that,” said Violet, sitting down on a bench at a park near her mother’s
apartment building.

“Then what’s it
like?”

“He loves me. He
does. I’m sure of it. He’s giving me space.”

“Oh, Vi. You
didn’t say it, did you? You left him dangling there without the ‘I love you.’”

Violet
swallowed. “I . . . I couldn’t.”

“Why not? You
feel it, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.
I’m scared. That’s all there is to it. It’s so permanent once you say it. You
can’t turn back. It’s out there. You’re committed. You’re in.”

“Don’t you want
to be in, Miss
Havisham
?”

“I was
with
Shep
, you
know? I mean, we were together for years. And I never said it. I could keep
that piece of me to myself. I could keep it safe. I liked keeping it safe. I
got used to keeping it safe.”

“Safe, Vi?
Alone!”

“No, not alone.
I was with
Shep
!”

“Nah, honey. You
were alone. You were two people who lived together and went out to dinner
together and took vacations together and had sex together. But you weren’t
with
him. You were two alone people
sharing air and a nice prewar apartment.”

Violet
swallowed. Sophie might be right.

“I’m sure it
felt safe,” her friend continued. “No one can hurt you if you’re alone. But you
told me how different you feel now, how alive and aware and excited about your
new contract and letting go of your old life to start something new. And that’s
all because of Zach. He’s the one who got you to start writing your poetry
again, who gave you the courage to remember who you used to be, who you want to
be. Didn’t that feel good? Not to be alone?”

“Yeah.”

“So he’ll be
back in a few weeks, right? If I were you, I’d be ready. I don’t know how long
you can make him wait. He loves you right now, and he’s taking a beating.”

Violet winced at
Sophie’s choice of words because they resonated.

She changed the
subject, asking about Sophie’s new book and promising to call her as soon as
she was back in Greenwich. Sophie said they’d celebrate the new contract, and
Violet said she’d buy Sophie dinner for being her free shrink. And then they
hung up.

Fall leaves
swirled around her legs as she walked back to her mother’s building, and her
phone vibrated in her pocket again. Probably just Sophie leaving an encouraging
text. Violet dug her phone out of her back pocket and swiped the screen.

Vile, I got a
new phone.

I know I’m
supposed to be giving you space but I can’t.

If you really
hate me and we’re really finished, don’t write back.

It’s up to you.

Z

PS Write back, I
miss you like crazy.

“Zach,” she
whispered, smiling at the phone, slowing her pace to reread his words over and
over again. Every time she got to “I miss you like crazy,” her heart flip-flopped
and she felt like weeping with relief. Just hearing from him was enough to make
her heart sing, make her body shiver, remembering their time at Yale, their
time at Deep Haven.

It also made her
remember his quick exit both times. She typed quickly, reviewing her message
before finally hitting send.

I’m so mad at
you, Z.

I hate it that
you took the tour.

I was almost
there.

I just needed a
little more time.

(Not two months
apart!)

V

Damn, Vile, I’m
so happy you wrote back.

Baby, I’ll never
leave again once you tell me that you love me.

Until then, I’m
going to keep rolling.

I’m sorry I
ruined your good news on Monday.

 
I’m so fucking proud of you.

Z

I looked up your
tour online.

35 cities? How
is that possible?

My mom picked up
a last-minute double shift.

Driving back to
CT today.

Still mad at
you.

Also, still
shocked I actually got a poetry contract.

V

I’m not.

Your writing is
the most beautiful stuff I’ve ever read. Always was.

Flight leaves
tonight. Connecting in London, then on to Croatia.

35 isn’t bad. 60
is bad.

I guess you’ll
just keep being mad at me until you aren’t anymore.

Safe travels,
Vile.

Z

Safe travels, Z.

It’s hard to
stay mad, but I’m not happy either.

What I am, is home.
But it doesn’t feel like home.

I miss Deep
Haven.

I miss you.

V

PS What’s it
like playing onstage to a major crowd?

Played Zagreb tonight.

A groupie came
backstage with wild hair, all different colors.

Missed you so
fucking much I couldn’t breathe.

I walked out of
the meet and greet and went back to my hotel.

The stage feels
hot and bright and electric.

(A lot like you,
Vile.)

Z

PS How does it
feel to be a “real” poet?

Met my editor
today.

His name’s Herman
and he’s old school (to say the least.)

Can finally buy
out my “Us After We” contract. (Relief)

Being a poet
feels exciting and new, yet so familiar and so right, I’m breathless.

(A lot like you,
Z.)

V

Vienna is so
fucking beautiful but it’s totally wasted on me.

Wish you were
here, baby.

We’d take in the
sights and then I’d warm you up in my hotel room.

Speaking of
warm, being away from you is hell.

And I hope Herman
is ugly as sin.

Six more weeks.

Z

Herman (who is
63 and married) asked for another anthology of poems!

Can you believe
it?

I’m busy writing
again and this time, it’s like honey.

My dreams are
coming true.

If I didn’t miss
you so much, life would be perfect.

V

I’m just about
ready to break down and buy you a ticket to come to Paris tomorrow.

Would you come
if I did?

Remember at Yale
when I walked up to you?

I should have
told you that I loved you. I should have just said it.

I loved you
then.

Right this
minute I love you more.

Z

I must have
reread that message 100 times.

And every time I
read it, I want to cry over wasted chances and lost time.

I want to cry
over how much you love me.

I have a
deadline on Monday, but fuck it, I need you more.

I bet Paris is
beautiful in November.

(Too bad I’m
only planning to see your hotel room.)

V

You have no idea
what that message did to me.

I could barely
get through the set tonight, thinking about you, what I want to do to you.

But I can’t let
you miss your deadline, Violet-like-the-flower.

Stay where you
are. Write the best stuff you can.

Send me some
lines.

My whole body
misses you.

My heart most of
all.

(Another body
part is calling bullshit on that last line.)

Z

I should be
waking up in your bed this morning.

Tell your parts
– all of them – that I’m waiting for them and they’d better do the same, no
matter how many groupies with wild hair show up backstage.

This is what I
was working on at Deep Haven:

(Then. Now.
Still.) You were mine all along.

(Then. Now.
Still.) No matter what we do.

(Then. Now.
Still.) Now you before me.

(Then. Now.
Still.) Then me before you.

It’s called
“Nash & Veronica.”

What do you
think?

V

I think I’m
already working on the music. Send me more.

I’m sick to
death of heavy metal.

How about a
little folk?

Z

Sounds good to
me.

(Who’s going to
buy all these folksy songs?)

How’s Stockholm?

I miss sleeping
next to you. I miss writing with you. I miss you all the time.

Be safe and come
home to me soon.

V