Reparation (9 page)

“Jameson likes Long Island Iced Teas,” Sanders commented. She raised her eyebrows.

“I'm not making you that, you'd be on the floor. How about Sex on the Beach?” she teased, winking at him. He cleared his throat and looked away.

He said it was by far his favorite. Huh, Sanders liked girly drinks. Who would've thought? She made him a Tequila Sunrise after that, but then cut him off. She could see the effects. They had been at it for a while, she had spaced them out and made him take his time, fed him pretzels and made him a sandwich. But it was still clear that he was a little toasted.

“Is it normal for your lips to be numb?” he asked, staring at the wall behind her. His speech was still clipped, but his voice was soft, his eyelids heavy. His features relaxed. Small things to a normal person, huge things for Sanders. She laughed and sank into a chair across from him, putting her feet up on an ottoman.

“Yeah, sometimes that happens to me, too. How are your toes?” she asked. He glanced down at his shiny shoes.

“Toes?”

“Mine tingle sometimes, when I drink. Fingertips, toes, lips, all that good stuff. How's your vision?” she went on. He shrugged.

“Perfect.”

“I meant,” she laughed, “are you seeing double yet? Things a little blurry?”

“No. Should they be?”

“Not necessarily. So is it everything it's cracked up to be?” she asked. He shrugged again.

“I'm not sure I see the appeal. I feel like I am stuck in slow motion. How does anyone get anything done like this?” he said, his words coming out slow. She laughed again.

“You're not supposed to get anything done. You do it to relax, have fun, be brave, whatever,” she told him.

“Brave?”

“
Liquid courage
. Makes you uninhibited, makes you do things you wouldn't normally do,” she explained.

“Like take a whole bottle of xanax and swim in a pool?”

He could've hit her and she would've been less shocked. She licked her lips.

“Yes, things like that,” she whispered. His eyes finally met hers, and he stared right into her.

“That's not very courageous, or brave,” he commented.

“I know. Sometimes, alcohol can make you the stupidest fucking person on the block,” she managed a laugh.

“I was very upset with you. You
worried
me,” he told her, his voice full of bite. Another shock.

“I'm sorry, Sandy. I wasn't in my right mind. I won't ever do that again,” she replied, staring back at him. He looked angry. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look angry.

“And Jameson ..., I was so upset with him. Angry. I was
angry
at him,” Sanders stressed. Tate nodded.

“I know. Me, too.”

“But
I
have forgiven him. Why can't you?” he demanded.

“See, this is that uninhibited thing I was talking about,” she pointed out. He waved his hand in the air.

“I was counting on this,” he replied. “Why can't you forgive him?”

“I'm trying, Sandy. I really am. You know, don't you, that I wanted to hurt him, too, like I wanted to hurt Ang,” Tate said softly. He nodded.

“I had figured that much out. I just couldn't quite understand why. You
said
you forgave him, for Petrushka, for his cruelty,” he explained, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. She had never seen him in such a relaxed posture.

“I know. I lied. I didn't believe him. I don't know if I believe him, now. I just can't stop feeling this way. Like, why was Pet in Spain? Did he tell her he was there? Did he tell her what night club we would be at? When we were going to the apartment? And Ellie and Ang. I refuse to believe he didn't know about that – how could he not!? I mean, he booked them onto a plane he paid for! He keeps things from me, he messes with my head, and I -,” she started to ramble, and could feel her blood pressure rise as the memories flooded into her brain. Sanders held up a hand.

“No. He doesn't.
I do,
” he said quickly. She blinked at him.

“Huh?” she almost grunted, stunned.

“I knew Petrushka was in Spain, I saw it on the internet. The other things were merely a coincidence – Jameson frequents the restaurant that he took you to, he is friends with the owner. I'm sure she knew he would turn up there sooner or later. I never told him she was in the country,” Sanders explained, rolling his glass between his hands, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Why wouldn't you tell him that?” she breathed. She felt like she had been tasered. She had been so angry, the whole time, at the wrong person. And the right person ..., she didn't think she could be angry at him.

Not him. Not fair.

“Because it would have upset him and I do not like to do that. It would have upset you, and I do not like to do that, either. I knew she was a problem between the two of you that needed to be dealt with it, so I left it to happen. Which it did. Rather nicely. I am not prone to violence, but I can honestly say, there was something enjoyable about watching you hit her,” he said, and she thought she could detect a hint of a slur in his voice. She gave a half hearted laugh.

“Glad I could entertain you,” she whispered.

“I found out about Mrs. Carmichael coming with Mr. Hollingsworth the day before they were to arrive, the airline sent me an updated itinerary and bill. Her name was on it, of course. That one confused me for a time. I knew if I told Jameson, he would tell you. That wouldn't have been right, it was Mr. Hollingsworth's confession to make. Obviously he was bringing Mrs. Carmichael along with him in order to do so. I did not agree with his actions or his decisions, but I was not in a place to advise him that he shouldn't do those things. So it had to happen,” he explained, and then hiccuped into his fist.

“You weren't '
in a place
' to advise him,” Tate almost laughed again.

“So I have been having my own battle with my conscience. Watching you be angry at people for deeds that were my own fault. Realizing that almost everything that has upset you, I could have prevented in some way,” he said calmly, but he couldn't stop spinning his glass, his fingers deftly moving around the crystal. She shook her head.

“No, Sandy, you didn't make Jameson bring Pet home, you didn't -,” she started to defend him –
from himself
– but he stopped her again.

“
But I knew
. And I never said anything. I am beginning to think I'm not a very good person,” he told her.

Tate let out a moan, closing her eyes. She wanted to be mad. She had been mad at Jameson, when she thought it had all been him, so it was only fair. But she couldn't. Jameson did things on purpose and with intent, just to make them hurt. Ang did things without forethought and out of stupidity, which still hurt. Sanders ..., Sanders only ever tried to do what was right. Not what was fair, not what made her feel best, or sheltered her, or helped her. But what was right.

And what was right didn't always feel so good.

“Sanders,” she sighed, climbing out of her chair. “You are
the best person
I know. If you ever think otherwise,
that
will upset me.”

“I don't understand. When you thought it was Jameson keeping these things from you, you wanted to hurt him. You wanted to leave him, leave us. But when it's me doing these things, it's alright?” he asked, a wary look in his eye as he finally sat his glass down on the coffee table. She shook her head.

“It's not alright. I'm hurt. But I know your heart was in the right place. I can't be mad at that. Just do me a favor?” she asked, moving to sit next to him.

“Anything.”

“Next time something weird happens, or some bullshit gets said, or I get attacked by Jameson's Amazonian love child,” she babbled as she swung her legs across his lap, “
fucking say something
. You aren't protecting anyone by letting us all bumble around in the dark. Alright?” He actually laughed.

“I will try my best.”

“That's all I can ask.”

“Are you sure you're not -,”

“I love you, Sanders,” she breathed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “There is very little you could do to make me mad at you.”

“You were mad at me in Spain,” he reminded her as he leaned back into the couch. She snorted.

“You practically kidnapped me and handed me over to the devil, I get to be mad when you do things like that. But see, that was pretty fucking awful, and I still love you. So we're good,” she assured him. He nodded, though he continued to fidget.

“Are you going to leave Jameson?” he blurted out. She blinked at him.

“Why do you ask?” she countered, propping her knees up over him.

“Because I think you are planning on it, and I really would like you not to do that,” he answered, and there was definitely a slur to his voice. She sighed.

“Are you going to repeat this conversation to him?” she asked.

“If you ask me not to, than no, I won't.”

“
Don't repeat this
.”

“I won't.”

“Sandy, I ..., what he did, with Petrushka. That's a hard thing to let go. I say I'm fine, and I mean I'm fine, and then it's like ..., like I'm back in that pool,” she whispered. “Like I'm eighteen again, and he's looking at me like I'm trash. I don't know if I want to live life this way, waiting for the next thing Jameson's gonna do to me, and I don't think he'll ever change, or ever admit anything is wrong. I'm not leaving today, or tomorrow, but ..., I can't make any promises.”

“Then I guess that's all I can ask. But Tatum, he
does not
think you are trash. He has strange ways, and he doesn't know how to talk to you at all, but he cares very deeply for you. If you left him, he would be devastated, in his own way.
I know this,
” Sanders replied, resting a hand on her knee.

“'
In his own way
' loosely translates to '
so devastated, he fucks every woman in the tri-state area
',” she joked. He made a face.

“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes, pretty much like that,” he said, but she knew he was joking.

“What about you? If I decide I'm not strong enough for Mr. Jameson Kane, are you going to disown me? Let me go? Or would you run away with me?” she asked. He thought for a long while.

“I would never disown you, because I don't own you, and if you have to go, then I have to let you go. Sometimes, running away sounds very appealing, but in my experience, it just makes things worse. I suppose we could be penpals,” he offered, and she burst out laughing.

“Okay, I'll take that.”

She pulled him close and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. For once, there was no tensing up, no hesitation, he just hugged her right back. Sighed into the side of her hair.

“I used to hate it when you touched me,” he said softly. She laughed.

“I know, I think that's why I liked doing it so much,” she replied, scratching his back.

“Now I almost think I like it. Sometimes. Thank you, Tatum.”

“You're very welcome, Sanders.”

She squeezed him tight, and he finally pushed her away when she tried to leave a hickey on his neck. He walked her to the door after that, though she hesitated to leave him. He waved her away, assuring her that he would be perfectly fine, that he would just go to bed. They said goodbye and she made her way back around to the main house, using the path he had pointed out. She shoved her hands in her jacket, guarding against the cold as she made her way home.

Home
.

Her universe had, once again, shifted a little. So many things she had been holding against Jameson, poof. Gone. So angry at Jameson, all because Sanders was loyal to a fault and because she was a crazy bitch.

She was telling the truth, though; the incident with Petrushka would probably never sit right with her. Jameson had done that to
hurt
, had no regard for her feelings. He still had never officially declared how he felt, probably because he didn't feel any certain way towards her. Sure, he wanted her, wanted to own her, wanted to be the
only person
to own her. But that didn't equal feelings, or caring.

Or love.

As Tate stomped up the porch, she decided she needed just a little more time. She had learned a lot of new things – from Ang, from Sanders, from herself. She felt like one more blow, and she would be thrown irrevocably into crazy-fucking-bitch land. Then no one would want to be her friend.

As she pushed in the front door, she took a deep breath. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Then she would have a nice, long,
chat
with Mr. Kane and he would definitely -,

“Where the fuck have you been!?” his voice snapped from behind her. But before she could turn fully around, she was being grabbed around the waist. Thrown over his shoulder. Carried down the hall.

“Out to dinner! What the fuck are you doing!?” she demanded.