Reye's Gold (29 page)

He’d been back home in Dallas for about six months
now, found an apartment within the first two days of returning, and used money from his trust fund to pur
chase it. He’d given living at home with his parents a try,
but that lasted for one day and one night. He’d felt
locked in and antsy. He needed his own place, and he
wanted to be alone. He found a gem in a new building
downtown. It was a newly built condo. Since he’d left
Austin, he seemed caught in between three main emo
tional states—restlessness, anger, and sadness. His emo
tional turmoil made being around anyone for any length
of time untenable.

“Hey, baby,” said a soft voice behind him. He looked
in the mirror as the woman with the angel tattoo stood
behind him in her naked splendor. Pretty girl, he
thought. “Why don’t you come back to bed,” she said,
moving towards him and wrapping her arms around his
waist. “You were great last night, except for the part when
you called me Reye.” Stephen stared at her refection in
the mirror, nonplussed.

“Are you bisexual?” Stephen didn’t respond. “It’s okay, you know, being bisexual. I’ve had lots of friends who are.
Was Reye your old boyfriend?”

He barked out a laugh, torn between horror and
humor at her comment.

Not answering, he turned to face her. “I wish I could
join you in bed, babe, but I’ve got to get to work.”

Stephen hadn’t been to work at his dad’s office in six
months either. He’d gone into the office a total of two
days right after he’d returned home. He found that he couldn’t sit still, let alone focus on studying for any bar
exam.

“Maybe another time,” he said, noting the annoyance
on her face. “Why don’t you go find your clothes? Give
me a second here and I’ll walk you out.” She left and he
turned to brush his teeth. He splashed water on his face
and reached in the laundry for a pair of old jeans. His
laundry overflowed; that which wasn’t on the ground was
stuffed into the hamper. He needed to have someone
wash his clothes again. By the time he was done in the
bathroom, Angel was dressed and waiting for him by the
front door, looking more alive than he felt.

She reached up and placed a kiss on his lips. “Call me.
I left my number on the counter in your kitchen. I had a
good time,” she said.

“Me, too,” he said, even if he had only a vague recol
lection of the evening. Ushering her through the door
and shutting it behind her, he leaned against the closed
door. He had to stop doing this.

He walked over to the counter in his kitchen in search
of his phone. He needed to check his calendar, knowing
it would be empty. He looked around his apartment, which was also empty. He had a sofa and lamp in the
living room and a bed in his bedroom. That was it. No
kitchen table, or any tables for that matter. He usually ate
standing up, if he ate at all. More and more frequently his
diet consisted of liquids. Finding his phone, he checked
his calendar, and, as he’d expected, there were no appoint
ments. His phone rang, the caller ID identifying the caller
as his mother. That one word had the power to make his
blood boil and his anger come crashing back, always
focused at her. He blamed her for his breakup with Reye.
He’d listened to her, like a momma’s boy, not wanting to
disappoint, giving over to her concerns regarding Reye
and what it would mean to his career and her expectations. Look where it had gotten him, lonely and alone.

“Hello, Mother, what can I do for you today?” Most
of the time he avoided her, didn’t go by the house or
a
nswer her calls, but today he was in a mood to punish,
so he’d answered.

“Stephen, I’m glad you’re answering your phone
today.”

Her comment was met with silence.

“Stephen?”

“What?” His tone dripped with disdain.

“We are hosting a dinner party tonight, one that you promised to attend. It would mean a lot to your dad, and
don’t think about backing out at the last minute. You’ve
not attended one thing since you’ve been home. This
dinner is very important for the firm.”

Silence.

“Stephen, do you hear me?”

“What time?”

“Seven for cocktails, dinner will be served at eight.”

Stephen hung up without saying goodbye, grabbing a
beer from the refrigerator and taking a seat on the sofa.
He had ESPN to catch up on.

* * *

Reye—six months later

Reye pulled up to an older, two-story house with a for
sale sign standing in the yard and a foreclosure notice on
the door. Getting out of her truck, she walked over to
pull the sign up, beyond excited. This house was to be the
location of the new non-profit she would head. It was an
old-fashioned two-story home built in the 1940s and
located about two blocks from the center. She and her
dad had closed on the house yesterday. She was meeting
him here for a walk-through, to make a list of the
needed repairs and renovations, along with a timeline for
getting them done. Her father had agreed to help her make it livable.

While she waited, she took a moment to reflect on all
that she’d accomplished A.S., After Stephen. The
breakup with him had left her heartbroken. Six months
ago, she could barely get through the days; just thinking
about Stephen could still make her cry, but now crying
was limited to the privacy of her home. If loving someone
could do that to a person, she didn’t want any part of it
ever again. Sam and her dad were working hard to con
vince her otherwise. Never was a long time, but nope, she
was never falling in love again. No, thank you very much.
From now on, she would give her time and her love to people who needed it, who would appreciate it and not
throw it away because things got difficult. No more
giving it away to golden beautiful men with great bodies,
great hands, great mouths, and who knew how to use
them. Or who were smart and funny, or . . . Enough
already, she told herself, shaking her head, wanting to
erase his image from her mind. He still haunted her
thoughts, though. It had been six months and she still
felt unusually hurt, used, and alone.

She walked back to her truck and leaned against it,
waiting for her dad. It had taken her weeks to stop
crying, but somehow she had. She’d learned to cope by
plunging headlong into work at the center. She’d
accepted the offer to work, foregoing teaching in the
public school system, hoping she’d have the freedom to
try new ideas.

The center’s administration had recognized and was
committed to providing good quality after-school and
child care. They’d asked her to help develop a good
summer program at a time when she’d needed a mission.
Working on a shoestring budget, using the center as the
home base, she’d put together the basic framework of a
summer school, using the children who had attended the
aftercare program to start. Most of their parents worked
during the day and were more than willing to turn them
over to her for the summer, a much more attractive alter
native to keeping them home alone to watch television all
day long. They had gotten to know Reye through the aftercare program and as coach of the soccer team and
felt comfortable with her, excited even.

Using her paycheck to subsidize more than a few
trips, she filled the kids’ days with any and all types of
activities designed to keep them, and herself, occupied.
She signed them up for a swim team through a local
neighborhood association. Swim practice began at six
most mornings, so Reye borrowed the center’s van and
picked the kids up early, leaving her home around five
a.m. Swim meets were on Saturday and took up most of
the day, but that was okay by her. They visited any and
all museums in the city and the surrounding areas. They
went to an endless list of parks, movies, and libraries.

She spent time working with them on their soccer
skills as they continued to play in the summer league,
a
nd she promised she’d coach again in the fall. She
pushed them to read, to practice their writing, and to
improve their math skills. There would be no chance this
summer of them forgetting what they had learned the
previous year. If a parent needed a babysitter, she was
available. She kept herself busy, and, in the process,
stumbled upon her dream job, her passion. Working with the children was exhausting sometimes, but she loved it,
loved them, loved seeing them exposed to new things and
ideas. She loved watching them grow. Six months ago she
had plowed all her emotional energy into this program.
It had been her salvation, the kids her saviors, and she’d
grown up a little on the way.

She’d learned that it was okay to love, painful some
times, but okay, and to love completely. She didn’t regret
her love for Stephen, but going forward she would
require more from her men; they would have to love her,
too.

She looked up from her musings to see her dad’s
truck pull in behind her. She met him as he got out of his
truck. He grabbed her in a great, big hug, lifting her off
of the ground.

“So, baby girl, are you ready to get started? I think
your house needs more than a little work.”

“I agree, but I think its needs are mostly cosmetic.
The structure is sound, good bones as they say. The prior owner, before losing it to foreclosure, had the foundation
reconstructed.”

“Well, do you have the key and your clipboard
ready?”

“
I do, sir,” she said, bringing forth old memories of
her and her dad repairing and restoring homes together. She’d spent many a summer and holiday following him
around, trying to keep up and jotting down all the things
he shouted to her. He loved this type of work. She didn’t
have the same passion for it, but she’d learned to appre
ciate the transformation that hard work could bring.

* * *

Later on that evening Stephen parked outside his par
ents’ home. Earlier his dad had called and cautiously reminded him to attend. He missed talking to his dad,
and it hurt to see the disappointment in his eyes resulting
from the current state of his life. He’d been a little disap
pointed that his dad hadn’t pushed him more to find out
what was wrong, but equally grateful for being left alone.

He continued to sit in his car, contemplating the
scene inside. Judging from the number of cars, it was
quite a gathering. He got out of the car and walked up to
the front door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door
and went in.

The dinner party appeared to be in progress. Men
and women his parents’ age stood around in various
groups discussing who knew what. His mother excused
herself and walked over to greet him.

“Hello, Stephen,” she said, lifting her face for a kiss.
Instead, he ignored her. He liked the way her face looked
in shock at his snub in front of her friends. He could be
mean sometimes. These were the friends he had to give
up Reye for, a bunch of snobs. He ignored his mother
and walked over to the sideboard looking for something to eat, realizing that he hadn’t eaten today. The expres
sion on his face must have reflected how he felt because
people in the party parted like he was Moses and they the
Red Sea. He didn’t smile as he picked up a plate and filled
it with something small and adorably edible. He left the
room, going upstairs to his old room, where he and his
food sat in a chair and watched a basketball game.

He must have fallen asleep, waking up a couple of
hours later to a much quieter house. He sat up just as his
mother entered, anger lining her face.