Vintage Volume Two (13 page)

eighteen

“I think it went well, Jimi. I think he’s going to let us do this.” His eyes checked the rearview mirror. He turned to check behind him as he backed out of the space, and his eyes locked on mine for a brief moment.

I smiled at his “us.”

We were a team now.

“I hope so,” I said.

I checked my phone, which I’d left in the car during our meeting, and I saw that I had a new voicemail. The number was unfamiliar, but when I listened to the message, the voice was familiar.

“Roxanna, hello. It’s Carla Williams. It’s been a long time, and I hate that I’m calling you under these circumstances…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’d love to meet for coffee or…something. Give me a call.” She left her number and ended the call.

It had probably been nearly two years since I’d heard from Damien’s mother. She’d always been civil toward me, but we had never been close. Damien hadn’t really been close with his parents. They were always busy working.

I briefly wondered how she’d gotten my number. I’d changed it after Damien and I had split, but I supposed she had my dad’s contact information somewhere.

“What was that?” Parker finally asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I replayed it on speaker for him.

“Damien’s…?” he trailed off, his voice asking a question.

I filled in the answer. “Mom.”

“You want to call her back?”

“Not really.” I looked out my side window as I mumbled.

“I’ll go with you if you want.” He reached over and squeezed my leg.

I glanced over at him. He looked worried.

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. You’re a strong, beautiful woman. I know you can take care of yourself. But you don’t have to because I’m here to take care of you.”

I pressed my lips together. Sometimes he said things like that and I just wanted to cry. I wasn’t sure how fate had stepped in to push us together—and by “fate,” I meant my dad—but I was grateful.

I was grateful for at least one parent who seemed to understand what I needed better than I did.

And speaking of that other parent of mine…

My phone started ringing in my hand as I contemplated calling Carla back. “Material Girl” by Madonna started playing, and
Mom
flashed across the screen.

I held it up so that Parker could see, and he chuckled at my choice of song. “You gonna answer that?”

I took a deep breath and swiped the screen before I lost my nerve. “Mother!” I said with fake enthusiasm. I caught Parker’s barely concealed quaking laughter out of the corner of my eye.

He knew me well enough to catch the insincerity in my voice. My mother, on the other hand, did not.

“You’re getting married in six days?” she practically screamed into the phone. I couldn’t tell if she was screaming because she was pleased or pissed. Parker laughed again. He could hear every word she was saying. I put the call on speakerphone just for shits and giggles.

“I am.” I wasn’t sure how she knew—either my dad or the tabloids had informed her.

“Roxanna, really,” she berated. The answer to my earlier question was
pissed
. “I haven’t even met this boy yet.”

“Dad has. Dad highly recommended him, in fact.”

“Your father is an idiot.”

“He has nice things to say about you, too.” That statement earned another chuckle from Parker. I winked at him, catching the amusement around his eyes.

“I’m sure. How the hell do you expect me to get home in six days?”

I had two ways of responding to that. The first thought that came to my mind was that I didn’t really care if she came. Had I invited her?

I went with the high road. “Dad will get you here. You know he still cares about you, Mom. Where are you, anyway? Why haven’t I heard from you in…” I paused and did the math in my head. “God, in six months? Has it been that long?”

“I’m in London. Fashion capital of the world, you know. I’ve been busy designing.”

“Do you have a job out there? Have you sold any of your designs?”

She contemplated my question, and ultimately she gave me the most honest answer she could while still managing to save face. “I’ve met with a few top designers. I’ve got some things in the works.”

So that meant a big, fat no.

I should’ve felt bad for her, but at least she was attempting her dreams. That was more than could be said for most people.

I saw a quote somewhere that said if you’re up and running, you’re lapping everyone sitting at home. It rang true for my mother.

And I supposed it rang true for me, too.

I’d never had a life’s ambition. I never cared about it until I met someone who pointed out to me that hopes and dreams were an important part of life. And now I was working to achieve it.

I knew the advantage I had because of my father. I was accepting that fact with grace and gratitude where my future was concerned.

“I’d love if you could make it Saturday,” I lied. If she was there, the day would become a circus that was more about her than anything else.

“I have nothing to wear.”

I laughed outright at that one. She was designing clothes in the fashion capital of the world, my dad still paid her child support even though I was twenty-two and she’d never raised me anyway, and she had nothing to wear?

I sincerely doubted that.

“If I can find a dress in six days, so can you.”

She huffed with irritation. “What’s with the rush? Did this boy knock you up?”

“Jesus Christ, mother. No. Even if he did, who cares?”

“You can’t love him. How long have you even known him?”

“I’ve known him long enough to fall in love with him. The forever kind, Mom. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

“I heard about Damien. I’m so sorry.”

Of all people, she should have known my aversion to the “I’m sorry” that came with the deaths of loved ones. But the words fell out of her mouth, so I repeated them back.

“I’m sorry, too.” I didn’t know what else to say about that. Everyone kept telling me they were sorry, but I’d been out of touch with him for a year. Did his death leave a hole in my heart? Absolutely. Was he someone I would miss for the rest of my life? Definitely.

But I was finding difficulty in mourning someone who I’d already mourned.

When he left me the first time, he was as good as dead to me. Of course his actual death was still painful, but I was starting to think it was the reason behind his death that hurt the most. Whatever Damien had gotten into had caused our split, but I knew who was behind Damien’s murder. I couldn’t help but think once again that if he’d never met my dad and gotten tangled up in the gambling debts and whatever else they were into, Damien would still be living and breathing.

But then he’d be living and breathing beside me, and Parker and I might never have met.

It was a tangled web that I couldn’t sort out, so I chose to push those thoughts out of my mind to focus on my future. I couldn’t change the past anyway, so it wasn’t worth the waste of energy to wish things were different.

There was too much at stake to wish for things to be different, anyway.

My mom changed the subject. It was her way of lightening the mood, but it was just another reminder to me of why the two of us weren’t all that close. “Well it looks like I have a flight to book and a dress to buy. I promise not to wear white, but I can’t promise not to show up the bride.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

We hung up. No “I love you” or endearment. That’s how it always was with my mom.

I was a Daddy’s girl through and through, and every time I spoke to my mother, I was reminded why that was the case.

I tossed my phone into the cup holder in the console between us. Parker reached over and laced his fingers through mine.

“So that’s your elusive mother?” he asked.

I nodded, my head turned away from him as I watched the landscape pass us by on the highway back toward my place.

“Were she and your dad married?”

I shook my head. “My dad was smarter than that. They stayed together a while for my sake, but they realized I’d be better off with the two of them apart.”

“No offense to you, but your dad seems too good for her.”

“No shit. And no offense taken. She’s a handful. Always has been, which is why I prefer keeping her out of my life whenever possible.”

We were quiet as we drove back home. When we got there, Parker set to researching for the wedding in my home office while I sat in my chair in my family room and called Carla back.

Parker gave me privacy even though I hadn’t asked for it—just another example of him knowing exactly what I needed. This one wouldn’t quite be like the joke of a conversation I’d had with my mom.

“Hello?” Carla’s voice was familiar, but the warmth was all gone out of it. Her simple greeting was filled with remorse and regret.

“Hi Carla. It’s Roxanna Price.”

I heard a sob break through the silence on the other end.

She didn’t speak, so a moment of awkwardness followed.

“I’m…uh…just returning your call,” I stammered.

More silence, and then finally she managed, “Thank you.”

“Would you like to meet for coffee?” I asked, not sure what to say.

“That would be nice.” Her voice broke as she spoke.

“Have you—” I started to ask if she’d planned a date for Damien’s funeral, but I cut myself off.

It was all so surreal.

Damien was dead.

I was aware of that, and I thought I’d already dealt with it, but it came and hit me from out of nowhere.

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to the quiet keening of Damien’s mother, a woman who had lost her only child far too early.

She took a deep breath. “Let’s meet at the Starbucks on Olympic. Four o’clock?” she asked.

“Okay. See you then.”

I glanced at the clock on my phone when I ended the call. I had two hours to kill.

Hours to kill
.

To kill
.

Hours were meant for killing.

A mosquito when you see it on your arm.

A spider in the closet.

Not a twenty-three-year-old man in the prime of his life.

The simple thought caused the tears I’d been holding back while I spoke with Damien’s mother to cascade down my cheeks.

Parker emerged from the office and stood in the hallway that led from my family room to the office and my bedroom.

He was hesitant. Unsure.

Parker was confident. Always. Seeing him hesitate in my hallway, not quite sure what to do to help me, tore at my heart.

I didn’t want him to feel anxious. I wanted to comfort him, even though I was the one crying.

I leapt from my seat and ran to him. He braced himself as I crashed into him, finally letting the avalanche of tears free.

I needed to let it out. My dad had always told me that there was more room on the outside, and maybe for the first time, I understood what he meant.

“Are you meeting with her?” he asked, rubbing my back in soothing circles until the tears subsided. I drew in as much air as my lungs could take as I tried to calm myself.

I nodded.

“You want me to come with you?”

I shrugged, and I felt his lips press to my forehead.

“I’m coming with you.” He was back in control. I liked him there.

I wasn’t a weak woman by any means. I’d suffered alone and I’d come out on the other end of it stronger.

But I did depend on the man I was going to marry to help me feel whole. And in that moment, he knew what I needed more than I did. And that just made me fall even more in love with him.

nineteen

I was worthless until four o’clock rolled around. Parker asked me wedding questions, but I was too nervous and distracted to answer them. I couldn’t make decisions when I knew that Damien’s mom was getting ready to meet me. I didn’t know what she wanted to talk about, and I was starting to allow my insecurities to take over again. Did she blame me for her son’s death? Did she want revenge? It was ridiculous to think that she was somehow working with Randy considering he had to have been the one who had killed her son, yet the random thought worked its way into my head.

If she wanted revenge, surely she wouldn’t have chosen a public place to meet me.

I walked into Starbucks with Parker trailing close behind me. Bruno followed us in and stood by the door as usual.

I glanced around and found her sitting in a quiet corner. Four o’clock wasn’t the height of action at a coffee shop, so we had relative privacy. When she saw me, she fidgeted. It was odd seeing Damien’s mother fidgety. She’d always been composed and formal, but I supposed losing your only child could change things.

She was wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt.

I’d never seen her in anything other than some sort of professional dress. Whether I had seen her at one of her restaurants or at home, she was always impeccably dressed.

She stood and the two of us shared a quick hug. She glanced beyond me at Parker.

“This is Parker,” I said by way of introduction. “We’re getting married.”

A flash of momentary shock flashed across her visage. She didn’t try to hide it.

“Congratulations,” she said dryly.

I thanked her and sat as Parker went to place our coffee order.

I’m sorry for your loss
seemed inappropriate again, but I was starting to learn that there really wasn’t anything else to say.

Carla took a deep breath. “Thank you for coming here. I just wanted to meet with you in person to talk about something.”

I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

I watched as tears filled her eyes. “God, it’s not supposed to be like this. You know? Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children.”

“You’re right. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how to handle this.”

“No one does, Roxanna. It’s hell. It’s a horrible situation no matter how you look at it.”

I nodded. Parker joined us as he waited for our drinks.

“We’re having a memorial on Thursday. I hope you can make it.” She pushed a card across the table toward me.
Martins Funeral Home
was splayed in gaudy lettering across the top. Under the title was the address and phone number. Someone had filled in Damien’s name along with the date and time on the lines provided under the business information.

God.

This fucking card made it all so real again.

I stared down at it for a moment, and then Carla interrupted my silent grief. 

“Damien mailed a package to us a few months ago. Inside of it was this box.” She paused as she handed a small box over to me. “He included a note inside that said to give this to you if anything ever happened to him. It was like he knew.” Her voice broke at the end.

“To me?”

She nodded as I took the package. It was light. The top of the box simply said “ROXANNA” in thick black marker. I recognized Damien’s penmanship immediately.

I felt his presence as I held the one remaining thing I would ever have from him.

That surreal feeling lanced through me again. This couldn’t really be happening.

Yet it was.

“Okay. Well thank you.” I had nothing else to say.

“I also wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? What for?”

“For everything you did for Damien. He loved you. You made him happy for a long time.”

“He made me happy, too.” She didn’t need to know that I hadn’t realized true happiness until I’d found Parker. Those details seemed best left out given the situation.

I saw Parker twitch beside me. This couldn’t be easy for him, but he was handling it well.

We heard the barista call his name, and he went to pick up our drinks.

“That’s all, really. I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to give you the package, and ever since he left, I’ve been leery of discussing things over the phone. Call me crazy, but I always feel like someone’s listening. Maybe that feeling will finally go away now.”

It probably would. Randy had nothing left with Damien’s family now that he’d killed Damien.

I thought about how many lives Randy was ruining. I wasn’t sure why we couldn’t call the police. I wasn’t sure why he was getting away with what he did.

Suddenly I was furious at the whole situation.

My emotions were all over the place, and once again a part of me longed for the indifference I’d forced on myself for so long.

I was sad. I was angry. I was in mourning. I was in love.

I wasn’t sure what the fuck I was half the goddamn time.

Parker came back with our drinks, and Carla stood. “Nice meeting you,” she said, her eyes scanning him.

“I’m so sorry for what you are going through,” he said. “I know my words won’t ease your pain, but I hope you find peace.”

“Thank you.”

And that was it. Carla left. Parker looked at the box on the table in front of me. It was a just a small and simple cardboard box with my name on it.

I wondered what was in it. It was odd holding a piece of Damien in my hands after I’d eliminated just about every piece of him from my life except for a couple of things shoved to the back of a drawer in my bathroom.

Perhaps that note he had left me hadn’t been the last note he’d ever written me. Perhaps there was another one right inside of the box on the table in front of me.

“What do you think it is?” Parker asked as he sat across from me.

I shrugged.

He took a sip of his coffee while I stared down at the box. “You want to open it?”

“Not here. Let’s go home.”

He nodded. We picked up our coffees and I picked up the box.

I felt anxious the whole way home. It seemed like every red light was working against us, like every car in front of us was driving below the speed limit.

But when we finally arrived home, I was too afraid to actually open it.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was dying to know, but at the same time, I was terrified to know. What the hell could possibly be inside of that box?

So it sat on my counter like a ticking time bomb.

Parker stared at it when he walked by.

I stared at it when I walked by.

I felt like it was looking back at me, like da Vinci’s famous
Mona Lisa
painting, its eyes following me around the room.

It was awkward and strange and confusing.

But I wasn’t ready to open it.

I wasn’t ready to see the last thing I’d ever see from Damien.

I didn’t feel like I was holding onto the past. I just felt like this was the only thing I had left to keep Damien’s memory alive. How do you just tear into a box that holds the very last thing that someone ever meant for you to have?

It was almost two hours after we’d gotten home. We were in the kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner when Parker finally asked, “Are you going to open that?”

I shrugged, and he smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

“What’s in the box?” he said, mimicking Brad Pitt’s character at the end of the movie
Seven
.

It was maybe the first time I’d smiled since I’d left Starbucks.

“Fine. I’ll open it.”