When I See You (21 page)

"It's okay to talk about Ethan. We
need
to talk about him."

I can only wonder what she thinks we still need to say.

"You think so?" I finally ask.

"I do."

Jordan squeezes my arm near my elbow. I startle at the swishing sound of metal against metal; the only signal the electronic doors have opened. We pass through them together. I greet the openness and gasp a little for fresh air while she guides me to the curb.

I curse the darkness and do battle with the intrinsic urge to be able to see, to see
her
. But, my eyes fail me. I swim in the blackness with only this pounding headache to shadow me. I suddenly feel undone by Jordan's very presence, both by her amazing touch and her auspicious prediction that there are still things that need to be said about Ethan.

God, I hope so. Don't I?

*≈*≈*

Chapter 13. Spell

Jordan

Brock informs us his parents live about ten miles out of town, as Diana, his twin sister, makes a hasty exit with an airy wave of her hand.

"Tate will drive you out to the ranch," Diana calls out as she leaves us.

Tate turns out to be an outright cowboy that both Max and Ashleigh seem to have become enamored with the moment we meet him at curb side. He leans up against a shiny, black pick-up truck and begins loading our baggage with no more than a shy hello and a quizzical raised-eyebrow look in Ashleigh's general direction while my son watches Tate load our luggage in awed fascination. "A real cowboy," Max says, at one point. I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud, also intrigued by this tall, dark, handsome cowboy, who does look like he is directly related to Brock Wainwright. I'm somewhat dismayed at Ashleigh's behavior in showing interest in him, when five minutes earlier she was flirting with Brock at baggage claim. Only Ashleigh.

She's already started twisting Michael's engagement ring on her left hand, back and forth. She bestows me with an I-can't-help-it forlorn look while I shake my head at her in warning and roll my eyes at her.

A secret part of me, buried deep, is elated with this turn of events, but another part feels sorry for Brock. He can't even see what's transpiring between Ashleigh and his tall, dark-haired cousin. Their attraction to each other began within seconds of their first meeting at curbside.

Five minutes later, Diana waves from her navy blue sedan as she passes us, calling out through the open passenger that she promises to catch up with us tomorrow at the ranch. Brock, somehow, acknowledges his sister's departure with a casual wave of his hand. Then, Max is there, holding Brock's hand and chatting ninety words a minute. Their close interaction and easy laughter captivates me, until Tate touches my arm and introduces himself.

"Mrs. Holloway? I'm Tate Matthews, Brock and Ethan's best friend from way back. Brock and I are first cousins, actually." He grins, revealing a too-white smile. In the next few seconds, it disappears, and he removes his cowboy hat. "Anyway, I knew Ethan from way back. Here in Austin. I was a few years younger than Brock and him, but we hung out. We did some fishing and such. I just want you to know how sorry I am about everything. He was a good guy. I''m just so sorry for your loss, ma'am."

He puts his black cowboy hat back on his head, tips it at me, and reaches for my right hand. I'm taken aback at his words. I think the man before me is, too. My first impression of Tate Matthews that he was quiet and introspective, the polar opposite of Ashleigh, seems to be true.

"Thank you, Tate. Please call me Jordan."

I reach out and shake his hand. I'm astounded at his firm grip and become dazzled when he smiles at me again. A hand at my lower back causes me to look over. It's Brock. Somehow, he's planted himself between Tate and me.

"Why don't you help Miss Blondell with her luggage, Tate? I can't exactly
see
how much she has, but, knowing Ashleigh, I'm sure it's more than enough."

I glance over at him, taken aback at the edge I hear in his tone. Tate gives me a curious look and then studies his cousin for a long moment.

"Everything okay?" Tate asks Brock.

"Fine," Brock says in a clipped voice.

"You sure? Because you're acting kind of edgy. I was just telling the lady how sorry I was about Ethan."

"We're all sorry about Ethan."

"Brock, it's fine. He was just saying that he'd known Ethan. That's all. I'm not upset or anything. It's okay. Like I said before, it's okay to talk about him. I'm not going to fall apart." I watch Brock's face contort. "Are you all right? You do seem kind of on edge."

"I've got a headache. That's all. Like I said before, I get them."

Max comes over to us and starts jumping up and down. I spend the next few minutes fiddling with his car seat and cajoling him to climb up into the truck cab. Ashleigh claims the front passenger seat, and I give her a dirty look, while I climb in to the middle of the backseat. Brock gets in next to me. The truck is roomy, but our thighs practically touch. Brock insists he has more than enough room. I give up trying to convince Ashleigh to do the right thing by sitting in the back with me. The girl is captivated by Tate Matthews, and there is no point in trying to get her attention when she's like this. I hear snippets of their conversation as Tate gives her the tourist rundown on Austin as the scenery whizzes past us. I'm fascinated by their instant attraction to each other, amazed, and a little uncomfortable all at the same time.

"Is he married?" I ask in a low voice.

"No. Came close. A friend of ours lost his fiancée Annie. She was killed in a car accident our last year in school. It left a lasting impression on all of us about marriage. Well, except for Ethan."

This sad look crosses Brock's face.

"Please tell me he dates a lot. Gets around."

"He holds his own." Brock's face flushes and he half-smiles. "He can handle Ashleigh, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm sorry. I know you and Ashleigh have been close." I sound like a woman from the Victorian age. Brock laughs and I blush, thankful he can't see my face.

"I've moved on."

He turns to look out the window, and I try not to feel like I've been stung by his abruptness, effectively ending our conversation. Now, I'm on edge. These mixed feelings about how I've behaved these past months and the enviable ability that Tate and Ashleigh are allowed in being attracted to each other assails me now. I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.

Breathe. Concentrate on breathing. Ignore your best friend's sexual innuendos. Forget you've gotten a bikini wax and been shot up with Depo-Provera. Concentrate on Max.

I open my eyes and look over at my son. He's sleeping. The plane ride wore him out. I smile and take a deep breath. Brock must hear it. His head turns in my direction. Expectant? Vulnerable? It's hard to tell. He's wearing dark glasses. I can't see his eyes.

I look past him out the window, surprised, once again, at the greenness of the landscape and the terrain's rolling hills. "Somehow, I had the impression that all of Texas was flat and dusty. I always forget how green it really is."

"You don't come here often enough," he chides. "It's not Malibu, but Austin is beautiful in its own way."

"It is."

I'm somewhat confused by his underlying critical tone. I blush under his unseeing gaze. My breath quickens as I breathe him in; he's a mixture of mint, a hint of Armani cologne and this distinctive woodsy smell.
Have we been this close before?
He should remind me of Ethan, but I'm more reminded of my dad. Brock has the same dark hair, the chiseled features, and the incredible good looks of a Greek god. I glimpse his dark chest hair through the opening of his polo shirt and my insides shift a little.
He's not a soldier anymore. I'm not married anymore. We shared Ethan. Now, what do we share?
Somehow, I'm comforted and terrified at the same time by these thoughts. We''re in uncharted territory.

The movement of the truck sways me into him. I lean in to his face so he can hear me.

"Thank you for picking us up. I'm sure it was a hassle. I'll have to call the Holloways and let them know we're here."

"I've already called them. I told them you were staying with us."

I take in this latest development with cool silence.

"Thank you," I finally say. "You have no idea how much you've saved me."

He nods. "I told her Max wanted to stay at the ranch. I hope you're okay with that." Brock winces as he says this and looks anxious.

"Max will be excited to stay at the ranch. He's already worn out, though. He fell asleep five minutes ago." I start to smile, but then, it fades. "I'm so sorry about your…sight. You mentioned on the phone that they're working on it. What are they trying to do?"

"There's no physical reason for why I can't see. At least, that's what they tell me." He gets this tight smile. "So, I'm hopeful that with some help, my memory will return and so will my sight." He looks uncertain and then his forehead creases as if he's in pain.

"The headaches. Do you get those often? I mean, I can tell you're in a lot of pain right now."

"Not often." He turns away. "I just need to lie down for awhile."

Sympathy invades every part of me. It's strange to be able to observe someone, a stranger, in such an obvious way and not be detected. I loosen his seat belt and in a commanding way force his head down onto my lap.

"One thing I am good at is head massages," I say, removing his sunglasses. Brock looks disconcerted.

"Close your eyes. Just relax. Let's see if we can get rid of this headache before we reach the ranch."

I surprise myself as much as him with such a bold move.

Ashleigh glances at me from the front seat and silently mouths, "What are you doing?"

I just shrug and begin running my fingers, back and forth, along Brock's forehead. His eyes are closed and I enjoy the proximity of his handsome face near mine. His head rests somewhat awkwardly in my lap, but I solely focus upon smoothing away the sharp edges of his pain.

Eventually, I look up into the rearview mirror to find Tate studying me. He nods and then turns his attention back to Ashleigh to quiz her further about her life in Los Angeles.

For some reason, I revel in the surrealistic feeling to it all. The unexplainable closeness. The shared silence between Brock and me, and even the blessed escape from heartbreak that normally follows me everywhere. There's an inexplicable peacefulness present in Tate's truck that I haven't felt in a long while.

I may never leave.
I smile to myself, imagining myself firmly entrenched in Tate's black truck for days to come.

≈ ≈

I'm ill-prepared for the Wainwright's expansive ranch. When we come up over another rolling hill, Tate calls out, "Welcome to the Wainwright's version of paradise, J's Paradise Ranch, in fact."

Brock sits up, breaking our close contact of the last twenty minutes. He feels his way to the truck's passenger window with outstretched hands.

"Where are we exactly, Tate?" Brock asks.

He looks a little dazed and out of sorts as he runs his hands through his dark hair. I grimace at the thought of his blindness and start to turn away, foolishly afraid he can somehow sense my pity.

"What do you see?" Brock asks, leaning over my way.

"I see this great line of trees, bordering this incredibly green pasture, a few cows—"

"Cattle," Brock says with a laugh. "We call them
cattle
in Texas. Cows are——never mind." He smiles. "What else?"

"There's a dirt road on the right with a wooden arch above it."

"That's our drive, well, my father and mother's drive. Welcome to J's Paradise." He pauses and gets this anxious look. "You'll see the Lazy J in a day or so. Maybe, tomorrow, if you're up for it." His face gets flushed. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. I'm up for it." Now, I'm blushing. Brock smiles as if he knows this.

"What else do you see?"

"All I see is
you
. You're blocking my view out the window."

I start to laugh and catch Tate's quizzical stare in the rearview mirror again. He slowly nods at me, then smiles, as if he's figured out the answer to a question that hasn't even been asked yet.

"How long did you say you're going to be here for?" Tate asks.

Before I can answer, Ashleigh chimes in, "A week, maybe longer."

She shoots me one of her don't-argue-with-me looks and I keep my protests to myself. This is supposed to be a quick trip. We agreed to four days, maximum, and she knows it.

"Great. A week, maybe longer," Brock says beside me. "That will give us time to go through Ethan's paperwork, see the ranch, see everything."

My eyes start to sting, missing Ethan comes in waves and always unexpected, like sudden nausea or the flu. I shake my head and lean against Max, who is still asleep in his car seat. I try to regain the happy feeling from minutes before, when I was massaging Brock's head as if I was holding time back and nothing had changed. The truth is this: everything has changed and it's moments like these that cause me to realize that I'm all but breaking apart.