Beauty from Pain (31 page)

He hangs up on my mother
and
silences
the
ringer before he tosses the phone to the couch. He wraps his arms
around me and I melt into him. He doesn’t ask what she’s said to
upset me, but I think he has a good idea if he heard any part of
our conversation.

This is another one of those moments like the
morning I almost left him. He holds me and his embrace speaks
without saying a word.

36

Jack McLachlan

I’m pissed off because Laurelyn’s mother would
call and upset her this way, especially on her birthday. This isn’t
improving my opinion of her at all. She’s a selfish, immature
woman.

I don’t understand her thought process behind
her decision to tell Laurelyn this news about her father on her
birthday. She knew it would upset her. Even I know that. I want to
be a total caveman and slam the thing against the wall so
Laurelyn’s mother can never call her on it again, but I
can’t.

Maybe I don’t understand because it’s a
mother/daughter thing, but something feels off to me about their
relationship.

I rub circles on her back. “Do you want to
talk about it?”

I feel her head oscillating from
side to side, telling me
no
. I kiss the top of her head and
pull her to the couch. I’m still in my suit so I take off my jacket
and toss it across the chair. I sit on the couch and pat the
cushion between my legs. “Come sit with me.”

She sits and leans against my
chest. She’s wearing a black string bikini I’ve never seen and she
smells like coconut and sweat from being in the sun. I’m twitching
in my pants because she’s so close. I can’t help it.
Whoa, settle down, boy … now’s not the right
time.

Laurelyn can be difficult to read at times,
but she’s hurting and I want to give her the support she deserves.
She damn sure doesn’t get it from anyone else in her life. I think
simply holding her is what she wants, so that’s what I do. I’m
content to sit here with her for as long as she needs
me.

We sit together like that for at least a half
hour before she stops crying and says anything. She lifts her face
to see me over her shoulder. “You came back early.”

“
Of course I did. I want to be
with the birthday girl on her special day.”

She reaches for my hand and laces her fingers
through it. “I don’t think you know how good you are at
this.”

“
What am I good at?”

“
Whatever this is we’re
doing.”

I no longer have any idea what we
we’re doing. I only know I like it.
“I
think you’re pretty good at this too. Whatever it is.”

She lifts the hand I used on Swinger Chris and
inspects it. “Your hand looks a lot better. The swelling is
down.”

“
It’s fine. It barely hurts
anymore.” She brings it to her lips. “Your kiss will make it all
better in no time.”

She puts her finger on the leg of my daks and
draws an imaginary infinity symbol. I remember another time when
she did it. It was after our second date when I explained
everything to her about what I wanted. She does it when she’s
nervous.

“
He wants to meet me.”

He.
I
heard enough of the conversation to know she’s talking about her
father, the sperm donor. That’s how I’ve come to think of him after
hearing her call him that so many times. “How do you feel about
that?”

“
I think I’ve already met
him.”

“
Why do you think
that?”

“
I have a memory from my
childhood. It’s very vague, but I’m sure I remember meeting him
when I was little. My mom dressed me in a navy sailor dress. It had
this huge collar on it and she pulled my hair up in pigtails. I was
adorable,” she laughs. “She took me to a place where ducks paddled
around in this fountain. They fascinated me, but she wouldn’t let
me stay to watch them. She took me to him. I know it was the sperm
donor, even if I don’t remember his face. As far as I know, I never
saw him again—except on television and in the music department at
Walmart.”

“
You’re not curious about
him?”

“
There have been times in my life
when I was and I’d have given anything to see him, but it ain’t
today. And it won’t be tomorrow.”

–––––

It’s late evening and Laurelyn is
in the bathroom getting ready to go out for dinner. I’m sitting on
the couch and hear the buzzing vibration of her phone, but it stops
before I’m able to pick it up. I look at the screen and see a
missed call from Blake Phillips.
Who the
hell is he?

He could be anyone. A relative. A friend. A
boyfriend. I want to know, but I don’t dare ask because I’m afraid
to know the answer.

Laurelyn comes into the living room and I
slide her phone into my pocket. I don’t want her to know I saw the
call from this man; tonight isn’t the right time to have this
conversation.

She’s caught a lot of sun while we’ve been
here and her skin is golden against her cream sundress. I’m happy
to see her wearing her birthday gift, and I reach out to touch it
where it rests against her neck. “This is perfect on
you.”

She smiles as she reaches up to touch it.
“It’s beautiful and I love it. Thank you again.”

“
You’re more beautiful. And you’re
welcome.”

I take her to an Italian restaurant where I’ve
eaten before when in town on business. The food is great and it’s
the last place I’d expect to be accosted by a set of sexual
deviants. At least I hope. My fist isn’t ready to be used again
quite so soon. I told Laurelyn it was fine, but I lied. It still
hurts like hell.

“
You’re unusually quiet. What’s
going on in that head of yours, Mr. Henry?”

I’m thinking of things better left
alone. I know she’s only been with one other man. Is it Blake
Phillips? Not knowing is taunting me. Is he the one who hurt her? I
can’t get him off my mind, so I decide there are other ways of
asking about him without
asking
.

“
I was thinking about how a
beautiful woman like you must date a lot.”

She smiles and the candlelight illuminates her
high cheekbones. “I do. I’ve had a date with an extremely handsome
man almost every day for the past six weeks.”

She’s deflecting from the real question. “No,
I mean before you came here.”

She shrugs as she looks down at her plate.
“Not so much.”

“
What about a serious
relationship?”

Her head
oscillates
from side to side. “Not
really.”

I don’t think she’s lying to me, but I find it
hard to believe someone so desirable has never been in a
relationship. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

She’s fidgeting in her seat. I’m
making her uncomfortable, so there’s plenty she isn’t telling me.
“I had
something
one time, but boyfriend doesn’t feel like the right word for
what he was to me.”

“
Was it
serious?”
Was it Blake
Phillips?

She’s pushing her food around and I think I’ve
upset her. Dammit. “I thought it was at the time, but we had a
difference of opinion.”

“
Oh.”
Does that mean he left her? Does she still want
him?

“
What’s with all the
questions?”

“
Nothing. Just
making conversation.” She’s being vague, which causes me to be
suspicious. My gut tells me there’s much more to this story. She
isn’t a woman who has had a single one-sided serious relationship,
but I choose to drop it for now, leaving it open as a topic I may
want to revisit.
Looks like we both have
secrets.

–––––

She’s sitting at the dining room table with her eyes
closed when I bring in a cake with twenty-three flaming candles.
“You can open your eyes.”

“
Wow. That’s a lot of
fire.”

“
Wait until you’re thirty,” I
laugh. “There’s even more.”

Her brow wrinkles. “You told me you were
twenty-nine.”

“
I was when we met.”

“
When did you turn
thirty?”

“
A couple of weeks ago—on the
thirteenth.”

“
You didn’t tell me,” she whispers
and she looks hurt. I see her thumbing through her filed memories
from two weeks ago. “It was when you went to your parents’ house,
wasn’t it?”

“
Yes.”

“
When I almost left
you?”

“
Yes.”

“
You should’ve told
me.”

“
You mean the same way you told me
today was your birthday?”

She laughs. “Right. I don’t guess I can be too
upset with you since I did the exact same thing. I would’ve given
you a gift if I’d known.”

I sit in the chair beside her and take her
hands. “But, you did. Staying with me was the best gift you
could’ve given me.”

I don’t think she knows what to say to that,
so I make it easy for her. “Make a wish and blow out your candles
before we catch the house on fire.”

She smiles and draws a deep breath before she
leans forward to extinguish the twenty-three tiny
flames.

I want all of her wishes to come true. Not
just this one.

37

Laurelyn Prescott

After Lachlan finishes his work at
the Auckland vineyard, we return to
A
valon and fall back into our
routines. He works every day while I keep busy at the house,
waiting for him to come home.

Wow. We have routines. How
domestic is that? And I called
A
valon home? That’s a minuscule
detail that doesn’t evade my attention.

Harvest time for the vineyards is approaching,
so Lachlan is working a lot more since our return from New Zealand.
I spend time with Addison when she’s not wrapped up with Zac, but
I’m still left with a lot of time to keep myself busy, so I do the
only thing I can: I throw myself into writing music.

I have a career to return to in four weeks. At
least, I hope I still have a career. Blake still owns half the
rights to my songs from the record we were producing, and he can
shove them up his ass. I’m writing new songs. It’s the wrecked
affair with him I worry about. I pray word of it doesn’t get out
and ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.

Wow. I only have four weeks left with
Lachlan.

Our precious time together feels like a candle
with wicks burning at both ends. Once the flame meets in the
middle, we’re over. I’ll never see him again, or hear his laugh or
touch his skin. I’ll never share a bed with him again. Am I
prepared for it when that time comes? I don’t think I am, but it
doesn’t matter if I’m not. It’s coming, and I’d better figure out
how to get ready.

I’m thankful to have the Martin and the baby
grand at my disposal because Lachlan’s long hours give me a lot of
time to compose. Being here inspires me. Hell, I should at least be
honest about it. It’s Lachlan who inspires me. I know the stuff I’m
writing is gold, but the inspiration behind the music is
bittersweet, and I fear I’ve come to that place I didn’t want to
be—writing hits because I’m terribly in love.

I’m tinkering with a melody on the baby grand
when Mrs. Porcelli comes into the living room. “Dinner is ready and
on the stove, Laurelyn, so I’m leaving.”

“
Thank you, Mrs. Porcelli. Have a
nice evening.”

I play the chorus again, trying to decide if
it’s right. “It’s a lovely song, Laurelyn.”

“
You’ve been
listening?”

She nods. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“
Not at all. I doubt you’ve had
much choice but to listen. You think it’s good?”

“
I think it’s great.”

“
Thank you. I hope you’re not the
only one who thinks so.”

“
I also think he feels the same
about you.” I look up from the piano at her. “The song is about Mr.
McLachlan, isn’t it?”

“
Is it that obvious?”

“
I’m afraid so, dear. Have you
played it for him?”

“
Oh, no. I could
never do that.”
And I especially couldn’t
if the song is that transparent.

“
I think you should reconsider.
He’d love it.”

“
I’ll think about it,” I
lie.

“
Good. I’ll be choofing off now.
Have a good evening.”

I work on my newest song until
Lachlan comes home.
Home. There’s that
word again.
I see him standing in the
doorway watching me, and I stop singing the moment his eyes meet
mine.
How long as he been standing
there?

“
It’s beautiful. Don’t stop on my
account.”

“
I’ve been at it all day, so I’m
ready to call it quits for the night.” I get up from the bench.
“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to eat now?”