Colorado 03 Lady Luck (20 page)

I also called Margot and she told me that
she’d talked to the HR Director, a woman who had been there since
the doors opened five decades ago (slight exaggeration), a woman
who hired me, a woman who supported my four promotions, a woman who
talked the CEO into taking a chance on me as head buyer even though
I’d been assistant buyer for only a year and a half and never been
allowed on a buying trip (the old head buyer was a bitch which was
one reason why she was asked, nicely but firmly, to leave) which
made me the youngest head buyer in Lowenstein’s history and, last,
she was a woman who had no idea about Ronnie or Shift until Margot
told her. Therefore she was a woman horrified, not that she’d
employed me, but that I’d had to live with that. She was also
stunned (in a good way) that I’d never let that leak into my work.
And when Margot transferred my call to her she was a woman who told
me I was brave, she admired me, she wished me all the luck in the
world and she’d be happy to give me a stellar recommendation when
it was needed, “You just call, shugah. Me and Lowenstein’s will be
there for you.”

After hanging up with her, I realized I’d
forgotten that Texan women liked strength, the quieter, the better,
Texan women liked survivors and Texan women stuck together.

I should have remembered.

There you go. Thanks to Margot I left a
bridge unburned and thanks to Ella I had clothes and shoes coming.
Two good things.

When Ty said he didn’t know when he’d
return, he meant he was going to return when I was asleep.

And he did.

Then he was gone again when I woke up. No
note. No Charger. Another mid-morning phone call.

At my greeting, he said this: “At the
garage, Wood took me back on. I start today. Boys are goin’ to
Bubba’s after so I’ll be late. Wood knows we just got the Charger
right now so he’ll pick me up for work tomorrow so you’ll have
wheels. Later.”

Then he disconnected. That was it. He
disconnected.

I’d said, “Hey, Ty,” and that was all I
said.

And he did, indeed, get home late. I’d tried
to stay up but I couldn’t. I wanted to talk to him or maybe, at
that point, yell at him and I wanted that bad. Bad enough to stay
up as long as I could. But I couldn’t stay up long enough that was
how late he stayed out.

And again the next day I woke up and I did
it early but no Ty, no note and that morning, no call. No call that
afternoon. And no call that evening when five o’clock went to six,
six went to seven and seven slid past eight.

And at this point, I was pissed. He was
supposed to be a newlywed too. I didn’t know what his business was
and maybe he was seeing to it. Any man let out of prison would want
to get on with his life, I guessed, so starting a job would be
good. I could see that. But disappearing for an entire day? Going
out with his buds for drinks after work, drinks that lasted into
the wee hours? Not coming home until way late? How did any of that
say newlywed?

What the fuck was up with that?

This anger stopped me from calling him
because I worried I’d shout at him over the phone and I didn’t want
to do that. I didn’t want to do that because if I did, it was easy
for him to hang up. When I shouted at him, I wanted it to be hard
for him to get away from what I was saying.

At a quarter to nine, he came home in sweaty
workout clothes, long shorts, skintight, sleeveless shirt, carrying
a workout bag and two plastic grocery bags.

“Yo,” he said to me at my place on the couch
watching TV.

Uh… yo?

Three days with the definition of minimal
conversation, he comes home when I’m awake and he says, “Yo”?

Then he dropped the workout bag, turned to
the counter, dumped the grocery bags on it and started to take
stuff out of them.

I turned the volume down on the TV, rolled
off the couch and approached the kitchen asking, “Where have you
been?”

He turned slightly to me,
very
slightly, looked down at
himself, glanced at me then turned back to the counter.

Although I knew these actions were a form of
communication, he didn’t respond verbally.

I sucked in a calming breath so I didn’t
unleash hellfire.

Then I started, “Ty –”

“Wiped,” he cut me off. “Gonna make a shake,
hit the shower and hit the sack.”

It was then I saw he had a package of
strawberries, a bunch of bananas, a pot of yogurt and a big,
plastic vat of something I didn’t know what it was. He pulled the
blender to him and started to peel a banana.

“Um… we need to talk,” I said, putting my
hands flat on the island where I stood opposite him, the island
between us, Ty at the counter at the back wall.

“’Bout what?” he asked.

About what?

“Where do you want me to start?” I asked
back as he dumped the banana into the blender then opened the
strawberries.

“Don’t care. Just start. Like I said, I’m
wiped so, sooner we get it done, sooner I can hit the shower.”

I stared at him as he pulled the stems off
of the (unwashed) berries and started to add them to the
banana.

“Ty –” I whispered and he turned to me.

“Spit it out. I’m not fuckin’ with you. I’m
not in the mood for this but if you got something to say, say
it.”

I swallowed against a throat that was
closing and this was because, suddenly, I wasn’t pissed
anymore.

I was something else.

And that something else was understanding
that I’d been wrong that day we’d arrived in Carnal. He hadn’t shut
down after our kiss. This wasn’t the closed Ty. This was a
different Ty. This was an asshole Ty.

And it hurt to know that there
was
an asshole Ty.

“I…” I started, not knowing what to say, he
went back to his strawberries and then I tried to start with
something easy. “I don’t know what you want me to be doing.”

He didn’t respond. He finished with the
strawberries, leaned way to the side, opened a drawer, grabbed one
of our awesome new spoons and went after the yogurt.

“Ty,” I called. “I can’t spend my days
hanging around and watching TV. What am I supposed to be
doing?”

“Starting a life,” he told the blender,
spooning in yogurt.

“How?” I asked.

“How?” he asked the blender.

“Yeah, how?”

He opened the big vat, dug in with his hand,
came out with a scoop full of powder and dumped it in the blender
saying, “What people do. You want a job, get one. You don’t want
one, I can cover you. Deal with your shit in Dallas. Buy groceries.
Clean the house. Do what people do.”

He screwed the lid on the vat of powder and
went to the fridge. I watched him get a big handful of ice and go
back to the blender and drop it in. Then he went back to the
fridge, got the milk (Maggie had kindly stocked us up) and splashed
some of that in. He put the milk beside the blender, shoved the lid
on top and fired it up. Then he stopped it, took the lid off and
drank directly from it.

I didn’t speak throughout this. I didn’t
know what to say. And I didn’t like the feeling that I was right
there and he was acting like he didn’t know I was even on the same
planet.

He was halfway through his shake when I said
quietly, “Something’s changed.”

He turned to me and leaned his hips into the
counter.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Something’s changed.
We’re here. This starts. No fuckin’ around. I got shit to do, it’s
important and I gotta focus on it. Vacation’s over. Time to earn
your fifty K.”

Then he threw back more shake like he hadn’t
just delivered a verbal blow to the gut. And this blow was
reminding me about the fifty K, something, for some stupid, insane
reason, I thought we’d gone beyond making us something we obviously
were not.

Even so, to remind him of who I thought we
had become, when he dropped his arm, I whispered, “That wasn’t
nice.”

His blank but still beautiful eyes leveled
on mine. “Never promised I’d be nice.”

“You’d been being nice,” I reminded him.

“Yeah,” he affirmed then said, “Mistake.
Told you in Vegas, been in chains five years, don’t need anything
chaining me.”

Blow two.

“I’m not chaining you,” I told him, my voice
trembling.

“Woman, you’re pussy and never met pussy
that didn’t come with a chain. Some of them are heavier than
others. Don’t wanna find out how heavy yours is.”

Another blow. That one savage.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” I
whispered.

“Well I did,” he replied then threw back the
last of the shake, put the blender on the counter and left the
milk, banana peel, strawberry stems and everything where it lay as
he headed to the steps saying, “Hittin’ the shower then goin’ to
bed. Wood’s comin’ again in the morning to get me. Man who was
lookin’ after my ride’s bringin’ it back tomorrow. Probably see you
tomorrow night.”

Then he was up the steps and gone.

I stood at the counter seeing nothing. Then
I moved around the island and cleaned up his mess. Then I went back
to the TV.

I didn’t go to bed until way late and I did
this only after spending a good deal of time wondering if I was
going to do it at all. And that wondering included whether I should
sleep on the couch or whether I should write him a note, tell him
to go fuck himself and shove his fifty K up his ass and then get in
my car and go.

For some reason, I went up to bed.

Now was now.

I stared at the ceiling realizing that I was
hurt and angry, both in equal measure. Ty had opened to me and
showed me something beautiful then for some fucked up reason all in
his head, he snatched it away from me.

And I had two choices. Either I break my
back and work him to pull that back out again, help him to deal
with whatever he was dealing with, get him to trust me, show him
that whatever demons he was battling, he could let them go and I
could give him a good life. Or I could do my job, collect my fifty
thousand dollars and move the fuck on.

I considered these choices.

I loved Ronnie, I loved him a lot. I loved
the way he could make me laugh and the look in his eyes when he
looked at me, even early on, when his future was bright, he’d look
at me like he couldn’t believe his luck. I loved that he gave me a
family. I loved our quiet moments when I could forget our lives
were a complete mess and that shadow he cast blocked out the sun.
No matter what Ty said about Ronnie, and he was probably right,
still, I knew there was something there for Ronnie, something he
got from me. And I liked giving it to him so I did it even longer
than I should.

But even though I had years with Ronnie and
only five good days with Ty Walker, I knew, if he let me in, I
could love him more than Ronnie. With all that I gave to Ronnie,
all the devotion, every last chance, I still knew I could love Ty
more. I didn’t know how I knew it but by the time we hit the
“Welcome to Carnal” sign, I knew it down to my bones.

But I didn’t need this shit anymore. I’d
broken my back and laid a man in the ground who couldn’t have an
open casket because his face was blown off even though I’d spent
years begging him to leave that life behind, a life that could lead
to that and it did. Now I was with a man who bought a bride and
needed hundreds of thousands of dollars to take care of some
unknown business, who could give me something beautiful, snatch it
away and calmly stand opposite me and talk to me about my pussy
coming with a chain.

I didn’t need that shit.

I’d been right while searching for a wedding
dress. I’d been wrong about changing my mind.

I needed to give up while the giving up was
good.

Deciding (again) to do that, I dragged
myself out of bed and went to the bathroom.

The interior of Ty’s house was more awesome
than the exterior. He didn’t have a lot of stuff but what he had
was excellent quality, stylish and expensive. This was probably why
he didn’t have a lot because, before his life was interrupted, he’d
been patiently accumulating, buying the best, happy to wait until
he could afford the next addition because it had to be right, what
he wanted, the “nice shit”.

I didn’t know if he bought the condo at
build but either he or the people who ordered it had to have chosen
every upgrade. Gleaming marble tile in the bathrooms. Shining oak
floors. Fabulous slate floors in the kitchen. Top of the line
appliances. Granite countertops in kitchen and in bathrooms.

The top bedroom was the entire floor though
stuttered, the balcony off of it running the entire length but
being the roof of the second floor. There was a staircase going
through the middle of the house on the upper two floors which meant
that there were three sections of the top bedroom. A wide back
where the furniture was and two big areas on either side of the
staircase that were void of anything. It had floor to ceiling
windows too and the balcony off had a wooden railing. Completing
this area were a huge bathroom with a big, oval tub that could fit
two, a separate shower, a toilet in its own room and a very long
counter with two basins and a huge mirror lit by fantastic,
cool-as-shit lights as well as a large walk-in closet.

Ty only had a bed, two nightstands and two
dressers in that room, one dresser tall, one long with a mirror.
All this was handsome but sparse. There wasn’t even a rug to cover
the floorboards under the bed, in fact, there were no rugs in the
house because he obviously hadn’t gotten around to buying rugs.

There was an enormous amount of space left
over. You could put couches and chairs up there. Have a TV space
and a reading space, one on either side of the stairs. Deck
furniture on the balcony with thick cushions, I’d pick lounges.

It was already fabulous but it could be
spectacular.