Maybe Baby Lite (16 page)

“
There's nothing to tell!”
I screamed. “I have a shitty mother, so what? A lot of kids grow up
with shitty mothers and absent fathers. I guess we can’t all be
brought up with perfect parents, perfect educations, and perfect
lives, Trey! Some of us simply do the best we can with the cards
we're dealt!”

“
Don’t go there with me
Tylar,” he warned his voice sharp. “Don’t you turn this around as
if I'm flaunting my upbringing in your face! Don't presume the last
30 years of my life haven't had their share of disappointments and
heart-break either."

“
Maybe that’s it, Trey,” I
replied. “Maybe both of us are presuming too much about the other.
You're right; I shouldn't presume that your life's been free of
heartache. I want to know what your life has been like. You want to
know everything about me yet you share nothing about yourself.
Why?"

“
Tylar,” he sighed, raking
a hand through his hair, “you’ve never asked me about any of that.
But yes, I'll tell you whatever you want to know when the
conversation is about me; right now it's about
you
. I want to know what's happened
that makes you have these nightmares."

I realized that Trey was
sincere. Without saying as much, he knew that I was troubled. And
maybe in some way, he felt that he was messed up too.

“
Trey, I can’t explain the
nightmares because when I dream I'm not sure what is reality and
what is fantasy—or at the very least, symbolism. I can tell you
that if anyone has the answers, it’s my mom.”

“
Good,” he answered, “then
that's where we will go. We will find your mother so that we can
get some answers.”

“
I’m afraid to have you
meet my mother,” I said hesitantly.

“
Why?” he asked softly,
reaching for my hand. I hesitated. He was waiting for an
answer.

“
Because—” I said, burying
my head into his clean linen shirt, smelling his smell. “Because if
it turns out my dreams are based on reality and not fantasy, she's
a fucking monster.”

The tears and sobs let
loose, and he held me and stroked my hair, softly whispering and
soothing me. He told me that everything would be fine. He asked me
to trust him. Trust had never come easy for me.

Trey did his best to
change the mood after our discussion. He wiped my tears and kissed
my face countless times. I was finally laughing, begging him to
stop. We walked back over the horse and put our helmets back on. He
lifted me astride Derringer, and for the next 20 minutes led me
down a path that opened up into a perfect riding arena. It was
circular, fenced in, and private.

Sliding down off the
horse, he handed Derringer’s reins to me and cautioned me to trot
for a while, letting Derringer get used to the feel of my reining
him. The horse and I moved around the perimeter of the arena,
practicing our halt-walk-trot transitions. He yielded effortlessly
to my leg signals and slowed to a walk when I sank low in the
saddle. I let out an exaggerated exhale and the horse halted. I
knew then that he was an expertly trained dressage horse. I only
hoped to do him justice. Trey smiled at us from the center of the
arena, watching our movements. Derringer moved like he'd been
carrying me forever. Trey was clearly impressed. He encouraged me
to ask Derringer for a canter. With an almost imperceptible squeeze
of my calves, the horse lifted into a canter, carrying us around
the arena as though we were on a cloud.

At 2 p.m. Trey asked if I
was hungry. The truth was I was famished. He climbed up behind me
once again, taking the reins, which allowed me to settle back
against him. I was getting my ‘Trey-fix’ two days in a row and I
loved it.

Once we were back at the
stables, Charlie Roberts was inside feeding the horses and cleaning
their stalls. He seemed surprised to see me with Trey. He eyed me a
bit warily, and again, I got a creepy feeling. Trey appeared not to
notice. He dismounted then turned and lifted me off the horse. Trey
called Charlie over, handing him Derringer’s reins.

“
Will you untack and rub
him down?” Trey asked. A dark look passed over Charlie, as if he
felt put out for having to care for Trey’s horse. It did not go
unnoticed by Trey.

“
Do you have a problem
with that, Mr. Roberts?”

“
Not one bit,” Charlie
replied, his face expressionless. He turned away and led Derringer
down the aisle toward his stall. Trey gazed after him for a moment,
his face unreadable. He turned back to me, all signs of irritation
gone, and smiled.

“
Let’s go eat, Ms.
Preston. I’ve got just the place in mind.”

He took my hand and we
turned to leave the stable. Behind us I heard Charlie mutter
something. I couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like, “uppity
bitch.” I looked over at Trey, but he was reaching for his phone,
having been beeped with an email message. He scanned it, and then
shut the phone off. He'd not heard the muttered remark.

“
Trey,” I whined as he
tugged me across the lawn toward his car, “shouldn’t I change if
we're going out for lunch?”

He laughed playfully,
displaying his glorious dimple. “It’s just lunch Tylar, you look
great,” he said. “Trust me, it’s nothing fancy.” He held open the
door for me on the passenger side of his intimidating black sports
car. It was impeccably clean inside; I only hoped any horsehair I
may have accumulated this afternoon would not mar the immaculate
interior. Trey slid into the driver seat, fastening his seat belt
and instructing me to do the same.

“
Ready baby?” he grinned
like a kid showing off his toy.

“
Maybe baby,” I responded.
“Kick in the afterburners, Sinclair, let’s see what this machine
can do.”

That was all the
encouragement Trey needed. He fired up the engine, and within
seconds we were peeling out onto the highway, my hair blowing in
the wind. It truly rode like a dream; a very swift dream as Trey
put the car through all of the gears.

“
Zero to 60 in three point
two seconds,” he bragged.

“
There you have it,” I
said. “That alone makes the $250K price tag a steal!”

He laughed good-naturedly.
“Smart ass,” he teased.

We passed through Bristol
where most everything in the small town was closed on this Sunday
afternoon. Just outside of town Trey downshifted into the parking
lot of a lone brick building with a neon sign in the window
blinking “Open.” The door read “Morelli’s Fine Italian Dining.”
Trey parked, got out, and opened my door, helping me up from the
low-ride seat. As soon as we walked in, the aroma of Italian
cuisine enveloped me. I was ravenous. A smiling matron came over to
greet us. It was obvious that she knew Trey.

“
Signore Sinclair,” she
greeted heartily, “it’s nice to see you! How long has it been mio
ficco?”

“
Saluto, Carmelita!” Trey
greeted the woman, embracing her, “Come stai?”

“
Equesta la vastra bella
moglie?” asked Carmelita.

Is this your beautiful
wife?

“
No, non ancora forse un
giore succedera,” Trey said.

No, not yet, someday
maybe.

The restaurant was filled
with patrons eating an early Sunday supper. Carmelita led us to a
table for two in a quiet area of the restaurant. It was quaint with
red and white checkered tablecloths. Soft Italian music played.
Trey ordered a bottle of Chianti for us. I raised an eyebrow at him
from over my menu.

“
What?” he
asked.

“
Nothing,” I said,
smirking, “I just recall how pissed you were with Clint because I
was drinking at Luke’s bonfire the night of
my…accident.”

“
Who said anything about
you drinking tonight?” he replied giving me his cocky
smile.

“
Well, I suppose then that
I'm the designated driver?” I inquired sweetly.

“
No way, Tylar,” he
laughed, “I don’t think you can handle the horsepower.”

“
What's good here?” I
asked, ignoring the last jab.

“
Really there's nothing
bad here. I like the baked ziti.”

“
That sounds fine to
me.”

Trey ordered for both of
us: baked ziti and salads. Carmelita brought fresh bread on a
cutting board to the table and filled our water goblets. Trey
poured two glasses of Chianti, handing me one.

“
This is your one and only
glass,” he advised. I rolled my eyes mockingly.

“
Cheers,” I said, raising
my glass and taking a sip. Trey sliced the bread, putting a thick
warm slice on a small plate and passing it over to me. “You might
want to try this with the house olive oil, it's really
good.”

I took the olive oil
dispenser that had a small spray nozzle and lightly spritzed my
warm bread. Taking a bite I moaned audibly, catching Trey’s
attention in an instant. “Ohh, this is sooooo good,” I said, in a
very sultry tone. I licked my lips, and took another bite, teasing
him with my sensual enjoyment of the bread, licking my fingers when
I finished. He rearranged himself in his seat a bit and pretended
not to be affected. I sipped some more Chianti, enjoying the slight
buzz I was getting. Our salads came, and as we started in, Trey
brought up the subject of Clint.

“
You know, Tylar,” he
said, “you were right about one thing. I had no right to be so hard
on Clint over the incident at the pool that night. I suspect I may
have had more of an issue with him than your inebriated
state.”

I eyed him warily; what
was he up to with this? “Oh I get it,” I said, “you’ve made nice
with Clint now that you’ve turned him into your own personal nark!”
I blurted. I refilled my glass with more Chianti, watching Trey
give me a slightly reprimanding look.

“
I don’t have a clue what
you're talking about,” he replied.

“
Oh come on, Trey. I know
that it was Clint that called you and told you that I was riding
Jezebel in the fourth. You’ve put the fear in him, it’s obvious. I
don’t have any desire to remain friends with someone that would
nark me out.”

“
I see,” Trey responded.
“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps Clint was worried about you
racing so soon after you were released from the
hospital?”

“
Maybe,” I said, a bit
snidely, “but answer me this, Trey. If Clint had not called you in
Atlanta to let you know so that you could bust ass back to Bristol
and scratch me out of that race, who would you have been more
pissed at when you discovered on your own that I'd rode—me or
Clint?”

Trey was thoughtful for a
moment before answering. “I suppose I'd have been equally pissed at
both of you,” he answered.

“
I get that you want to
keep me safe, but in the process, you're kind of alienating me from
my co-workers and friends. You're making it very lonely here for
me.”

“
I won’t be
second-guessed; I did what I did because, as I've explained, I
won’t allow you or anyone else to put you in harm’s
way.”

It appeared that I wasn't
the only one with issues. I knew Trey’s motivation, now that he had
a snitch in hand. He wanted to continue using Clint to keep tabs on
me. Trey started to say something, but stopped when Carmelita
arrived at our table with the baked ziti.

Trey was right; it was
delicious. I cleaned my plate while polishing off another glass of
Chianti, which irritated Trey. We ate in silence, partially because
we were both so hungry, and partially because it was a bit strained
after the topic of Clint came up. Carmelita came over to clear our
empty plates, noticing the silence between us.

“
Signor Trey, credo chevoi
e il vostro amore bisogno di dolcezza, no?” Carmelita
said.

Mr. Trey, I think you and
your love need some sweetness, no?

“
Concordo Carmelita. Che
cos a vi suggerisce?” Trey asked.

I agree Carmelita. What
would you suggest?

“
Vl faro qualche Tiramisu
Signor Trey. Ti alimenti e per il vostro amante. Essa ha bisogno di
un po’

I'll bring you some
Tiramisu Mr. Trey. You feed it to your lover. She needs a little
fattening up, eh?

“
It seems we’re having
dessert Tylar,” Trey said, his eyes dancing. The tension lifted. He
pulled my hands into his, gazing into my eyes.

“
I’ve had a really nice
afternoon with you. I have to leave on a flight to Atlanta tomorrow
morning. Our firm has a class action trial starting on Tuesday, so
I have to go. Will you be all right?”

No. I don’t want you to
go!

“
Of course I will,” I
replied nonchalantly.

“
Ray should have the locks
on your cottage changed by now. He is going to make sure that the
key he has is not hung on the hooks with the other master keys to
the cottages. Does that make you feel any safer?”

I only feel safe with you
wrapped around me, Trey.

“
I never really felt
unsafe Trey. It’s just been creepy in the cottage since then, you
know? I mean it’s not like anyone has threatened me directly or
anything like that…”