Strapped Down (21 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The ornate wooden door to Randall’s study is ajar. Hesitantly, I push it open just enough to get a view of him tending to a crackling fireplace. After he puts the poker back in its place, he flexes and extends the fingers of his right hand, wincing in pain.

“Mr. Holden?”

“Randall is fine, Shyla. Come have a seat.”

I cautiously sit across from him in a large buckskin wingback chair in front of the fireplace. Seconds pass, but the silence between us feels like it will never end until he finally speaks.

“What’s he like?”

“I, uh, Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. What do you mean?” I ask.

Randall looks down, as if trying to find the right words. “You know, I’ve made a lot of mistakes as a father, but I’ve tried. I tried so hard with those boys…” His voice trails off, but I say nothing. “Eric was so emotional, so sensitive. I could never get him to think with his head,” he clenches his fists in frustration. “And then Taylor…when I finally got him, he just, I couldn’t break through. He was always so sad. It was always in his eyes.”

I gently nod. I am all too familiar with the sadness he speaks of.

“I was wrong for what happened with Taylor’s mother, we should have never — I should have never — been with her. But I’d do it all over again: the shame, Nan hating me when she found out, even losing Eric, for that boy. I’ve lost one son; he comes and he goes for months, years even, at a time. All I have left is Taylor, and I am so proud of him, but at the same time, it’s like I don’t even know him.”

“I understand Taylor can be…aloof, but whenever he speaks of you, he does so very fondly.” Randall’s openness is so unlike Taylor and I wonder if this is who he is, or if it’s desperation from years of loneliness.

Watching Randall’s eyes just barely glimmer at my words chokes me up. This is what it is like to love Taylor and not get it back, this is the effect that Taylor has on everyone else. He absorbs love much like a black hole, never reflecting it back, just sucking the light away from its source.

“He talks about me?”

“Yes. He told me he is very grateful for the life you provided him. He knows you tried your best.” Randall smiles faintly.

“I just need to make sure you have his best interests at heart. I know he seems strong, but really he is fragile. And I can tell he feels very strongly about you.”

“Your son—Taylor—is…protective. Charismatic. Funny. Sarcastic. He’s a great cook too. He’s stubborn as hell, and he can be very direct, sometimes forgetting about people’s feelings. You’re right, there is a part of him that is tremendously fragile, but at the same time he is so strong, so capable.”

“Funny, huh?”

“Yeah, at least I think so.”

“Does he allow you to touch him?”

The intimacy of our conversation is premature, yet it feels completely natural. We both are isolated by our love for Taylor and finally there is someone we can speak to who understands. And while I have only been in this state for months, Randall has been alone in this love for decades.

“Yes.”

Randall’s moistened eyes reflect the flames burning in the fireplace like small mirrors.

“I thought he might never find that,” he says warmly.

I smile. “I have to admit I was nervous coming here. I thought you might not like me, because of my history.”

Randall snaps back into the present. “I can’t say I was thrilled when he told me, but Taylor is a grown man and he is capable of making his own decisions. I didn’t know what to expect, but when you came through the door, I felt at ease. You’re just a young lady, and like Taylor, you didn’t get to choose your circumstances. Nonetheless, you have to understand that I’ve spent my entire life trying to move him away from C.O.S. I hope I don’t offend you by saying this: my first instinct was to think that somehow you sought him, because of your common circumstances and his wealth.”

“I guess it’s natural to think that. I can’t prove to you otherwise, but I had no idea about my father until days ago. I work. I make my own money. Taylor is rich and I can’t make that go away, but he came after me. He courted me.”

Randall seems satisfied with the answer, or at least he pretends to be. “So Taylor tells me your mother just told you after all these years?”

“Yes, my mother wanted to shield me too. I’m not even sure it has really sunken in.”

“It’s a painful past. I am sure she had your best intentions in mind.”
Isn’t there a saying about good intentions and where they end up?

“Is that why you haven’t told Taylor his mother’s body was never found?”

Randall’s eyes open wide and he sits back. “You are bold; I can see why Taylor has taken such a liking to you.” Then his voice raises with a touch of alarm. “Does he know?”

“No, I haven’t told him because I am not sure it’s worth it.”

“Well, then you know why I haven’t.”

“Do you believe she’s dead?”

“She’s been gone for decades. It doesn’t even matter anymore. How did you know?
Your mother
.”

“Yes.”

“Taylor knows he can ask me anything. He never wanted to know about Lyla. Despite what she brought him into, I don’t hate her. She was young and confused. I harbor some of the blame for that.”

“But if you told him his mother was dead, then how would he know what to ask?”

“She is presumed dead. Legally. That is not a lie. I never said where her body was. Taylor assumed that and it wouldn’t take much digging around or asking to know otherwise.”

“I guess it’s my turn to hope I don’t offend, but I believe that is lying by omission.”

“Point taken, but I did what I had to do to move that boy forward. Imagining his dead mother might be alive somewhere does not allow for that.”

“He told me you put a picture of her on his mirror.”

“Yes. I wanted him to know that it was okay to think about her, that I wouldn’t be offended or upset. Like you said, he is stubborn. He never wanted to talk; for the first year he was here he didn’t say a word. And then he seemed to find his way on his own and I was so scared if I pushed I might silence him again.”
His way. BDSM, isolation, night terrors. That’s Taylor’s way.

“He has done a lot with H.I. He has become such a success despite the circumstances.”

“Yes, he has.” There are few moments of contemplative silence before Randall speaks again. “Forgive me for being so personal, but, you have probably figured out we Holdens don’t beat around the bush. You love him don’t you?”

“Um…yes. I do.” I only hesitate because I wonder if this is something that Taylor wants me to share with his father, but I cannot lie. The conversation thus far has been too intimate to do so without Randall knowing.

“And he you?”

“I think you should ask—“

“Both you and I know Taylor won’t tell me. Not those words.”

I nod.

He pauses, absorbing my words, nodding ever so slightly to himself. “Well then, tread carefully. The kind of love you have is only written about in books. It is born from suffering. It is a painful love that often comes at the expense of a great tragedy. All sense evaporates within its heat. And nothing that intense lasts forever.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s always been sad, but you’ve brought him happiness. There is no doubt about that. We both know however, that type of happiness is fleeting, it exists only for that person. Eventually, one needs to find it inside of oneself.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at?”

“It’s just sage advice. Nothing more. As I said earlier, you and Taylor will do what you please. I just wanted you to know. I could never get through to Taylor, but maybe I can get through to you.”

“Get what through? That we shouldn’t be together?”

“That you should seriously consider if two people who share such a past can ever escape it, especially if those two people continue to stay in each other’s lives.”

“With all due respect Randall, you’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“We have a chance to be happy, to stay happy. You don’t understand what we have and just because we spoke here, and I told you some things, doesn’t mean you do. In fact, it is our pasts that make us relate to each other in a way no one else can. There are no other people for us, we were meant to find each other.”

“That’s precisely my point. No one understands, it’s you two against the world, isn’t it? I sincerely hope you can stay happy, but so often what is born from tragedy, will end in tragedy.”

“Just because our parents screwed up, doesn’t mean Taylor and I are destined for heartbreak. Your son is an amazing man, and he deserves to be happy and to be loved.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more and I hope you will convince him of that.”

Just then, there is a tap on the door. Taylor walks in with a puzzled look on his face.

“Taylor, I was just getting to know Shyla over here. She is great company.”

“Yes she is,” he says suspiciously. “Nan is downstairs
.
W
e got a spare on her car, but she’ll need to get the tire patched tomorrow.”

“Thank you for helping her.”

“Of course, you’re welcome.”

“Well, I think I will head to bed,” Randall says, rising from his seat. “Shyla, it was wonderful getting to know you.”

I smile and nod. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Taylor says.

Randall nods assuredly at us both as he exits the study.

Taylor turns to me. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure. He just wanted to get to know me I guess.”

“Was he nosing around? You look upset.”

“A little, but I think he’s lonely. It seems like he wants to make sure you’re okay. He just seems concerned about you, that I might hurt you somehow.”

“Unbelievable. I apologize you had to go through that. He needs to relax. This is all Eric’s fault. He thinks I am all he has left, blah, blah, blah. Somehow that entitles him to badger you. I’ll tell him to leave you alone.”

“No, don’t do that. I think he just wishes he knew more about you.”

“He thinks he does. Sorry about that, I should’ve known he would try to pry.”

“He was very open. It was weird, I guess because it took so long for me to get to know you and he’s an open book.”

“I suppose, but he’s smart too. He only discloses what he feels he must.”

“He asked me if I loved you.”

“Really? Fucking Randall.” He shakes his head.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. It’s incredibly intrusive. What did you tell him?”

“What was I supposed to say? I told him the truth.”

“That you hate me?” He says jokingly.

“Oh shut it.”

“And what did he say?”

I wonder if I should tell him about the warnings his father gave me, but I don’t want to start a tiff between them. Taylor and I have a special relationship, and in a way that conversation with his father felt like an anonymous support group for Taylor lovers. To reveal too much would be to betray that kinship. I soften the message.

“He just wanted me to be careful with your heart. I think he’s nervous about our pasts catching up to us somehow.”

“Ugh. You’d think I was a 16 year old girl going to prom, the way he speaks about me. Just ignore him, he’s being dramatic.”
I guess I know where Eric gets his flair for drama.
“Does he think dead cult members are going to come out from the grave and find us?”

“He told me he had reservations about my past, that at first his hunch was I was after your money, but that he understands my position now.”

“Ugh, you two did cover a lot. You two probably talked about more stuff than my father and I cover in a year.”

“He’s very open; direct.”

“Yup. I have full faith in your ability to hold your own, but like I told you, he’s a force.”

“Except when it comes to you.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, just that you’re you, you know? Impenetrable. It seems as though he feels he’s walked on eggshells with you because he is afraid to lose you again.”

Taylor nods his head. “So, I want to take you somewhere tonight. Somewhere special,” he whispers.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise. Come, I have something for you.” He leads me to the bedroom and asks me to have a seat. On the dresser is a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. He pours us both a glass and sits next to me.

“So…what’s next?”

“Have a couple of glasses. I need you to be relaxed.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk?”

“No. Just a little loose.”

“Okay…” I say suspiciously. Eager to get on with the night, I down the glass. “Gimme another,” I demand.

“Let the record show you are drinking at this pace on your own free will,” Taylor says as he fills my flute. “I’ll be right back.”