TAUT (8 page)

“OK,” I reply. She stops at the end of the aisle. “You done?”

“I think so.”

“Do you need anything specific? Milk?” She glances down at her breasts and I let out a small chuckle. “For you, I mean.”

“Oh, I’ll eat whatever, but thank you.”

“OK.” And that’s that. Shopping is over. We stand in the checkout line, which is long since there’s a threat of another storm coming and people are reactionary when they think they might be snowed in for a day. I pay and the girl talks to the baby as the bagger loads our cart back up. And then we go back out and brave the snow. It’s really coming down and the parking lot hasn’t been cleared since earlier in the day, so I have to fight the cart through the slush.

We load the kid and the crap, then climb back into the van. Our doors slam at the same time and we let out a collective sigh. She looks over at me and gives me a smile again. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Jason will be at the shop tomorrow, so we can go by and get your stuff if you need it. The Bronco will be done on Monday, but he won’t be able to start your car until later in the week, so you’ll have to stay up here in Vail until it’s done.”

“Oh.” She seems disappointed and that’s all she says as I drive carefully through the snow, the tires making that crunching noise as we go.

“Don’t worry,” I say, looking at her frown. “You can stay at my house. Just call the property managers when you leave and they’ll come lock it all up again. I’ll leave you some cash for food, and you can use this rental if you want.”

She nods and looks out the window.

“What?” I ask as I get back on the freeway.

“Thanks,” she says with an almost too cheerful smile. “It’s very nice of you to help me out like this. You don’t even know me.” And then she snorts a little. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Ashleigh,” I say quietly. “You’re Ashleigh.” She gives me a quizzical look. “Your key chain. It said Ashleigh and Tony Forever or something like that.”

“Oh, right.” The smile disappears.

“But yeah, I’m not usually so nice. You caught me on a bad day.”

“This is a bad day? What are you like on a good day? A saint?” This brings the smile back, at least partly.

“No, on a good day I’m myself. On a good day I would’ve left you in your car all night.”

She looks over at me quickly. “Would not’ve.”

“Yes, I would. On a good day I would never’ve knocked on your window when I went to get the blizzard blankets. I would’ve pretended I never heard you and your baby. And then I would’ve walked back to my hotel and gone to sleep. I’d have forgotten you before I even reached the motel door.”

I get off the freeway at our exit and turn right onto Starburst. The snow is even thicker over here and I start to worry about the driveway. I punch in the gate code once we make it to the house, and then hold my breath as we climb the steep hill. We slide even more this time and it’s freaking her out.

“I don’t like this. Drop me off, I’ll walk up.”

“I’m not dropping you off. Just relax.”

She looks nervously behind us. “I’m afraid we’re gonna slide backwards and—”

“Stop it. I’m not going to let us slide backwards.”

“But what if you can’t control it?”

I shoot her an annoyed look and she turns away as I accelerate a little, making the tires spin. She makes a few indescribable noises and grips the seat, but after a few seconds of sliding sideways, we get traction and continue upwards. When I finally pull around to the garage she lets out a long breath like she was holding it in the entire time. “Told ya,” I say smugly as I put the car in park so I can go open the garage door.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

I glance up at her as I get out to see if this was sarcasm, but she’s already scooting over into my seat. We’ve got this down to a routine, I guess.

She smiles at me again. Like she trusts me completely even though three seconds ago she thought I was gonna let us slide backwards down a steep hill. I open the garage and she pulls forward with the same careful attention she did earlier, and then I close the door behind her. I start grabbing bags and she messes with the baby.

I set all the bags down on the kitchen island and start taking things out to put away.

“Nope,” she says in a light tone. She walks over to me and puts her hand on my chest to push me away, and then grabs the bag with her other hand at the same time. “You paid, so I’ll put it all away and cook us dinner.”

I try to remove her hand from my chest, but she whirls around before I can even come to grips with the fact that she touched me
again
.

Fucking girl. That’s three times now.

“Go,” she says. “Shoo. I’ll take care of it.”

“Shoo?” I chuckle. It feels good to laugh after all this bullshit that’s been rattling around in my brain these past few months. “I can cook. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

She stops what she’s doing and looks over her shoulder at me. “Just go, OK? I got this. It’s my way of paying you back. Don’t ruin it for me.”

She goes back to the bags and leaves me to decide. I watch her from behind for a moment. Her small body is busy as she takes things out and sets them on the counter. And then the baby whines and it breaks the hold this girl has on me.

I don’t exactly hate babies, they just freak me out. They’re all needy with the feeding and the diapers. Plus, most of them like to be touched.

I shiver at the thought and make a quick escape before she asks me to do her a baby favor.

Chapter Ten

I head downstairs immediately. This is the front of the house and it’s not your typical dark basement. For one, it’s got a whole wall of windows on the far end of the lower floor great room, and for two, it’s a walk-out basement, so it’s built into the side of the mountain. If it wasn’t dark I’d be enjoying a spectacular view of the mountain peeking out from the tall pine trees. There’s no skiing on the mountain we face, it’s just wilderness. I prefer it. I can imagine nothing worse than looking out the window and seeing tourists.

I drag my gaze away from the dark window and look to the left at my dad’s office door. I haven’t been back here since the day he died. And as Mrs. Pearson pointed out to me this morning, I even missed the funeral.

I don’t do funerals. I don’t do weddings, or baby showers, or anniversaries.

I did one birthday. For Rook. I did Ronin’s get-out-of-jail-free party. Again, for Rook. And I’ve been to Antoine’s New Year’s party twice, including yesterday. The first was to get drunk with Spencer and Ronin after Mardee died. A formal goodbye from the three of us. And last night was to say goodbye to Rook. A last-ditch attempt to disconnect whatever it is we have between us.

I flick the light on in my dad’s office and take it in. Books on shelves, of course. We are alike in that respect. A large mahogany desk, spotless. I huff out a puff of air at that. Because his desk was never cleared off when he was alive. I walk around the desk and sink into the burgundy leather chair. It’s soft. It probably cost more than that girl’s car.

I slide open the top drawer and take out the key, twirling it between my fingers before inserting it into the bottom drawer and pulling it open. The light oak color of Macallan 1939 is apparent even in the shadow of the desk. Farther inside the drawer are two copita nosing glasses tucked inside some dark purple cloth.

My dad was a whiskey man and I bought him this bottle at auction after I completed my first job producing a two-week reality show in Japan. I spent my entire salary on this bottle of liquid gold. I told my dad to just drink it, shit, that’s why I bought it. But he said he was saving it for something special.

That’s a hard lesson to learn. You should never save anything for something special. Because something special might never come and that ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch you admired in a desk drawer will just to go to waste on your piece-of-shit son as he mopes about losing yet another girl to Ronin fucking Flynn.

I open the bottle and grab both glasses. I pour a little whiskey into each glass, then walk over to the window, open it up, and toss it outside.

I pour again.

Apparently I’m secretly hoping the girl will wander down here and join me. Save me from my wallowing. Or maybe just get drunk with me. I smell the whiskey in my glass, then do the unthinkable with such a fine grade of drink. I guzzle it.

It burns like fuck as it goes down, but after that’s over I’m left with a rather pleasant taste.

I drink the girl’s glass too, and then pour us another.

Those two go down a lot easier and the coldness that has permeated my body all day is gone. In fact, my body is so warm I open the window back up.

Courage, that’s what I’m drinking. It’s not liquid gold, it’s liquid courage.

I reach into my pocket and take out my phone and turn it on. I’m almost afraid to see what’s waiting for me since I turned it on earlier in the day to make calls. It takes its time powering up and then the damage stares me in the face. Seventeen messages in all since last night.

I page to the list of missed calls. Rook, Ronin, Rook, Rook, Rook, Ronin… I study them for a moment, then realize she’s got a pattern. She calls on the hour. Ronin’s calls are random.

Just like him. He has no pattern—he’s random. That’s why luck likes him.

I hate it. I hate it because Rook does have a pattern. She’s symmetrical, she’s even, she’s… perfect. And he’s… not. I check the time real quick—ten minutes to seven—and then press the number for the other missed calls on my screen.

“Ford?” my mother asks as she picks up. She knows it’s me, she’s got caller ID, so asking this as a question is irritating.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Are you… OK?”

“I’m in Vail.”

“Oh.”

“I was driving to LA and I broke down in Vail, so I’m at the house.”

“Oh.”

“I’m fine, I saw that you called, so…”

“Ronin has been calling. He says you left the party unexpectedly last night.”

“I was only there for the exit interviews.”

“Your assistant in LA called, she said you missed your flight.”

“I said I’m driving. It’s no big deal. I’m just letting you know, since…”

She waits. She’s not a Pusher. She’s a Waiter. I smile at this. I really do love my mom. She’s kinda flaky and her whole life is wrapped around her charity things, but she’s cute and even if I didn’t love her for being my mom, I’d
like
her for being someone interesting. “Since there’s a blizzard. Anyway, I’ll be leaving on Monday, so I’ll call you when I get back to LA. OK?”

She does some small talk before we hang up. She’s always like that. Trying to get me interested in having a long conversation. But I’m just not into it.

The phone buzzes an incoming call almost as soon as I hang up with my mother. It’s Rook, right on time. I press speaker for this one. I need both hands—one to hold the glass as I drink and one to pour the whiskey when I finish. “How can I help you, Miss Corvus?” I answer.

“Oh my fucking God! You finally picked up! What the fuck, Ford! What the fuck?”

She’s almost hysterical and I have a moment of guilt. But it passes.

“Ford? You better talk to me, goddammit! I swear to God, I’m so not in the mood for your weird shit! I’m pissed off!” She’s huffing on the other end of the phone and then I briefly hear Ronin talking to her in the background. There’s a shuffling of the phone and then he comes on.

“Ford? You OK, man?”

I take a sip of whiskey and enjoy it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rook is going crazy in the background now. I can hear her losing control. “Well, Rook says you broke up with her…” He stops as she snaps at Ronin and I enjoy that a little too much. “Rook, those were your words, OK? Ford, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m just done with her, Ronin. That’s all. I’ve used her all up and I don’t require her friendship anymore, so please, apologize—”

The line goes dead. I smile a little as I take a sip. That’s one way to stop the calls and get my phone back.

“Wow,” the girl says, standing in the door to my dad’s office.

“Wow what?” I answer back, instantly annoyed that she overheard that conversation.

“That was harsh.”

“You think?” I point to the chair in front of the desk and pour some whiskey in her glass, then scoot it in that direction. “Try this.”

“No,” she says, but she’s moving towards the chair I just pointed to, like she thinks she’s gonna sit down and have a conversation with me. “I’m breastfeeding. I can’t drink.”

“I’m not asking you to get
drunk
. It’s a fucking bottle of 1939 Macallan. Take a fucking sip and form an opinion. You might never get another chance in your lifetime to drink a whiskey this fine. Live a little,
Ashleigh and Tony Forever, Proud Marine Wife
.”

She’s still crossing the room when the last of my words come out, but they make her physically recoil mid-stride. She looks hard at me for a moment. Just staring.

“What?” I snarl. “You’ve never seen a man be a dick to a woman before?” I laugh. “Well, you’re in for a real treat then, because I’m at my peak tonight.”

She never says a word. Just turns and walks out.

I’m not sure how long I sit there drinking my dead father’s ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch, but I am good and drunk before I finally figure out she came down to tell me dinner was ready.

My life sucks.

I’m still wearing my New Year’s tux, I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and I have almost two days’ worth of stubble on my chin that’s annoying the hell out of me and the only person in this fucking world who gives a shit about me is my mother. And she has to care about me. It’s like, the law.

I cap the bottle and slip my phone into my pants pocket. I leave the fucking suit coat on the chair. I’ve seen the last of this tux, and I could care less what happens to it. Rook and Ronin never called back. My phone went from secretly-ringing-off-the-hook to might-as-well-be-dead. I climb the stairs with some difficulty, and then remember the fucking girl is probably still here.