Home to Harmony (15 page)

And turned him on. Right now, watching her lips and flashing eyes, the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts, he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her to silence. He couldn’t wait to take her to bed again.

“What?” she demanded. “You think I’m crazy to ask Aurora?” She’d misread him entirely.

“Not even close.” He leaned in. “I’m thinking about getting you naked.”

“Oh…Marcus…” She closed her eyes, clearly feeling the same bone-melting lust he did. But when she opened them again, she wore an entirely different expression. Sorrowful, but resigned. “I think it’s better if we stop,” she said.

“You do?” He was startled. She’d seemed pretty eager to keep going at the time. His heart sank.

“Not that I don’t want more. I do.
Lots
more. But since you’ll be spending more time with David, I’m afraid to risk it. I lost my focus, I think. Plus, there’s so much to do now because of the fire.”

“I can understand that,” he said, swallowing hard.

“It was lovely, escaping for a while. I’ll never forget it, but I think we should leave well enough alone. I mean, why risk complicating things or possibly hurting each other or—”

“You don’t need to convince me, Christine.”

“I guess I’m convincing myself.” She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him. “I want you almost more than I can stand.”

Heat shot through him, nearly buckling him with desire, but he held himself in check. “That seems the wisest approach,” he said, managing to look sober and serious. “Better for everyone.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Did she look a little hurt? That made no sense.

They were both right. It was sensible, sound and smart to quit. But Marcus felt hollowed out, let down,
hurt.

What the hell was wrong with him? Sex was great, but hardly life-altering. He and Christine had had one frantic encounter that was more of a collision than an act of love. How could ending it cause him so much pain? Perhaps waking from his numb fog wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

It kind of hurt her feelings, really, that he could brush her off like so much lint off a jacket.

She kept thinking about it, reliving it. Marcus’s mouth on hers, his knowing hands, the way he’d whispered her name, how safe she’d felt in his arms. Every time she looked at him, her knees turned to water.

Never mind. She had vital work to do at the moment: convince Aurora to spend her inheritance fixing up the commune. She braced her back against the kitchen wall and took several deep breaths, readying herself to enter the dragon’s lair…well, go out onto the porch and face her mother.

Aurora was in her usual spot—the rocking chair near the hammock. “Nice night,” Christine said, sitting in the hammock.

“I can still smell smoke from the fire,” she said, crinkling her nose, then glancing at Christine.

“Not for long, I hope.” She took a deep breath.
Here we go.
“Especially if we get started on the repairs right away, while Mitch and Louis are here to save us labor costs.”

“There’s no rush, Crystal.”

“But I think that if we get on this, we could make some improvements to the place. Simple things—paint, landscaping, electrical, plumbing, like that. While I’m here to supervise.”

“Harmony House is
fine.
Are you never happy with anything?”

The words felt like a slap, but Christine made herself smile. “Maybe not. And, actually, Bogie has been asking me about what will make me happy here. He wants me to figure out my ‘soul’s work.’”

She was surprised when her mother’s face softened. “That man has always been a pest about that. When he let me move into the place he was renting—it was after the miscarriage—anyway, there were a bunch of people living there, mattresses all over the place, and he was always after us:
Are you happy? What do you need to be happy? What speaks to your soul?
Lord God above.”

Her mother usually only talked about her past to illustrate some point in one of her lectures, so Christine didn’t know many details beyond the fact that after her parents refused to let their pregnant daughter back home, Aurora had stayed with friends, slept in cars, sometimes worse. Three months in, she’d lost the baby. Not long after that, Bogie had invited her to become one of his shifting set of housemates. “So
were
you? Happy, I mean?” Christine asked.

“I was sixteen. All I knew was I was free. Happy takes time. I had to learn that.”

“What about now? Are you happy now?” That was a nosy question for her very private mother, but she wanted to know.

“I’m still learning.” She turned to look straight at Christine, both feet planted on the porch boards. “I promise you that slapping a coat of paint on Harmony House and planting some hedges will
not
make you happy, Crystal.”

“What if it’s my soul’s work?” she said, half-joking. “Isn’t that worth a try?”

Her mother began rocking again, silent for a while. “You don’t have the kind of money to pay for all that.”

Christine decided to say it straight out. “Maybe not. But you do. Bogie told me about the inheritance.”

“He what? That was not his right!” she snapped. “Dammit!”

“He wanted to help me. He likes my idea.” She realized her heart was racing. More and more she wanted to do this. It felt like fixing her past, smoothing out the rough spots, making Harmony House neater, cleaner, organized and steady—a place Christine might not have minded living in as a child.

“You can approve every nail, paint color, tree or bush if you want. And I will see it through to the end, until you’re satisfied, no matter how long it takes.” That was a gamble, of course, and she crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t be pushed beyond her planned departure date.

There was a long silence while Aurora thought this over. Christine focused on the crickets and toads singing happily, and on the soft air on her skin, the sway and creak of the hammock.

Finally, Aurora spoke, her voice soft. “My parents were spiteful people. Cold and hard and mean. They didn’t love me or understand me or even try. I never forgave them. Not that they asked me to. They didn’t care enough.” She gave a half smile.

“I didn’t want one dime of their money. Not one dime. Bogie hammered me about it and I finally gave in. The medical bills ate up some, but there’s a lot more hanging over my head.”

Her eyes took on a faraway look, almost sad, then she came back to Christine. “Hell, what you’re planning is as good as throwing that cash down a hole anyway, which suits me just fine.”

“So you’re saying yes?” Christine’s heart lifted.

“But you run it all past me and you’ll stay until I’m ready to boot you out. I’m holding you to that.” She glared at Christine, as if reading her own doubts.

“Absolutely,” she said, hoping for the best. She couldn’t wait to tell David they were getting DSL.

These talks sounded stupid to him, but he figured it was better than going to some stranger in Preston, with his mother grilling him the whole way there and back each time.

Lady was with him, sitting at his side like his bud. Lady helped. Lady was a friend. He ran his hand down her back, taking comfort in her soft fur, the appreciative thump of her tail.

The sound of feet on the stairs made him look up to see Marcus with his Martin and a wad of guitar strings. He sat and started changing out his strings. Whew. They would just sit quietly for a bit. He did get a feeling of peace and calm whenever he was around the guy.

After a minute or so, David got bored and found himself playing some chords for something to do. He felt so restless now. He couldn’t focus or think. He ran hot and then cold. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, explode into a million dots of nothingness in the air.

When he’d finished with the strings, Marcus strummed through a series of chords to test the tuning. “So what’s up with you right now?” he said suddenly, his gaze sharp on David.

He was so startled, he blurted it out. “Brigitte broke up with me. Over the phone.”

Marcus watched him. “You sound angry about it.”

“Yeah, I’m angry.” He thought he was mostly sad, but red flared in his head now. “She threw me away like we had nothing.”

“I notice your hand is scraped.” Marcus nodded at the oozing scabs across his knuckles.

“I punched a wall.” He studied his hand, which still hurt.

“That happen often? Hitting things when you’re angry?”

“Sometimes.” His mind went red and he just swung. That bothered him some, he had to admit.

“Rage always seeks an outlet. Hitting something is a natural way to handle it, though it’s usually better to choose something that won’t hurt you back.”

“I guess.” He shrugged.

“Unless that was what you wanted? To hurt yourself?”

His eyes darted to Marcus’s. “No. I mean, I don’t know. I wanted to stop feeling like shit. I wanted to
do
something.”

“And physical pain is better than emotional pain?”

“Sometimes. Yeah.”

“Would you like some ideas for how to handle your anger in ways that won’t, say, put you in a cast?” Marcus smiled.

“I guess.”

“Next time, we can go over that. For now, what else is going on with you besides anger?”

“Nothing. I feel empty. And stupid. I mean, we were in this together. This being apart and how much it hurt, like we were climbing a mountain together and Brigitte got tired and let go of the rope, letting me crash to the ground.”

“People handle separations in different ways. Some hold on tighter. Others withdraw.”

“She’s not even going to Europe. She’s going to ASU and living at home. It’s because of Rocky, this guy we know I think she likes.” David felt choked up inside, helpless and ruined.

Marcus didn’t speak, so David’s thoughts rolled on, deeper into scary areas. “When I go home I’ll look like a fool who got dumped. She’ll mock me behind my back. That’s what she does to people she feels superior to.” His voice cracked. “It hurts
so much
. Like it was all fake from her.”

Marcus still didn’t speak, just let David settle down. When he felt calmer, he said, “Should I call her? Try to work it out?”

“Is that possible?”

“No. She’d say I’m being immature.” He shook his head, miserable. “It’s over. I know that.”

“What are you telling yourself about the kind of person you are because of this?”

“I don’t know….” He paused, thinking. “That I’m a loser. That I’m boring. Too boring to stick in Brigitte’s head.”

“Were you boring when you were with her?”

“No. I was smart and funny and interesting.”

“Have you changed?”

“No.
She
changed. She stopped caring about me.”

“It’s good that you realize that. It’s common for people in a breakup to judge themselves harshly based on the other person’s behavior.”

“I still feel like shit.”

“Are you eating normally? Sleeping?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Eating regularly will help stabilize you. Get plenty of protein, fruits and vegetables and avoid sugar, which puts your insulin into overdrive and can cause mood swings.”

“Food makes me feel like puking.”

“Try small amounts throughout the day. Also, stay with your usual bedtimes. Don’t nap to catch up. You’ll get back on track eventually. Exercise raises your endorphin levels, which creates positive feelings, so doing chores should help.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” He didn’t really care about all that “eat, sleep, exercise” crap. “I feel so hopeless.”

“The hurt is new, David. That will pass over time. For now, you’ll have to ride it out as best you can. It helps to stay busy.”

“With what? Chores?” He smirked.

“Play music maybe? Hang out with friends. Learn to make pottery. Read. Go for hikes. Swim in the river.”

“I don’t feel like any of that.”

“As the days pass, the waves of sadness won’t hit so hard. You’ll gradually feel better and more like yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s the pattern with most people. If a month passes and you feel no better, you might want to see a therapist about medicine to boost you to solid emotional ground for a while.”

“Okay, I guess.” Marcus made it sound so easy.

“How are things with your mother?”

David shrugged. “Not great. She’s holding the fire over my head, to prove I’m a loser and a screwup.”

“Has she said something to that effect?”

“No. But that’s what she thinks.”

“What do
you
think?”

David stared at Marcus for a long moment, then he admitted the truth. “That I am a screwup and a loser.” He dropped his head, feeling the wash of horror from that night—his crazy drive to Brigitte, stoned and drunk, losing control of the car, almost getting hit by that truck, then learning he’d nearly killed people.

“How about we reframe that? You got upset and took some unwise actions. How about we say that you did some screwed-up things, but those actions don’t define you.”

“Means the same thing to me.”

“It’s a subtle difference, but it’s important.”

“Whatever.”

“So you feel that you made some serious mistakes. What are you doing to make up for them?”

“I’m helping with the repairs is all.”

“And you apologized, correct? To me, to your mother?”

“And my grandmother, yeah.”

“And you’re talking to me, right? What else?”

“I’m going to try to not do stupid shit again.”

“It sounds like you’ve had some insights, David, and that you have a plan to do better in the future.”

“Yeah? I guess so.”

“That sounds responsible to me.”

“It does?” He felt a little lighter and blew out a breath.

“Anything else on your mind at the moment?”

He remembered that Marcus had busted down his door to rescue him, risked getting burned up to save him. That made his nose sting with emotion. He wanted to say something, to thank him, but that felt babyish. “Not really, no.”

“Then how about we play some guitar?”

“Okay.” Relieved, David hit a chord. That hadn’t been so bad, after all. Maybe he’d feel like writing a song later. Maybe it would be about Brigitte, maybe not. Music could be an escape like Marcus said.