Legacy (18 page)

Chapter 21

S
unday morning was the first in nearly two weeks that Corinne didn’t start off with a yoga class—simply because there wasn’t one. But when she’d awoken to an empty house—how Wes could get his bike out so soundlessly, Corinne would never know—she decided that she’d rather be at the gym than home alone. It was bad enough sleeping alone for the first time in almost two weeks, but after the kiss, Corinne thought that climbing into bed together would have been a bad idea.

And now her body definitely needed a distraction.

Though yoga was her favorite activity by far, on Thursday afternoon—instead of torturing her with circuit training—Wes had introduced her to the lap pool. Corinne was a decent swimmer, and the water never scared her, but she had expected that swimming laps would be about as fun as writing lines.

But as happened far too often, Wes had proved her wrong. Once she pinned her hair up, dunked her swim cap the way he’d shown her, and doused herself as she tugged it on, Corinne slipped into an empty lane and pulled on her new short fins, excited to practice again the series of drills that Wes had covered with her three days before.

Swimming laps wasn’t boring; it was cleansing. There were so many things to concentrate on that—almost like yoga—her mind went quiet. As Wes had shown her, tilting her head down lifted her core up in the water, reducing drag. Swiveling onto one shoulder between strokes allowed her to glide efficiently, like the hull of a ship. Her kicks were to be powerful bursts, not the choppy flutters she’d always practiced. Arms and hands stayed close to her midline during strokes, maximizing power and stability.

And since she could feel the effect of each of these adjustments, Corinne knew moment by moment when she was doing it right and when she’d botched it. There was no room to think about anything else—just her body and the way it moved through the water—and before she knew it, an hour was gone.

She was glad for the reprieve. Since she’d awoken and long, long before she fell asleep the night before, she’d thought about Wes. And Michael. And what had happened. And what hadn’t.

Corinne had cried—of course, she had cried—when she crawled into bed that night, into her and Michael’s bed—because Michael was no longer the last man she’d kissed.

But as she climbed out of the pool and toweled herself off, she came back to this coil of thought, letting the truth of it shock through her again.

Now,
the last man she’d kissed was alive.

And if the last man she’d kissed was alive, then Life might not be quite finished with her yet, which was a thought that gave her a curious whirring somewhere between her lungs and her heart.

It felt...
strange
to think about moving on. Five months ago, taking a vow of chastity seemed like her only course. She was Michael’s, forever and ever. Amen. And even if she hadn’t died when he did, she expected that life without him would be a half-life at best. Corinne had assumed that she would never welcome the chance to be intimate with someone else, but she had also felt sure that no one would try.

One kiss had shredded those assumptions.

What the night had taught her was that she wanted more than a half-life. Even without Michael. And even as this lesson stoked her with a kind of pride at her own ability to endure, it also made her feel terribly sad and more than a little disloyal. Didn’t Michael deserve better? Didn’t his memory warrant more devotion? And, she thought with a stab of pain, was moving on a sign that she was forgetting him?

Never,
she thought, gritting her teeth.

And none of this even touched the source of all of this upheaval.

Wes
.

Chills broke out over her damp skin as she wrapped the towel around herself and headed for the locker room. The Sunday morning quiet at the health club had left the sauna blessedly empty, and Corinne took advantage of her solitude, stretching out on the baking wood planks.

The heat began to soak into her, and without her having to even reach for the thought of him, Wes filled her mind. If she were being honest with herself, lying in his arms every night had been more than just comforting. It had been blissful. And she was happy to keep it that way and not question how her feelings for him might be changing. But now, all she could think about was the ardent look in his eyes the moment before he’d kissed her. The way he had pulled her into him and held her so tightly as though she were his very life. The anguished lines around his mouth when she said she was confused. Corinne felt each of these moments again—more carefully and slowly now that she had time and distance to explore the memories. She felt each plunging rush, imagining what he felt.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Imagining what Wes felt changed everything.

It took away her shame and her disquiet. It filled her with awe, with heat. What
did
he feel? When had he started looking at her like that? What made him want to hold her the way he had? She wanted to respond in kind. Her wish was that she could slip into his dreams. Touch him, lie on top of him, kiss him a thousand times. Tell him how beautiful he was, what a good heart he had.

A dream. It could only happen there where she could be free from judgment. His. Her own. She would never be able to look him in the eye afterward. It had been hard enough driving home last night, pretending that everything was normal when her body was tuned in to every ripple of tension that rolled off him, every sigh of regret.

And in a dream world, there wouldn’t be this fear that announced itself every time she thought about Wes that way. A fear that had darker depths than she had the courage to plumb.

A dream? Yes. In reality? No. The bottom line was that she was enough of a mess without taking him down with her, Corinne told herself. Wes deserved so much better than the wreckage of her life.

Yes, she was confused about how she felt. In truth, she felt too many things—guilt, desire, and fear among them—but one thing was clear: she only wanted Wes to be happy, to find someone with a whole heart to love him, someone strong who could show him that the tally of who he was came out to 1000 times more than the man his father thought he was, and he needed someone affectionate who could pour herself into all of the wells that his mother had left dry.

Even if Corinne wanted him and cared about him, she wasn’t right for him; her heart wasn’t whole; she wasn’t strong, and she sure as hell wasn’t affectionate.

The heat from the sauna had soaked through and now threatened to drain her. She rose from the bench, wrapped up in her towel, and stepped out onto the cool tiles of the locker room. She plodded back to her locker and started searching for her shower bag when she had to stop to let another woman pass.

“Corinne...Corinne Granger?”

She turned at her name and found herself staring at a tall, blonde woman in her late thirties who looked vaguely familiar. Her blue geo print knit dress and Rebecca Minkoff booties whispered style and sophistication, but it was her handmade jewelry that made her name fall into place.

“Ann Kergan,” Corinne said, smiling, relieved that she wasn’t left at a loss. The two had met at Gallery Cologne during an Art Walk event over the summer. Ann was showing a line of jewelry called “Evangeline,” and Corinne was displaying a series of portraits.

“How are you?” Corinne asked.

The woman gave her a smile, but Corinne could see it was cautious. Somehow, Ann Kergan knew that Corinne had dropped off the face of the earth.

“I’m doing great,” Ann said, tentatively. “How are you? It’s good to see you again.”

Corinne took this for the kindness that it was, and she shrugged.

“I’m okay,” she said, honestly. She was still a mess, but she was making progress.

Ann’s face changed to one of genuine feeling.

“I was very sorry to hear about your boyfriend,” she offered. “I remember meeting him at Cologne when you were setting up. He was very sweet to help me carry in my cases.”

At her words, the memory rushed in, details of a summer morning downtown that she had forgotten. After setting up her displays that day, she and Michael had gone to The French Press for brunch and Bloody Marys. Shows were always busy and stressful for her, and even though Michael worked all week, he never objected to helping her get ready for the Second Saturday Art Walk. He had a way of making light of the work and her frazzled moods, and before she knew it, they had the afternoon free.

Corinne closed her eyes for a moment and sent up a prayer.

I hope I said
Thank you
enough.

“Thank you,” she said, aloud. To Ann for her condolences. To the returned memory. To Michael.

“Are you still with Cologne?” she asked, ready to move on from the subject before the memories became too much.

Ann rolled her eyes.

“God, no. Vincent is a thief!” she declared with venom. “He’s never coming anywhere near my work again.”

Corinne gave a rueful laugh.

“You, too? It’s amazing he hasn’t been arrested or sued,” she said.

“Or blackballed,” Ann said, and they both laughed. “Actually, Corinne, I think it’s lucky that I ran into you. I’m setting up my own gallery—it’s nothing as big as Vincent’s, but I’d love to give you some space for the grand opening.”

“Oh...I don’t know...I haven’t really been working since...” she let her voice trail off.

“I understand,” Ann said, softly. “But the opening isn’t until July 5, and even if you don’t want to show anything, what about working for me for a few weeks to help me get set up? I could really use another set of hands and another pair of eyes.”

The offer surprised her. It might be nice to have a job to do, but Corinne doubted that she was ready for anything full-time.

“Maybe,” she hedged. “But it would have to be part-time...I’m still dealing with a lot.”

“Of course! Of course, I’d take you part-time. Full-time. Whatever you want!” Ann readily agreed, looking excited. “Here, let me get your number. Maybe we could meet sometime this week. I’ll show you the place and take you to lunch to hash everything out.”

Had Corinne just accepted a job? She felt a thrill of nerves.

“Well—”

Ann’s eyes widened with worry.

“I swear, I’m not trying to railroad you,” she said in a rush. “If you decide it isn’t for you, no big deal. I will totally understand.”

Corinne regarded her. All she was really agreeing to was lunch. She could take her time contemplating the actual job offer.

“Okay,” she said, giving Ann her phone number.

“Great! I’ll be in touch,” Ann said, moving to the opposite bank of lockers. “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your Sunday. It was good seeing you.”

Corinne smiled, sensing that the woman meant it.

“Same here.”

Corinne grabbed her shower bag and a couple of fresh towels and headed for the showers. What if she tried to paint something before her lunch with Ann? So far, she’d only been sketching—and she’d been pleased with her efforts, but maybe it was time to try again with brush and canvas.

She chose a shower stall, drew the curtain closed, and peeled off her swimsuit. If she
could
produce something, that would be an important step in getting her life back. Even if it was too early, taking the job would help her to establish her independence again. And maybe give Wes his freedom. If she could take care of herself, he could move on—and find that someone who could be all of the things for him that she couldn’t be.

Corinne didn’t like the prick of jealousy this thought carried, but she knew it wasn’t fair to hold him back or keep him with her for longer than necessary. Still, she would miss him. So much. Corinne could not imagine that she would see Wes very often after he moved out. It wasn’t like they’d hung out together before he’d moved in.

Of course, they hadn’t been friends before. They were now, but wasn’t that just a result of the circumstances? It was hard to picture Wes calling her to grab a pizza once he was back in his own place.

No, she would be letting him go, but it had to happen. It would hurt, but she would live. And it would be better to give them some distance before she became any more confused.

For the second time that morning she felt the bittersweet knowledge that she was getting stronger, picking up the pieces. Able to go it alone.

Yippee,
she thought, sourly.

June