Legacy (9 page)

Chapter 12

W
es congratulated himself as he rinsed the asparagus. He’d gotten Corinne out of the house for a few minutes of fresh air; he was about to ensure that she ate a real meal, and she was currently showering.

This last point was difficult to push from his mind. The rush of water from the bathroom carried through the small house, distracting him while he worked. As he chopped off the white ends of the asparagus stalks, he’d hear the irregular thrumming of water on the tub floor, and he imagined—without meaning to—the spill of water over Corinne’s hair and down her shoulders.

The third time this happened, Wes grabbed his phone, connected it to the speakers at the little work station in the living room that held Corinne’s Mac, and tapped his music library. “On To The Next” by Jay Z flooded the house, decimating any other sounds. Wes helped himself to a beer and stepped in time to the base that shook the windows as he brushed olive oil over the asparagus.

He’d just sprinkled the ribeyes with Tony Chachere’s when Corinne appeared in the kitchen doorway in yoga pants and a t-shirt, toweling her hair, eyes wide.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she shouted over the music. She sounded pissed, but Wes thought she might have been fighting a smile.

“What?!?” Wes mimed a shrug, unable to help himself, and he took a sip of his Abita to hide his amusement.

Corinne narrowed her eyes at him in what he knew was a mock scowl, and she turned on her heel and headed out of the kitchen. He thought she’d just storm back to her room, but when the opening notes of Eminem’s “The Monster” cut out and were replaced by Arctic Monkeys’ “Fluorescent Adolescent” at the same deafening volume, he laughed to himself and carried the tray of asparagus outside.

Night had fallen, and the air was chilly. The floodlights off the sunroom gave the grill more than enough light, and Wes could see that the coals were ready. He could still hear the music from inside the house, so loud it could have been a party, and the smell of grill smoke and the taste of beer gave him a head rush of memories that nearly blew him away.

Michael
.

“It’s almost like you are here,” Wes said aloud. Too late, he scanned the yard to make sure no one could hear him, but he was alone, and the feeling—the pull of talking to Michael—was too strong to resist. It was like drafting behind a semi instead of riding against a headwind. No work at all. Just flow. He told Michael about his first day as Corinne’s roommate.

“I’m looking after her,” he said to the night air. “But I sure wish you were here to do it instead.”

After he’d turned the veggies a time or two, he pushed them to the edge of the grill and went back in the house to grab the steaks. Corinne’s music was still playing—M83 sang about waiting in a car—but she had turned the volume down to a conversational level, and Wes could hear the blow dryer coming from the bathroom.

It shut off just as he headed back outside.

“Steaks will be done in like eight minutes, C,” he called on his way out.

“Ok!” She called back.

When he came back inside, Wes was surprised to find the small kitchen table set with two places, a potato on each plate. Corinne had even put out butter and sliced lemon.

“Awesome,” he said, carrying in the sizzling steaks and steaming asparagus.

Corinne gave a half laugh.

“Least I could do,” she muttered, standing behind him as he served both their plates. “There’s no way I can eat all that.”

The steak alone took up most of her plate. With the potato and asparagus, it
was
pretty full. Wes shrugged at her.

“So we’ll have leftovers. Want a beer?”

“Sure...,” Corinne still stood awkwardly, staring at the table with the hint of a frown. Wes guessed that the scene was too domestic, too intimate for comfort.

“Is it too weird?” he asked, opening and Abita for her and handing it over. She took it without looking at him, but she didn’t answer right away.

“No,...It’s just been a while since I ate a real meal...You know...at a table...with someone else,” she looked at him then, and he could see her defenses wall up. “I know that sounds pretty pathetic.”

Wes shook his head.

“It sounds familiar,” he said. It was suddenly important to him that she not see him as a threat. He was guilty of judging how she’d managed to get by after losing Michael, and maybe she couldn’t forget that. He wished she could. “I’ve lived by myself for the last three years, and I can probably count on one hand the number of meals I ate at a table when I was in my apartment. Most of the time, I just sat in front of the TV.”

She looked at him then, and Wes could still see the suspicion, the absence of trust. And he wanted to change that.

“C’mon, sit down before it gets cold.”

Corinne sat, and he followed, cutting open his steaming potato and adding some butter and salt. He felt Corinne’s eyes on him, and he looked up to find her staring.

“What?”

Wes thought that he saw the color rise on Corinne’s cheeks.

“This looks delicious...Thank you,” she said, looking humbled and awkward. It was better than her seeming suspicious or defensive, but he still didn’t want her to thank him. He was
supposed
to be taking care of her.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It might taste like crap,” he joked. But when Wes squeezed lemon juice onto the ribeye and cut into the pink and tender brow, he knew it would be perfect.

“Wow,” Corinne said through a mouthful.

“Mmm,” he replied, losing himself to the rapture of it. Wes knew he was hungry, but Corinne seemed to wake up to her appetite. She was refined and mannered, but Wes saw the strain in the muscles of her neck and in her wrists as she wielded knife and fork. The almost wild look in her eyes. The girl was half-starving.

“Ohmygodthisissogood,” she muttered moments later.

Wes was torn between patting himself on the back and punching himself in the head. Sure, he was succeeding, but why had it taken him so long to see what she’d needed? Michael had been gone for four whole months.

“So. Good.” Corinne looked up from her plate, half-amazed. “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”

Wes allowed himself a wry grin. Her surprised smile was pretty cute.

“My talents are pretty much limited to the grill,” he said, regretting that he’d never offered to cook for her and Michael. “You’re an awesome cook, though. Your pineapple upside down cake is like crack.”

The smile she wore faltered, and Wes cursed himself. Thanksgiving was the last time he’d had that cake. Corinne had brought it to the Roush’s, and after Mrs. Betsie’s turkey and cornbread dressing and all the trimmings, he and Michael had glutted themselves on huge, golden slabs of paradise.

Corinne was picturing this, too, he could see, and she’d already warned him that their conversations could not consist of trips down Memory Lane. Wes scrambled to think of something else to say.

“You look like you’re slowing down there,” he said, pointing to her plate. She had hollowed out her potato and eaten almost half of her ribeye and most of the asparagus.

“Yeah, I’m done,” she said, assessing her plate. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I haven’t had such a big meal in a long time.”

Wes knew this was an understatement.

“If you put away the leftovers, I’ll start on the dishes,” he offered.

“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “Just excuse me for a second.”

Corinne pushed herself up from the table, and Wes worried that his slip had triggered another crying spell, but she was gone and back in less than a minute. Corinne re-entered the kitchen wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He found himself on instant alert. What the hell had she done? He hadn’t heard her close herself into the bathroom, so she couldn’t have made herself throw up or anything like that.

Wes stopped the drain and filled the sink with hot water and suds while watching Corinne out of the corner of his eye. He knew that he might have been making something out of nothing, but it didn’t
feel
like nothing.

They cleaned the kitchen without a word, and Wes started to wonder what the rest of the evening would look like. Left to herself, Corinne would probably retreat to her bedroom, and he wanted to try to break her of that habit.

“Have you seen the second season of
House of Cards
yet?” he asked, hoping it would spark her interest.

Corinne shook her head.

“Nope.”

No spark.

“Would you like to watch the first episode with me?” Wes asked, watching her closely and half-expecting her to turn him down flat.

Corinne raised and dropped a shoulder.

“Sure,” she said, but the energy and color she’d had during their walk and most of their dinner had dimmed.

At least she isn’t going off to her room.

After they shut off the lights in the kitchen, Corinne curled up on the couch, and Buck joined her. Wes had to fight the smile at the picture they made, and he plunked himself down into his recliner and grabbed the remote.

He selected the Netflix episode and hit play, and Wes felt a frisson.

I live here now.

Wes was surprised by how okay he felt. He’d always been comfortable in Michael’s home, even if he never felt the warmest welcome from Corinne, but he didn’t think that hanging out with her in the living room would feel so...
normal.

It was a relief that she hadn’t fought him at every turn. He’d been surprised when she’d agreed to his set of rules after outlining hers, and he hadn’t expected her to be so compliant about his suggestions to walk, to eat, even to watch TV.

Wes let the manipulations of Senator Underwood draw him in, but when Kevin Spacey pushed the reporter in front of the train, Wes glanced at Corinne to check her reaction.

Nothing.

She was slumped against the armrest of the couch, sound asleep.

What the fuck?

It wasn’t even 9:00, and she’d slept all afternoon.

Wes turned off the TV and stood up. Buck picked his head up off his paws and watched him eagerly.

“C’mon, boy,” Wes whispered and led the dog to the door. Buck ran out into the night and lifted his leg on a camellia bush in the yard before darting back in.

Wes locked up the front door, crossed the house, and made sure the back door was secured. He went back into the living room and studied Corinne. She hardly looked comfortable, but he had to assume that House Rule #1 didn’t just apply to waking her up in her bedroom, so he left her alone and got himself ready for bed.

The weirdness factor presented itself when he tried to adjust to his new room. He looked around the space. It wasn’t that his stuff and Michael’s stuff were mixed together. That wasn’t it at all. He and Michael had shared a dorm together freshman and sophomore year at UL; staying in a room with Michael’s stuff was no big deal. And it wasn’t just that it was his first night
living
there. Sure, it didn’t quite
feel
real yet, but there was still something else that unsettled him.

Wes had a 5 a.m. client in the morning, so he made himself get into bed. He turned off his light, clicked on the TV, and aimlessly flipped through the channels. He’d left the lamp on in the living room so Corinne wouldn’t wake up in the dark and freak out. When he turned off the TV a few minutes later, the soft light fell across the foot of his bed.

The house was so quiet, he could hear Corinne’s breath.

He was still awake, lying on his back minutes later when the rhythm of her breathing changed, and he heard her stir. The light went off then, and he heard Corinne walk into the bathroom and close the door.

Water ran, the toilet flushed, water ran again, and then the door opened and the light clicked off.

And then nothing.

The house was entirely dark. Corinne must have been just standing in the hall, listening. Listening for him as he was listening for her.

His cock jumped at the thought.

Oh, hell, no,
he told himself, flipping onto his side, angling away from the door. Wes took one of his spare pillows and pulled it over his head. If Corinne stood in the hallway for another hour or went into her room, he didn’t know because he couldn’t hear anything through the pillow.

He’d never lived with a woman before, he reminded himself. The presence of a female roommate—no matter who she was—was bound to...take him by surprise. It was no big deal.

Right?

May