Lost in You (19 page)

‘Got it. And darling?’

‘Yeah?’

‘He’s coming for you. Mark my words.’

A shiver climbed my spine, traversed my neck, pricked my scalp. I shook my head at him. ‘He’s too smart for that,’ I said.

A little piece of me hoped he wasn’t. But it would only make things worse. It would only make things harder.

* * *

‘Again,’ Gram said, when I walked in.

Flowers. Not just flowers – gobs of flowers. I had sent Brani home with wildflowers and roses the day before. Now there were two new arrangements to take their place. The cards were always blank after the first three deliveries.

The first had read: Clover, please.

The second: Call me back. D

The third: I’ll wait.

That was it. Every single one after had included a card but it was bare of words. Simple cards from the florist with pre-printed messages – ‘happy birthday’, ‘congratulations’, ‘get well soon’, ‘missing you’. That had made me laugh but not enough to call him. I was too busy wrapping myself in a comfortable cocoon of distance and space.

‘That’s nice,’ I said.

‘Clover –’ Gram started.

I held up my hand. My grandmother bristled. She wasn’t used to me refusing to listen. Wasn’t used to me being what she considered stubborn. What no one understood, maybe because I was too stubborn to explain, was that I was trying to protect myself. Why the hell was everyone faulting me for that?

‘Gram, please don’t. I just don’t want to go over this again. I said no. Everyone needs to respect it.’

‘Did he hurt you?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘What? No!’

Just my pride.

She sighed. ‘OK. It’s the only reason I can think of that you’d push away a man who clearly … means something to you. But it is your choice and I am being an old buttinsky. I just hope you remember what I told you before.’

I groaned. ‘Yes. Question marks, Gram. I know. I’m taking a shower,’ I said and stomped off.

I felt stupid and petty leaving her like that, shocked at my anger. My grandmother had been there when no one else had. In my freshman year of high school when my mother had had a job offer in Florida, I’d been devastated. I’d wanted to stay and finish school in Baltimore, I’d wanted to be with my friends. I’d built a family in lieu of having a normal one and the thought of being ripped away from it was crushing. Gram had offered to let me live with her so I could finish school and then decide what I wanted to do.

I had not wanted to begrudge my mother the start of a new life. A chance to be happy. But her dream wasn’t my dream and it was my grandmother who had preserved mine for me.

I turned the shower on and stripped off my work dress and underthings.

Memories, summoned by my conversation with Bradley, filled my head. Unwanted, colourful pieces of my time with Dorian. I put my face against the white tile and sighed. If I could just wipe him out of my memory I would be fine.

When I shut my eyes I could remember the feel of his large hands on my inner thighs, parting me. That first searing, slipping sensation as his tongue found me, separated me and stroked me to orgasm. I touched my stomach and flares of pleasure spread from under my fingers.

‘No,’ I said. My voice lost in the rush and din of the shower.

Even as I said no my hand slid lower. I followed the remembered trail of his tongue. Paused in my firm circles and whorls to play my fingers over the tender skin of my inner thigh. My body arched up to meet my touch as if it were not mine but his. I hummed softly, returned to my clitoris and pressed and pressed. Pushing my fingers to either side of my clit, stimulating my outer lips, I felt the thump and rush of blood. It exposed that tender flesh and I shut my eyes, remembering him sliding into me. I thrust a finger inside myself, head pressed firmly against the white tile. The shower rained down on my back and I thrust again before returning to my swollen clitoris. In my mind my wrists tugged my bonds, my shoulders sang, but my heart thumped in my chest and my stomach clenched as I grew closer to release.

‘Dorian,’ I said to the clamour of water. I came, biting my lip, thrusting my finger deep inside myself once more to wring every bit of pleasure I could from that moment.

Hopefully that would be the last I thought of him. But, even as I turned into the spray to wash my face and clear my head, I knew it wouldn’t work. You didn’t stop thinking about a man like him. About a man who could make you feel the way he made me feel. But that didn’t mean a happy ending was in order. My mother hadn’t had a happy ending. And I, the little girl who longed for a father all her life, hadn’t gotten one either. I’d stopped looking for them ages ago. I’d stopped hoping for things like that and wishing upon stars.

I went to bed hungry as if punishing myself. The sky was barely purpling. I felt like a child going to bed before the sun was fully down. But I was tired. I had to be because sleep came and yanked me under fast and hard. I dreamed of sand between my toes, soft lips pressed to mine, my wrists in soft cotton bonds.

In the morning I felt drunk and groggy. I knew I’d dreamed of him so I didn’t attempt to recall what had capered through my head as I slept. I brushed my teeth and put on minimal make-up. I had no interest in prettying myself up or covering my exhausted sadness. I twisted my hair up in a messy knot that I could only hope was fashionably mussed. If not, fuck it.

‘Great attitude,’ I told my reflection even as I smeared pale-pink lipstick on my lips. A good effect to go with the ghost-of-myself look I had going. Then: ‘Just get through the day, Clover.’

That was how I felt. Just get through the day. Just muddle through. Step along, girly, and make it through each day until you stopped being haunted by images of Dorian Martin.

At the breakfast table Gram was reading the newspaper. ‘Your mother called,’ she said, smiling at me.

I tried to smile back. ‘I’ll call her.’

‘You look tired, baby.’

‘I slept for like … twelve hours.’ I bit into a cold piece of toast and gave up after eating only half. Half a cup of juice and a vitamin and I was ready to go. I’d get coffee on the way to work.

‘Doesn’t mean your soul’s not tired,’ my grandmother said, arching her brows.

I snorted. ‘Don’t get all Yoda on me, Gram.’

She feigned shock. ‘I would never do that …’

‘Right. Innocent you are,’ I said in a strangled voice. Then I kissed her on the head and grabbed my bag.

In the car I glanced in the rear-view. ‘Just get through today,’ I reminded myself. ‘Eight hours. In and out. You can do it.’

I wasn’t convinced.

It was pouring with rain again. So I was glad, as I dashed through sheets of water, that I’d worn flats and pants today. Depression had its perks. Instead of my usual skirt, stockings and heels, I was dressed to dash.

Inside, I shivered hard as I went from cool fall rain to climate-controlled mall. I heard hammering and a boom box and talking but saw no one.

I hit the button on the customer service desk phone that put me in touch with Ed’s office, and when his secretary Marilyn said, ‘Yeah?’ I answered, ‘I’m here!’

‘OK, girly. Are you dry?’

‘Has Jesus come to part the deluge?’ I snorted.

‘First of all, Moses does the parting. Secondly, Jesus called in busy today.’ I could tell she was smiling.

‘I’m soaked. But it’s fine. I’m going to check on what the boys are doing in the dome. I think today they touch up some of the broken tiles. Not sure.’

‘Righto. Take it easy, Clover.’ Then she was gone.

The job should be ending soon. The specialist had done his magic on the stained glass, and Mario and his crew were blazing along on the other projects. The stores that needed new exteriors were almost done and the entrance to the new organic grocery that was being added had nearly been completed.

Soon I could move on.

A lump rose in my throat and I swallowed hard against it. Of course I could move on. I wanted to move on, right? I wanted to continue with my career and build my résumé but when I thought about moving on I hurt inside. An ache that made me feel hollow.

I walked as slowly as I could down to the dome room. Partly because I realised the more efficient I was with this project the sooner it would end. Also because I knew that I was walking into the room where I’d been with him on our night together. I’d been on top. He’d insisted, to give me my power. To give me control.

That memory brought heat to my cheeks and that knot was back in my throat.

I didn’t really want to go in the room. I stood by the arch that led into its cool depths. The room was again blue, as if underwater, hushed despite the chatter of the men and the radio. Its vastness seemed to eat up the sound.

I was forcing my foot to cross the threshold when my radio squawked at me. ‘Clover, can you come to Ed’s office, please?’ Marilyn said.

‘On my way,’ I said. Saved by the bell. So to speak …

* * *

‘Don’t kill me,’ Marilyn said.

I froze. ‘What?’

‘Don’t kill me,’ she said quietly. She stood, gathered her bag and went out the door after sparing me a glance. Her expression was a mix of worry, amusement and something else.

I felt fairly sleep-drunk from putting myself in bed and into the arms of slumber for such a long time. When I knocked and entered at the words ‘Come in’ I didn’t really put it together at first. But then I did. Dorian sat on Ed’s sofa and Ed was nowhere to be found. Against my will, my eyes flitted to the window where we’d made love. I could feel the cool windowsill beneath my fingers. Feel his hands on me. Feel him pushing into my body and taking me.

The hair on my neck stood up and I suppressed a quiver. My heart rattled in my chest and my breath was cold when I inhaled, despite the mild temperature of the room.

‘I –’ That was all I said. That was all I had to say. My tongue refused to work.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not moving. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’ He ran a hand through his dark hair. It needed a trim. It was too long but somehow worked on him. My fingers itched to brush it out of his face and kiss his brow.

‘Why?’ I wanted to know.

‘You won’t talk to me.’

‘I have my reasons.’ I felt hollow.

‘Do you mind sharing them with me, then, Clover? Because I feel like I’m losing my mind.’ There were shadows under his normally bright eyes and somehow they made him even more beautiful to me. Two cups of coffee steamed on the desk. He caught me looking. ‘Go on. One is for you. Two raw sugars and full-fat cream.’ He smiled. ‘I love that you use nothing but full-fat cream.’

‘Everything else tastes like –’

‘A lie,’ he said, quoting me from some previous time in our relationship. As if what we had could be called that.

‘Dorian, I think you just need to go on with your life. And me with mine.’ I took the coffee in my shaking hands, mainly to have something to do.

‘I’m starting to see that,’ he said. He picked repetitively at a small hole in the knee of his jeans. He looked very normal, I thought. Not rich at all. Faded jeans that had seen way better days. A Henley that had been washed damn near to death. Hightop Chuck Taylor sneakers and a wristwatch on a leather strap that looked as if it would be smooth and buttery beneath my fingers were I to stroke it. He looked downright edible. And broken. Something in my chest flexed painfully.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached in and touched the button to silence it without looking. If I was trapped in this moment, I was going to be in this moment. For all I knew, it was the last time I’d see Dorian Martin.

‘Now tell me why,’ he said, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. The action was so defeated I felt cruel and dark in my soul. ‘If I can’t have you, I need to understand why. Is there someone else?’

‘No. Nothing like that. I just think … look, when that woman Natalie called in Nantucket … she talked of Paris!’ I threw a hand up in the air as if that explained it all. It didn’t. Dorian looked at me as if I had a second head. ‘And she called me “dear”. As if I should be in a maid’s outfit and serving her tea or a martini. As if I were a … joke,’ I ended lamely.

‘You’re not a joke.’ He stood and moved towards me. I only registered that I’d taken a step back when his face fell. I don’t know what he thought. I don’t know if I thought maybe I was afraid of him. I wasn’t. What I was afraid of was what I knew to be certain. If he touched me, my resolve was over. Done with. If he touched me, I would be back in his arms in no time.

Hurt morphed to anger. ‘Who cares what she fucking thinks? I dated her to have a body on my arm. I dated her to please my mother. I dated her, Clover,’ he hissed, ‘because there was no one else, and it did not matter if I pretended to give two shits about what Natalie thought about anything from cocktail food to fine literature.’

My body felt hot. Like I might be sick. ‘I understand that, Dorian. But don’t you get it?’ I laughed. My cell buzzed again and again I reached into my pocket and silenced it.

‘Get what?’

‘If she thought so little of me, if she was so dismissive, after just two minutes on the phone with me – without seeing or meeting me – then what about everyone else in your life?’

‘What about them?’ he roared, shaking his fists in the air. I’d never seen him angry. It didn’t suit him. And yet the rage that contorted his handsome face added a certain warped sex appeal. It was odd to realise – to acknowledge – that there was no moment in which I would find him unappealing.

‘They will
all
think that of me. No matter what you think. They will think I am less than you. Beneath you. I cannot live a life, even for a dating period –’ I snorted with heartache ‘– where people think I’m no better than the trash they left at the curb.’

‘A, you are basing that on the tone of one raging bitch of a woman,’ he sighed. ‘B, fuck, Clover, I don’t care what anyone else in the whole world thinks but us. Who fucking cares?’

‘I care,’ I said quietly. ‘You wouldn’t be the one feeling the derision. I would. I’d feel it and see it and hear it in their voices.’

‘So we go away from them. From everyone. It doesn’t matter!’