Pucker Up (12 page)

“No,
not really,” Harmony admitted, “but it’s kinda grainy.  I’ll pull up the
website when we’re done.  So you connected the writer of the movie to Ally. 
And we know that Dad and Uncle Dust know Dr. Spencer.  Oh, and she works on all
the animals on the ranch, right?  So Bea knows her.”

“That’s
right she does.”  Melody smiled.  “So there’s the proof.”

Harmony
grinned widely for a moment before it crumbled.  “Wait, proof of what?  What
are we actually trying to accomplish here?”

“I
think this means the bedtime story is true, Harm.”

“I
get that,” she said, grimacing.  “But so what?  You’re not here, Mel, you can’t
see it.  Or them.  I don’t know if the bedtime story being true even matters. 
I don’t think this helps us get Uncle Dust a happily ever after.”

Melody’s
expression softened.  “Is that what you were trying to do?  Find him a happy
ending?”

 “Of
course,” Harmony whispered, staring at the wood grain of the table.  “Weren’t
you?”

Melody
shrugged.  “Maybe.  But his happy ending may not be your happy ending.”

“What
does that mean?”

“You
like mysteries,” Melody said.  “And in mysteries there is always a culprit and
catching them is how the story ends.  Real life doesn’t always have one right
answer.”

“So
Ally – or Faith – doesn’t have to be the only solution?”  Melody just nodded in
reply.  “Ugh, this is getting depressing.  Real life sucks sometimes.”

“Tell
me about it,” Melody joked.  “I get to study for midterms and not make it home
this weekend while you get to be there with my favorite pop star.  Please tell
me how that’s fair?”

“It
is cool.  Though being here has not been all it’s cracked up to be.”  Harmony
was silent for a moment, contemplating her sister.  “I’m still going to try. 
Even if it’s not the only way.  It could still be the best way.”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm,
what a resounding vote of confidence.  Nancy Drew out.”

Dustin
stepped into the kitchen, his clothes smudged with grease.  He wasn’t about to
admit he couldn’t get the car working.  He wanted to blame it on the illogical
foreign car, but a voice in the back of his head was whispering that his whole
heart just wasn’t in it.

Peter
sat at the kitchen table, red pen in his hand and papers piled around him. 
Faith was in the armchair against the wall, curled up with a tablet in her lap
and a look of concentration on her face.  Dustin studied the tiny crease
between her eyebrows.  He remembered how he used to run his thumb across her
brow, try and smooth it out and erase all of her worries.  He had never been
all that good at it.

Harmony
marched into the room, dropped down into a chair, and let out a theatrical
sigh.  When Peter didn’t look at her, she sighed again, even louder.  “Have you
come down with consumption, Peaches?”

“Yes,”
she said, throwing in a weak cough.

Peter
sat back in his chair and gave his daughter his undivided attention, a teasing
grin on his face.  “Well, this is going to be good.”

“And
before I shove off the mortal coil, I’d like some answers.”

“Well,
I’d say my answer is forty-two then.”

“Dad.”
She giggled.  “I’m serious.”

“With
consumption?”

“I’m
starting to think I don’t know you or Uncle Dust at all.”

“Really?”

“Truly. 
You know famous singers and hook up in closets and used to have a motorcycle.” 
Her eyes narrowed in on him with teenage determination.  “What other things are
you guys not telling me?”

Dustin
choked on his drink of water, turning to cough into the sink before meeting his
brother’s eyes.  You told your daughter about hooking up with her mom? he asked
without words.  Peter’s crooked look was his answer; someone’s loud midnight
tryst had forced his hand.

“Sorry,”
Dustin said, to his brother for the circumstances and to Harmony for
interrupting.  “You were saying…?”

“What
other things don’t I know about you?  Are you actually allergic to strawberries? 
Any secret piercings or tattoos?  Are Peter and Dustin even your real names?”

Peter
laughed.  “You want to know if I have a tattoo?  Peaches, we all know I’m
afraid of needles.  I don’t need that pain, no thank you.”

“They
don’t hurt that much,” Faith murmured absently before realizing what she had
said.

“So
that’s one person in the room that’s inked – any other takers?” Harmony asked. 
Neither of the men responded, so she turned her attention to the singer.  “It
really didn’t hurt?”

“Not
if you get it in the right place,” Faith said, her eyes tracking to Dustin’s. 
He held her gaze, wondering what had brought the blush to her cheeks.  He
hadn’t noticed a tattoo the night before, and now it was a mystery he desperately
wanted to solve.

“You
guys get matching Attitunes tats?” Dustin asked with a teasing grin.

“What
great role models that would have made us.”

“Okay,
one tattoo in the room,” Harmony said.  “How about broken bones.  How many of
those do we have?”

“None
from me,” Faith said.

“That
dislocated shoulder was pretty close though,” Dustin said.  He’d been in the
front row of the practice she’d fallen off the stage.  Felt like ages running
in slow motion before he could reach her and make sure she was all right. 
Hadn’t started breathing again until the physician popped it back in place and
pronounced her well enough.

Faith
looked at him with quizzical eyes.  Was he not supposed to remember that?  It
was a moment he couldn’t forget if he tried; the moment he realized he loved
her with abandon, without reason.  Would do anything for her if it erased her
tears.

“Your
uncle and I are tied on that one, two to two.  I broke my leg in high school
playing soccer – ”

“Running
into the bench before the game,” Dustin interrupted.

“And
my arm, falling off that horse when you were getting lessons,” Peter finished. 
He glared at his twin, and Harmony giggled.  “Dustin broke his bones in that
car accident.”

“You
were in a car accident?” Faith asked on a whisper.

Dustin
turned away, looking out across the yard so she didn’t read the truth of it in
his stare; he’d gotten much more than heartache the night she left.  “Yeah. 
Long time ago.”

The
room was suddenly pregnant with things left unsaid.  Dustin shifted, restless
and needing to move before he exploded.  Or reached for her.  “Any other
nagging concerns, daughter?”  Peter asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“How
did you guys meet Faith?”

“That,”
Peter said, rising from the table and gathering up his empty dishes, “is a
story for another day.  Class dismissed.”  Dustin was out the door before he’d
finished speaking.

Faith
had made a decision.  And it was a cowardly one.  For the last hour she’d tried
to get up the nerve to talk to Peter about why she was really here, about the
divorce papers in her purse.  Her resolve just continued to dissolve, the
emotions of the reunion too much for her to deal with.  Words wouldn’t come. 
She could circle the topic all she wanted, but she couldn’t voice anything
about a decade ago.  She needed it laid to rest.

Which
was how she ended up in Dustin’s study, alone, trying to find a good place to
hide divorce papers.  She’d peeked; Jackson had left very clear instructions. 
She didn’t really have to say anything at all.  Her words would just be
redundant.  Frivolous.  Ultimately unnecessary.

 “I
think you’re lying,” Dustin said, busting into Faith’s thoughts. 

“About
what?”  She held her breath, wondering how he could have found out why she was
really there.

“Having
a tattoo.  I didn’t see one yesterday.”

She
relaxed and laughed.  “It’s my fault you weren’t paying attention?” 

“I
may have had a few other things on my mind.”  His eyes gleamed with challenge. 
“Let me see it.”

She
shook her head and backed away from him.  “Not a chance, Dusty.”

“A
trade?”

“You’re
clean – I was paying attention.”  She’d memorized every inch of him, taking
nothing for granted, not one sliver of his skin.  She knew there’d be a day
when she sat in her room and composed an ode to his chest instead of a
chart-topper.

“To
be sure though.” He grinned, pulling his shirt up over his head and dropping it
next to him on the floor.

“You
play dirty,” Faith protested, taking another step backwards.  But only one.  Before
she could take another, Dustin was in front of her, guiding her hand to touch
him.  He had to have washboard abs, didn’t he?  Not from the gym or marathons
or cross-fit.  No, he earned his the hard way, out in the sun, sweat pouring
down his brow.  Just like the calluses and the wink, it was hard for her to
resist.

He
rubbed her hand up the length of him, bringing it to his face and placing a
kiss against her palm.  His lips feathered against the pulse in her wrist, and
she couldn’t stop the sound of desire escaping her.  “I told you.  You don’t
have to practice anymore.”

Dustin
chuckled, and she closed her eyes so she couldn’t see it travel down the length
of him.  “Too engrained to stop now.”  He dropped her hand and grabbed her
waist, pulling her right up against him.  “Where oh where could it be?”

Faith
opened her eyes, wanting to pull away, knowing what she had a tattoo of and not
wanting to discuss it, but the desire held her in place as he slipped her shirt
off.  As his eyes roved over her.  As he placed a kiss against her jaw.

She
tilted her head and captured his lips, using her tongue to convince him to
discontinue his silly quest.  He responded with enthusiasm, too much lost time to
make up for.  His hands skirted upwards, thumbs brushing against her ribs, and
she shuddered.  She’d forgotten what he could do to her with a simple touch.

Dustin
pulled away first, out of breath, and she let her head fall against his
shoulder.  “Fuck,” he whispered, setting his lips against her temple.  “You’re
just so damn addicting.”

“Why
quitting cold turkey was the only way,” Faith mumbled.  His lips stilled at her
words, right under her ear.  The shift in the air was palpable, from teasing to
something else, something heavier.

“I
know,” he whispered.  He cleared his throat before continuing.  “But you’re
here now.  With Chinese symbols or a dolphin I have yet to find.”

She
leaned back ever so slightly and raised her brow.  “You think I’m a Chinese
symbol kind of girl?”

“Don’t
know yet.”  He released her waist and pulled the camisole up over her head,
exposing her to the cold air in the room.  He took a step away, his eyes taking
in every inch, and she had that overwhelming desire to be seen again, knowing
his gaze wouldn’t overlook anything.  Including the way her nipples hardened at
his inspection, aroused with nothing but his eyes touching her.  His tongue
flicked across his bottom lip, and she gasped, not at all prepared for him
spinning her in a circle, turning her around and getting his first clear view
of her back.  She could feel when he saw it, the air suddenly pregnant with
meaning.

She
started shaking, her soul laid bare.  For it was her soul that she had pressed
in ink against her skin, kept away from all prying eyes and only hers to see. 
She covered it up – with make-up, clothes, well-positioned curls.  She didn’t
want to be asked what it meant, why it adorned her skin; at the same time she
needed it there, there so she wouldn’t have to spend any time remembering,
wondering why she felt incomplete without it. 

It
felt like an eternity she stood there, waiting for a reaction.  “Ally.” He
sighed.  And then his fingertips were brushing against it.  The small branch
usually obscured by her bra, the four leaves, the two lemons ready to be picked
and one just barely beginning to grow.  But his shaky breath and his forehead
against her skin were too much for her to handle.

“I
can’t,” she murmured.  And for the second time, she grabbed her shirt and ran
from a room half-dressed. 

She
burst out the front door and turned right but flinched at the sight of the
lemon tree.  She couldn’t look at that and see anything but heartache.  She
spun around and started running in the opposite direction, walking no longer
quick enough to escape the ghosts chasing her.  The universe hated her; it was
the only explanation.  She dared anyone to deny it.

Habit
made her slow when she reached the steps of the gazebo.  So many times she’d
sat out here, staring at the stars and composing songs in her head, long before
she’d understood the itch for the guitar.  She closed her eyes, trying to
recapture any of that ease she’d had a decade ago.

She
knew who dropped down beside her before the stairs even made a sound.  “I
screwed up, didn’t I?”

His
voice held the beginnings of a smile.  “I don’t know, East; you’re going to
have to be a lot more specific.”

“I
shouldn’t have come back.”

“Or
you should have come back a decade ago,” Peter said.

“I
couldn’t… you don’t… it…”  She trailed off, not able to string together the
words. 

“You
think I don’t understand loss?  I lost you.  I lost my wife.  I almost lost the
kids.”  Faith opened her eyes and looked at him with curiosity.  He cleared his
throat before continuing.  “I was twenty-three when Darcy died and left me with
these two little grieving girls.  Not everyone thought I could do it.  And questioned
why I wanted to, like my emotion was suspect, like blood was the only way to
make a family.  I had to fight for them, every day, until no one had any doubt
on what I already knew.  They were
my
girls.  They weren’t going
anywhere.  They were Andrewses.  

“That’s
why we celebrate every year at a time that’s always full of sadness.  Because it’s
important to honor the victories, especially when there’s not many of them.” 
Peter glanced at Faith.  “You didn’t have to leave like that, you know.  We
were
your
family too.”

Tears
streamed down her face, and she tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. 
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close, until she had no
choice but to lean into Peter’s embrace, sobs wracking her body.  How could she
tell him what she’d overheard that night?  That she’d been afraid and refused
to fight.  How do you tell a warrior that you’re a coward?

“Shh,”
he murmured, a comforting hand stroking her arm. “It’s okay.”

“It’s
not okay, Peter.  It’s never been okay.  It’ll never be okay,” she cried.

“That’s
not true.”

“I
thought…  I thought I was doing the right thing.  I thought it was going to
make it better, but all it did was make it worse.  I thought… I thought…”  She
dissolved into tears again, unable to get anymore words out.  Peter held her as
she cried, so strong, so stable.