Spiral of Bliss 03 Awaken (14 page)

North came to sit beside her, bending to say something close to her ear. She laughed. It was a genuine laugh, unforced, and I felt it spread over me from across the fire.

In that instant, I never wanted to leave Twelve Oaks.

For several months, it was good. Then my mother saw the necklace North had given me. I’d put it in the nightstand drawer and almost forgotten about it. She found it when she was looking for her glasses.

“North gave this to you?” she asked, holding the disk flat in her palm.

“Yeah. A while ago. I can’t remember what it means. The inscription. Something in Latin.”

She had an odd look on her face. I didn’t get it. I do now, but I didn’t then. I just shrugged and returned to my book.

The following morning North and I were working on lessons as usual. He was explaining ratios in right triangles when my mother came in and sat beside me.

“Just thought I’d see what you’re learning,” she said.

I felt her watching me for the next few days. Felt that something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. I hoped she wasn’t planning for us to hit the road again.

“Come on, then. Test time.” North thunked a book beside me as I sat drawing at the trestle table after dinner.

The kitchen had been cleaned and everyone was drifting outside toward the campfire. I made a face at the book.

“I hate tests.”

“Never say you hate learning. It puts up a block.” He rapped his knuckles against his head. “Makes it hard for the knowledge to get in.”

I sighed, but pushed my drawings aside and opened a paper on which he’d written a bunch of equations. He left the room while I worked, then returned a half hour later to check the test. I sat there fidgeting.

Finally he wrote something at the top of the paper and pushed it back to me.

I stared at the blue circled number. “Ninety-four percent? Really?”

He grinned. “Really. See what you’re capable of? You just have to believe you can do it.”

He pushed his chair back and stood, then reached out to run his hand over the length of my hair. It didn’t feel weird or remotely sexual—more like an approving, fatherly pat on the head.

“Nice job,” he said. “We’ll get started on pre-calc tomorrow.”

He ambled out the door toward the campfire. I looked up and saw my mother standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at me. My heart hitched. I swore she was looking at me with hate.

“What did you do with him?” My mother’s question was low, simmering with anger. It was late, the campfire long died out, everyone in their bedrooms.

“Do with him?” I still didn’t get it. As far as I’d always known, my mother’s relationships with men were sexual, and there’d been no evidence that she had anything physical going on with North.

Her eyes narrowed. Her face had that hard look again, the one she hadn’t worn in the months we’d been at Twelve Oaks.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Liv. You think men haven’t noticed you’re filling out? Why else would you walk around in shorts and T-shirts so tight your tits are visible?”

I stared at her in shock. My shorts came almost to my knees, and my T-shirts were baggy old things we’d gotten from Goodwill. And while I knew I was developing, I made a conscious effort not to draw attention to that fact.

“I… North’s just teaching me algebra,” I stammered.

“For
now.
”

“He’s not a creep,” I said.

“I know that,” my mother snapped. “But throw yourself at him, and what’s the man going to do?”

“You’re wrong. I—”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around.”

I had no idea what she was doing. I turned around. I heard her opening a drawer, then felt her grab my ponytail and yank my head back. I gasped. Pain spread across my skull.

“Crystal, what…”

“Shut up, Liv.” She yanked harder, then I heard the sawing of scissors, the clipping as my hair fell away from my head.

“No!” I tried to pull away, but her fist tightened. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“Be still,” she ordered.

I stilled. Felt myself cower, unable to resist the command. My heart shriveled.

She sawed fast, and the next thing I knew, the pressure released and she let me go. I spun to face her. She held the long coil of my hair in her fist, her expression still cold.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I put my hand to the back of my head, felt the shorn, tattered ends of hair close to my scalp.

“Now you’ll learn something about vanity.” She threw the ponytail at my feet and stalked out of the room.

I sank onto the bed and cried until my throat hurt. I didn’t realize until then how much a part of me my hair was—how it both connected me to my mother and set me apart from her. Like her hair, mine was long, straight, and thick, but it was dark while hers was blond. For some reason, that distinction was very important.

When I finally dried my tears, I picked up the scissors and tried to even out the ragged mess my mother had left, but I only succeeded in making it worse.

Finally I threw all the cut hair into the trash and cried myself to sleep.

Everyone was shocked when they saw me the next morning. I mumbled something about my hair having been too much trouble, so I cut it off. After breakfast, I ducked outside to the garden. My mother was nowhere to be seen.

I was picking tomatoes when a baseball cap landed on the dirt in front of me. I looked up at North. He gestured to my hair.

“Thought your head might be cold.”

My throat tightened. “Have you seen my mother?”

His expression closed off. He shook his head. I put the cap on and stood, brushing off my knees. I started back to the house when his voice stopped me.

“Hey, Liv.”

I turned. He stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his torn jeans, his bare feet dusted with dirt.

“You know where to find me, yeah?” he said. “If you need anything.”

Dread curled in my chest. I blinked back tears.

“Yeah.” I took a step away. “Thanks, North.”

I hurried back to the house. The bedroom I shared with my mother was empty, all our stuff packed away. My dread intensified when I saw our car parked near the barn, my mother standing beside it.

She jerked her head toward the passenger seat. “Get in. We’re done here.”

“Wait.”

We both turned at the sound of North’s voice. He stopped in front of us.

“Goodbye, Crystal.” He spoke in a distant tone to my mother.

She didn’t respond. North looked at me, reaching out to hand me the picture of me and my mother beside the campfire.

“You take care, Liv.”

I nodded. I pushed the photo into my pocket, where the medallion was safely tucked away. Other people came out to say goodbye, but my mother didn’t let me linger. Within fifteen minutes we were on the road. I sat hunched against the passenger door, my arms tight around myself.

“You tried to sleep with him last night, didn’t you?” My question came out bitter and sharp. It was the only weapon I had. “And he rejected you.”

“Shut up, Liv.”

I could almost see it—Crystal standing at the doorway of North’s bedroom, all soft blond hair and creamy skin, her robe lowered just enough to show a hint of cleavage. But North hadn’t wanted her. Or if he had, not like that, not her sexuality, cold as a diamond beneath her beauty. Her humiliation must still be scorching her from the inside out.

Because everyone wanted my mother.

“You’d never be good enough for him,” I said. “He turned you out like the whore you are, didn’t he?”

She reached across the seat and slapped my face. I pressed my hand to my cheek. Tears stung my eyes. I knew then that I would leave my mother.

I will not be like you,
I thought.
I will never be like you.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Olivia

an I come in?” my mother asks.

Her question breaks me from my shock. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” She stands, running her hands over her thighs. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.”

We look at each other for a second before Crystal picks up two bags on the bottom step. My hand shakes as I dig into my pocket for my keys and pass her on the stairs. I unlock the door and push it open, stepping aside to let her enter before me. She smells like lavender. Her favorite scent.

She drops her bag and a square, leather case on the floor, casting a glance around the apartment.

“Cute,” she remarks. “Looks like a place you’d see in a magazine. How to make the most of a small space.”

I follow her to the living room. I can’t stop staring at her, some part of my brain registering the changes wrought by the past three years.

Her pale skin is uncreased by age, and she looks thinner, her pronounced cheekbones emphasizing her blue eyes framed by incredibly thick lashes. Her long hair is the color of wheat, streaked with red in the light, falling in waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing jeans and a loose, floral-print blouse beneath a cream-colored leather jacket.

She’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful. Slender like a dancer. Small-breasted, lithe. Though I’m a couple of inches shorter than she is, I’m heavier, curvier. Bigger.

Crystal is looking at me as if she’s assessing me the way I am her.

“It’s good to see you, Liv.”

“Thanks.”

“Where were you?” she asks.

“Working.” I go into the kitchen and start to make a pot of coffee just to have something to do. “Where did you get in from?”

“Indianapolis.” She follows me and leans against the doorjamb. “I was visiting some friends.”

“You’re still making jewelry?”

“Yes. I go to art fairs when I can but my car is on its last legs. I need to get it fixed soon.” She glances around the kitchen. “So where’s your husband?”

“He’s…”
Shit.
I have no idea how to explain that Dean is staying in a hotel without sounding like we’re having marital problems. “He’s working too.”

He’s also coming over in close to an hour.

“He’ll be here soon.” I turn on the coffeepot. “Help yourself to whatever you want from the fridge. I’m going to take a shower.”

I go into the bedroom and strip out of my clothes. Not even the hot spray of the shower eases the apprehension tensing my shoulders. I’d had tonight’s outfit all planned, but I can’t go out with Dean and leave my mother here alone. And certainly he can’t come in and have the evening we’d both been hoping for.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a fleece shirt before returning to the living room.

Crystal is sitting on the sofa, rummaging through her bag. She takes an elastic band and winds her hair up into a long ponytail. Her movements are graceful and unconsciously elegant. Exactly the way I remember.

As a girl, I would watch in silence as my mother brushed and arranged her hair. Then when she’d leave, I would do the same thing with my own hair, looking in the mirror as I tried to copy her movements.

“So how long do you think you’ll be in town?” I ask, attempting to keep my voice casual.

“A few days,” she says. “Can I crash on your sofa?”

Crash on your sofa.
Sometimes she’d ask a man that question when she was looking for a place to stay, but far more often than not, she didn’t have to ask because they just invited her. And she didn’t crash on their sofas… she always ended up in their beds.

“No,” I tell her. “There’s really not enough room here, as you pointed out.”

“I don’t take up much space.” She eyes me with a touch of offense. “After all this time, you’re seriously not going to let me stay?”

“Crystal, Dean lives here too. There’s not enough room for the three of us.” I don’t think there’s enough room in Mirror Lake for the three of us.

Dean and Crystal have only met once—for about an hour when we were living in LA. I’d heard from Aunt Stella that Crystal was staying in Riverside, so I contacted her to tell her I was married and ask if we could see her.

We met at a diner in Riverside for lunch. Though Dean already had an intense dislike for Crystal from the things I’d told him, he’d made an effort to be polite. Crystal was faintly hostile, annoyed that I hadn’t told her I was getting married, and then defensive when I’d said I hadn’t known where she was.

All in all, it hadn’t gone well. Since then, Dean has not given a damn where Crystal is or what she’s doing, as long as she stays far away from me.

I look at the clock. My stomach is tight.

“I’ll help you find a hotel room, if you want,” I tell her as I go to the door. “But you can’t stay here.”

I step onto the landing and close the door behind me before going downstairs. Not five minutes later, Dean crosses the street toward the building and opens the foyer door. Warmth fills his expression when he sees me, but his smile fades as he recognizes something is wrong.

“What?” he asks.

I grab his arm and lead him outside, where I know my mother can’t overhear us. My heart seizes with nervousness. I take a breath before speaking.

“Dean, my mother is here.”

“What?” His eyes flash, his body stiffening with that protective instinct I know so well. “When did she arrive?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“She said she wanted to see me.”

“Sure, after all these years, she wants to see you.”

My stomach roils at the irritated tone in his voice. And, unexpectedly, I experience a surge of hurt at the implication that my mother does
not,
in fact, want to see me.

“Where is she?” Dean asks.

“Upstairs.”

He reaches for the door. I grab his arm.

“Dean, don’t.”

“I want to talk to her.” He yanks his arm from my grip and pulls open the door.

“No!” The word comes out like a bullet, surprising both of us.

He stops and turns to face me. I reach for his arm again. My heart is racing.

“I can handle it,” I tell him. “She asked to stay here, but I told her she couldn’t.”

“Damned right she can’t,” he snaps. “How much money does she want to get the hell out of town?”

“She… she hasn’t asked for any money.”

“She will.” His expression is set hard, all the warmth from just minutes ago dissolved into anger. “Give her whatever she wants, then tell her to go.”

“Dean.” I can’t untangle the emotions spinning through me… lingering shock and confusion that my mother is here, and frustration that my husband is issuing dictates about what I should do.

“I can handle this myself,” I say, my own voice hardening. “She’s
my
mother. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

Irritation darkens his eyes. “Find a hotel room for her. I’ll pay for it, since I doubt she can afford it. I don’t want her near you.”

“Dean! Stop it.” Though I understand the root of his anger—God knows I’ve felt the same thing toward my mother over the years—I’m overcome by the need to keep him out of it, to prove to both him and myself that
I can handle it.

I have a sudden flashback to the times I’ve witnessed Dean’s rage toward people he views as a threat—his brother, Tyler Wilkes—and how everything leading up to those encounters and their aftermath almost broke us apart.

Fear stabs through me. Somehow, I manage to get myself between Dean and the door. I put my hands on his chest to keep him from pushing past me.

“Look, I’m going back upstairs,” I tell him. “You go back to the hotel. It’s getting late, so she might stay for one night, but that’s it. I promise, I’ll find a place for her to stay tomorrow.”

His jaw clenches. “I’m coming home tomorrow.”

Of course he is. He’s going to swoop down and spread his eagle wings around me, even if I don’t want to hide behind them anymore.

I’m struck by an unpleasant sense that how we both approach this new situation is critical. I curl my fingers into the lapels of Dean’s coat and yank him toward me.

“Dean.” My voice is stern and unwavering. “Look at me.”

He does. His eyes are still glittering with anger and determination, his mouth compressed into a line. I use all my strength to give him a hard shake.

“Stop it,” I snap. “Just stop it. I’m not a child anymore, and she can’t hurt me the way she once did. Have you forgotten that I walked away from her when I was thirteen years old? I did that
by myself.
And you sure as hell are not coming home just because she’s here, just so you can stand guard.”

I take a breath and shake him again. “When you come home, professor, you’re coming home for
me,
for
us.
You’re coming home because you’re back for good, and because home is where you belong. You are not coming home because you’re angry and need to control everything. You are not coming home to shield me from a woman I’ve barely seen in sixteen years.”

I push on his chest to make him step away. “Now you go back to the hotel and cool off. I’m going to go upstairs and talk to my mother. Don’t you dare call me until tomorrow. In fact, just wait until I call you. Do you understand me?”

For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even react aside from staring at me with that set expression. Finally, though, he nods. His jaw tightens at the same time, but it’s a definite nod.

“Good.” I move back toward the door. “Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I wait until he turns and walks away, his stride long and rapid. Only when he disappears around the corner do I go back upstairs. A memory pushes at me of last December when I’d let Kelsey deal with an enraged Dean instead of doing it myself.

Not this time.

My heart is pounding hard as I go back into the apartment. Crystal is still in the living room, leafing through a magazine. She glances up.

“Was that your husband?”

“Yes. He had to leave again.”

“He’s not sleeping here?”

“No.” I suddenly wonder why I even care what Crystal thinks of my relationship with Dean. I don’t owe her any explanations. I don’t owe her anything. “Actually, he’s staying in a hotel down the street for a few days.”

“Oh.” She frowns, clearly coming to the obvious, though mistaken, conclusion. “So, what’s the problem with me staying here then?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell her. “That’s the problem.”

The
problem
is also that I’m pretty sure Dean was right when he said Crystal doesn’t have the money for a hotel room.

I won’t let Dean pay for one either, and I’m not too enthused about the idea of using my money, which is earmarked for the café. But I will if I have to.

“You can stay for one night,” I tell Crystal. “Then you’ll have to find another place to stay. There are a lot of hotels in town. I’ll help you pay for one, if you need it.”

“I don’t want your money, Liv.” She shoots me a look that seems to freeze the air between us. “Especially not so that you can kick me out of your house.”

A reflexive protest rises in my throat that I’m not kicking her out, but I swallow it back down. Because I
am
sort of kicking her out.