Staying True - A Contemporary Romance Novel (6 page)

She wrapped her hand around my wrist.

I locked onto her teasing, pale blue
eyes. “Nothing wrong with a girl expressing herself, now is there?”

I fumbled to match her eloquence and
confidence. I could only shrug and shake my head like a fool. “I better get
back to my room and make some phone calls.” I couldn’t stop gazing into her
eyes. I needed to pull away from this. “How much for this session?”

She hesitated on my words with a pull
on her lower lip and a contemplative stare. I melted. “How about a beer next
time you’re in town?”

“A beer?” I asked.

“You do drink beer don’t you?”

I was married. I couldn’t do this.
“No I don’t.” I reached into my pocketbook and pulled out a twenty. I handed it
to her. “Is this enough?”

She eyed the twenty like it was a
dead rat. Then she cocked her head, reached out for it and folded it between
her pretty fingers. “If that’s how you want to pay me, then, that’s how you
want to pay me. Can’t argue with a woman who knows what she wants, now can I?”

This time I pulled in my lower lip,
resisting the urge to take back my beer resignation. Logic spun me back around
again. I pictured a long, drawn-out talk months into our beer dates where I’d
have to tell her I was married and obviously a terrible wife for flirting with
the notion that I should be kissing and drinking beer with someone other than
Jessica. “That’s me. A woman who knows what she wants.”

“Suit yourself.” Ruby shrugged and
then walked away swinging her hips far too deliberately for me to look away.
She turned back and caught me staring and winked.

Chapter Five

Ruby

I left the lounge confused and caring
too much about why Nadia treated me like a service representative. That twenty
dollar bill insulted me. But why? I achieved my goal. I massaged her, and I
earned twenty dollars.

I walked through the garden patio
admiring the ferns and the pretty, festive lights overhead, vying to recover my
balance. This woman affected me like no other. I wanted her to like me. I wanted
her invite that night to have meant more than a service call.

I strolled past the gift store and
admired a leather satchel with gold plated buckles, trying to cool myself and
get a grip. I would not tangle into this mess. Nope. I would not. I was fun. I
was spontaneous. I lived on the edge. I headed straight for the pool.

Guests had long since left the chaise
lounges and warm water. So, I tore off my clothes and dove in. I swam laps,
then rolled over to my back and floated, watching as my nipples bobbed. Cameras
surrounded all corners of the pool, and I willed for Nadia to be watching. I
wanted her to see me as the free-spirited girl I was and not a desperate fool
vying for her attention.

While opening up into great strides
racing from one end of the pool to the other, my mind continued to wander.
Nadia Chase’s moans played on my heart, as did the way her skin flecked in the
glow of the dim lights.

I flapped my feet and paddled to the
far end of the pool fighting off these images. I would not obsess. I focused on
my feet and how the cool water refreshed them with each splash. I inhaled the
familiar chlorinated scent and basked in the humidity that marked so many of my
childhood days with my childhood friend, Catherine, at the community pool.

I wondered what my life would’ve
amounted to had she and I remained friends. Would we be long-distance friends
who called each other on the weekends? Would she have invited me to her wedding
and baby’s christening and asked me to stand in as godmother? Would she have
approved of Nadia?

Nadia. She was tricky. She had
softened beneath my fingertips one minute and the next had pulled the thick
curtain over herself and shut me out. No one acted with such intensity one
moment and severe restraint the next unless something scared her.

Her mystery intrigued me. I didn’t
like this. I needed to act more unaffected, more poised, more undeterred by
her. Instead she sat in my brain like a statue, taking up space she didn’t
deserve. She garnered my thoughts.

I swam backwards towards the pool
ladder, flapping my feet, escaping into the chlorine and cool water.

I climbed out of the pool and headed
over to my pile of clothes. I picked up the twenty I earned from Nadia and shoved
it into my jeans, got dressed, and walked out of the pool area with dripping
hair.

Several minutes later, my car guzzled
up the twenty dollars in gas and left me dry. When I returned home, all of my
possessions blocked my front door. Things weren’t even in boxes. They were just
tossed on the porch. T-shirts, bras, flip-flops, blankets, and bowls.

I ran down the steps and knocked on
my landlord’s door. He answered without looking me in the eye. His wife popped
up behind him, her frizzy hair and her makeup smeared. She reminded me of
someone who partied all night and forgot to wash her face after. She handed my
cat to me. “This here’s the last of your things.”

I took Bentley into my arms. “You’re
kicking us out?”

“I can’t pay my bills on your good
looks, honey.”

“I have nowhere to go.”

“You have a good car right there.”
She tilted towards the Camaro, all shiny and perfect under the street light
before slamming the door.

If I couldn't find a place to live
and the money to afford it quickly, I'd have to sell my car. I didn’t want to
do this because Grampa had worked so hard to buy it for me.

I stood numb with my cat, sweating in
the muggy night air.

We spent the night in the car. I
curled up in my front seat, and he balled up under a tote bag in my back seat.
When we woke up the next morning, my neck was cramped.

* *

I would have to ask Grampa for his
help again. Even if he minded, he’d never express it. That man didn’t speak one
negative word, ever. Even about Grace. And that woman broke his heart. Yet, he
still admired her and spoke of her like she was one of the gentlest creatures
on the face of the planet. He was so sweet with her, yet he wasn’t enough.

He spoke only good words of her, even
after he realized she took off with his signed golf clubs from Jack Nicklaus.
That day, we had planned to spend the day driving balls in the backfield. The
sun had sprinkled golden highlights all over the fields and trees that day. The
Rafters looked just like a Van Gogh painting. Bold pink, yellow, and orange
strokes had splashed across the sky. I stepped out onto our back patio and
breathed in the fresh mountain Massachusetts air waiting on Grampa to come out
of the detached barn with his prized clubs, the ones he swore improved his golf
swing.

He disappeared into the barn for too
long, so I fed the birds, tossing out sunflower seeds and giggling as they
pecked the ground like wild savages eating their very last dinner. Just as I
emptied another handful to them, Grampa exited the barn empty handed, whistling
a Kenny Rogers tune. “Seems I don’t have those clubs anymore.” He placed his
wrinkled hands on his strong hips and looked up at the painted sky with a smile
on his face.

“Well where did they go?”

He stretched his eyes out to the
horizon, squinting now. “I forgot that I lent them to Grace.”

My heart skipped a beat. “So she has
to come back then?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m going to
let her keep them. She liked them. They’ll keep a smile on her face.”

I grabbed at his plaid shirt and
pulled. “No. You have to get them back. You have to call her and tell her she
needs to bring them back to you. Jack signed them for you.”

He covered my hand with his and
squeezed. He looked down at me with a kindness that could not be easily
replicated by many. “She’s not coming back.”

I shifted forward, desperate to force
him to get her to come back to us. I feared the end of ice cream night. I
feared that I’d forget how to hem my pants and how to cast on and cast off the
knitting needles. I worried I’d forget how to brush my hair so it fell in long
waves over my shoulders. I didn’t want to have to tell Grampa I had my period
and needed maxi pads. What would happen when I needed to get a bra? I panicked
and ran into the house, tossing teardrops the size of marbles off my face as I
scaled the steps.

My grampa’s heavy feet pounded up after
me. I reached my room and he caught up to me quickly. His heart raced, his face
reddened, his hand scratched his wiry gray hair. “She’s happy and we need to be
happy for her.”

“How are you going to be happy?”

He grasped onto my bony shoulders and
spoke to me like an adult. “I could never be happy knowing she wanted something
more than this. This farm, this bed and breakfast, this is my life, this is our
life. She didn’t want this.”

“She baked here. She took her showers
here. Of course she wanted this.” She had swarmed around the kitchen humming
songs and took long baths smelling of lilacs. How could he say she didn’t want
this place?

“She cried a lot because her big
spirit craved more than this place.”

“She only cried once. Just once.” I
yelled this. My grampa flinched just as he did that day she cried and tried to
hide her tears with big sunglasses. She cried because we had to cancel a trip
to California. “And that was all my fault. I ruined the trip. I cried, too.”

He arched a wiry eyebrow at me. “You
had the flu. We couldn’t go.”

Reality slammed me. “I irritated her,
didn’t I?” Of course I did. I didn’t need him to answer this. I whined too much
when it snowed. I never did my homework properly. I ruined their television
nights by begging to watch my silly shows. “She has every right to hate me.”

Grampa pulled me in and patted my
back, kissing the top of my hair. “Dear, you have it all wrong.”

I curled up into his strong arms.
“She left because of me.”

He drew a deep breath. “I’m never
going to lie to you. You know that right?”

I nodded and swallowed my tears.
“Tell it to me straight. I can handle it.”

“She left because of me.” He said
this in a voice that was too high, like he just hit his toe with one of the
golf clubs.

“I don’t believe you.” I wiggled away
from him, facing him like a grownup. “She laughed all the time around you.”

He gazed out past me, across the open
field. “She’s meant to be on her own.”

I turned and looked out over the same
pretty field where the dandelions were dancing in the wind and the blue sky
cradled piles upon piles of fluffy, white clouds.

“She’s meant to travel and explore,”
he said in a low voice. “That’s what I love about her. I would never want to
ruin that about her.”

“Why is she like that?”

He rubbed his chin with his wrinkled
fingers, ushering me over to the bench under my window. We sat and he exhaled,
looking like a worn-out sneaker, all rumpled and weathered. “Do you remember
those outdoor cats we tried to turn into housecats?”

“Yes. Those cats did not like it here.”

“That’s right.” He raised his eyebrow
again. “Do you remember how much they whined and cried?”

“They destroyed our door.”

“They wanted out. We were forcing
them to live a life they didn’t want to live.”

“Why were they like that? We offered
them everything they needed. I even welcomed them to sleep with me. They could
eat whenever they wanted. Drink milk. Play with toys and catnip. What more
could a cat dream of?”

“Freedom.” He grinned down at me.
“They only knew freedom. They were born and raised to roam without limits. This
place jailed them.”

I frowned. “So this place jailed
Grace?”

“Yes. This place jailed her.”

“She seemed so happy.”

“Most times she did like it. But then
there were those times when she hated it,” he said, offering me a polite smile
but failing to meet my eyes. “She knows this is my life. She knows I crave
companionship. She wants to travel and meet new people and live her life out of
a suitcase. That’s the last thing I want.”

He stared up at the sky. I watched
him disappear to somewhere up in the clouds. “What do you want?” I asked,
pulling him back.

He shrugged, as if to clear his
discomfort with this talk. “I want to stay here and cook people eggs and
pancakes for breakfast until the day I die. I want a companion who wants that
too.”

I studied his expression. “You’re
sure she’s not the one?”

“She’s like a wild flower that needs
lots of room to grow. This life here would suffocate her.”

“Aren’t you sad?”

“I know she’s happy. So, I’ll be
alright.”

“So we need to find you a new
girlfriend then?”

“We need to be on the lookout.” He
grinned, but I saw no twinkle in his eye.

He never dated another one. Grace had
stolen the last bit of his love. Even though he would never admit it, a piece
of him died that day we sat on my bench and pretended we didn’t need fancy golf
clubs or Grace’s warm spirit to keep us happy.

A part of me died, too. I carried the
weight of that day even still. I would never want to get tangled up in some
complicated woman’s life as a result. Instead I sought solitude and simplicity.
Always.

* *

I pulled up in front of my grampa’s
one-story apartment the next morning for Sunday mass, and sure enough, there he
stood, nose pressed up against the glass of the door, waiting on me. He rushed
out of his door, locked it, and headed to me before I could fully escape my
front seat.

“Wait,” I yelled, jumping out of my
car. I reached into my back seat and pulled out Bentley.

He halted in the middle of the
sidewalk, eyeing Bentley with a flick of caution.

“It’s just for a few days.” I held
Bentley up by his armpits showing off his cute, vulnerable, helpless side. We
moved in closer and my grampa blinked as if navigating a tightrope. Bentley
didn’t exactly shower my grampa with love. Most times he scratched and batted
him with his huge claws. “They’re exterminating my apartment.”

He stepped aside. “Just a few days,
you say?”

I couldn’t hide my giggle as I passed
him. “Just a few days for sure.”

I unlocked his front door and placed
Bentley on the Berber carpet. Grampa snuck in behind me. “I’ve still got a
litter box in my pantry closet with a bag of litter next to it. I’ll get that
prepped for him.” He rushed past us not waiting for my reply.

I batted a wad of paper around with
Bentley as Grampa fixed the litter box in his bathroom. A few minutes later he
grazed past me, keeping a firm eye on Bentley, and escaped out of his front
door with a quick leap.