The Devil’s Pawn (24 page)

I look to Frederick, hoping for anything at all, but he just shrugs. It’s a genuine shrug, and I can tell by the look in his eyes, he’s as surprised as I am to hear Derek’s gone.

When I look back to the payroll manager, she looks defeated as well, but with Mr. Grayson gone from the room, she speaks quietly. “I’ll tell you what I know. Mr. Pennington paid the debt yesterday afternoon. He also paid a large surplus of five million that has been deposited into an account in your name. I have an envelope with the details of the account for you. He left no forwarding information but said that he would be leaving immediately. That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry. I’ve known Derek for many years, and for him to do something like this… He obviously cares a great deal about you to have done this. I just wish I could tell you more.” I watch her as tears sting my eyes, and then fall down my cheeks.

In my own defeat, I mutter to the room, “He didn’t care enough.”

I stand to leave, and Liz puts her arm around my waist to help me. I’m done. He’s given me the last rejection he owes me. It hurts worse than any pain I’ve endured over the last two months. I stare at nothing at all on the walk to the elevator, with Liz supporting my catatonic body. As she packs my belongings and the day dresses hanging in my closet, I sit on the chaise, staring out the window at the city skyline. I know where he went, but there is no point following him. Had he wanted me to follow him, he’d have not funded my entire lifetime in a nice little parting gift. He wants to be away from me, and while I know I’ll eventually rage against my memories of him, right now I hurt too much not to long pitifully for him. Liz returns to my side with a number of overstuffed bags. She sits beside me, and with a hand on mine, she tells me it’s time to go.

Frederick is waiting at the curb with his car, and Liz sits in the back seat with me. I’m numb, and my brain isn’t functioning in any normal capacity, and as Frederick asks where I want to go, I shake my head. I have no idea how to even begin to answer this question. Liz suggests a nice hotel, but I want out of the city. I want to be far away from this place and the memories that seem to slam into my brain like a freight train every time my heart beats. I ask to be dropped at the bus station, and as Liz and Frederick’s eyes meet in the rearview mirror, she nods reluctantly to him.

I choose Charleston, South Carolina, more because the bus is leaving almost immediately than any other reason, and as Liz holds me, we both cry. When I offer to pay her way out of Trimbles to run away with me, I’m serious. I can’t imagine my life without her support and friendship in it—especially now. But she shakes her head, and with a smile that isn’t quite bright enough to mask her own sadness, she looks to Fredrick. “I have my own reasons for being here.” I get it. I would have walked through the fires of hell for Derek, and didn’t I? What makes me think she wouldn’t, or hasn’t, done the same for Fredrick?

She makes me promise to call every day, and she promises me that she’ll visit me soon. As I settle into my seat and look out at her, Frederick approaches her from behind and pulls her body into his. The intimacy is undeniable. I know this intimacy well, and I’m running from my memories of it. I’m happy for her. They’re beautiful together, and I pray for her that she will be happier than I am in this life. I raise a final hand to them both as the bus pulls from the curb, and new tears prick my eyes and slowly roll down my cheeks as we depart.

Chapter 27

Charleston is beautiful, and within just a couple of days, I’ve rented a vacation home on the beach for a month. The cost is quite frivolous, but given the size of my Derek-funded bank account, I can afford to be frivolous at the moment. Besides, I’m in too self-destructive of a mood not to. The house is ridiculously big for one lowly ex-hooker, and I quickly settle into a quiet daily routine here.

I wake and make strong coffee. I wash and bandage my still-healing burn. It is no longer very painful, but the skin is still raw and new. Once that daily chore is complete, I call Liz for our morning chat, and we talk for a long time. She asks me if I’m thinking of calling Derek, and I always tell her I’m not, but her questions are leading, and it is obvious she thinks I ought to seek him out. I made the mistake of telling her that I know where he has a private home of his own, and since that time, she has all but begged me to go to him. But I won’t. Once I finish my daily call to her, I watch TV and read until the sun is high in the sky.

The beaches are sandy white, and I lay for hours under a large umbrella every day, letting my body swelter in the heat. I don’t tan, and after a week of being in Charleston, I’m as pale as I always have been, but I like the warmth of the sand, and the shade of my beach umbrella all the same. The cool water is a welcome break from the humid heat of the day, and I swim long and lazily every day on my own private stretch of beach. In the afternoon, I walk into the nearby village and have dinner. I return with a bottle of wine every night, and drink until my eyelids are heavy and the alcohol whisks me gently into sleep. I’ve never drunk so much in my life, but it staves off the sadness in the quietness and loneliness of the evenings, and it helps me sleep.

I’ve not even unpacked my bags after two weeks in the house, preferring to buy shorts and bikini tops in the village rather than face the contents of my bags. Many of the clothes in that bag are dresses Derek and I bought together, and many hold memories I’d just as soon forget. I ignore them sitting in the corner of my bedroom, not yet ready to face it. But when a nice young woman from a couple of houses down asks me to dinner one night, I’m forced to.

Helena is her name, and I see her on the beach nearly every day. She is kind, and often stops to talk to me. I like her, and being so starved for human contact, I’m always happy to spend time with her. She often joins me in the evenings for a glass or two of wine as we sit on my expansive porch. When, one afternoon on the beach, she asks if I have dinner plans, I’m instantly happy to go, but then she drops the bombshell. “It’s kind of a nice place, so I would suggest a dress if you have one.”

I’m sure she doubts that I do, given my daily outfit of shorts and a bikini top. My gaze flits from her, but as I look back and see how excited she is for our girls’ night out, I nod in agreement.

I’ve been left with no time to go shopping for a dress, and not having a car, hell, never having had a license, has me at the disadvantage of not being able to get to any nice shops anyway. As I set about getting ready for the evening, I avoid my bags for as long as I can. But once my curls are restrained in a bun, my teeth are brushed, and my lip gloss is in place, I’m forced to start the depressing task of looking at my old life in fabric. I pull one after another out, looking for something less wrinkled that I can fluff in the dryer. I lay each one out on the bed, and most, if not all, spark some memory of Derek. Most memories involve him pulling the dress from my body, but some are sweeter than even that. There is the one I wore when he took me to dinner and a movie—that one is painful to see—and there are so many more just like it. I pull one out that is still covered in a garment bag, and I toss it on the bed as well. I find a cotton sundress that is just dressy enough, so I rush to the dryer and put it on fluff for fifteen minutes.

I toss it over my head as I run out of the house to Helena’s waiting car.

I sit in the passenger seat, and she comments, “You clean up nicely, Ashton. I like!” And she looks fabulous too.

Dinner is fun. Actually fun. The first real fun I’ve experienced in more time than I can remember, and as we finish one bottle of wine and start on another, we are both laughing like old friends and having more fun than we likely ought to in such a fine restaurant. We end up taking a cab home and opening another bottle on the beach as we sit in the sand. We open up to one another, as wine will typically cause a couple of ladies to do.

She is lonely. Her husband travels the better part of every week, and their time is limited to say the least. I feel her pain. She loves her husband, and when she says she misses him, she means it. I know her pain so well, and I want to share my own life as well, but what would this woman, who hardly knows me, think of my life? But another glass later, and I’m spilling every last bean there is to be spilled, and she is hanging on my every word. At moments there are tears in her eyes; at other moments, she laughs with me. When we finish talking many long hours later, the sun is rising over the ocean, and we are finally losing our battle against sleep. We say our good-byes and retreat to our respective homes.

* * * *

I’m awoken at noon on the couch in the living room, more than hung over. It is Helena. She looks amazingly fabulous given our long night, and as she enters carrying two coffees with her, I grab one desperately.

She is excitably talking about my “predicament.” “Ashton, you have to go to him. This is like the most fabulous love story in the world, and you are wasting your time here in Charleston when he’s up in Vermont! It’s ridiculous!” I’m shaking my head as I walk away from her to my bedroom, carrying some dirty laundry with me as I go. She follows. She is most definitely not done with this conversation.

Once in my room, she sees the mess of dresses I’d discarded on the bed the previous evening, and as she starts to sort through them and hang them up, she appraises them thoughtfully. She’s touching some of my favorite memories, and my eyes tear at the sight of them. I’m relieved she’s there to help put them away. I’m not sure I could face them alone. As she reaches the one still in the garment bag, she starts to uncover it. As the fabric starts to show when she lifts the bag up the body of the dress, my heart stills in my chest, and I suck in a quick and shocked breath.

My very favorite gray dress that was so cruelly ruined by the thugs is hanging on the hanger. There are tags still attached. It’s new, obviously bought to replace the one that was destroyed, and as tears start to fill my eyes, I catch sight of the small note pinned to the price tag of the dress. I rush to Helena’s side. She is stupefied, not understanding what my outburst can possibly mean. As I clutch at the note, I pull the pin hastily from it, and sink to the floor with the note in my hand. It is handwritten from Derek.

Ash,

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you when you needed to hear it most, but I do love you. I want you to have more than I can ever give you. I want you to have better than I can ever be. Please forgive me.

Derek

And as I sob, Helena reaches for the note and reads it. She understands instantly and joins me on the floor. I cry endlessly. I’m complete in the knowledge that he loves me, and yet I’m tortured that he doesn’t want to be with me. I’m tortured that he thinks he’s not good enough
for
me. This man is my world, and his own self-loathing is the thing that keeps us apart. My heart hurts for him, and I want him. Liz
was
right. Helena
is
right. My place is with him, and I’m ready to see him.

Chapter 28

My flight arrives in New York the very next morning, and I’m met by Liz and Frederick. After I called Liz and spoke with her the previous afternoon, she was ready to drive down and get me that moment, but I made an early morning flight the next day instead. Liz offers for Frederick to drive us up to Vermont to Derek’s house, and I wonder all the while how they managed to pull off the time away. It isn’t until halfway through our trip up north that I learn how.

Their request was denied, and they turned in their resignations, packed their belongings, and left together. That explains the oversized bags in the back of Frederick’s SUV, and here I just assumed Liz had over-packed for our trip. But as I look up to them in concern, I see Frederick’s gaze on me in the rearview mirror. He winks at me quickly before he reaches for Liz’s hand and returns his eyes to the road.

As we approach the Champlain Lake area, my nerves start going insane. I’m staring out at the woods and hills as we close the miles between us. As we turn down the long, well-hidden lane that I know will end at Derek’s doorstep, I nearly come unglued in terror and excitement. The trees clear and I take in Derek’s beautiful home, and my heart lurches at the memories of this place. They are incredible memories, and I’m more than worried this place will remain nothing more than a memory to me.

Derek’s SUV is in the driveway, and alongside it sits another. This one is less luxury and far more utilitarian. My heart falls slightly at the idea he’s not alone, and I may be forced to confront him in the presence of someone else. But he loves me, and that is the only fact in the world that means anything to me at the moment.

As I mount the steps, my nerves unraveling with each footfall, I look back once to Frederick and Liz, who watch me carefully from the car. They’re planning on checking-in to a hotel in the nearby town of Burlington once I’m safely inside, but I’m suddenly struck with an incredible urge to beg them to come with me. I’m being juvenile. It’s Derek. It’s just Derek, and he loves me. There is nothing to fear here, and yet I’m terrified, utterly terrified. When I reach for the doorbell, I watch as my fingers tremble from my outstretched hand. There is no hiding my nervousness from anyone, and when I hear the bell sound from within the house, I start to panic, and I feel immediately nauseous.

When I hear the doorknob turn, I take a deep and steadying breath, and as the first of the interior becomes visible as the door is pulled open, my breath leaves me altogether. There in front of me is a woman. Not just any woman, but a beautiful one. Her hair is dark, shimmering brown and falls thickly down her shoulders. She is taller than me, which says nothing, and she is slim and curvy. She is dressed casual, wearing jeans and hiking boots, and I instantly recognize that she is me, just better. She has all the laid-back and casual style that I do, but she pulls it off in a way I never can. Her skin is clear and without much makeup, and yet she is stunning. And as I stare into her large, round eyes, knowing I have a pitiful gaping look on my face, I concede defeat. He’s with someone else.