Within This Frame (27 page)

He chucked the leaf, but the wind brought it back to the ground near the steps. “I went home and waited. Confronted her, listened to her cry, died a little at her confession. I wouldn’t call it a perfect marriage, but I was happy enough. The joke was on me.” He tried to smile, but it fell flat.

Maggie looked away from his sad eyes. “What about the guy? He was okay with the way things were, with sharing them with you?”

“Olivia told me she planned on leaving me. She hadn’t gotten the courage to do it yet. I imagine he wasn’t happy about the arrangement.” He shrugged. “I had my and Ivy’s blood drawn, to Olivia’s fury. She didn’t want her baby’s skin pricked. I argued that I didn’t want to continue to think a baby was mine who wasn’t. She finally consented. The blood test confirmed it. The legacy of Lance Denton was a fallacy and will not live on.”

“Someday you’ll have a wife and kids who are yours and no one else’s,” she told him, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

“Excuse my frankness, but I really don’t want to think about kids or wives in any context at the moment.”

“Right. I get it.”

“I suppose you think I deserved it. You would be correct.” His smile was twisted. “Guess I finally got payback for all the times I hurt people.”

“No one deserves that,” Maggie told him. Too much emotion leaked out of the words and made her voice tremble.

The caricature of a smile faded from Lance’s face and his eyes lightened with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“I mean, you could apologize for breaking my heart and maybe I’d forgive you. I thought you were the sun and nothing anyone said or did could make me think otherwise, no one except you.” She looked down so he didn’t catch the faint, self-deprecating smile on her face.

Maggie looked up as he slid closer. The cool cobblestone seeped into her back as she waited for an apology that may or may not come. It was so long ago that it shouldn’t matter, but that hurt teenager she once was needed it just the same. Maggie as an adult needed the man that sat beside her to give that to her. She didn’t understand why.

Lance’s lips flirted with a smile and she wanted to blame the sun for the heat that crashed over her, but they sat in the shade. “I am sorry for how I treated you.”

His face was near enough that she noted a faint scar on his jaw, one that hadn’t been there years ago. Gray stars framed the pupils of his eyes and silver streaks of light filled the irises. They weren’t blue eyes—they were the darkest galaxy filled with white fire.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. At first, I hated how you looked at me. Because when you looked at me like I was important, I wanted to be, and I couldn’t take the pressure of trying to live up to that. I couldn’t be what you deserved. In the end, I loved how you looked at me and I hated that I did.”

“It’s okay now,” she told him, meaning it. “Obviously, at first it wasn’t. You were everything to me, and you shouldn’t have been. But some of it was my fault too. I pushed you to tell me things you couldn’t, and when it was all over, I was cruel. And I’m sorry for that.”

“We’re both sorry. Aces,” he murmured.

They both grew quiet, lost in the past where teenagers fell in love, and summer never ended. Awkward first kisses, the strength of a hug. Where sunshine was a song and everyone danced to it. Beaches, white powder sand, waves—where kids were high on life and what it brought. First loves, last loves. The smell of campfires, the thought of being with the one person who made their heart wildly pound. The one who lit them on fire and had the power to extinguish them as quickly.

“You were messed up. But so was I.” She bumped her shoulder to his before placing her elbows on the stone to recline. She looked at the street, watched a woman walk by pushing a black stroller.

He shook his head. “I was more than messed up.”

“So was I,” she said again, lifting an eyebrow in challenge when he looked at her.

Half of his mouth quirked, the partial smile filleting Maggie’s hormones and logic. Her fingers itched to touch his face, smooth the crease from his brow. It was time to find something else to do.

She shot to her feet and wiped off her shorts. “Shouldn’t we be exercising or watching a show on exercising or weighing me or . . .” She trailed off when he stood up as well.

“I miss her.”

“Who?” Even as she asked it, an image of his ex-wife came to mind. Maggie had seen the photographs of Lance and Olivia Denton. Olive-toned skin, bright blue eyes and a full red mouth. She was exotically beautiful. Maggie pushed the jealousy and inept feeling away and focused on Lance.

“Ivy.” He glanced at her. “Even though she isn’t mine, it seemed like she was.”

“Of course it did,” she said softly. “She was yours. You were her father. It doesn’t matter for how long.”

“The first time I saw her, it was like finally everything made sense—all the bad, all the screw ups, everything—I looked at her and it was all worth it. She was my redemption, my purpose. That tiny little being had the power to wipe my slate clean,” he whispered, staring at the ground.

“Have you tried to see her?”

Lance looked at her. “Honestly, I can’t stand the thought of talking to or being around Olivia right now. I hope at some point I can be civil with her. I don’t want to act like I’m Ivy’s dad. I only want to know her, in some context.” He shrugged. “It’s all fresh yet. We’ll see.”

“Maybe you could write little notes to Ivy,” Maggie suggested. “It could be cathartic to you. And someday you could give them to her.”

An evil grin took over his mouth. “‘Ivy, your mother is the devil. Also, remember to always eat your vegetables. Love, your fake Dad.’”

“Okay, so not those kind of notes.”

Lance laughed. “Would you like to watch episodes of ‘Easier Said’ with me?”

“Really?” Maggie asked. “Why?”

Maggie’s eyes were caught and held by his, the blueness of them exposed and genuine. “Watching us back then makes me sad and happy. Maybe it will be the same for you.”

“I don’t want to be sad.”

“Sometimes you have to be sad for a while before you can be happy,” he said quietly.

LANCE—1997

“W
OW. THIS IS
. . . this is like a mansion.” Wonder hugged Maggie’s words and the look she gave him was wide-eyed.

The long-sleeved purple and black plaid dress was loose on her frame, and the black boots added inches to her otherwise unimpressive height. Lance was dressed in black from his shirt to his boots. Maggie had teased him about his depressing outfit when he met her at her apartment. Lance hadn’t replied, but damn if it didn’t feel like he was going to a funeral.

It was four months later than the initial date that Maggie was to go to Lance’s house. His dad ended up leaving town New Year’s week and Lance spent the remainder of it at his apartment. He’d been bothered by his father’s disappearance. He guessed because he knew what he was missing, while before he hadn’t.

Lance tried to see the stone structure through Maggie’s eyes. The rock siding and arched windows with peaked roofs made him think it looked like a mini castle. He supposed it was pretty big, but he’d seen bigger, and the size meant nothing.

“It’s just a house.”

She gave him a dubious look. “My house is a house. This is more than a house.”

“It’s just a house,” Lance insisted in a harsher tone. It made him uncomfortable to think of her awestruck by what he had. It was just things. Things didn’t mean anything.

Maggie smoothed hair from her cheek, eyes narrowing. She’d recently cut her hair and it hung around her face in a way that accentuated her prominent bone structure. “You’re right. It’s just a house. A really big, really expensive, house.”

Lance stared at the building, the chilly April air sinking into him. “It’s empty. It’s a big house full of emptiness.” He turned to Maggie. “This was a bad idea.”

“You don’t want me to meet your dad?” Hurt made her words thick.

Hands around his neck, he squeezed. “It’s not that. It’s just—never mind. Let’s go.” He gave her a small smile. She’d understand soon enough.

“Okay,” Maggie said slowly.

He put a hand to her arm when she moved to go up the stairs. “Maggie.”

She took in his anxious expression and smiled with a hint of exasperation, touching his rumpled eyebrow. “What is it, Lance? I know you’re trying to hide it, but you’re freaking out over something.”

Swallowing, he dropped his hand. “It’s just . . . I’ve never brought a girl home before, and . . . you’re the first girl that I’ve dated to meet my dad.”

“You’re nervous.”

A frown took over his features. “I don’t get nervous.”

Maggie framed his face with her hands and kissed him. “Only you do, and I think it’s sweet how you deny it every time it happens. I should be nervous, not you. He’s not some kind of horrible monster that shouts and breaks things, is he?”

“No,” he answered faintly. “He’s nice. Quiet. You’ll like him.”

“No worries then. Everything’s going to be fine. I love you.”

Lance swallowed, averting his eyes. “Right. Time to meet Dad.”

He pretended he didn’t see the crestfallen expression on Maggie’s face as they entered the house. For four months she’d patiently waited to hear him say it back. He would write it, he would trace it onto her skin, he would even squeeze her hand three times, but he couldn’t say the words. He’d tried, but each time he opened his mouth to say them, they choked him.

If Lance told Maggie he loved her, that would make it real, and once it was real, it could end.

Lance knew what his mother smelled like, because his father sprayed her perfume throughout the house once a day. That day was no different. The scent of Chanel stung his nostrils as soon as he entered the house and made his stomach turn. His hand unconsciously tightened around Maggie’s and she gave him a reassuring smile, but he saw the hint of apprehension in her eyes.

“You’ve lived here your whole life?” she questioned, looking around the entryway. He avoided looking at the pictures, but Maggie stared.

To say Max Denton was infatuated with Tammie Rose would be an understatement. Her smiling face filled the walls, the house decorated the same as she’d left it over a dozen years ago—blues and greens and grays were the theme for every room. The furniture had been replaced, but it was obvious Max had chosen what he thought Lance’s mom would have wanted.

“Off and on.”

Maggie moved from the foyer to the glass room directly before them, gasping at the ocean view. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“Tammie loved the ocean,” a deep, familiar voice said from the hallway.

Maggie spun around, her face red as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Lance instinctively moved closer to her and put his arm around her, as much to comfort her as to steady him. She twisted her fingers around his and squeezed.

“As you can tell.” Max Denton smiled and gestured around the room. Tall and blond with intelligent features, it was striking how much Lance didn’t look like his dad. He had his height, possibly his build, but the rest of him was his mother.

“Hello, Maggie. It’s good to see you, Lance.” The sincerity in his voice was overshadowed by his avoidance of meeting Lance’s eyes.

“You too, Dad. It’s been a while.” Months, it had been months. No hugs exchanged, no pat on the shoulder or handshake. Cordial and distant, that was their relationship.

Maggie unhooked her hand from his, a shy smile on her face. “Hello, Mr. Denton.”

Lance’s father laughed and shook his head. “Please don’t call me that. I prefer Max, unless I’m in court, and let’s hope I never see you there.”

He entered the room, looking lawyerly in his navy blue suit, and offered a large hand.

She shook it. “I definitely hope for the same.”

“I’d like to say I can take credit for the meal we’re about to enjoy, but that honor belongs to Hailey. She comes in once a week to clean, and when I ask really nicely, sometimes she takes pity on me and makes food,” he explained to Maggie, motioning for her to come over.

With a look at Lance, Maggie stepped into his father’s awaiting arm and they started for the dining room with their arms linked. “It smells great. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

“You can’t go wrong with spaghetti and meatballs,” Max said jovially.

Lance’s face cracked in a smile when Maggie’s back tensed. She shot him an accusatory look over her shoulder and he raised his arms in apology. He hadn’t thought to mention to his dad that Maggie didn’t like spaghetti, never realizing that would be the thing Hailey, a woman in her fifties who had been an employee of his father’s since Lance was a toddler, would decide to make.

Maggie ate a small salad and a buttered roll, saying she was full when it came time to eat the main course. Lance knew she probably was full—the salad and bread was the most he’d seen her eat at once in a long time. Max paused, his eyebrows lifting, but didn’t comment, instead asking Maggie about her life in Iowa, and what she thought of working on a television show.

The dinner went smoothly, with most of the conversation between Maggie and Lance’s dad. He could see her getting more and more confused as the night progressed. The thoughts were clear on her face:
Why doesn’t he look at you? Why doesn’t he talk to you?
Lance ignored her silent questions, focusing on the meal and ticking off the minutes to when they could depart.

Max excused himself, saying he needed to go to his office because he had a lot of work to complete before a court appearance Monday. “It was lovely to meet you, Maggie. I hope I see you again.”

“Me too, Mr. Den—Max.”

He smiled, turning to Lance, and the warmth left his brown eyes. “Things are going well for you?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly, the bite of roll he’d taken lodged in his throat. Lance took a drink of water and waited.

“Good.” He tapped the fingers of one hand against the tabletop. “Let me know if anything changes, or if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Lance muttered, looking at his plate of food.

“You two have a nice time. Hailey will clean up when she comes in the morning. Good night.”

Max Denton stood, and with a final nod, left.