Words and Music Page 7

  “How do you know before we even give it a try?”

  She stood. “Cam…I can’t. I don’t want to discuss it anymore.” She left the kitchen and proceeded to the living room.

  After a few minutes, he heard the shower. His memories were bittersweet. What a difference a few hours could make. He cleared the table, putting the leftover food into the fridge, and then began washing the dishes by hand. He tried to understand her point of view, but couldn’t. She wouldn’t even try to build a life with him. He wasn’t worth even her attempt. He’d been through a lot in his young life—his parents’ death and Ashton’s sickness, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling more hurt than he did now. He could no longer stay with her at the little apartment she’d made into a warm, cozy home.

  After he’d removed all traces of his lovingly arranged breakfast, he gathered his clothes, folding them and placing them in his top load military duffle bag. He buckled the clips on top of the bag together. As he was just finishing she came into the living room and sat on the couch—freshly showered. He grabbed his boots and stepped into them, securing the laces in silence. He found it hard to look at her after all the pain she’d caused.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to stay with Max for the duration of my break.”

  “You don’t have to leave, Cam.”

  “You’re wrong, Meg. I do have to leave. If I don’t I’m afraid of what I may do. I’m so distraught words like kidnapping and abduction come to mind.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “You can’t say things like that to me. Either you want me or you don’t. You say you can’t live in a long distance relationship…well, I can’t live with you and not have you be completely mine.” He stood, put his duffel over his shoulder, and walked out her door…for the last time.

  ***

  Meg was mad enough to spit nails. He wasn’t even going to say goodbye. She watched him walk to a cab he’d apparently called while she’d showered. The day was just going to suck big, sweaty, low hanging balls. She sighed and pulled her laptop from the attaché case. While she waited for it to boot up she recalled their night of sexual aerobics and decided, she had cause to forgo the gym today. She also thought about brownie fudge ice cream and dug through the freezer, unearthing an untouched pint. She grabbed a spoon and sat in front of her computer at the kitchen table. Drafting her resignation letter proved harder than she thought. She’d loved her job at Baton Rouge Thirty Nine and was sad to end this chapter of her life no matter how exciting the next chapter promised to be.

  Her emotions were all over the place and at the center was a green-eyed rock god named Cam. She dug into the carton of ice cream, filling the spoon with a bite almost too large, but filled with plenty of brownie. The concoction was cold and pain shot through the nerves in her teeth. She dropped the spoon and soothed her jaw with her palm.

  An entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s later she had her finished letter loaded into an email addressed to her station manager. Her finger hovered over the trackpad. Why could she not press send? And then rationalization hit—of course this sort of thing is always best delivered in person. Yes, that was it. She needed to deliver her letter in person.

  Meg felt the need to veg out for the entire day. She purchased the entire sixth season of True Blood from iTunes and had made it through six episodes and one California bacon ranch pizza when she realized she’d need to get dressed and ready for meeting her father and his new family at Ruth’s Chris. She hated that restaurant. Nothing good had ever happened to her there. It was where her father had told her he was divorcing her mother.

  She dressed in a cream-colored sleeveless dress. The satin belt was black and so she outfitted her feet with black suede platform pumps, feeling satisfied with herself since her father’s new wife was quite tall and unable to wear much of a pump. She should quit saying new wife. After all, it had been ten years since he’d divorced her mother—or had her mother divorced him? She could never quite seem to get a straight story from either of them. One thing was certain—their new spouses both sucked and she would bet money they resented her. It was the vibe she got whenever she visited.

  She massaged her temples with her fingers. A stress headache was already forming. She thought how awesome it would be to text and say she was too much under the weather to attend the birthday dinner. But she would do her daughter’s duty—alone as she’d lost the support of Cam.

  She’d stopped by the mall and picked out a blue silk tie and had it professionally gift-wrapped. She stood in the parking lot of the restaurant, staring at the front door of the establishment. She’d watched them go in—a respectable family of four—an attractive dark haired man and his blonde wife and their two blonde children.

  Taking a deep breath she then found the gumption to propel her legs forward. When she gave her name, the greeter escorted her to their table.

  Her father stood. “There she is.” He offered her a quick, clinical hug—more of a pat really, and then he sat back down next to Patricia.

  Patricia eyed Meg and nodded, “Megan, how are you?”

  “I’m well. Thanks.” As usual her now eight and six-year-old half brothers ignored her.

  Meg set the tie box on the table and pushed it over to her father. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll just open it later.” He picked up the box and put it in his jacket pocket.

  The waiter approached and asked for their drink order. “Pat, do you want to split a half bottle of pinot noir?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He ordered their wine. If he’d sprung for a bottle, they could have all shared, but she was used to not being considered. When it was her turn to order, she said, “I’ll just have water. Thanks.”

  The talk was stilted. Mostly Patricia spoke about politics and the lack of Christian influence in school and government. Her father nodded his agreement.

  It was now time to place food orders. The steaks could be single serve, but the sides were served family style. This proved excellent for her father and stepmother. “Pat what do you think about the duck fat potatoes and an order of creamed spinach?”

  “It’s your birthday dinner—knock yourself out.”

  He ordered for them—just for them, and then he ordered children’s portions for their brats. She’d been shut out again. Unconsidered. Looking over the menu, she decided it would be less conspicuous and much friendlier to her budget to order a side salad and a small filet of steak. Her head pounded so she pressed her fingers to her brow where the bulk of the tension had settled. Warm hands on her bare shoulders startled her. Turning, she locked eyes with Cam.

  She sighed, “You came.”

  “I told you I would.” He took the empty seat next to her. The waiter at his side appeared annoyed as he folded his arms across his chest and glared at Cam. “You’ll need to give me a minute there, pal. As you can see, I’ve just gotten here.”

  The waiter asked if he should put in what had already been ordered and Patricia answered, “If you don’t mind Meg, I’ll let our order stand. The children didn’t have a substantial lunch.”

  Maybe they hadn’t had a substantial fucking lunch, but they’d consumed copious amounts of bread and butter. So much so that she hadn’t been able to get a slice. “Cam and I will order when we decide. Do what you need to do.” Her comment evoked a challenging sideways glance from Patricia. Meg shot a derisive look right back. “Oh and sir”—she reached for the empty basket of bread—“our bread basket seems to be empty, we’ll need a refill.” She shot a look at her stepbrothers who had their heads down as their fingers frantically pressed buttons on a game.

  They ended up ordering the same family sized sides to go with their steaks. Cam even ordered a half bottle of wine. At the end of the dinner, Cam picked up the check for her steak as well as his, just
as he always did. Her father never offered to pay for her. She reached for her purse to offer to at least pay for the tip. “Don’t do it, Meg.” The tone of his whisper in her ear had her complying immediately and she set her purse back on her lap.

  Everyone stood and her father said, “Thanks for coming.”

  “Well, you invited me so I wanted to.”

  “And thanks for the tie.” He patted his lapel with his palm.

  “You mean the tie you’ve yet to unwrap—you’re welcome. See you dad.” Cam escorted her from the restaurant.

  They walked to her car. “Sorry I was late, but I had to nail down some transportation.”

  “I’m just so glad you came. They were doing what they always do before you got there.”

  “Pretending that you don’t exist?”

  She winced at his statement that was as true as two plus two equals four. “Something like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Meg. They’re assholes.”

  “Cam, come home with me. I don’t know why you left.”

  “I want to. You don’t know how bad I want to, but I shouldn’t.” He scratched his forehead. “You look beautiful by the way.” He kissed her cheek, and then hopped on the motorcycle next to her car.

  “Yours?”

  “No, it belongs to Zach, but I’m borrowing it.”

  He looked way too hot on the damn thing. She was glad he didn’t own a bike—he’d never be able to beat the women off of him. “See you.” He started the bike and the loud sound drowned out any hope she had of issuing him a goodbye. He walked the bike in reverse and then he rode off into the proverbial sunset.

  That night she tossed and turned in bed. She took her phone from the cradle. Two o’clock in the morning. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to pinpoint the root of her unease. However, her conscious mind wouldn’t let the thoughts come to the surface. She tuned her iPod to Sigur Ros and within minutes succumbed to the peaceful lullabies.

  Meg rocked slowly on a porch swing, the cold breeze offset by the blankets and mug of cocoa in her hands. Old hands. Wrinkled hands.

  “Hey Mother, we’re going to go sledding, but we can’t take the little one so you’re on grandma duty.” Gladly, Meg reached for the chubby little fellow in a hand-knit sweater romper.

  The handsome, tall stranger leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom.” She smiled at his nice face. He had dark hair, too dark. And his eyes were dark brown. These things struck her as being the wrong color. His eyes should be emerald green and his hair a chestnut brown, but his was closer to black. His speech was accented. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t an accent she was used to hearing.

  “Bye, Mom—we’ll bring you back a beaver tail.” Another handsome man waved at her. She bounced the little guy on her lap up and down. His eyes and hair were dark too.

  An older distinguished gentleman that she didn’t know exited from the house and joined her on the porch. “There’s our grandbaby. That’s a big boy isn’t it?” His features were like the other men and child and he too shared their accent. Confused she asked, “What’s a beaver tail?”

  “I assume you mean your favorite fried dough slathered with chocolate. The kids are going to bring some back after their adventure.”

  “A beaver tail?”

  “Well, you know because it’s shaped like a beaver’s tail.

  He sipped from a mug of cocoa. “It’s going to be a cold Canadian winter.”

  Canadian winter?

  His arm slipped around her back and his hand rested on her shoulder. “I love you, Megan.”

  She stared at the strange man with a kind, handsome face. Holding up her left hand, she saw a diamond ring. The band was scratched and dented indicating years of wear.

  “I don’t know why you won’t let me buy you a new one of those.” He regarded her curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m just a little confused.”

  “About what?”

  “About who you are…where we are…who these kids are.” She gestured in the direction they’d walked on foot. “How long have we been married?”

  “Forty years, Meg.”

  “Do you sing and write music? Play a guitar?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think I could make enough money for us to survive, but I do enjoy listening to music. Are you okay?”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a retired doctor.”

  “A doctor…and what did I do?”

  “You started in journalism, but when the kids came you wanted to stay at home. That’s when you started writing.”

  “Writing?”

  “Your books.”

  “We were happy?”

  “Oh yes, extremely happy.”

  “But where’s Cam?”

  “Cam?”

  “I want to see Cam. Cameron David. He calls me Nutmeg and I hate it.”

  When she awoke from her dream, she was distraught and anxious. She desperately needed to get to Cam. Given the amount of sunlight pouring through the windows in her bedroom, she assumed it was after ten in the morning. Sitting up she checked her phone, confirming the time. Her dream wasn’t a bad one. It just did not include Cam. She’d felt no heat when her husband of forty years placed his arm around her. Looking into his eyes didn’t cause her skin to sizzle. Those emotions were reserved for Cameron.

  She threw the covers off and dressed in jeans and an old concert T-shirt. Sliding her feet into flip-flops, she grabbed her purse and keys. She forced herself to drive the speed limit all the way to Max’s house. Pulling into the drive, she wondered about the size of the monstrosity he called home. It was new construction and had an extremely ornate, black iron staircase that intricately wound around and admitted its climbers to the second level balcony.

  She however remained on the first level, walked right up to the front door, and pressed the bell. A man who wasn’t Cam, Max, or Zach answered the door. “I’m looking for Cameron.”

  “Backyard.”

  She walked swiftly through the large, sparsely decorated home and out through the French doors at the back of the house. At first she didn’t see where anybody was outside, but then she heard splashing and saw Cam sitting in a hot tub, the bubbles from the jets splashing around him. His arms were stretched out along the rim of the tub and his head was back and propped up by built-in pillows. He wore sunglasses and she saw several beer bottles surrounding the hot tub and pool area.

  “Cam.”

  His head popped up on a jerk. “Meg!”

  “Cam, I’m so sorry”—she spoke as she walked to reach him—“I want to be with you…not thousands of miles away. I’m not taking the Toronto job. I love you.”

  “Meg…I…” He slowly moved his arms and stood. When he shifted, a head emerged from the water. As the woman stood taller, her nudity was revealed. She watched as an equally nude Cam staggered to climb from the tub. “Meg!”

  She shook her head in disbelief. Tears instantly streamed down her face. Turning to walk out she stumbled and came face-to-face with a naked Max and Zach and three girls who followed behind them wearing only a smile.

  Max held up a case of beer. “Megan…come to join in the fun. How about a beer?”

  She ran as fast as her feet would carry her. She jumped into her car and started the engine. Slamming the shifter into drive, her wheels spun as she applied too much force to the pedal. In the rearview mirror, she saw Cam running from the house and chasing her car. He attempted to cover his nudeness by cupping his hands between his legs.

  “Meg!”

  ***

  “What happened?” Harmony asked with a hand held to her chest in shock.

  Meg had driven straight to the little cottage with the bright green door that Harmony shared with Ashton.

  Meg retold the entire steamy a
ffair she’d had with Cam, including all the sex and love they’d shared, and her Toronto offer. Through her tears, she managed to catch Harmony up to the nude sex party scene she’d happened on.

  Harmony poured water from a whistling kettle into mugs while Meg sat at the kitchen table and blew her nose into a tissue. “And the worst part of it is…he’s the only man I’ve ever loved!” Meg wailed and plopped her upper body across the table, resting her hot wet cheek on her arm.

  “Peppermint tea.” Harmony set the cups on the table and joined Meg in a sit.

  “You put a peppermint stick in the tea!” Meg snorted through her stuffed up nose and howled some more.

  “My God, Meg. You’ve got to get hold of yourself.” Harmony sipped from her mug. If it were a delicate caress one needed, they’d not get it from Harmony. She was as tough as nails. “This guy’s not dead, he’s just been led off course.”

  Meg sat up board straight, “Just been led off course? How can you say that? Did you not hear me when I said some blonde bimbo was giving him head underwater?”

  Harmony winced. “Of course I heard you…my folks and Ashton’s cousins probably heard you too. I just don’t think it’s as big a deal as you’re making it.”

  “He cheated on me!” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

  “But did he really?” Harmony asked as she coolly sipped tea.

  “I told you he wanted to be exclusive.”

  “Yes, but you turned him down.”

  “That doesn’t matter!” Meg took a gulp of tea, effectively searing the inside of her mouth and throat. “Ow!” She slammed down the mug.

  “Meg”—Harmony’s hands squeezed her own—“I want you to think about something for me.”

  “What?”

  “When you had the dream about growing old in Canada with the strange man you said you were happy but not content.”

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “First of all, that’s impossible because those words are synonyms. Second of all, I’ve known you since we were kids and I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t give away a lifetime of happiness because of a misunderstanding. Tell me what’s really going on?”