chapter Seven
She leads me into the bathroom and turns on the tub faucet. The ancient pipes rattle to life, spewing questionable water into the porcelain tub. She lets go of my hand, grabs a bar of soap and swirls it in her hands under the tap, creating a scented layer of bubbles.
“Have you ever heard of immersion therapy?” She laughs when my eyes get big. “No, not that kind of immersion. I’m not going to hold your head underwater. It means you expose yourself to the thing you fear most in order to conquer it.”
“Okay…?”
“Don’t be so skeptical. Take off your clothes.”
“I told you I’m not in the mood.”
“I understand that. Just trust me, please?” Before I know it, my hand’s in my hair. I’ve caved before I even made up my mind. “Close your eyes,” she says.
Mortifying, that’s what this is. As she lifts my shirt over my head, I realize that every time she literally strips me bare, she strips away a little of the wall I’ve constructed. It’s like she sees right through the brick, laughs, and knocks it down one piece at a time. Not sure what she’ll find behind the wall. Not sure there’s anything left.
“Keep your eyes closed and relax,” she whispers. Without my eyesight, all my other senses jump to attention. The familiar smell of my soap mingles with Heather’s faint perfume. It’s not the same scent she wore in high school, but it suits the woman she is now. Small, soft hands slowly trace the muscles of my shoulders then glide down my back. She places a kiss between my shoulder blades that sends my pulse racing. This isn’t the naughty girl who writhed in my car last weekend.
Before I can analyze that further, two hands cup my ass and lightly squeeze. “Heather–”
“Shhh. Just relax. Clear your head.”
Slow hands unbutton my pants and slide them down. I step out, feeling like a small child. The air changes and I feel her move away. The faucet squeaks and a few final drops of water plink into the waiting water below. Next comes the rustling of clothes. I’d hoped to have the pleasure of taking them off for her, but asking now, after my admission in the kitchen, is ridiculous. Her soft breaths come closer until they land warm and sweet on my neck. She nuzzles it and leaves gentle kisses along my throat, down my collarbone, to the center of my chest. Something more powerful than mere lust lodges under her cheek when she lays it against my heart and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Heather–”
“No,” she whispers. “For the rest of the night, you’re going to pretend I’m Julianne. Shhh, it doesn’t have to be weird. I want to help you. Face the thing—or person—you fear most. It’s the only thing holding you back. Tell me what you’d tell her. Touch me like you’d touch her.”
A seed of anxiety begins to sprout, but it’s swept aside when her hands find the physical evidence of her ministrations. Need, sharp and consuming, overrides any reservations I have as the thought of touching Julianne again rips me to pieces.
Her hand rubs up and down through my underwear, tentative at first, like Juli would be. Without opening my eyes, I place a hand on her head and thread my fingers in what I imagine are inches of coarse red spirals. The need to be inside her is overwhelming, but the need to hold her again eclipses it.
“Juli–”
“Tell me, Isaac.”
“I need to count each of the freckles on your nose, to run my thumb over your cheek. I miss your fire. God, how I miss our arguments, the way you stick out your jaw when you think you’re right and can’t wait to put me in my place. Miss your relentlessness. It’s the only thing that kept me from completely shutting down last year.”
A hand tugs me toward the tub.
“You can open your eyes until we’re in. Then I want you to keep talking. Got it?”
Pain steals my words so I nod. Part of me is hollering that this is completely f*cked up. The bigger part admits that I didn’t say nearly what I needed to when I had the chance at Uncle Robert’s. This may be the closest I’ll ever get.
The warm water is a welcome respite after long days and even longer evenings of hard work. She slips in, pulling my arms around her waist, and leans back, tucking her head into the crook of my neck and shoulder. I marvel at my legs bracketing hers, a study in male and female forms. So soft, so different.
“Close your eyes again. Relax.”
Instead of leaning back in the tub, I only want to hold her closer, gather her to me so I can inhale the heady fragrance of youth and innocence, the last of which I took from her.
“I want to know why—why you picked me out of everyone in the world. Tried so hard to keep my distance, shut you down and make you hate me, but you got through anyway. You’re so stubborn. Sometimes I wonder if you were the aggressor and I’m the victim, but then I feel so damn guilty because I’m a grown man who should’ve known better. Should have walked out the day of your recording.”
“Tell me about that. What changed?”
“You were so good, so damn good. You’d taken everything I taught you and made those pieces yours, like you were possessed. You reminded me so much of me that I feared you and worshipped you at the same time, but having those feelings was even scarier. Nothing good could come of them. Didn’t know about all your problems, but I knew you were broken, and if I didn’t know how to fix myself, there was no way I could put you back together.”
I take a shaky breath and continue. “When you finished playing, you were a different person. For the first time, I saw real confidence on your face. I was drunk on it, so far gone that I didn’t stop you from getting too close, from suggesting the very thing I tried to keep buried.”
“What did I say?”
“I’ll never forget—you said, ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I was your girl?’” I hold her closer. “Wanted to make you mine right then and there. I reached up and touched your face, felt the smoothness I’d been dreaming about. Thank God you left before I got any further.”
She sighs and pulls my arms tighter around her.
“This is too much,” I whisper. “I can’t go through this again.”
“You’re stronger than you think. You’re doing great. I’m here, and you’re safe.” She turns in my arms and cradles my face in both her hands. A light kiss lands on my lips and I swear it even tastes like Juli.
I’m frightened by how easily my mind is able to conjure every detail about her. With my eyes still closed, I trace the features of her face—her upturned nose, the smooth planes of her cheeks, the small indent of her chin, and the full pout of her lower lip. When I brush my thumb over it, I remember the night in Boston when she bit it then sent me away. We both knew I couldn’t stay away for long. I lean forward and take it between mine.
Can’t hold back much longer. Something in my gut is rolling around, trying to break free. The sensation is familiar, but one I haven’t felt since I was a young boy. “Let me try again. Let me do things the right way. You deserved better.”
A small gasp reaches my ears. “Yes.”
That one word is a fist in my chest. Over the next few hours, I find redemption in her arms. I go slow, tracing her lines, whispering words of love and adoration that should have been said months ago. She lets me worship her, each kiss a prayer, every touch a hymn. Our communion is truly a divine act worthy of a martyr’s sacrifice.
“Forgive me. Please, forgive me.” The words tumble out over and over.
“Open your eyes,” she says. I do, and beneath me is her incarnation, a strange polyphonic being that is Heather and not Heather—Juli and not Juli. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s time to let go.”
I bury my face in her hair, and for the first time since my daddy died, I come undone.
***
I wake with her in my arms, aware that this extraordinary woman has given more of herself that I could ever deserve. Her light lashes brush her cheeks while she breathes soft puffs against my shoulder. The sun is well above the horizon and spills across the wood floor, just barely touching the bed. Outside, the city stretches and yawns. Lawnmowers whine and oak leaves shake against the window in a soft breeze.
She stirs, so I pull her closer to place a kiss on her forehead. She smiles without opening her eyes, but it quickly fades and is replaced by two lines between her brows. I rub my thumb over them to smooth them away. I want her dreamy smile back. She blinks, looking around the room—anywhere but at me. “Shoot, what time is it?”
“Probably around seven.”
“Oh, no. I stayed all night.” Her words are an axe splitting firewood. Don’t know what to say. “Mama will definitely want to know where I was.”
“You can stay out all night if you like. You don’t need permission.”
She turns away, pulling the sheet up to her chest. “No?” she whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I need to shower before the furniture people get here. Then I’m going home.”
After last night, this isn’t the reaction I’d envisioned, but she has a point. “Okay. Towels are in the–”
“Cabinet. Yes, I know.”
“Right. Um, I’ll make breakfast. Eggs and grits?”
“No, just coffee, thanks.”
Not sure what to make of the barrier she’s constructed, I make a hasty retreat to the kitchen. By the time she pads into the room, hair damp and wavy, I’ve whipped up omelets, grits, fresh fruit, and the requested coffee. I hand her a mug and our fingers brush, reminding me of the time Juli showed up here in the middle of the night. The next morning I handed her the very same mug to cover an awkward moment. It pales in comparison to this one.
“So,” she says, “excited about the furniture?” Her smile is sweet but forced. It clashes with the sadness in her eyes.
“I guess. I’d be more excited if you told me what the hell’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
Instead of answering, she takes a sip of coffee and wanders into the empty parlor. The a*shole part of me wants to hold my ground and eat my damn breakfast, but I know I should follow her and see if she’ll open up. With a sigh, I drop my fork and do the gentlemanly thing.
She turns in a slow circle, taking in the empty red walls of the room. “This is going to look great, you know. Very masculine, but classy. You can have guys over for football, or entertain your family. It’ll be really versatile.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. We’ll just have to make sure they center the rug under the chandelier and then the piano underneath it, so that’s the focal point of the room. We’ll build the rest around–”
“Heather?”
“Hmm?”
“Talk to me.”
“About what?” She smiles and takes another sip of her coffee.
“Don’t be cute. About last night. May I remind you that it was your idea.”
“Oh, I know. Believe me, I’m well aware that I started it. Not sure I realized exactly what I was getting into, but yes, I take full responsibility for this awkwardness.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I ask, “So at what point exactly did you freak out?”
“When I realized you were still one hundred percent in love with her, that it wasn’t just some rebound fling for you, like I am. You really love her. I know you, Isaac Laroche, because you’re just like me. Neither of us trusts anyone, and it’s no wonder when we were both betrayed so horribly. For you to let her in like you did, she must mean the world to you. I had this crazy idea that I could fix you. I thought, we’ll just get you some motivation, get you on the right track, and then Mama will see she can’t continue to mess up your life like she has mine. But I see now that she already did, and I’m so sorry.”
“No, Heather–”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you found someone you care about so much. I’m jealous, but not for the reason you think. I’m not jealous that it’s her and not me, but because you found love like that and I haven’t. I convinced myself I had it with Walter, but I couldn’t go through with marrying him, even if it meant Mama disowning me. If it weren’t for the drama with Daddy, I think she would. If she ever found out where I spent last night, I know she would.”
“Then stay here. Move in with me.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Kinda glad, because I need a second to mentally kick my own ass.
“Aw, that’s sweet, Isaac. I appreciate the offer, but–”
“But what?”
“But you’re in love with Julianne Casquette!”
“But I shouldn’t be. Don’t want to be. I need to let her go with someone who can make her whole, and that person’s not me.”
“Well,” she says, setting her coffee mug down on the floor, “I’m glad you realize that. Guilt does not a love story make.” She lowers herself to the floor, folding her legs underneath. Before joining her, I grab our plates from the kitchen. She takes one from me, but only picks at her food. I devour mine.
After a few minutes, I clear my throat. “You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
“That I needed someone to light a fire under my ass.”
Her snicker echoes off the plaster walls. “I believe I said you needed motivation.”
“Same thing, and you were the person to do it. Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
An engine grinds to a halt outside, followed by heavy pounding on the door. We look at each other and smile. “Showtime,” she says.
The next hour flies by in a chaotic barrage of foam wrapping, underpaid delivery workers, and Heather gracefully showing me and the men where she wants everything placed. When they finally leave, the room smells of leather and sweat. It’s a combination that has me hungry for more than lunch.
“Ta-da!” She holds her arms out and turns in a circle. “Well, what do you think? Didn’t I tell you it would all come together?”
I follow her gaze around the room. The red walls and refinished floors are the same, but it has a completely different feel to it, a different sound. My piano rests on a new patterned rug under the antique crystal chandelier that came with the house. In front of it near the bay window is my new leather sectional, with the end tables and coffee table “strategically placed for usability” according to Heather. Thrift-store paintings of classical scenes break up the wall space, and there are even a few accent pieces that pay homage to Mardi Gras.
“Ah, there’s one thing missing.” I dash up the stairs, retrieve my hard-won prize, and return to the parlor with it.
Heather raises an eyebrow. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Sure is. Deserves a place of prominence.” Can’t wipe the grin off my face as I carefully place my Alabama Crimson Tide pillow in the center of the couch.
“Ugh.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “You can take the boy out of ’Bama, but you can’t take ’Bama out of the boy.” She collapses onto the couch, but picks up the pillow and chucks it at my head. I deflect it and return her attack with one of my own. Soon I’ve got her pinned beneath me on the long section of the couch. At first she giggles, but too soon she’s pushing me away.
“What? After all we’ve been through the last week, now I can’t even touch you or kiss you?”
Seconds slip past as she closes her eyes and presses her lips into a thin line. I watch her thoughts flit across her face like pages fluttering in the wind. “It’s for the best, Isaac.”
Like hell it is. “So, that’s it? You come in here, f*ck me into next Sunday, shake things up, and then leave when I do what you tell me and it freaks you out?”
“Isaac!”
“Isn’t that about what happened?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” I tell her, and lightly run my finger from the base of her neck to the valley between her breasts. I’m pleased when she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “But you know what? You leave, it makes you no better than me. Everyone accuses me of running from my problems. Tell me how this is different.”
Her cheeks burn red. “It’s different because you’re not my problem.”
A growl forms in my throat. “The hell I’m not. You made your decision. Time to live with it.” Without warning, I flip her over onto her stomach and grasp her arms, pinning them behind her at the wrists.
“I need to get home.”
“Not until you admit I’m right.”
“Never.”
I haul her ass into the air and shove her knees underneath. Those denim cutoffs are begging to be violated. They’re so short I can see she’s not wearing panties. My fingers lightly brush the insides of her thighs and she shivers. I’m equal parts aroused and relieved that I have this effect on her. If she truly didn’t want anything to do with me, she’d be fighting, but there’s no resistance coming from my pretty little captive. “Say it. I’m right.”
“F*ck you.”
“As you wish.”