Page 9

8

Georgia

Now

T he rest of the morning passes in a blur. Shortly after Mrs. Foster and Auden presented us with an entire platter of finger foods and tea, my father had another one of his dizzy spells, and Ian escorted him back to bed to get some rest.

He filled me in on the comings and goings of work—not much changes in the oil industry. The only major change is that Mr. Foster is now filling in for my father while he’s out. Mrs. Foster made sure to make a big hoot about the fact that her husband was now the interim boss. A big step up from the manor’s handyman/part-time oil rig employee.

Ian made himself scarce after he helped my father back to bed. I’m sure he’s busy doing all those fancy doctor things he has to do now. I still can’t believe he finished school, after all that talk of quitting all those years.

After everyone went their separate ways, I decided to take Auden for a tour of the house, taking care to look in all the corners and dark spots before Auden followed me into each room. The manor has six rooms: my father’s room, my childhood bedroom, the guest room, my mother’s office, my father’s study, and a rather large library. There are also the normal, everyday rooms like the kitchen, the living room, dining room, and a handful of bathrooms scattered throughout both stories of the house.

We avoided my mother’s office and my father’s study, naturally, spending most of the day in my childhood bedroom while Auden played with my old toys and I read a thriller book I grabbed from the family library. By dinner time, Auden was more than ready for bed after spending most of the day chasing Horton from room to room as I worked on not looking for my mother’s ghost around every bend.

Maybe I’m slowly going insane being here.

Maybe it’s just this house, conjuring up these memories of the day she died.

Maybe Auden is just feeding off of my fear.

As I’m tucking Auden into bed, I decide to ask her. “Who told you I hated Papa?” I ask nonchalantly as she gets herself nice and buried into the pink blankets.

She pops her head up and gives me a funny look, her eyebrows notched together in concentration. “I don’t know who she is,” she says after a moment of thinking.

“Are you sure that this happened? Not make-believe?”

She shakes her head quickly. “I don’t think it did? Maybe it was a bad dream,” she answers with a loud yawn. “Mama, who is Irene?”

My heart stops the moment my dead best friend's name leaves my daughter's mouth. “Who—who told you that name, hun?”

“I saw it carved into the willow tree next to your name and Ian’s. He didn’t want to tell me,” she answers.

My heart starts beating again. She doesn't know.

“She was a friend we played with when we were your age. Nothing more. Get some sleep, and when I find Horton, I’ll send his butt right in for cuddles, okay?”

“I love you, Mama. No bad dreams for us tonight, promise?” Her eyes grow heavy as she drifts off to sleep.

“I love you, too. I will do my best to keep the bad dreams away,” I promise her, knowing that it’s a lie the moment it passes my lips. I have no power over the ghosts here.

I turn the night-light on and blow her a kiss as I silently leave the room, taking care to leave the door cracked open again. When I look back one last time, I see Horton jump onto the bed and cuddle up next to her. Some things never change.

A small gasp of surprise escapes my lips when I almost run face-first into Ian. “What are you doing creeping around out here?” I ask him as I clutch my hand to my chest, urging the heart attack I almost had to stay at bay.

He chuckles under his breath, rubbing one hand over his face as he watches me look like a fool while his other hand holds a dark blue book. “I was getting the other room set up so I can sleep there,” he answers.

“Oh,” is all I’m able to squeak out. Why do I feel slightly betrayed that he’d want to sleep on an actual bed than sleep on the small couch at the end of his bed? “Well, did you get it all finished?”

“Nearly, I just need to grab my stuff from your room.”

“You mean your room. Come on. I’ll help.”

He follows me into the guest room. There’s a different sort of tension between us as he closes the door behind him. I stand in the middle of the room, not knowing what to touch or how I can help. The room looks mostly put together, minus the shitty bed-making I did this morning. My eyes are drawn to the dresser sitting under the window. On it are books, a stethoscope, and men’s cologne. On the other side sits my purse and various items I threw up there last night.

This room looks like a room shared by a couple.

I expect him to start packing his things up, but instead, Ian walks in the room and sits at the end of the bed. He starts drumming his fingers against the small book he’s holding, looking down at it like it’s a bomb waiting to be detonated. Closing the distance between us, I sit next to him, our thighs almost touching.

“What’s that?” I ask him. It’s not a book I’ve seen before in the library.

He starts to hand it to me, then pulls the book away from my outstretched fingers just as quickly. “Okay, don’t get mad,” he pleads, avoiding eye contact with me as I stare at him. “I found it in your mom’s desk while I was working at it earlier today.”

“Okay . . . ?”

He shifts his body so he’s facing me, his knee brushing against my thigh. This time his eyes meet mine, and I can see the stress he’s hiding behind them. “It’s your mom’s diary.”

“What?” I snatch the small blue book out of his hand and flip to the first page. My heart constricts with emotion when I see her handwriting on the first page, and the second, and the rest as I flip through it. Each entry starts with “Dear Georgia.”

I look down at the diary. Part of me wants Ian to leave so I can read every single word my mom thought was important enough to write down. Another part of me wants to throw it into the lake and wipe my hands of it forever. Who knows what kind of things she’s written in this?

“Did you read it?” I look up at him.

“I only read it long enough to realize that it belonged to your mom.”

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth,” I say after a minute of silence passes between us.

Ian straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest as he nods for me to continue.

“Why didn’t you want to tell Auden about Irene?” My voice comes out in a whisper. Finally speaking her name out loud with him feels like some sort of taboo subject after all the years we spent trying to keep her buried.

He lets out a breath, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Why would I want to, Georgia? I wouldn’t share that type of pain with a five-year-old, let alone with your daughter,” he hisses through his teeth, anger ringing clear in his voice as his eyes narrow at me. “Why the hell would you ask me that?”

I jump to my feet, tossing the diary onto the bed. “Because she asked me about her today, and she said you didn’t want to tell her. You can’t just keep ignoring that she existed, Ian,” I snap.

He reluctantly gets to his feet and walks toward the door to leave, his shoulders straining against his sweater. Much like he did when we would argue as teenagers. Ian doesn’t like confronting his feelings and opts to walk away before he says anything he’ll regret. Whereas I’m hot-blooded and let my emotions get the best of me when I’m upset like this.

“Wait.” I take a step to stop him, placing my hand on his arm as his back is turned to me. “Please. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. Auden asking about her brought up all sorts of feelings for me. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have thrown that at you.”

I feel his muscles tense under my touch before he reaches up and puts his hand over mine. Our fingers naturally intertwine as he turns to face me. His body inches toward mine slowly as our hands clasp each other tightly. That gravitational pull must affect him, too.

I’m dangerously close to letting go of what my brain keeps screaming at me.

Don’t let your heart take over, Georgia.

I lean in toward him, my body choosing not to listen to my heart or my brain this time, then he pulls away.

“Come on. Let’s go get a drink before we do anything you might regret in the morning.” He flashes a smile filled with regret down at me as his hand leaves mine.

I’m left standing in the middle of the room like an idiot as he stalks toward the door. I follow him on autopilot. I feel as though a glass of ice-cold water has been tossed in my face, sobering up the love-struck hormones of my youth.

I wouldn’t have regretted him.

T wo bottles of wine later and I’m feeling incredibly relaxed. The edges of the world are muted to a nice haze as I stare at Ian. We’re sitting on the small yellow loveseat in the library; our bodies have a mind of their own as our limbs find ways to touch one another. He moves one way, my legs casually move with him.

This is dangerous territory for both of us, but if this is the last week I have with him, why shouldn’t I enjoy it? Will I regret letting him back in? I’ve never regretted being with him. Even after he ripped my heart out, I still couldn’t bring myself to regret him.

He gave me the greatest gift of my life: Auden. Even if he’ll never know that she’s his gift, too.

“Tell me something, G. Is there anyone special back home? I know you said Auden’s father isn’t in the picture, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone else.” Ian’s eyes are slightly glassy, his cheeks flushed red by the alcohol. His lips part as he takes another drink of his wine, and I can’t force myself to look away as his throat bobs when he swallows. “You’re drooling a little bit,” he says into his glass as he smirks over at me.

I blink and tear my eyes from him, wiping at my lips just in case he’s not fucking with me. It’s been a while since I let myself indulge in more than a small glass of wine at dinner. I don’t like to drink when I know it’s just me and Auden at home. If anything were to happen to her, I wouldn’t be able to trust my instincts, so I just don’t drink often.

“I’m kidding. Your face is perfect. But I’m still waiting for that answer.”

I roll my eyes at him and take another long swig of my wine. I know you’re supposed to sip wine like a lady or whatever, but I’m more of a chugger, especially when I’m sharing a tiny seat with the love of my life. And I’m not supposed to want to touch him. Right?

“Do you have anyone special here in town? Maybe a fancy nurse? Or another doctor?” I counter, avoiding his question while I mull over what to tell him.

Ian sits up and grabs the wine bottle from the table, pouring half in his glass, and the rest of the bottle into mine.

“No.” He laughs and takes another sip of wine. “No fancy nurse or doctor in the cards for me. I don’t see myself settling down and falling in love and all that normal shit. Nobody wants a mess of a person like me, G.”

The wine is making me brave, or possibly sabotaging me, because I can’t seem to stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “You had me,” I blurted out, nearly spilling my wine all over both of us. “I loved every broken piece of you, the way you loved every shattered part of me.” I feel my face flush red as I take another gulp of my wine. I’m avoiding looking at him because I can feel the heat of his gaze on me.

“Is there anyone else?” he asks again. The husky tone of his voice pulls my eyes toward him, my stomach tightening under his heated gaze.

“No, there hasn’t been anyone but you,” I answer finally.

“Besides Auden’s father, right?”

“Yeah, besides him. No one since. Been a little busy raising a child on my own.” I tip the end of my glass and swallow the rest of my wine. He reaches out, takes my empty glass from me, and places both glasses on the table in front of us.

“Thank fuck,” he says, grabbing my face and pulling my lips toward his.

The heady scent of wine and sandalwood attacks my senses as I lose myself to him. Our lips fight to get closer as if this kiss can keep us from ever being parted again. His hands move from my face as his lips pull away from mine, kissing his way across my jaw, my throat, before making their way up to the shell of my ear, nipping it playfully.

“I missed you. Every second of every day, I missed you,” he whispers in my ear, making me moan against him, my body pressing closer to his until I’m straddling his lap. “I missed your smile, your laugh, your body. But mostly, I missed your friendship. I missed us. I’m so glad you’ve finally come back.”

His words turn my heated blood to ice, my brain finally overthrowing the feelings in my heart. I pull myself away from him as his hands start to tug on my shirt. “Wait,” I say breathlessly.

He stops immediately, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath and focus my eyes on him. His hair is a mess. I didn’t even realize my hands must have been thrusted in it. His lips are red and swollen; I’m sure mine look the same. His breath is coming out in hard pants, matching my own.

I focus my eyes back on his. “You said earlier that you didn’t want to do anything that I would regret in the morning.”

His hands settle on my hips while he chews on his bottom lip. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“And you won’t regret this? Correct me if I’m wrong, but the first and only time we had sex, you up and left me hours later with nothing but a note saying you made a mistake and couldn't be with me.”

And you left me a baby.

But I don’t say that out loud. Even in my drunken state, I know that secret is mine, and mine alone.

“The only thing I regret is having to leave you the way I did.”

A loud, unladylike laugh escapes my chest as I push away from him. “You didn’t have to leave me, you chose to leave me. You say you missed our friendship the most? Well, nothing was stopping you from picking up the damn phone and just being my friend , Ian. I didn’t come here to fall back into your bed. I didn’t come back here for you. If it was up to me, I’d have let this place rot away before I ever came back.” I get unsteadily to my feet. “When you figure out why you really threw us away, then maybe we can talk. Until then, stay away from me, and stay away from my daughter.”

The last thing I see before I leave the room is Ian sitting there. His hands still reaching out toward my phantom hips. Instead, all I can picture is those same hands holding both of our bleeding hearts.