Bliss Brothers (Complete Series), page 35
I open the front door.
“Hey,” says Beau.
I don’t say anything.
“Some greeting,” he calls after me. I go back into the living room and take up my place on the sofa. He follows me inside. “I said hey.”
“Hey. Get out of my house. How’s that for a greeting?”
“Not the worst I’ve ever received, but it could use some work.” He lets himself fall into the recliner across from the sofa. It’s all hand-me-down furniture from the resort, and it feels like home to me as much as anything I chose from the store could. I live in hotels. And I don’t live here often. It’s perfect. “Let’s chat.”
“What do you want to chat about?”
“I feel partially responsible for what happened with Roman earlier.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you tell him to send me to Washington for two weeks?” Bitterness rises like acid into my throat. “Because that was a dick move.”
“I did not,” Beau says simply. “For one thing, far be it from me to send anybody anywhere.”
“Far be it.” I have to crack a smile at that, if only because he’s so transparently trying to make it up to me. “What’s the other thing?”
“What?”
“You said, for one thing. That means you have to follow it up with another thing.”
“Oh. For…another thing, I’ve been bugging the piss out of him lately. I think he liked me better when he thought I was drunk all the time.”
“You sure it’s you?”
Beau cocks his head to the the side. “Isn’t this an Occam’s razor–type problem?”
“Charlie’s been saying some weird stuff about the resort’s finances.”
“Sure. But Charlie’s always up in arms about those. That’s his personal brand. Why do you think it was so charming for me to be the drunk party twin?”
“It seems serious this time.”
Beau shrugs. “Maybe. But for a third thing, I know he wasn’t supposed to tell me about your…situation with Holiday.”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it. She’s pregnant.”
“From what I understand, yes. She is.”
I rest my head on my hand. “Where are you going with this?”
“This is one of those years,” he says.
“Don’t be cryptic. I swear to god, if people don’t start saying what they mean the first time, I’m going to drive away and never come back.”
“It would be living up to your name.”
“Beau.”
“This seems like one of those years when people—namely our motley collection of Bliss Brothers—are making changes. They don’t usually coincide so closely together, but this time, they are.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Roman still acts like a huge prick, but he’s focusing more on the things he can control with the resort. And I admitted to everyone that I don’t actually drink all day.” Beau’s eyes glint in the lamplight. He might have admitted that he doesn’t drink, but he still dresses the part. Maybe that’s so people recognize him.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Nobody would be surprised if you wanted to rearrange your lifestyle, given…the events that have taken place.”
“You mean the fact that Holiday’s pregnant. You can say it out loud, Beau. It’s not going to scare me.” I rub both hands over my face, wishing I could rub this day off the calendar just as easily. “And I don’t want to rearrange my lifestyle. The road is all I have.”
He’s quiet for so long that I drop my hands to look at him. “Maybe that’s your problem.”
“Are you really going to sit here and give me sage life advice after you ran a years-long con on everyone in the family?”
Beau considers this. “Yeah. I am. Because it was a successful con, at least sometimes.”
“Lie.”
“Fine. It took a lot of energy that I could have spent elsewhere. Are you happy?” Beau grins at me. “Really. Are you happy?”
“Not today.”
“Because of the Washington thing?”
“I went over there. Okay? I went over to her place, because I thought for some reason that you circus animals had set up a little getaway for us.”
“Oh, Driver.” Beau puts his hand to his heart. “Oh, that is the sweetest thing.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
His smile turns into a frown. “And she wasn’t in on it, because of course nobody set you up on a resort-sponsored lovers’ getaway.”
“I made a fool of myself. And she gave me an ultimatum.”
“About what?”
“She has a new job in the city, and they want her to start tomorrow. She basically told me that there was no way she’d travel with me, or consider any other option than taking the job.”
“And you got down on one knee, proposed, and told her that you’ll make all her dreams come true and she doesn’t need the city.”
“Not in…those terms. But I did tell her she should come to Washington with me.”
Beau laughs. “She’s pregnant, Drive. She’s probably desperate for some stability, and you didn’t even pretend to be capable of living like a normal human for some period of time?”
I look down at my hands.
“You fucked that up, son.”
“Don’t son me.” I’m not particularly proud of how the conversation at Holiday’s went. But I’m not going to be the first one to give in, either. Give in once, and people will take a mile. “She hid it from me. Did you know that? I was at her place for four days before she told me.”
“Well, look at you,” Beau says gently. “I mean, not literally. Outwardly, you’re a handsome guy who looks like he might be perfectly happy working a nine-to-five. But she knows who you are. You wear your traveling heart on your sleeve. Can you blame her?”
“You know, when we were kids, I was always getting dragged around to bullshit for you guys. I was the one who gave up time doing things I wanted to do for the sake of everybody else.”
“So you…know that that’s what family does for each other.”
I look at him, projecting all the skepticism on the planet into my gaze. “I don’t remember any of you missing anything to be there for me.”
“That’s not fair.” Beau narrows his eyes. “I distinctly recall attending your high-school graduation. But that’s not the point.”
“How is it not the point?”
“Because I’d miss something now, if you asked me. Do you want me to fly to Washington with you?”
“God, no.”
“See?”
There’s a long pause.
“I thought you might be Holiday when you knocked on the door.”
“I know. I saw your face. Heartbreaking stuff,” Beau says.
“I told her that if she changed her mind, she should come over. But so far, there’s no sign of her.”
“And have you thought of going over there?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
Beau nods. “You want a ride to the airport in the morning?”
“Riddle me this. Do you think I’m on board to drive myself to the airport in the morning?”
“The answer to the riddle is hell no.”
“That’s correct. If nobody shows up to drive my ass to the airport, I’m not getting on that plane.”
“Very mature,” proclaims Beau, standing up with an expansive gesture. “Extreme maturity from Driver Bliss.”
“Fuck off.”
“Extreme profanity from Driver Bliss,” he booms. “I’ll pick you up with plenty of time to get through security.”
“Bless you,” I tell him, and then I kick him out of my house.
18
Holiday
MY FIRST BREATH of New York City smells like garbage and heat, and my stomach turns over.
The cab. Focus on getting to the cab.
The rental car is the original deceiver. When I climbed into its newly vacuumed interior at the tiny rental between Ruby Bay and Lakewood, it soothed me into thinking that this was going to be all right. I rode the high of that scent all the way through the dawn and into the city, where I dropped it off at the big-city twin rental place, which had a parking lot so cramped I worried the rented Hyundai Elantra wouldn’t squeeze into the spot. I climbed out of that little beauty and straight into the August swelter.
I’ve made one huge mistake already.
I make my way out to the cab stand by the curb, pulling my suitcase behind me. I brought only the necessities for this trip, with a plan to have the housekeeper box up everything else and ship it out. I’ve got clothes I can mix and match to get through the week at the office.
But all of those clothes are now wrinkled in the suitcase, and the cute outfit I put on this morning is instantly damp with sweat.
I force myself not to think of Ruby Bay. Ruby Bay isn’t going to help me overcome anything in my life. Ruby Bay, with its clean, pleasant water and its constant soothing sound in the background, was only ever a stopping point. It could never be a destination.
It was the destination for your uncle.
My brain is an asshole. It wasn’t really my uncle’s “destination,” only his summer home. This summer, he’s in France. That’s why his house was there.
It’s too early for it to be this hot. Eight in the morning, and I swear I’m seeing a mirage of Ruby Bay across the street. I blink it away, along with a few errant tears.
A yellow cab ambles down the block. I wanted to go to Driver’s house last night and tell him…something. Anything. But that felt too much like giving up.
It takes the cab a full century to get to the cab stand and the driver hops out. I wave him off. My suitcase is small enough to fit in the back, and I haul it in behind me. My skirt twists underneath my ass as I sit down and pull the seatbelt across my lap, and I mourn the loss of my put-together appearance as I give the cabbie the address of the building where Windspire has its offices.
We hit traffic within five blocks. Eight in the morning, and this corner of Manhattan is surging with cars, honking and cutting each other off. It takes fifteen minutes to go half a block and the cab’s air conditioning stutters. “I’m sorry, miss.” The cabbie pounds at the dashboard with one fist. “It never does this.”
“It’s no problem.” It is a problem, because now I’m in the position of stripping off my short-sleeved blazer and sitting here while my pink shell goes from damp to dripping. At this rate, I’m not going to get there at all.
Some wild hope in my heart takes flight at the idea of never making it at all, but that bird is quickly swatted out of the sky. I am not here to get fired for being late on my first day.
I check the location on my phone. It’s four blocks away, and if I leave now…
The cab’s credit card machine is down, so I dig through my purse to find cash for the fare and climb out onto the sidewalk. At the first intersection I turn back. The cab is in the same spot. That’s a small victory, at least. Having to put the blazer back on is not.
One more block in the heat, and I’m wishing I’d stayed in the cab.
Combined with the humidity, the heat is making it hard to breathe. My hand slips on the handle of my suitcase.
And—no.
A thousand times no.
The nausea comes on like a slow-rolling wave.
I regret the iced tea I had this morning.
I regret the bagel.
I regret everything.
Head up. Chin up. I stand tall in my kitten heels and march forward. I’m two blocks from the office. Surely, the office will be cool, and I can take a minute in the bathroom to collect myself.
I make it ten steps, then fifteen…
And then I have to drop my suitcase and sprint for the next corner.
I’m not fast enough. I slap my own hand over my mouth hard enough to leave a mark as my stomach heaves and put on a final burst of speed. I collide with the garbage can at top speed, catching myself with my hands and leaning over for what is surely the finest moment in my life, bar none.
The problem I run into is that the garbage can smells so rank that every time I gasp in a breath, I get another lungful of it, and that makes me retch even more. I am in hell. I must be, because hell is wanting to stop puking but being unable to leave the only thing that lets you puke with the slightest amount of dignity.
Another century later, I’m only dry-heaving, and that means I can stand up and move away from the vile container. My suitcase is blessedly still in the middle of the sidewalk. I go back to retrieve it without looking to either side, but halfway there, it occurs to me that nobody cares.
This is New York City.
If I’d been in Ruby Bay, some kindly person would have rushed to my side. They might even have made me pancakes. But I’m not in Ruby Bay anymore, Toto.
I yank the suitcase to a roll behind me and march toward the Windspire offices on weak knees, counting down the numbers on the buildings. Closer and closer until…
The number on the building matches the address I have, and I take in a big breath. It’s a wide, graceful tower, and the logo for Windspire is right there on the door.
I wait for my heart to speed up, and for relief to set in, but all I feel is resignation.
I take a step closer to the doors and they whoosh open, letting out a blast of cold air, and I follow it inside. Being caressed by air conditioning shouldn’t make a person’s heart sink. It should make mine soar, after that cab ride and the puking and everything else.
Right—the puking. I dig into my purse and come up with a container of mints. The mints should make everything perfect.
A woman sits at a large, round desk with the Windspire logo on the front, and she smiles warmly as I step up to the desk. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
“I’m Holiday Taylor. It’s my first day.” Why am I choked up about this? Why? “I’m supposed to meet Wendy Limkins.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here. You can take a seat, if you’d like.”
All of this was a mistake. The suitcase, the outfit—all of it. I want to be at Ruby Bay. Not even that—I want to be with Driver. I don’t sit down, because my skirt needs time to air out. Instead, I consider going right back out the doors. I trace a path from where I’m standing to the sidewalk, taking in all the elegant tile in the middle…
This isn’t worth it. It’s a realization as cold as the air conditioning. I’m here because I wanted to prove that I could make it in Manhattan, but nothing in this office is going to give me what I really want.
“Holiday?” I turn around to face a woman in a pink skirt suit, her dark hair coiled at the back of her head. “I’m Wendy Limkins. Welcome to Windspire. We can head straight up to your new office, and you can get started.”
I shake her hand. “Sounds great.”
“How was your trip in? I know it was short notice, but we’re so glad to—”
“Actually, no.”
“Excuse me?” Her smile is as warm as the receptionists, only it’s full of confusion.
“I can’t. Get started today, that is. I won’t be moving to Manhattan.” The weight pressing into my chest falls away, and once it does, I can feel how heavy it was. “I’d love to work as an editor for Windspire, Ms. Limkins. I really would. But the internet exists, and book files are digital, and there’s no reason why—” I stop. All of this is beside the point. “I need to be with the father of my baby,” I announce. “I’m not moving to Manhattan. Please give me a call if you’re willing to take me on as a freelancer, and thank you so much for the opportunity.”
The receptionist stares at me, mouth open, eyes wide.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I tell Wendy Limkins firmly, and then I wheel my suitcase toward the door. “I’m really sorry,” I call over my shoulder. “But I have to go.”
A hand on my elbow stops me. Ms. Limkins has followed me to the door. “Are you sure, Holiday? Are you feeling all right?”
“I just puked my guts out in a garbage can two blocks from here, and I sweat through my clothes. I feel like hell. But the heart wants what it wants.”
She nods, looking somehow like she understands, and lets me go.
19
Driver
“THIS IS OVER THE TOP. EVEN FOR YOU, DRIVE.”
Beau leans against the doorframe at the front door of my house, watching me pack for Washington. Packing like this is the bane of my existence, and I’ve gone through six different configurations of my carry-on so far. This is why I prefer to drive. I can pack however I want, and nobody at the TSA is going to screw with my stuff.
“It wasn’t my idea to get on a plane.”
“If we don’t leave soon, you’ll miss your flight.”
“Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?”
“For me, probably. Roman’s expecting me to get you there.”
I shoot Beau a look. “Then you shouldn’t have told him you were going to give me a ride.”
He shrugs. “It came up in conversation.”
“Again, not my idea to have a conversation with Roman.”
I take the last shirts I packed back out of the suitcase and toss them onto the couch.
“I’m cutting you off in ten minutes,” says Beau. “I’m going to have a seat.”
“You do that.”
There’s a creek as he sits in one of the wicker chairs on my front porch. I don’t know where the wicker chairs came from, and I don’t care. I honestly don’t care about anything, except the drumbeat of Holiday’s name. It’s stuck in my head, and it’s been repeating all night. I haven’t slept.
This is a mistake on a cosmic level.
Miracle girl, I said to her the first night we met. She seemed like a miracle then, all warm skin and hot kisses, and they burned themselves into my mind. Deeper. Into my soul. It’s the kind of thing I’d laugh at one of my brothers for saying, but I’d keep thinking about it long after they said it. I always wondered how Roman forgave Jenny for the infamous social media slipup, but now I know.
