Release: Symbols of Love, page 16
"Madam. If we don’t get home in time, I’ll be sacked. This is the last time I will lie for you. We have to go," Ken screams out of the window. We both jump, but I’m relieved for the excuse to get in the car and leave. I give Harry an apologetic smile and start to get in. He grabs my hand, my fingers itch to hold on, but I don’t.
I pull out of his grasp and climb into the car.
I shut the door and roll the window down and look up at him, letting myself get one last glimpse, wincing against the harsh light, shading my eyes, and say, "Sleep well, Harry."
"See you tomorrow?" he says.
"Yup. Can't wait," I say and roll up the window and lean forward to say hello to Ken.
Just as the window closes, I swear I hear Harry whisper, "Liar."
My head whips around to look up at him, but he's already gone.
18
Lilly
Three Months Later
Coventry, England
* * *
The only thing worse than a nosey person is a nosey person who’s got you as a captive audience.
I’ve spent the last thirty minutes, trapped in a car with the nosiest woman on the plant. I’ve been smiling when I want to scream. Talking, when I’d rather be silent. I’ve been stifling the urge to ask “how much longer” every couple of minutes.
I arrived in Coventry by train from London this morning. My sister's best friend, Cara is getting married this weekend. We've known her since she was a little girl, so of course, we all had to come. The rest of my family has been here since Christmas. My parents decided that since we were all going, we should make a vacation of it. So, after the wedding, we're staying on the family’s estate. I couldn’t say no, but two weeks of the English countryside with my family time sounds like a recipe for panic and stress. The bright spot in my week is that my closest friend Aiden is coming up for the wedding. He lives in Wales and is going to be my plus one. Besides the therapist I’ve been seeing since I left Ghana, he’s the only person I told about Paul.
I love my family. I love seeing them, but I also hate it. Being together means I’ll get questions, and looks, and everyone tip toeing around the elephant in the room. It also means pretending I'm happy and never letting my guard down. At the end of my time with them, I always feel guilty and tired. In my last session with Liz, my counselor, she told me to think about telling my family what happened while we were all together. I want to. I just don’t know how to say the words. So, I’m prepared to tip toe and keep things to myself.
But right now, I think I'd prefer tip toeing to these women who act like bulls stampeding through a china shop when it comes to my life. I can't imagine asking a stranger the kind of questions Freya's hurling at me, but, then again, I live by the golden rule. I don't want to answer their questions so I don't ask them.
They were waiting on the platform when I arrived. Freya, the groom’s sister, is a bombshell. She’s tall, with dark hair, flawless olive skin, beautiful dark brown eyes, and a figure I eye with much envy. We’re the same height, but with curves for days. My only curve is my ass and it was only accentuated by my otherwise, flat as a board body. She hugged me hard enough to bruise my ribs. The other woman in the car, who introduced herself as the family’s housekeeper, is named Jan.
She’s a petite woman, with a head full of thick, long, gunmetal gray hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her dark eyes are friendly, but intense and she looks like she doesn’t miss a thing. She greeted me with handshake. Her grip was like a vice. She didn’t hug me, and I and my ribs were grateful for that.
As soon as we got in the car, Freya started talking and hasn’t stopped since. She’s only paused long enough to give me a chance to answer their questions and then she starts up again.
Turns out Freya is a wannabe investigative journalist who thinks she needs to know everything about me before we get back to the house. She’s already asked where I lived, if I have a boyfriend, why I live in Miami, if I like it there, if I live alone, if I go out a lot? (She loves Miami after a bachelorette weekend she spent there in her 20s). I’d answered all of her questions as politely and briefly as I could until she decided to take her questions up a notch.
"So, why are you arriving late? The rest of your family came on Christmas Day," Freya asks cheerily. She maneuvers her huge ancient Land Rover down a tree lined, two lane road. It's five days before New Year’s Eve. Five days before the wedding. Five days sooner than I wanted.
"I'm hardly late," I say. I’m unable to keep the defensiveness out of my tone, though I try to soften it with a laugh.
Jan touches my shoulder. I jump in surprise. She hasn’t said a word since we got in the car and I’d forgotten she was even there. I turn my head to see her smiling warmly, with a conspiratorial twinkle in her dark eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you, love,” she says gently.
“I just wanted to ask if you ate on the train. You'll probably want an early lunch as soon as we get to the house. I can call ahead to tell them to have something ready.”
I give my head as gentle shake, "No, actually. I'm more tired than anything. It’s still very early in the morning my time." I tell her, relieved at the reprieve from Freya’s questioning. I suspect she knows I’m uncomfortable, but I give her a grateful smile and she pats my shoulder again softly.
"So, why didn't you get here with the rest of your family?" Freya’s cheery but demanding tone breaks my moment of serenity and I turn back to face the front as Jan’s hand slips from my shoulder.
I stare out of the front window as I try think of an answer that will satisfy her.
There's a thin but dense layer of snow on the ground. It's obvious she is used to driving under these treacherous conditions. She looks completely relaxed and has even taken her eyes off the road long enough to look at me after each question.
"Work is crazy. I couldn't get away until now," I respond. I’m trying to make sure my teeth aren’t clenched.
"Oh, I bet. My brother wasn't home for Christmas either. Work kept him away, too. But, I know he wanted to be here," she says with an empathetic smile, which makes me feel guilty because the same could not be said for me.
Jan chirps from the back seat. "Your mother loved the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding we served for Christmas dinner. She told me you're the cook in the family, I'll have to give you the recipe. You can make it next year."
"Oh, they said she never spends Christmas with them, remember?" Freya says to Jan, as if I'm not there.
And, why is my family talking about me?
"What do you do instead? Since you don’t go home," Freya asks. She shoots me a smile and for the first time I see a hint of malice behind her cheery exterior.
But when I blink, whatever I saw is gone and her smile is as friendly as it has been since I got in the car. I give myself a silent reprimand for being so cynical. She probably thinks playing twenty questions is breaking the ice.
So, I give her a small smile and shrug, “I worked. And read a little.”
My younger sister, Addie, and Cara has been best friends since they were five and reconnected when they were in college. They’re still as close as two friends can be. We all love Cara, even me. Her family was the only one that didn’t turn their backs on us when my father disappeared. They've also welcomed my parents back to Houston with open arms. Maybe Freya just wants to show that she cares about Cara and the people who love her too.
"Do you not eat Christmas dinner at all? It's the most important meal of the year, you know," Jan calls from the backseat.
"I eat whatever. I don't know. I'm usually working," I lie.
"Well, we've got plenty of leftovers. It's been such a thrill to have the great kitchen operating again. The house spends most of the year as tourist attraction or movie set. You'll have to come down and see it. Seeing how you like to cook and all," Jan says.
“A movie set?” I ask and turn around to look at her. Her smile is broad and excited with her eyes rolled dreamily to the car’s ceiling. I guess she loves the kitchen.
"Yes! Castle Burne is used for movies all the time. Didn't you do any research before you came? It's one of the country’s great houses. Cathrine Howard herself lived here," Freya interjects.
"Catherine Howard?" I ask dumbly.
"Yes, you know. Henry the Eighth's fifth wife," Freya informs me haughtily.
"Lost 'er head she did. But the Earl of Carlisle was her uncle and so before she married that maniac, she lived here," Jan chortles.
"I see," I say, genuinely intrigued. My mother is obsessed with the Tudors. She must be in heaven here.
"There's a huge original portrait of Henry in the house,” Jan says with pride.
“We have a day trip to Richmond planned for after the wedding. Your mother's been telling us all about her Tudor obsession," Freya chimes in and my head starts to hurt. They are changing subjects faster than my jet lagged brain can handle.
"You can help me with lunch," Jan informs me. I turn around to look at her again. She's smiling at me, but watching me keenly.
"I don't really cook anymore." I tell her.
"This is a perfect opportunity for you to get back into it. I don't do the cooking myself, mind you, but, I plan all the menus and oversee the presentation. We've brought in a cook for the next few weeks so I've got to keep a keen on eye on her. She's liable to burn the place down. Everything's got to be just so, especially with his Lordship and her Ladyship in residence."
Leave it to Cara to marry a member of the British Aristocracy. Louis, her intended, is the youngest son of an Earl. Which is why even though Cara is a Texas native and her parents still make their home in Houston, she is getting married here. Apparently, tradition demands that all weddings take place in their family’s chapel.
"You'll love the Castle, Lilly. We're all staying there while you're here. My children have loved playing with your nephews and your parents have had a real holiday." I listen to Freya prattle on about her children—with Jan interrupting to tell me what their favorite foods are—as I watch the picturesque countryside go by in a blur.
Even though most of the trees have lost their leaves, the evergreens that line the road lend the entire landscape charm . I've never been one for the bucolic, I have always lived in a city, but there is something about the way the land is laid out that makes me want to go and explore. The seemingly endless expanses of green are dotted with cottages, their chimney's chugging smoke.
“This is all so idyllic.” I sigh, before I can stop myself.
"Yes, very different from Miami?" Freya’s eyes light up and I kick myself for giving her the chance to start talking again.
"Yes, very," I respond absentmindedly.
"What do you eat in Miami? Lots of enchiladas?" Jan asks excitedly. I can't help but laugh at her question.
“Not so much, Miami’s fare is mainly Cuban influenced.”
"Oh, like what? Rice and beans and pork and such?"
"Yes, and sandwiches and fried plantains. Though Miami's a melting pot, especially when it comes to food. I can find anything I'm in the mood for." I surprise myself with how many words I just said, but Jan's excitement about the food is contagious.
"I want to try a mojito, one day," she says.
"I can make one for you. If you've got rum and we can find some limes. The rest of the ingredients are typical household ingredients."
"Oh, we have limes, lovey. We have everything. Before you leave, I’ll hold you to it.”
"Okay, sounds like a plan." I smile broadly, honestly excited at the prospect.
"You said you own a business. What is it?" Freya demands. I don’t miss Jan’s small frown before I turn around to answer Sherlock’s question.
“I build cyber security networks for companies all over the world. I also have a pretty robust private investigation business. Mainly doing background checks on potential employees and business partners. And I've recently started getting a lot of clients who are looking for cyber dirt on their cheating spouses," I tell her.
She gasps and whips her head around to look at me, her eyes wide. She stares at me for a couple of beats before I glance back the road in front of us, giving my eyebrows a meaningful arch.
She flushes a little and looks back at the road, but grasps the steering wheel, and leans forward to ask excitedly: "Are you serious? That sounds so exciting. I mean I can't imagine you get a ton of clients like that. I mean, do people actually want to know if their spouses are cheating?" she asks in disbelief.
"Uh, yes,” I say dryly. “I have a waiting list of clients and I'm booked solid for the next eighteen months." I reach into my purse, open my wallet and pull out a card.
"Here's my card." I hand it to her. I wink, but don't smile.
She pales and shakes her head and looks back at the road. "No, thank you. I wouldn't have any need for it. But, uh...congratulations on your business success." She's all politeness and distance now. This is the typical reaction of married people, when I tell them what I do.
Jan snatches the card from me just as I'm withdrawing my hand.
"I'll take that. M' sister's husband is a no good so and so. He's suddenly taken to eating lots of pineapple. And you know what they say about men eating pineapple?"
"No...I don't think I know that." I share a bewildered glance with Freya.
"Well," Jan begins with relish in her voice, "They say that if a man eats pineapple, it makes his sperm taste better."
"Oh my God, Jan. Don't be vulgar," Freya squawks. I laugh, my first real laugh of the day at this woman who I'm liking more with every word that comes out of her mouth.
"It's not vulgar, Freya. You need to live a little," she says dismissively. "Well, anyhow. My sister’s never complained about the taste before and suddenly he's worried about it. But guess what?" she pauses dramatically and now I turn around in my seat to face her.
"My sister said she stopped blow'n ‘im when he stopped returning the favor and that it's been months. But he’s still eating pineapples. Drives all the way to Marks and Sparks to get them when they aren't in season. I'm convinced he's got some slag tucked away. I'll give my sister your card," she says as she tucks my card into her purse.
"You do that. If he's playing away, I'll find out," I tell her as I turn around.
Freya's gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are turning pink. I see she's got a bleak expression on her face as she focuses on the road. I wonder what her story is.
Most people think they know their significant other. Turns out, most people are wrong. No one completely knows anyone. And anyone, even the most astute is capable of being deceived. Especially when they're “blinded by love.”
I’ve watched my parents live out their completely improbably Happily Ever After. Both of my sisters are madly in love with amazing men. I’m afraid I’ll never have that.
I didn’t even know I wanted love and happily ever afters. Not until I ruined the first real chance I’ve ever had at it by lying and running away.
I was a mess when I left the hotel. It took me weeks to stop wasting entire days thinking of him. And now, it's only my sleep he haunts. I have vivid dreams where I can feel him inside me. In my dreams I talk to him. I tell him everything and he still wants to kiss me and touch me.
I wake up in the middle of the orgasms that his mouth or fingers or cock have brought me to only find myself alone, cold, and unbearably sad.
If he knew the truth about me, he wouldn't kiss me. He wouldn't want to hold me and he certainly wouldn't touch me the way he did. No one would. So, I live a lie and I know that nothing can grow in the shadow and darkness my deceit has created.
Leaving in the way I did was shitty, but it was the right thing to do. There was too much dishonesty. I was starting to have real feelings for him and there was no future in it. He would have been disgusted once he’d found out how much I lied to him. The woman he thought he wanted to keep seeing doesn’t exist.
I regret leaving the way I did, but it’s a wasted emotion. I'm never going to see him again, so there's no way for me to make it up to him. And as amazing as the time we spent together was, I don't know if I was just one in many for him. He’d been engaged before, whether he loved her or not, he’d been in a relationship for years.
One of my coping tools over the last few months has been to tell myself that what I felt was one-sided and that he was just doing what men do—fuck the women they find attractive.
But then, I recall the real tenderness in his eyes, the feather light touches of his hands on my cheek as he wiped away my tears and I know I let something special slip from my grasp. Regret may be a wasted emotion, but I feel it in spades every time I think of him.
The sudden slamming of the car's brakes sends me flying forward in my seat and shakes me out of my thoughts. Freya's hand comes across my chest as if she could stop me from flying out the window with it.
I glance at her and she moves it back to the steering wheel. Her eyes are wide, but her smile is bright.
"You two okay? I'm sorry, a herd of stag ran by and I was afraid they were going to dart into the road," she says a breathlessly.
"A what of what?" I ask, looking around but not seeing anything but the still quiet woods that line either side of the road.
"A herd of stag, stag are male deer. And they usually lead the herd, so I'm assuming the females are close behind. I need to keep an eye out. Nothing is more devastating than hitting a deer...for both the animal and the car," she says grimly.
"Oh, but venison makes the most delicious stew," Jan sing songs happily behind me.
"We're almost there." Freya peers out of her windshield as if it's snowing heavily. It's not. It must have fallen after they left because our tires are the first to drive over the fresh snowfall. The snow and the near miss with the deer have clearly affected her confidence and she’s driving more slowly now, her focus fully on the road.
