“She died. Car accident when we were living in Senegal.”
“I’m really sorry.”
We ride in silence for a while. Something about this kid reminds me of me at her age, a girl longing to connect.
“Hey, Callie?”
“Yeah.”
“Just because I don’t see Athena much doesn’t mean we can’t see each other. Your school is only a thirty minute drive.” She turns in her seat to look at me. “Would you want to come and hang out some time? Maybe you can help me take care of the animals?”
Her full lips lift. “We had goats when we were living in Senegal. They would eat my mother’s flowers. She’d get so mad.” The memory makes her smile.
“Is that a yes?”
She nods, the smile still in place.
“Put my number in your cellphone,” I tell her and rattle off the number. She does as she’s told and sends me a text. It’s an emoji of two girls holding hands.
Chapter 18
“I’m getting tired of this,” I hear him gripe as he approaches. He’s mad and he wants me to know it.
I’m behind the barn in the hay shed pulling a bale out to throw to the horses in the big pasture. The rain lasted for all of a day and the pasture’s dry brush is not suitable for grazing. Hay is expensive, but the good news is that our Mother Goose accounts have exploded with new followers lately––something I can’t quite understand––and more money is coming in for the animals’ care.
“I’m too old to be sneaking around like a teenage Romeo.”
Apparently Shane is tired of sneaking around. For some reason, he feels that at almost thirty-seven he has the right to sex on tap whenever he feels like having it and circumstances are chafing his freedoms.
“Call the ACLU,” I tell him while I load the hay on the Polaris. “Tell them your civil liberties are being infringed.”
We have yet to discuss where this is going after Aidan’s time is up, so forgive me if I’m in no rush to accommodate him either. If I’m getting dumped like an unwanted pet in two weeks, I would like less people to know about it.
Hands on his hips, he shakes his head at me and narrows his eyes, “Such a wise ass.” I make a big dramatic show of loading the bale, grunting out loud. Frowning, Shane pushes me aside and loads it for me. A sucker born every day.
Shane gets in the driver seat and holds out his hand. “Keys.”
“I thought you said you were on a deadline?” I remind him while I hand him the keys and climb into the passenger seat. “I am,” is all he says, as if this should be obvious. He turns the ignition on and we take off to feed the horses.
“Tell Mona that I found a truck to replace hers and we’re going to check it out tomorrow. I need to go to Malibu and I want you to come with me.”
“Do you ever get tired of bossing me around?”
The Santa Anas kick up and a hot gust almost blows my straw hat away. He parks the Polaris along the gate of the pasture. Turning in his seat, he rakes his eyes over me.
“Were you tired of it the other night when I had my hands on your throat and my dick buried inside of you while I acted out scenes from your favorite book?”
My ears get red hot. “When you put it like that…”
Score tally… Hughes: 1 Me: 0.
I’m having a hard time believing wily Mona bought the story about the pickup truck. The one Shane and I are supposedly going to check out in Tarzana. But Mona and I have been operating under a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy lately and it suits me just fine.
The ride down Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu in the Cobra is glorious. I’ve almost forgotten how nice it is to feel moisture on my skin. Savanah Conley comes on the radio, singing Never Wanna Be In Love, and I turn up the volume. The song is downright prophetic.
“Never wanna be in love,” I sing along quietly.
“But I wanna be with you ’cause
Never wanna be in love
But look at you, look at you
You saw right through me
I tried to hide
Turn my eyes from you
I’m about to lead a lonely life
But I’d change my mind for you
I never wanna be in love
I never wanna be in love
But I’d change my mind for you
I never wanna be in love
I never wanna be in love
But I’d change my mind
I’m my only enemy
Just passing time to get through
You gotta be the one to choose
'Cause I can’t be, I can’t be
You saw right through me
I tried to hide
Turn my eyes from you
I’m about to lead a lonely life
But I’d change my mind for you…”
Shane turns to watch me. I can feel his scrutiny on the side of my face. But he doesn’t say anything.
We stop at Malibu Farm Restaurant and Shane tells me to wait in the car. He must’ve called ahead because he comes out minutes later carrying two big bags filled with takeout boxes. He hands them to me and we head to his trailer on the bluff. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was a date.
He parks and I walk to the edge and take in the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the coastline.
“This place is magic,” I say, closing my eyes and letting the wind blow my hair back.
“Can you grab the plates and utensils?” he asks while he pulls the takeout out of the bags.
After we set up the small card table outside for lunch, we kick back in the lawn chairs and destroy the assortment of food Shane ordered. Watching the sun sink in the distance, I’m reminded how truly lucky I am.
“Mona makes us eat dinner on the patio almost every night so we can watch the sunset. And almost every time she says it’s her favorite one… She’s so brave about losing her eyesight.” It brings a smile to my lips.
“The legend of Mona Harris will live on long after she does. She’s a character in my next book.”
My head whips around. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” he says casually, and rubs the back of his neck. “So are you.”
His hooded eyes fall on my mouth and a soft smile spreads on his face. He gets up and offers me his hand. “Let’s clean up.”
“Aren’t we having dessert?” I’m sort of bummed about dessert, but excited about being a character. Shane walks into the trailer holding a bag of trash. “You better make me look good in your book!”
He pokes his head back out. “You’ll have to read it when it comes out.”
I grab the plates and silverware and wash them in the sink while he wraps up the leftovers and sticks them in the refrigerator. It’s so natural and domestic of us, a small glimpse into how wonderful our life could be.
I dry my hands on a towel and turn to find him watching me. He’s wearing another one of his fertility outfits: black t-shirt, softly worn jeans, and Gucci driving moccasins. He crosses his arms and his expression turns serious. “You wanna talk?”
“Wow,” I say, feeling intimidated again, my pulse racing with dread and my palms sweating. I brush them on my blue jeans. I’ve been wanting this for the past week, and now that it’s here, I don’t know what to say. “Way to make me feel comfortable in your home.”