He says nothing, perhaps waiting for me to continue speaking. I watch one mile marker pass. And then another one.
Trent steers the vehicle to the right lane and then slows down, veering off to the shoulder where we keep slowing until rolling to a bumpy stop. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on the dashboard. Then he cuts the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his upper body so that he’s facing me directly. There’s nothing bashful about Trent, yet he becomes sweetly cautious when he moves his hand to my face. His palm cups my chin. His thumb brushes my cheek.
“I see you, Gretchen. Believe me, I see you.”
My eyes close and right now I would surrender completely but Trent withdraws and restarts the engine. He eases carefully back into traffic while I lean into my seat and examine his profile.
Trent doesn’t need me to tell him he’s gorgeous. I’m sure he has no trouble attracting attention. Maybe that’s not all he wants.
“I think about you a lot,” I tell him.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You are one of a kind.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re honest and in the world as I know it, honesty is nearly extinct.”
“That’s sad. You should spend your time inside a different world.”
He removes his eyes from the road long enough to give me a pointed stare. “I’d like to spend my time inside yours, Gretch.”
There’s a flare of fire in my belly and a pleasant ache between my legs. I swallow hard. “In that case, I’m extending an open invitation.”
He chuckles. “Why did you used to be afraid of me?”
“I wasn’t afraid of you.”
“You’d run away and slam the door whenever you heard me coming.”
“Did that hurt your feelings?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t afraid of you. I just didn’t like you.”
“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely changed my mind.”
We’re both quiet for a few minutes, simmering in the aftermath of this significant breakthrough.
We like each other. We want each other. Now what?
Trent eventually clears his throat and asks if I miss the city.
I shake my head. “I don’t miss it at all. I never thought I’d live in Lake Stuart again but that’s where Jules wanted the girls to be raised. That aside, I think no matter where else I go, my home will always be there. I just need to finish cutting my city ties and retrieve the rest of my stuff from my apartment. There’s not much. I’ll sell the few pieces of furniture and I can pack the rest into a small U-Haul.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He says this with finality.
“Trent, I really wasn’t trying to suggest that you needed to solve this problem for me.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You won’t even need to pack. There are companies that will do that for you. Pack everything, label everything, and bring it wherever you want them to bring it.”
“That’s some real concierge level service. I’m sure it’s pricey.”
“Hardly.”
“You mean not by your standards.”
“That is what I mean, yes.”
I’ve always felt superior to women who yearn for some prosperous man to take care of all their needs. That’s never been my plan. It still isn’t. But I can’t deny the rush of comfort that comes with knowing Trent means what he says and he’s more than capable of coming through. Having one less thing to worry about would be nice.
“Okay. I’ll give you the address and my key.”
“I’ll arrange for it to be done next week.”
I playfully punch his thigh. “Careful. I’m beginning to think of you as my fairy godmother.”
He looks my way and his eyes take a quick tour of my body. “Make a wish, honey, and I’ll grant it.”
This guy sure knows how to get a girl’s heart beating faster. One glance from him and my panties are ready to liquify.
Partially to distract from an overpowering surge of hormones that can’t be satisfied right now, I reach into the front slip pocket of my purse.
“You feel like listening to some music?”
“What is that?”
“Abigail Fisher’s Greatest Hits.”
He snorts. “Not really my style but the stereo is all yours.”
I flip open the case and a piece of paper falls out, just like it did the last time I opened it. I’m shocked to see Abigail’s familiar handwriting and realize this is the exact same note I found inside eight years ago. This CD was one of Jules’s treasures. It must have been or else she wouldn’t have kept it on top of her dresser. There’s writing on the back on the note. I can see the marks bleeding through. I turn it over and find some hastily scrawled numbers that mean nothing to me. Jules must have needed to remember them for something and grabbed the first piece of paper she could find to jot them down.
I’m careful not to scratch the CD as I pry it out and push it into the correct slot. Abigail’s ageless voice fills the car.
“Our past and our future.
Kissed by the moon.
Fate undivided.
Whatever will be.”
Trent cracks up. “Shit, talk about overkill on the cheesy lyrics.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trentcassini.” I emphasize the way the twins say his name as all one word.
“Ah, don’t start. I’ve tried to get your nieces to just call me Trent but they are attached to Trentcassini.”
“I’ve become very attached to you too.” I’m no longer talking about his name.
Trent shifts in his seat. He gives me a penetrating look, clearly trying to decide if I’m being sincere or flippant.
When he reaches a conclusion, he transfers his hand to my thigh.
He keeps it there for the rest of the drive.
8
Gretchen
The prison visiting room is an off-putting shade of beige and dotted with small round tables keeping company with cheap chairs. Uniformed guards wearing masks of boredom amble slowly around the room while others stand at the exits.
There are always a wide range of families here; emotional wives, mewling babies, fidgety toddlers, sullen teens. Two years have passed since I last saw my father and a brief appraisal determines that he looks healthier than ever. Naturally, alcohol and any other vices are prohibited so that makes his choices easy. He simply has none.
“You look great, kid.” He folds me into a vinegar-scented hug and my cheek scrapes against the harsh fabric of his orange jumpsuit.
To my surprise, he’s cheerful and he’s glad to see Trent. He pumps Trent’s hand with enthusiasm as if this is a family reunion.
I wait for my dad to become tearful and mention Jules but he’s content to grill Trent on the condition of the upstate New York real estate market. Trent gives him short answers and throws me a puzzled look.
A baby at a neighboring table begins to wail.
“Here, give him to his Daddy,” commands a heavyset man whose arms are mottled with tattoos. The baby cries harder.
I pull two folded pieces of paper from my purse and set them on the table.