Page 68 of Close Match
My heart hurts for the man sitting next to me. He feels so much more than he lets on. He’s got scars on his heart, on his soul, yet he still manages to find the smile on his face for family day after day.
It isn’t until we’re back on Route 50 that I feel a hand reach out and clasp my own. Monty lifts my hand to his lips and brushes a kiss on the back of it. “I’ve been trying to think of the right words to say thank you for your help. For opening up the way you did. I haven’t found them yet.”
Faintly, my heart bumping up against my ribs, I answer, “I think you just did.”
He squeezes my hand before letting it go. “No, but it’s a start.”
* * *
I didn’t noticeany discernible change with Monty that night or the next. All I could hope was that he was thinking about the things I said and taking them to heart.
It wasn’t until three days after we got back from DC when I walked into my room and I found a bouquet of the wildflowers that I remember grew at the top of the hill where he first took me riding that I knew he was thinking about more than just what I said.
He was thinking about me.
Thirty-Six
Montague
In the middle of the night, I’m sipping a large tumbler of bourbon while I stare out the windows over the vast darkness. I can’t see the moon or any stars tonight. Fortunately, there’s the small ember of one that’s been lighting the house for weeks.
The dream woke me up again tonight, but instead of my hesitation waking me up screaming, I woke up with tears on my face. Rubbing my hand across my chest, I remember the words Commander McMann hurled at me: “You’re a disgusting representative of your badge and this Navy. You should have taken the shot! Maybe my son would still be alive!” My breathing speeds up as I try to reconcile that with Linnie’s soft but resolute “That’s someone else lashing out in their grief.”
Could it be that Linnie was right? Was Commander McMann lashing out in her grief? Which should I believe? What am I? Someone who was caught up in circumstances or a disgrace of a man?
Even as I lift the tumbler against my lips, I feel the liquid warmed from my hands slosh over the side. Taking a few short breaths, I steady myself before I throw back the rest of the drink. Sucking in a tight breath, the burning down the back of my throat causes a soundless whistle.
The hand holding the tumbler falls to my side as I lean my head against the glass. If I squint just hard enough, I can make out Linnie’s studio. God, if there was ever someone I’d taken at face value, it was Evangeline Brogan.
I likely can’t see the stars because she’s dulled them out, I think whimsically. I’ve never met anyone so incredibly beautiful as the woman who’s safely bedded down just a few doors away. I wonder if she lies awake as I do. What does she think about in the middle of the night? Turning, I begin making my way to the door to find out when I realize I’m more than a little unsteady on my feet. I slam into the side of the wet bar with such force, I send the bottles rattling.
Well, since I’m here… Lifting my glass onto the counter, I pour a quick refill. Resting against the back, I sip the drink and think about long dark hair and bright green eyes.
How on earth did she not hate her mother? I wonder. How did she know she wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps? Do her lips taste as good as they look? Will she hate all of us when she finds out about Ev? That and a million other questions about her run through my suddenly sleep-addled brain.
Bed. I think I can sleep now. With a clink, what’s left of the glass goes down on the counter before I shuffle off to my king-sized bed. I’m practically asleep before my face plants in the center of my pillows.
* * *
In the morning,as I get ready, I put on my usual cup of coffee as I get ready to hit the shower. Noticing there’s a little left of my middle-of-the-night bourbon sleep aid, I quickly down it before I go to brush my teeth.
Good bourbon is never something to waste. And besides, it’s just this once. It’s not like it’s going to be a regular thing.
Thirty-Seven
Evangeline
“Have you heard the latest, Linnie?” Sepi and I are finally getting a chance to connect while I’m out for my morning run a few days after Monty left the flowers for me.
“About what?”
“About Veronica. Madame Solomone.” Something inside me hurts at hearing her name, but I know Sepi wouldn’t bring her into our conversation unless it were necessary.
“The only people I’ve spoken with are Bris, Simon, and you. If I haven’t heard anything from the three of you, then I haven’t heard anything at all.” My heart is pounding though. It isn’t like Sepi to gossip.
“BDC let her go. She came to class, was apparently intoxicated, and there was a verbal altercation with a student,” Sepi tells me somberly.
“What?” My shock and outrage are conveyed in that single word.
