Page 38 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“My sister started it,” I say, then close my mouth as a lump forms in my throat.

“The one who passed?” Audrey asks softly. She glances at me and reads my face like she can see all my thoughts and emotions plainly written there. She gives me a kind smile. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

That sentence right there is what’s so irresistible about Audrey. She has an incredible capacity for compassion without being overbearing about it. I noticed it in the way that she apologized about my magnolia tree, even though she could have blamed that other scumbag mechanic for lying to her about her car. Or the way she insisted on repaying me for the van in a way that she deemed fair.

She has a code of ethics, and she sticks by it. She’s never asked me for anything. It makes me want to give her everything.

Now, she’s giving me an out, and I discover I don’t want to take it. I’ve touched her now. Kissed her. Tasted her. No matter how much I convince myself that I don’t want to get involved with her—or any woman—I find it hard to let go of the budding intimacy between us.

So, instead of brushing aside the topic of my sister, I start talking. “We grew up in this house. My parents sold it when I was in high school, but Grace ended up buying it back when it went back on the market after she married her husband. I never really understood why, because to me, it was just the house where we witnessed our parents fighting each other all the time. They were so consumed with hating each other and so unwilling to separate that the two of us just got pushed to the side. We were never the priority to either parent,” I admit. That’s why it’s so important to me to be there for Danny. I never want him to feel like he isn’t important to me, the way I felt when I was growing up.

“I’m sorry,” Audrey says. “Your sister didn’t feel the same way about the house?”

I shake my head, pulling a few more weeds from around my peas. “She was the type of person to always look at the bright side of things. She loved the yard. She loved the magnolia tree.”

“The one I attacked with my van?”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah. That one. Grace used to take me out of the house when our parents fought, and we’d sit under the tree and talk about our dreams. I remember one year, the tree was in full bloom, and it smelled amazing sitting there talking about the future. My mom was in the kitchen throwing plates at my father. He was shouting at her, threatening divorce, and my sister was just calmly telling me about how she wanted a house, and a family, and a big garden. After a while, I stopped listening to the fight and started listening to her. She did that every time they got in an argument.”

“Sounds like her name was pretty accurate.”

I smile, pulling another tiny weed. “She was a better person than I am. When she saw the house was for sale, she said the old memories deserved to be replaced with better ones. She planted this garden. Well, most of it. I made the raised beds and built the greenhouse, but the trees and most of the mature plants are hers.”

Audrey watches me pull another weed and then starts pulling some of her own. When she’s not sure if something is a weed or not, she glances at me and waits for me to nod. I find myself relaxing a little bit more, and we slide into an easy rhythm.

Her nails are painted a soft shade of pink. I never noticed that before. As she works beside me, dirt clings to the edges of her cuticles and under her nails, and I wonder if it bothers her. It doesn’t seem to.

“Did you move in here after she passed?”

I nod. “Didn’t want Danny’s life to be disrupted.”

“That must have been strange.”

“It was, but I got used to it. Now it’s home.”

She follows me to the compost pile, and we toss our weeds on top. We’re standing next to the greenhouse, in the shadow of a large oak tree. The house stands silent at the other end of the yard, and I think about all the layers of memories that are imprinted into those walls.

I take a deep breath. “Audrey, about today…”

She turns to face me. “You don’t have to do this,” she says when I don’t finish my sentence. I frown, and Audrey continues: “I know that this thing between us can’t go anywhere, and I agree. We’re neighbors. I just moved in, and I don’t want to mess up any more than I already have. Plus, I’ve seen the types of relationships you have with women, so I know you’re not looking for anything serious. To be honest, neither am I.”

It takes me a second to remember Anna, who stopped by the garage that first night I brought Audrey to look at the van. “Right,” I say, and even though she’s saying exactly what I was going to tell her, it’s not as satisfying as I’d imagined.

“I’m busy with my business, and things are precarious right now. I can’t afford to be distracted, and I think you feel the same way. Am I wrong?”

My brows tug together. “No,” I start. But…

But what? Isn’t this exactly what I was thinking too? Once the lust died down, wasn’t I trying to find a way to extricate myself from the situation?

“So,” she says with a breath, and hands over the keys to the garage, “here are the keys. I worked a total of eleven hours, which means you owe me five and a half on the van. If you go over, just charge me your regular rate and I’ll make the payment.” Her smile is bright—and a little brittle.

I take the keys from her, careful not to let my fingers brush hers. There’s a weird feeling in my chest, a little bit tight, a little bit empty. “Okay. Good.”

“So we’re agreed.” She gives me a businesslike nod. “Great.”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Great.”

“From now on, we’re friends.”

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