As soon as Andrea’s sitter pulls out of the driveway, the remorse begins. Before I can lock the door, it descends like a wily vulture on my blissful date night. That I stayed out so late—well past midnight—that I kissed someone. The first someone other than Alex since his death. Oh, I feel lousy all right; so bad that I think I could be sick now that I’m here in our house. Surely he knows, right? Surely he knew the minute my heart opened up to her. I pace the length of the living room, feeling frantic and nauseous. I walk down the hall and stare through the thinly cracked doorway at our sleeping angel of a daughter, all curled up like a tiny Botticelli with her feet flung on top of the covers. She’s an eight-year-old microcosm of so much that I loved in her daddy.
Closing the door, I lean my forehead against it, listening to my own breathing, waiting for something, though I have no clue what that something is. Pacing back into the living room, I notice a picture in the bookcase, of the two of us at Casey’s beach house—on the same damn deck where I kissed a girl tonight.
“I’m sorry.” When the words electrify the air, only then do I realize I wasn’t just thinking them. That I’d given them life that way.
Sinking onto the sofa, I bury my head in my hands and wait for his answer. It’s irrational, but it’s what I do, like a child praying in church, expecting God to bellow down a reply. Do I think Al’s going to exonerate me? Not damned likely.
Pressing my eyes shut, I feel tears burn behind the lids because I really am falling for Rebecca, and it’s like I’m cheating on him. The one thing I would never do to him, my soul mate, I’m doing just by living on without him. It’s inevitable. If not Rebecca, someone else—but the problem is the locomotive intensity of this thing with her.
There’s the answering quiet of raindrops on the roof right at that moment, icy fingertips tapping out a sonorous rhythm, and it takes me back. To years ago when he and I were first getting involved, and were lying in bed together one night early on. I was staring at the ceiling. Wondering what the hell I had gotten into, all tangled up with my best friend like that.
I told him so, too. That surely I’d come unglued or something, no matter how damned sexy he was. I’ll never forget what he said next, or the sound of the raindrops pattering on the roof of his apartment that night. How hushed the midnight bedroom seemed when he rolled onto his side, staring at me with those honest, beautiful blue eyes.
“Michael, this doesn’t have to be so hard, you know,” he said, searching my face.
“Don’t see how not,” I answered, staring away from him—anywhere but into those eyes. “Falling for you is pretty damned hard to deal with.”
“Maybe you could just open up your heart and see where it leads you,” he replied with a forgiving laugh. “Instead of always fighting everything so much.”
I doubt any single statement ever changed me more. Because my lover knew me well, already—I’d been fighting and running my whole life. Alex was only the latest in a lifetime of battles. And my uncertainty about things didn’t fade automatically after that, but it was like I sighed. Or relaxed. Or began to trust. I’m not sure, but I stopped fighting him so damned much.
Open up your heart and see where it leads you…
Opening my eyes, I stare across our living room, startled that Alex isn’t standing right there grinning at me, because I swear I actually heard the words. Maybe that explains why I glance toward the kitchen. I’m looking for him, expecting him to be right there. That’s when I notice the message light blinking on the kitchen phone, and slowly rise to my feet.
From the first syllable, I know who it is on the recorder. I would recognize her voice anywhere, any place, because even though he was a man and she’s a woman, there’s something eerily similar in the timbre of their twin voices.
“…I wanted to see how you are, Michael. I’ve missed you,” Laurel is saying, her soft, cultured voice making me shiver. “I was sorry not to see you last weekend. Like we’d planned.” There’s a strange pause and I can tell she’s taking a quick drag on her cigarette. Still hasn’t kicked that habit, not even after all these years. Then she says, “I’m coming to Los Angeles in a couple of weeks, Michael. I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay. If you’ll have me.”
The shivers are becoming terrified shakes. Laurel can’t be coming, not here, not to my turf.
Open up your heart and see where it leads, Alex whispers in my ear again, and I want to shout at him, to tell him to leave me alone. Stop pushing me so hard; stop taking me to the edge like he always fucking has.
And then I think of how much Laurel meant to him, of the nearly frightening twin-bond they shared. That she was already crying when I called her the night of his death; that she knew he was gone.
If Alex is still roaming my world, maybe it’s because he needs resolution. Not just resolution between the two of them, either—maybe he needs to know there’s resolution between us all.
Reaching for the phone, my hands sweaty and trembling, I hope to God that calling her is the right thing to do.
Chapter Thirteen: Rebecca