“I have. Or at least I’ve tried.”
I sit up and lean back, letting my head drop onto my tense shoulders. After a few seconds of silence, I see Mom’s face pop into my field of view as she bends over me, a stern expression in place.
“Try harder.”
“How?”
Her smile is confident and amused. “It’ll come to you.”
THIRTY-THREE
Weatherly
I’m waiting with my bags by the door for the courier to arrive. He’s bringing me some paperwork to sign. Tag accepted the offer, but evidently he has a caveat of his own, one that requires my attention before I leave. It’s my last piece of business in Atlanta. From here, I’m going to Missouri. Someplace distant. Someplace different. Someplace I can hide until I heal. If I heal.
At the ring of the bell, I open the door, smiling politely at the older gentleman. With his ruddy complexion and slicked back hair, he looks like he should be delivering body parts to those who made the mistake of offending the mafia. I wonder if he’ll have a thick Northern accent when he speaks. He says nothing, though, simply hands me a packet, which I take. “Thank you. I won’t be a minute.”
“Take your time, ma’am,” he says in a decidedly Southern way, tipping his head and smiling. The gesture transforms him from a burgeoning criminal into a pleasant, competent courier. It’s amazing how that works.
I take the packet to the table and open it, spreading out the papers and looking for the brightly colored tag that indicates where my signature is needed. When I find it, I read the caveat and stop, my pulse picking up speed to a near gallop. Tag’s one request is that I bring the papers to him to sign. Personally. At Chiara. Today.
Shit.
I was really hoping to get out of here without seeing him again. It sets me back almost to square one when I see him, when he says things that I long to hear him say. But at least this will be the last time. After today, I can move forward consistently, heal a little more each day. I hope. I’m hoping that out of sight really is out of mind. And heart.
I sigh. I suppose leaving tomorrow won’t be that big a deal. I wanted to drive to Missouri. Take my time. Think. Just be . . . away. I was planning to stay in a hotel until the movers could pack and move my things to my new place. One day’s delay won’t change any of that. The type of delay, however, might change what I think about on the trip tomorrow.
Actually, it won’t. I have no doubt that I’d have thought of Tag ninety percent of the time anyway. Now I’ll just have fresh images, fresh words to dwell on.
Fun, fun.
I straighten the papers and stuff them back in the envelope. I take a twenty out of my wallet and head back to the door. When I swing it open, the man is still standing there on the stoop; he moved away from the door just enough that he could stand in the bright morning sunshine. His head snaps around when he hears the door and he smiles reflexively.
I hand him the money. “Thank you for bringing these. It seems I’ll be delivering them myself, so I won’t have further need of your services.”
He nods and discreetly accepts the money as he takes my hand in both of his. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I watch him walk off, feeling suddenly anxious about what the rest of my day might hold. I haven’t heard from Tag since the offer was made two days ago. In a way, I expected that I might. But then again, I knew I wouldn’t. This is what he wanted all along. What’s left to say?
That’s why I’m nervous about meeting him at Chiara. But I will. I have to get this sewn up before I leave. That’s why I pull myself to my full height and square my shoulders. I have to do this and I have to do it now.
The over-two-hour drive only makes matters worse. By the time I get to the winding road that starts up the mountain toward the vineyard, my palms are sweating and I’m nauseous. The idea of leaving Tag behind, of making our “end” final, wasn’t nearly as upsetting when I was safe at home. At a distance. It seemed like a nebulous thing. But now, knowing that I’ll be laying eyes on him for the last time in just a few minutes . . . it’s almost more than my poor heart and nerves can handle. This is not the eventuality that I hoped we’d have. I never saw this coming.
I barely feel the warm wind whipping through my hair as I start down Chiara’s long, beautiful drive. I’m hardly aware of the lightly scented air or the familiar rows of grapevines that are flying by. I have only one thought, and I’m less than five minutes from him now.