Rochelle frowns. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“That makes two of us,” I say. “I don’t know what I want from you either. I just know I have no trust. And it makes me mad. And so fucking sad. Because last year I had so much faith in who we were. What we were to each other. And so I’m mad that I lost that. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say. I’m mad that I lost you. And I’m sad that I’m now being forced to consider the possibility that we will never be that way again. That we might be over.”
She starts to cry. A stream of silent tears fall down her cheeks.
“I don’t want us to be over, Rochelle. I don’t. But it’s not really something we have control over, is it? Because I’m working off fear right now.” I stop and look at her, surprised at how easy this is to articulate out loud. “It’s all based on fear.”
I take a deep breath and let it out, waiting to see what she says to all that. I wouldn’t blame her if she told me to leave. And even though I told her I was staying, I would. I’d leave. And I might not ever come back.
Adley begins to fuss. She’s sliding down in her chair a little, looking very uncomfortable. There’s a noodle stuck to her face and her jerky fists are trying to swipe at it, with no luck.
Rochelle’s chair scrapes across the wood floors as she pushes back from the table. She sighs, wiping her tears off her cheeks with both hands, then starts messing with Adley’s high chair. “I need to give her a bath. We’re out of sorts right now with all the changes.”
“OK,” I say, almost afraid to move. Afraid I’ll spook her even more than I just did. She talks softly to Adley as she picks her up and then disappears into the master bedroom, pulling the massive barn doors closed to shut me out.
“Good going, Quin,” I mumble. “Way to go.”
I’ve pictured our reunion in my head a million times over the past year, but none of those fantasies ever included me being pissed off and her being… indifferent. I know she said sorry. I know she’s here and that’s really all that matters. But things feel… off. Like why? Why did she come back? Did she plan on staying gone for one year? Is her return just another move in the game?
The door buzzer goes off, so I push back from the table and walk over to the elevator. On screen is a guy, looking up at the camera. I press and hold the speaker button. “Yes?”
“I’m from the Four Seasons,” he says. “I was told to drop a car off here.”
“Right. I’ll be down in a moment.”
When I get down there I take Rochelle’s keys from him. “Thanks. Did you change the oil?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And wash it?”
“Yes, sir. It’s parked down a few spaces. Didn’t know where you wanted it.”
“No problem,” I say, pulling out two twenties from my wallet and handing it over. “Thanks a lot, I appreciate it.”
He nods and gets in a waiting car. They disappear and leave me there, holding Rochelle’s keys.
I click the key fob and a white SUV a few spaces down beeps to life. She owns a Lexus. A nice fucking Lexus. I wonder who it’s registered to?
I walk over to it, get in the driver’s side, and start it up. Then I reach over and pull open the glove box to find her registration. Rochelle Bastille.
Not even trying to hide.
So how come it was so hard to find her?
I slam the glove box closed—because I don’t want to think about that answer—and back out so I can pull into her new parking space next to my Suburban.
The back of her car is stuffed with a baby seat and all kinds of things. Nice designer luggage, something that looks like a folded-up baby crib, and a super-sized pack of diapers.
Might as well bring it all upstairs for her.
I spend the next ten minutes stacking all her worldly belongings next to the elevator, then punch the code Bric gave us to call it. A few minutes later, I’m back upstairs unloading.
I don’t know where she wants any of this stuff, so I go over to the bedroom, slide the doors open, and peek inside. “Can I come in?” I ask.
No answer.
So I push the doors open a little more and slip inside. The bathroom door is open a crack, but it’s silent in there except for a few cooing noises from the baby.
I push the door open and Adley is lying back on her mother’s breasts in the bath with one foot in her mouth. She smiles at me.
“Hey, baby.”
“I’m not sleeping,” Rochelle mumbles. “We’re just relaxing. We did this every afternoon in the hot springs. She likes it. Hell, I like it. I like it so much, I almost wish I was back in Pagosa sitting in my hot spring.”
I dwell on that for a minute. Because it plays right into my fears, right? She could leave again. She could leave and never come back.
But then Adley starts talking in that babble language babies have and I lose my train of thought. She is so fucking pretty. Both of them. So beautiful. I take out my phone and snap a pic.
“What are you doing?” she asks, hearing my shutter click.
“Your car came. I had them change the oil since you just drove hundreds of miles. And they washed it.”
She opens her eyes. “That was sweet of you.”
I shrug. “That’s me, right? The nice guy.” The one who always gets fucked, I don’t add. “I brought all your stuff upstairs too. Didn’t know where you wanted it, so it’s just stacked by the elevator.”
“Thank you,” she says, still staring at me.
I shrug and lean against the vanity, crossing my arms. “So she likes the water?” I ask, hating the new awkwardness of our… relationship. If that’s what this is.
Rochelle smiles down at Adley, who is still sucking on a toe. “She loves it. She can swim. I taught her by accident. She always wears a floaty swimsuit in the hot springs. You know those ones that act as a life jacket?”
I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I nod yes anyway.
“And one day about a month ago, her diaper leaked just before we were going to soak. Well, she likes her soak, so I took her in a regular swimsuit. And holy shizz, she could swim!” Rochelle laughs. “I looked it up later and some people say that all babies know how to swim. I think it’s bullshit, hence the floaty swimsuit. But Adley can. Of course, I’d been coaching her for weeks by that time. I’d hold her up and she’d kick her legs. Or I’d hold her around her waist and she’d paddle her arms like a dog. She got lots of water in her mouth, and she hated it, so she started holding her breath.”
I picture it in my head as she talks, imagining them down there in picture-perfect Pagosa Springs, living a nice, quiet, peaceful life in a resort town. Soaking in the hot springs. Making a new routine. Playing their own game with their own rules.
It hurts.