FRIDAY AFTERNOON COMES QUICKLY, BUT not quick enough, and brings me to my house to pack, since I’ve been staying here all week. And I stayed here despite the fact that the winery has been crazy busy, but none of it has been collection calls. Nick assures me he has things under control, and to trust him until he can give me a full update in person. And I do. I tell myself it’s because he’s an amazing attorney, and he is, but after spending hours on the phone with each other every night, it’s the man I’m connecting with, not the attorney. And while our conversations have been more about our youth, his school and mine, it’s groundwork. It’s a path to more. It certainly brings more to my canvas. I start a new canvas. The gardens. My mother’s gardens. It’s somehow therapeutic.
But it’s staying here and I’m heading to San Francisco where I hope maybe I’ll get news of those sales that I still hear are pending, but I’ve had no confirmation. I’d really like to hear about the L.A. show too, but Josh swears I’ve not been ruled out yet. More so, I am going to the Chris Merit event, with Nick by my side. Nervous and excited, I pack my weekend bag and fret over what to wear tonight. Nick wants to stay in at his place and have quality time together, so jeans should work. But jeans feel so plain. I’ve finally decided on black dress pants and a pink silk blouse, when my doorbell rings. Dread fills me that the bill collectors are back, and I walk to the door to find a delivery driver standing there.
Frowning because I’ve ordered nothing, I open the door.
“Faith Winter?”
“Yes.”
“For you.”
He hands me a big box and my stomach flutters because I know this is from Nick. “Thank you.” I sign for it and carry it to the kitchen where I set it on the counter. Feeling ridiculously nervous considering it’s a package, I cut away the tape and paper and find a beautiful silver box inside. I open it to find a card on top with neat, masculine script that reads: Faith.
I open the card.
I was going to send this earlier in the week, but I decided that if it pisses you off, I’ll see you in a few hours to fight that battle in person. But know this. I’m happy to rip this version up too, as long as it’s on you at the time. And I owed you a pair of panties anyway.
I actually hope you want me to rip it off you again.
All of it.
Looking forward to it and you, Nick
I set the card aside and pull back the paper to first find gorgeous royal blue lace panties that I do not want him to rip. They’re too beautiful. Beneath them is a dress. I pull it from the box and while it’s not an exact replica of the one that was destroyed, it’s close. I inhale and let it out. I wait for that feeling of being bought, but even with this and Nick flying me to San Francisco, I don’t feel that. Maybe because he’s done these things just because. Not to make up for something. And the dress. He turned it into something we shared and will share again. He made it special.
I gather everything up and walk into the bedroom. And right before I pack the panties, I take a picture of them, and laughing, text it to Nick with the words: New challenge. And I love the dress. Thank you, Nick.
He calls me. “You’re not mad.”
“No. Because you made it…about us.”
“There’s a lot of us going on this weekend, sweetheart. The plane is waiting on you. Hurry the hell up. The pilot is going to call me when you take off.”
“I’m leaving here in fifteen minutes.”
“See you soon, Faith Winter.”
There is a deep, raspy quality to his voice that I feel from head to toe. “See you soon, Nick Rogers.”
He ends the call.
With a grin on my face, I finish up packing. I’m about to leave when I open the nightstand by my bed and find the card from my father. I still haven’t read it. I stare at the script and I shake myself before stuffing it in my purse. I need to read it and I might just need that spanking I mentioned. I don’t know that I want to be under Nick’s hand to forget something this weekend, though. I think I’d rather be there just because. Still, I decide to leave the card in my purse.
My cellphone rings and I remove it from the spot under that card, and the minute I see Josh’s number, my heart starts to race. With a shaky hand, I punch the answer button. “Josh?”
“You’re in, baby! You made the show.”
“What? No. Yes. No?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. You’re in. I’m walking into a meeting, but I’ll send you details. They love you. They say you are the next ‘it’ artist. So, drink some wine and start fucking selling it. I have to go. Congrats, baby.”
He hangs up and I dial Nick. “You can’t be at the airport yet.”
“I got in the show. I got in.”
“The L.A. show?”
“The L.A. show. I got in.”
“Then why the hell are you not here already so we can celebrate. Get your sweet, spankable ass to the airport.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Faith.”
“Yes?”
“Congrats, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
We disconnect and in a rush of adrenaline I hurry to the door, exit to the porch, and lock up the house, then move on to load up my car. No. My mother’s car. I hate driving this thing. I climb inside and I swear I smell flowers. I can never escape the flowers, but I’m not trying anymore, I remind myself. I’m painting them. I’m facing them and every demon associated with my mother. I start the car and glance at the house. I love it. I always have. If I can live here and paint, and just be near the winery, maybe, just maybe that’s the path to compromise with my father’s wishes and my own.
I’m about to place the car in gear when the rapidly setting sun catches on something in the yard. Frowning, I decide I must have dropped something. I place the car in park and get out. Walking to the spot I’d spotted something, I bend down and pick up what appears to be a money clip engraved with an American flag. It must be Nick’s, but I’m not sure I see that man with an empty money clip. Maybe it’s the delivery driver’s clip. I take it with me, slide back into the car, and stuff it in my purse. If it’s not Nick’s, I’ll call the delivery company next week.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the private airport and another fifteen minutes later, I’m the only person on a small luxury jet, with leather seats and even a bottle of champagne on ice. I pour a glass to enjoy while the pilot finishes his checklist and promises to call Nick. I’ve just taken my first sip when my cellphone rings. Certain it’s Nick, I dig it out of my purse and freeze with the number. Macom. He heard about the show. And probably not even from Josh. He’s an insider. He’s a name in the business that I am not yet. But at least, I can say, yet. Not never. And while it’s inevitable that I’ll see him at the L.A. show and otherwise, if I’m to reignite my art career, I don’t have to welcome conversation. I hit decline.
And I hate that as the plane starts to taxi, he’s in the cabin with me. Old times. Old demons. A past that I don’t want to exist. Of a me that I don’t want to exist. Of a person I never want Nick Rogers to know. I’m reminded that on some level, he knows that person exists. What aren’t you telling me, Faith? he’d asked. I will find out.
And he will. I know he will. Maybe he’s more forgiving than I am of myself. Then again, he’s Tiger for a reason. He’s vicious. He’s cold. He’s not forgiving at all. But my sins were not against Nick.