An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide (28 page)

I pulled a T-shirt over my head and called from the bedroom, “I'll be right there. I lost track of time.”

“You've still got the grape leaf stenciling I did in the kitchen.”

“Uh…yeah.”

“And this is the Tabriz carpet we bought at the flea market when we first moved in.”

I stared at myself in the mirror over the dresser. My cheeks were flushed, and my hair was standing up in spikes. “You brought this on yourself,” I told my reflection.

“Did you say something?”

“I'm talking to the cat.”

“I thought you didn't like cats.”

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Josh Lanyon

“I don't.”

“I recognize
this
. This is that half-moon table from your grandmother's ranch.”

I stepped inside the bathroom to get my swim trunks, and when I stepped out again, Mel was standing in the doorway of the bedroom that had once been ours. He was smiling meaningfully at me—a smile I remembered as well as he remembered the table.

“You haven't kissed me hello.”

I remedied that—probably with more efficiency than enthusiasm, although he didn't complain.

“You look
great
.” He cupped my face between both his hands. I'd forgotten how much that irked me. “About one hundred percent better than you did last week. You've got a healthy flush in your cheeks. You don't look as gaunt. Your eyes don't have that haunted look.”

Sure. Now they looked hunted. In fact, I probably had the same expression Tomkins did when Natalie tried to kiss his nose.

“You're starting to look like your old self. I admit I was worried that first day. You looked so frail.”

“We should probably get going.” I smiled politely and freed my face.

“Are we in a hurry?”

“Uh…yes. I'm supposed to be back here in time for…supper at my—Lisa's.”

He looked crestfallen, and I felt a flash of guilt at the lie. “I thought we were spending the day together?”

“We are. Mostly.”

“I thought we'd have dinner. I had it all planned. Made the reservations and everything. I was going to take you out to the Tam for dinner.”

The Tam O'Shanter Inn on Los Feliz Boulevard was where Mel and I had celebrated each anniversary after we had moved in together.

“You always loved the trout,” he added.

I said lamely, “I didn't realize.”

“Well, I mean, you could call Lisa, right? Tell her you have other plans? Surely she wouldn't mind if she knew we were going out?”

“The thing is…I still get really tired. I don't have a lot of stamina yet.”

“It's just dinner. You have to eat.”

“So everyone keeps telling me. How about I see how I'm feeling at the end of the day? If I'm up to it, I'd love to go to dinner.”

He was a good sport about it, waiting patiently while I grabbed towels and suntan lotion and fretted over other things I might need.

“I've got a cooler full of drinks and snacks,” Mel said as we went downstairs.

I bade good-bye to Natalie, who called, “Now don't overdo it, Adrien.”

For once it didn't annoy me.

* * * * *

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141

The house in Porter Ranch was a two-story pseudo-Tudor affair of cream-colored stucco and artfully placed black half timbers. It possessed steeply pitched roofs and a quantity of pretty windows. There was a cobblestoned driveway and large front and backyards that were meant to emulate English-cottage gardens. A deadly-looking black, wrought-iron fence—suitable for displaying decapitated heads—framed the tiled swimming pool. When I was growing up, my friends and I called the place Somewhereshire.

Mel parked in the circular front drive, and we went inside to change. Even though I'd been out to swim with Natalie a couple times, this was the first time in two years I'd felt compelled to explore the house. Because this place too was full of memories for Mel, and he was curious, I found myself wandering the empty rooms in his wake.

“Looks different without the furniture, doesn't it?” he commented.

I agreed. It hadn't occurred to me before what a beautiful house it was. Seeing it utterly empty was like seeing it for the first time. Seeing the possibilities of it unfettered by memories.

The kitchen had blue granite countertops and glossy barn-wood floors. The hardwood floors were in the dining room too, which offered a spectacular view of the large garden and wild mountains behind the house. The other rooms had plush ecru carpet and fresh white paint over the decorative moldings. A gorgeous set of Palladian windows looked over the front garden.

I went upstairs and checked out the master bedroom with its built-in bookshelves and fireplace. There was a sunken marble tub in the adjoining bath.

“Why haven't they sold it yet?”

“It's haunted.”

Mel looked at me and laughed.

We wandered back downstairs, and I headed for the room at the back of the house that looked over the pool. If I lived here, this would be the room I chose for my office. I stared out the window at the pool, sparkling in the bright summer sunlight.

Mel slipped his arms around me.

“How's your dad?” I asked.

“Better each day.” He said, suddenly serious, “You're going to think this is crazy, but this is the first time it's occurred to me my parents are…mortal. I never thought about it. And it kind of brings my own feelings of mortality home. Kind of a punch in the gut.”

I studied him curiously.

I'd had plenty of time to get used to my own mortality, so Mel's epiphany struck me as…belated, at best. The truth was, his was probably the normal mind-set. Most people probably took it for granted they would outlive—

“You have a funny expression,” he observed.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

His smile was uncertain. “What's up? You look like you saw the ghost you mentioned earlier.”

“It's nothing.”

Nothing but the realization that I might have to deal with outliving people I loved.

Something I'd always comfortably assumed wouldn't be a problem for me.

Something I didn't want to think about.

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Josh Lanyon

Maybe Mel saw the trouble in my face, or maybe he had been waiting for me to shut up long enough to make his move. He reached for me, and we tumbled awkwardly to the plush carpet in the spacious, empty room.

I wasn't prepared, and so it hurt quite a bit as my torso twisted, and I reached to brace myself. I was focused on that, on not damaging myself—and not yelling my pain—when it occurred to me that if I didn't want things to progress, I needed to speak up. Mel was kissing me with unexpected passion. I could feel his erection, and to my surprise, my body was responding eagerly, which was a relief. You never knew, did you? But everything seemed to be in working order.

Except that we were working for something I didn't want. Or at least my brain didn't. My body had other ideas. One idea in particular.

I tore my mouth away from his, gulped. “I don't think—”

“You don't have to,” he said. “This happens naturally.”

He reached for the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it up.

“Wait,” I said, but I was too late.

He froze at the sight of my carved-up chest.

“Oh my God,” he said. It was horrified and heartfelt. I felt his erection wilt against my thigh.

“Sorry.” I yanked my shirt back into place. “I should have warned you.”

Mel drew back, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, staring at me.

“Oh my God,” he said again.

“Well, what did you think? That it was a flesh wound?” I heard the sharpness in my voice and tried to modulate my tone—his disquiet was genuine, but so was my hurt and embarrassment. “It was open heart surgery.”

“I know.” He looked ashamed. “I wasn't expecting…”

“You saw your dad after his surgery, right?”

“Right. I mean…right.”

What the hell
did
he mean? I straightened my T-shirt, which didn't require further straightening, annoyed that my fingers were shaking. There was probably a bit of frustration in there too. A month was a long time when you were used to having it.

“I'm sorry,” Mel said quickly. “It's not…it doesn't mean I don't still want you. You're still…”

“Beautiful?” I mocked.

He pulled himself together—it took visible effort—and reached for me again.

“Come on, Adrien. That's not fair. It was a jolt, that's all. I'd forgotten.”

He eased me back, and I let him kiss me. I needed it now. Needed to feel desirable again, to feel that I was still wanted. My ego required stroking, a little TLC.

He was sweet and contrite and reassuring. I tried to relax into it, but it was taking more effort than was conducive to pleasure. And I could feel Mel's tension like a wire stringing him together. His erection was still a no-show, and my own wasn't any perkier.

Eventually I pushed him back. “Stop.”

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He let himself be pushed away, sitting back on his heels. I stared at him. The simple truth was, I didn't want him. I wanted Jake. I wanted Jake at that instant like some wild thing wailing for the moon. I wanted him so much, I could have cried. I wanted him now, and I wanted it to be three years ago when I had loved him without fear, when I hadn't realized he could hurt me enough to cripple me, destroy me.

Mel looked back at me with, I'm sure, his own fair share of confusion.

“I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm going to…hurt you. Are you sure your heart's strong enough for this?”

“No,” I said bitterly.

I was speaking philosophically, but he lost color.

“Bad joke,” I said. “It's a major turn-off for you, isn't it? It would be for anyone.”

“No. Of course not. I'm afraid of…doing you harm.” He swallowed. “Terrified, actually.”

“Yeah.” I dredged up a smile. “It's okay. Bad timing. Let's leave it.”

He nodded with alacrity and jumped to his feet. “Yes. Look, why don't we swim, and I can…can get used to it.”

If a sound escaped me now, it would be something close to a howl, so I clenched my jaw tightly, so tightly, I'm surprised my teeth didn't go out of alignment.

I nodded.

Mel waited for me to speak. I made a herculean effort to say calmly, “Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll join you out at the pool.”

“Okay.”

He stopped in the doorway, hesitating. “Is—are you—”

“Five minutes,” I said desperately.

He turned and left. I heard the slap of his bare feet going down the hallway. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, pushed hard.

When my vision was clear, I stared up at the frosted-glass lamp fixtures overhead.

From in the pool yard, I heard the springy creak of the diving board and the splash of water.

Holy moly.

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Josh Lanyon

Chapter Fifteen

“Adrien?”

I looked up from the laptop screen, focused on Angus's uneasy expression. He blinked nervously behind the specs. “Hmm?”

“She's crying.”

I almost made the unforgivable mistake of asking who. I caught it in time.

“Okay.”

He ducked out of my office again, and I sighed. It was Sunday morning, the day after my date—my first and last—with Mel. We had managed to get through the rest of our swim date. I wasn't faking it when I told him I was exhausted as we went inside to change back into our street clothes. He had said all the right things, but I knew he was as relieved as I was that the day was over. We'd talked film noir like our lives depended on it on the drive back to Pasadena, and when we'd arrived at long last at Cloak and Dagger, he'd promised to call—although the next few weeks were going to be pretty busy getting ready for the fall semester.

I said I'd look forward to it, and I'd gone upstairs and gone straight to bed.

All the same, things looked brighter today. There was no denying that I was getting stronger and feeling better all the time, and a scarred hide was a small price to pay for being alive.

Accordingly, I stuffed my squeamishness back in the box and went out to the book floor, where Natalie was crying soundlessly into the Dell Mapbacks.

I took a soggy copy of
Armchair in Hell
out of her hand. “Can I take you to lunch?”

She nodded miserably.

We went to Mijares Mexican Restaurant and settled on the back patio with a pitcher of El Presidente margaritas and a basket of homemade tortilla chips and salsa. Three baskets of chips, if we wanted to get technical. The Zone diet had apparently veered into the danger-zone diet.

“It's over,” Natalie announced as she demolished the last of the tortilla chips.

“You and Warren?”

Her mouth quivered, though she kept crunching bravely as she nodded.

I wisely kept my opinions to myself. “What happened?”

It was a bit confused. The gist seemed to be that Warren—miracle of miracles—had the good sense to recognize that they wanted different things out of life and each other.

There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days.

“I'm sorry, Nat.”

“No, you're not.” She glared at me.

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145

“Let me rephrase. I'm sorry this hurts you.”

She picked up a chip. Her tears fell in the salsa as she dipped the chip. “He's seeing someone else. He's been cheating on me for
weeks
.”

“Who with?” It was hard enough to believe he'd ensnared Natalie—let alone that he could lure another doe into the tar pit.

“Right before the band broke up the last time, they hired a female drummer. Jet.”

“What kind of a name is Jet?”

“
Her
name. She has tattoos over her arms.
Both
her arms. Like she's the illustrated woman.

And she has a stud in her tongue.”