Chapter and Verse (14 page)

Melody swallowed hard and looked at her lap.  That’s when I knew.  You know those fifty-seven steps of grieving or however many there are?  I’d hit “angry” with a turbo engine.  If I’d been my normal self, I’d have felt him.  I always knew every single time that Deacon entered a room.  He was that kind of guy.  You could feel him taking up space, even if you couldn’t see him.  My dad was the same way.  I think that’s probably true of most powerful, charismatic men.  They attract energy.

I didn’t turn to look at him, it turned out I didn’t have to.

“
Nice speech Dorothy.  I hope your literary stylings are more mainstream.  I’d prefer my biography to be devoid of such off-color vulgarities.”

I didn’t even look at him when I flipped my hair over my shoulder and shot back, “Fuck-you Emily Post.”

Yeah.  That went over well.

“
Although I’m sure that’s what you were angling for next, how does the saying go?  Not with a ten-foot barge pole.  I do need to add one thing though.  Leave Pierce alone.  He likes you and he’s not as good at reading people as I am.  You know what?  Just to be safe, stay away from my family altogether.  I don’t want them getting the wrong idea and and start thinking we’re salvageable.  That’ll lead them down the wrong path and neither one of us need that.”

I stood abruptly and spun to face him.

“
Guess what Mr. Sloan?  You don’t get to tell me what to do!  You don’t get to pick my friends or give me advice.  Should you speak ill of me in public, I’ll sue your ass for slander.  We’re under contractual agreement and I’ll honor my end, you’ll have the first draft on your desk by the end of the month.  But as far as my personal life goes?  Butt out.”

Deacon had the nerve to grin.  No dimples, no eye involvement, but a grin just the same.  It kind of reminded me of a two ton grizzly watching a camper load up a smoker.  The camper might think he was perfectly safe in the circle of his own campsite, but Mr. Grizzly knew the truth and he was biding his time.

“
You think you can finish my book by the end of the month?  This should take at least six months to write.  We’ve only known each other six weeks and you can tell the story of my life already?  Fascinating.  And you say I have a mammoth ego?  No one can do that and do it well.  Perhaps I should start searching for another biographer since this will be an epic fail on your part.”

My hands were clenched in fists at my side.  If he were closer, I would have swung for him and I am not the violent type.  The infuriating asshat managed to bring out every flawed character trait I possessed.  I swear to you here and now, I hated that bastard.  I don’t know how I never saw that before, because it was clear as day to me now.

“
I don’t give a flip what you do Deke.  You can hire the whole fucking writing team for the Simpsons if you want.  I could care less.  MY version of your story will be on your desk by the end of the month.”

“
And if it isn’t?”

“
You don’t owe me a dime.”

“
Impressive.  Considering I’m paying you a hundred and fifty thousand and whatever you make in royalties, those are pretty high stakes Ms. Lincoln.  Are you sure you wanna gamble with that much money?  You’re ready to just throw that farmhouse-golden retriever dream away like that?”

“
I’m not worried.  If I can’t pull it off I’ll buy a puppy and move in here.  Mom and dad like me well enough and I know how to milk cows now.  I’m good either way.”

Can you say checkmate?  I’d never seen that shade of red.  It was dark enough to almost transition to purple, but not quite.  Mr. CEO in, “I’m going to fuckin’ kill you” mode was something to behold.  I took a step back and found my sister cowering behind me, the chicken-shit.

Deacon’s father could not have picked a better moment to walk into the room.  He had his keys in his hand and he was smiling at me.  That is he WAS smiling at me.  Until he saw the expression on Deacon’s face.

“
Son?  When was the last time you had your blood pressure checked?  You don’t look right.”

In a perfectly measured tone barely under control, Deacon did his best to dial it back to Defcon 2.

“
I’m fine.  Please get her out of my sight.  And if she tries to worm her way back into this house, turn a deaf ear.  Please.”

“
Deacon I am twice your age.  It’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone tell me what to do and I’m not starting it back up with you.  Stand down soldier.”

“
Dad please.  All I’m asking is, if she turns up on your doorstep with a puppy and a sad face, slam the door in her face and change your phone number.”

Grant looked back and forth between the two of us before settling his eyes on me.

“
What kind of puppy?”

“
A golden retriever.  I want to name him Spock.”

“
I like that.  When were you thinking about showing up?”

I shrugged and grinned.”

“
I dunno Dad.  I’ll call first though.”

He patted me on the shoulder and jangled his keys.  Deacon was back to Defcon 4.

“
Dorothy, do NOT call him dad.  Dad, do NOT encourage her.”

Grant shook his head and I could see the barely restrained laughter trying like all hell to bubble to the surface.

“
Oh lighten up Deke.  You’re not at the office and you’re not in charge around here.  Don’t forget that.  Mel’ are you coming with us?”

“
Uhm... no Grant.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and catch a ride Sunday night with Pierce.”

Grant was still smiling and slowly nodding at my sister.

“
We’re happy to have you.  Dor’?  You ready?”

“
More than ready.  Let’s roll.  I’ve got a book to finish.”

The two hour trip home was more fun that I’d had the entire day I’d spent at the farm.  Except for the cows.  That milking thing was nice and I thought to myself that when I bought my own farm, I might have to include a cow.  Fresh milk, butter, and cream for my coffee?  It would be well worth it.  Plus, she’d be a good companion for Spock and me.

Grant let me interview him on the way home.  I now had more than enough to write the book and I knew I could make the deadline I’d promised.  I’d take a day or two to get over my issues, then I’d sit down and write an objective bio about the enigmatic Mr. Deacon Sloan.  He’d be thrilled to be done with me and I’d be thrilled to have his money and enough for the keys to my dream.

Ten days later I sat at my desk, the finished book sitting in front of me.  Done.  I’d had more fun writing it than anything I’d ever written before.  It was funny, poignant, and honest.  It captured the very essence of Deacon.  At least it captured the Deacon I knew before what I’d begun to refer as, “The Incident”.  As much as I’d thought about “The Incident”, I never let it cloud my memories of the man I’d come to know and like.  Writing the book had been therapeutic in a way.  The mechanics of it had allowed me to push “The Incident” from my mind for ten full days.  Now that it was done, I wasn’t sure what would accomplish the same thing.

I slipped the three-hundred and eight-seven page manuscript lovingly into a paper sized box and put the lid on.  It felt so final I almost wept.  I wrapped the eight-by-eleven inch box with brown mailing paper and secured the wrapping with brown paper tape.  I addressed it Deacon Sloan at his work address and called the courier I usually used at times like this.  Oh I know, I could have easily walked it up one floor and hand delivered it, only I couldn’t.  We hadn’t spoken to each other since I left the farm.  I’d half expected to see him one more time at least.  If for nothing else, he had a key to my place and I thought for sure he’d have returned it, but he didn’t even want to see me long enough to do that.  I’d almost asked Melody if he’d mentioned it, but I didn’t want her to know that I’d foolishly given him something that only she and my parents had.

Why did I do that?  I barely knew the guy in the scheme of things.  I dated Hamm two years and he never had a key to anything I owned.  Not my apartment, not my car, hell, I would not have given Hamm my skate key had I owned a pair of skates that required one.  I’m too private, too reserved, too paranoid.  The thought of someone having the ability to violate my private space while I was asleep or gone sent shivers up my spine.  So why did I hand over a key to the guy that lived upstairs?  A guy I’d only known a little over a month?  I have a theory about that.  I had a momentary lapse of reason.  He said trust me, and me, being the geeky dork that I am, said, “Sure”, or something like that and took him at his word.  I trusted him when all of the evidence pointed to him being one of the most untrustworthy people on the planet.  People like me deserve to spend their lives alone in a farmhouse with a dog named Spock.  Spock was a geeky dork too.

I always use the same courier because they offer telephone confirmation of delivery.  My phone rang two hours later and I knew that Deacon’s copy of the initial draft was safely in his hands.  I’d instructed the courier that he was NOT to give it to Miranda.  He had to place the box into Deacon’s hands, or return it to me, there were no exceptions to that rule.  If Deacon was in a meeting, the manuscript was to be returned.  I tipped the guy fifty dollars and he promised that if he had to sit in the lobby until Deacon was available, he’d place it in his hands personally.  That, I could live with.  All I had to do now, was wait.

This would be a good time to tell you that I have never been the type of person that is content to wait for anything.  That’s not to say I’m impatient, I’m not.  I can wait a long time if I know something is a sure thing.  Case and point?  My farmhouse dream.  I know it will happen when the time is right.  I’ll feel it and I’ll act on it.  It’s a given.  Deacon’s acceptance of the initial draft?  Now that’s anybody’s guess.  I know it’s good.  It’s solid and publishable as it stands.  I can sincerely say that I outdid myself on this one.  It was easily my moment of literary genius.  The question was, would he agree?  I think it depended on how much he disliked me now.  I don’t like to use the word “hate”.  It’s an ugly, overused word with nothing but negative connotations.  I personally have to be ready to throw kerosene on the bridge and follow it with a napalm strike, to use that word in reference to someone.  I may love you, but I can guarantee that if I do?  I’ll never, ever, hate you.  How could you hate someone that you’d allowed close enough to fall in love with?  The logic of that escaped me.  One of the two emotions had to be a lie.  The question quickly became, which one?  I wouldn’t go there.  Anyway... what was I saying?  Oh yeah.  I suck when it comes to waiting.

I’d had fitful sleep since I returned from the farm.  I knew why, even though I pretended like I didn’t.  My folks came to visit for a couple of days and I could tell by their demeanor that Melody had told them something, but I didn’t know what and I honestly didn’t care to ask.  If I had to relive that moment one more time for someone else’s amusement, I think I’d hurl.  I wanted to put it as far behind me as I could and every time I saw pity in a loved one’s eyes, it brought it all back in a wave that threatened to take me under.  I smiled and laughed and assured them that I was so busy, I didn’t even notice his absence.  It was a lie and they knew me well enough to know that it was a lie, but they were gracious enough to accept it and move on.  I wished with all my heart that I could have done the same.

Until I knew if the manuscript had been accepted or rejected, I would find no rest.  That feeling not only applied to this particular book, but every book I’d ever written.  It was unfinished business and fell outside of that “sure thing” I mentioned earlier, so impatience of the highest order kicked in and held dominion over my otherwise mundane existence.  Every time I finished a book and placed it in the owner’s hands for acceptance or rejection, time stopped for me.  There was no moving forward because how could I accept another assignment before the current one was finished?

I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom and it felt so good, I did it again.  I started running seven miles a day instead of five.  I lost twenty pounds and had to buy new clothes.  I hated to shop. so that was a bittersweet chore.  I was running out of things to do and I got so desperate, I did the unthinkable.  When my mother called to see if I could accept an award being given to my father for a charitable contribution, I enthusiastically said, “Of course!”.  They were going out of town and wouldn’t be back in time to do it themselves and Melody was busy working on something for a fashion show that she’d been invited to participate in.  It was a formal affair to be held in the ballroom of the Hyatt, the first Saturday in September.  That was two weeks away.  Plenty of time to choose something appropriate to wear and prepare an acceptance speech.  There.  That should keep me busy.  So I began to plan.

It was the second week of August and I still hadn’t heard from Deacon.  I’d ventured away from nervous and was closing in on pissed off.  He’d had plenty of time to read it and form an opinion.  By now, I should have been working on rewrites or publishing rights.  He was keeping me waiting on purpose.  I knew it, but I couldn’t prove it.  I was at my wits end.  Just where the asshat wanted me.

On Thursday afternoon I was working on giving myself a heart attack on the Stairmaster.  My cell phone was set to “vibrate”, and it was clipped to my workout shorts while my earbuds played my workout music in a loop in my ears.  When I felt a strange tingle on my hip, I damn near fell off of the machine.  Looking around to see if anyone noticed, I casually dismounted the machine and reached for my phone.  Unknown caller.  I answered with a tentative, “Hello?”

“
Dorothy?  It’s Grant.  Am I interrupting anything?”

“
No!  Of course not!  You can call anytime you want.  Is Bree okay?  Is anything wrong?”

“
Everything’s fine, no worries here.  Listen sweetheart.  We were talking the other day and found that we were missing you.  I know things aren’t like they should be between you and the idiot, but we’re hoping you won’t hold that against the rest of us...”

I sat down on the weight bench, feeling bad that they could think that would ever be possible.

“
Dad, don’t be silly.  I’d never hold my problems with Deacon against the rest of his family.  Why would you think that?”

Grant cleared his throat and seemed to hesitate before answering.

“
Dor’, I read the book.”

I almost asked him which book, but realization hit me and I knew.  He’d read my book about Deacon.

“
How did you get hold of the book?”

“
The boys came down last weekend and Deacon brought it with him.  Bree and I both read it.”

“
And?”

“
We’d like to see you.  I know it’s short notice and all, but could you come out to the farm this weekend?  It’ll be only the three of us, you have my word on that.”

“
Dad, am I in trouble?”

The honest laughter coming from the other end of the phone made me smile and then a small stab of sadness hit me hard.  Grant’s laughter sounded so much like Deacon’s, it tugged me off balance.

When he recovered, he continued.

“
You sounded just like one of my own just then Dor’, excuse me.  That was classic.  No sweetheart.  You are definitely not in trouble.  We miss you and we’d like to see you.  What do you say?”

“
I say I miss you too.  A weekend in the country would be a pleasure.  When do you want me?”

“
Whenever you’re ready, come on down.  Tonight if you like or tomorrow morning if that’s more convenient.  Stay as long as you like.  An extra set of milking hands always comes in handy.”

“
It’s a date.”

I felt like I was pushing myself on them, but the idea of a quiet getaway without telling anyone sounded like my perfect solution for the melancholia that had taken me over lately.

“
I’ll take a shower and leave in a little while if that’s alright.”

“
Alright?  That sounds perfect!  After reading that book, we may never let you go.  It was beautiful Dorothy and he doesn’t deserve it.”

I found myself clutching the phone and closing my eyes.  I knew it was good.  Hearing someone else tell me that meant more to me than I thought it would.  It was like validation of some kind and I couldn’t help but feel grateful.  Before I started to cry (the poor man had seen enough of my tears for one lifetime), I cut the call short.

“
I’m glad you liked it.  Let me get off this phone and hit the shower.  I’ll throw some things into a duffle and be there before dinner.  Can I bring anything?”

I heard him yell the question to Bree, but I didn’t hear the answer.

“
Bree says wine would be nice.  She’s roasting a chicken for dinner.  We don’t drink much, but I think the three of us have some talking to do and wine might loosen our tongues a bit.”

That sounded ominous.  Or did it?  I chalked it up to my paranoid nature and blew it off.  I was going to the farm!

“
I’ve got just the wine.  You’ll love it.  See you in a few hours Dad.  Bye.”

“
Bye Sweetheart.  Drive safely.”

He hung up and I raced back to my apartment.  I took my shower and didn’t dawdle.  I threw some casual clothes and shoes into a duffle bag and stuffed some personal products into a small shower bag, adding those on top of the clothes.  My cell phone charger went in next, and I decided against my laptop.  I was going to spend time with the Sloans.  Besides, I had nothing to work on and being that deep into Deacon’s territory might tempt me to check his activity out on the internet.  Nothing good could come of that.

I checked out my appearance in the mirror.  Wow.  My body was toned from the constant daily exercise, my muscles soft but defined.  I had on my skinny jeans and my flower patterned chucks.  My blouse was a sleeveless button down of a soft mint green eyelet that I’d found and loved on my last shopping trip.  It was comfortable and practical in the summer heat.  I fashioned my hair up into a ponytail to get it off my face and neck and I was ready to roll.  I hadn’t been this excited since the last time I’d gone out there.  I stomped that memory into dust and grabbed my duffle bag.  I grabbed my cell phone off the entry table and locked the door behind myself.

That total recall thing?  It comes in super handy on road trips.  I may look like I’m not paying attention, but unless you blindfold me, I can always find the same place twice.  It saves on maps and annoying GPS voices if I’m on a repeat trip.  As if to prove that the gods were smiling on me, I made great time.  I managed to skirt rush hour by a few hours and I arrived in enough time to help Bree with dinner.  Am I awesome or what?

Grant had the front door open and my duffle bag out of my hand before I finished crossing the porch.  He swept me into a hug that felt like home and I relaxed for what felt like the first time in weeks.  He smelled like butterscotch and coffee and Sloan.  I say that because I’d hugged Deacon countless times and I’d hugged Pierce and Anton as well.  These men had a distinctly similar scent that I couldn’t nail down.  It was pleasant and strangely woodsy.  I found it comforting.

“
You are a sight for sore eyes little girl.  Come on in, Bree’s in the kitchen.  How was the drive?”

“
Piece of cake Dad.  My timing was perfect and my inner navigational skills were spot on.  I actually enjoyed myself.  How are things around here?”

We’d walked into the house and he put my bag down at the foot of the stairs, much as Deacon had done the first time I’d been there.  He started for the kitchen and I quickly unzipped the duffle bag and pulled out the three bottles of wine I’d added at the liquor store.