Everything We Keep: A Novel (26 page)

CHAPTER 30

“Open up, Aimee!” came Ian’s muffled yell. He banged hard on the door.

I tossed aside a shirt into the opened suitcase and rushed over before other guests stirred. It was only five-thirty in the morning.

I yanked open the door and he blazed inside.

“Christ! I’ve been calling all night. Where’ve you been?”

“With Carlos.”

He visibly swallowed. “You should have told me. I was worried.”

“I left my phone here by accident. I didn’t expect to be gone all night. I’m sorry.”

“So, you talked with Imelda?”

I nodded. “Carlos, too. He came to my room and we went to dinner. After we—”

“Did you sleep with him?” he demanded in a strained voice.

“No! Nothing happened.” I moved closer and he lurched back. I stopped. “We talked. That’s all.”

“Is he coming home with you?”

I shook my head. From habit, I went to stroke the ring on my finger until I remembered it was gone. The fluttery movement caught Ian’s attention. His gaze dropped to my hand, then jumped to my face. “Where’s your ring?”

“I gave it back to him.”

Ian realigned his body so he fully faced me. His eyes traveled my entire length. I forced myself to relax, even smile a little. His brows bunched. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing . . . all right,” I offered with a smile. I wished he’d say something about “us.” “So . . . we’re good?” I motioned between us.

He spied my roller bag. A single brow arched. “You’re packing?”

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” I moved to the dresser.

“Not any?” he asked sourly.

“Nope. Time for me to move on.” I scooped up a pile of dirty clothes. “If you pack quickly, we should make the first flight out today.”

Ian didn’t move as I dumped the dirty clothes in the case. I retreated to the bathroom and gathered my toiletries and cosmetics. After a quick glance around, I returned to the room. Ian stood by the balcony doors, hands on hips. He gazed at the early morning sky. My eyes darted from him to the suitcase. “Aren’t you going to go pack?”

He shook his head. “Imelda’s promised to help me find Laney. I’ll fly home tomorrow as planned.”

I inhaled swiftly through my nose, biting my lower lip. I’d forgotten about his interest in Laney-Lacy. Dumping the toiletries in the case, I tugged at my naked finger. “Do you want my help?”

He watched me for a long moment before he shook his head.

My chest constricted. “Um . . . OK. I’ll see you at the café on Wednesday then?”

He gave me a level look. “I quit. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. That’s right.” I wilted. “Well, good luck. I hope you find your mother. If there’s any way I can help . . . well, you’ll let me know, OK?”

Ian slowly nodded and turned back toward the balcony. It was only a slight repositioning of his head, but the movement put miles between us. He didn’t want me to stay with him so I resisted the urge to ask about us again. He hadn’t said anything, so it was probably too late to fix the damage I’d done to our friendship. He’d opened his heart and I’d walked away, leaving him alone in his bed. Then I told him what happened between us never should have happened. It was the worst thing I could have done. He only wanted to help me because he loved me.

I resumed packing and closed the lid, swearing when the zipper snagged on my clothes.

“Here, let me.” Ian gently pushed my hands aside and fixed the jam, zipping the case closed. Then he turned to me and brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek. I sucked in a breath. He lowered his arm and hauled the roller bag off the bed. “I’ll walk you to your cab.”

At the curb, he hugged me good-bye. There were no kisses or promises to meet later. He paid the cab driver my fare and closed the door after I was seated. I opened the rear window. “Ian,” I anxiously called as he retreated. “When will I see you again?”

His expression was guarded as he roughly combed fingers through his mussed hair. “You know where to find me.”

Wendy’s gallery, at his next showing. Where we would be polite and professional toward each other. I inwardly winced.

The cab pulled from the curb and I leaned out the window, watching Ian until we turned on to the road and he disappeared from view. It wasn’t until I’d reached the airport I understood I’d let go of more than my hold on James. I’d let Ian go, too.

My flight landed in San Jose nineteen hours and two layovers later, very late at night. The terminal was several travelers shy of vacant as I stood alone in baggage claim, waiting for my luggage. I shivered, bundling my coat tighter over my sundress, and stared at the rain-drenched windows. The baggage carousel rotated and several moments later, my roller appeared, toppling forward on the ramp. I hauled it over and bumped into Nadia.

She grunted, grasping my shoulders. “Welcome back.”

“How—?”

“Ian called.” She wrapped an arm around my waist. “Come, let’s get you home. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.” I followed her to the parking garage.

As Nadia drove, I told her about James’s condition, Thomas’s confession, Ian’s admission of love, and how I’d left all three behind.

“Holy shit,” she said, her gaze on the road ahead. She stole a glance at me. “You’ve had one wild weekend. So James is really gone? There’s nothing left of him? What a trip.”

“Carlos is his own man with kids and career. It took me a couple days to accept James wasn’t himself anymore. On some level I understood something was different about him. His touch didn’t feel right. It’s James’s body, but it isn’t James inside. Does that make sense?”

Her brows arched high. “In an odd sort of way, it does. That’s crazy, girl. You’re OK without him?”

I squeezed her hand. “Aside from losing his wife, he’s happy in Mexico. I found it much easier to let him go than I’d thought.”

She gave me a girlfriend smile. “I think you got the closure you were looking for. Promise you’ll call if you need to talk? I know you. You’ll mull the last few days over and over in your head. Don’t bury this. Talk it out. I’m here for you.”

“Promise.” I squeezed her hand again. I was done burying my past.

In front of my house, Nadia kept the motor running as I hefted my luggage from the rear seat. “What are you going to do about Ian?”

My mouth angled downward. “Nothing. I hurt him. He’s not interested in me.”

“Trust me. The man’s more than interested. He was very concerned when he called, and it doesn’t take an idiot to realize he’s crazy mad in love with you. He’s already told you he loves you. You of all people should understand you can’t fall out of love in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. “Don’t get in the habit of letting go too easily. Give the guy another chance.”

“We’ll see.” I shrugged and shut the door.

Nadia drove off once I let myself into the house. A house that hadn’t changed or been updated since the day James left almost two years ago. I wheeled the case into the bedroom and opened the beveled closet doors. His clothes stared back at me. I trailed my fingers across the clothing and lifted a sleeve. Pressing my face into the material, I inhaled. My nose tickled. Nothing but dust.

I grabbed a handful of hangers and removed James’s clothes from the closet, carrying them into the guest room, where I laid them on the bed. Tomorrow I would box everything for Thomas to pick up. He could decide what to do with James’s belongings.

On the way back to my room, the framed pictures on the sideboard stopped me. There were four photos of James. Snapping up each one, I added them to the clothes pile. Thomas could send the pictures to Carlos.

For the next hour, I transferred James’s belongings to the guest bedroom. Paintings, art supplies, clothes, and pictures. I allowed myself one small photo, a snapshot of us leaning against James’s old BMW, which I would keep on my desk.

When everything had been moved, I collapsed onto the chenille couch James and I had purchased together. Running my fingers over the worn fibers, I decided the couch should also go. One day.

Soon, my eyelids grew heavy and I lay on my side, tucking a cushion under my head. Then I drifted to sleep. And dreamed.

Several weeks later, at the end of the day, I was cleaning fingerprints from the café’s food display case when the door jingled, cold air blasting inside. Feet shuffled behind me. “We’re closed,” I said without looking.

“It’s just me,” Nadia said.

I faced her, rag and cleaner in hand. She wore a burgundy cocktail dress under a wool coat. Her hair was pinned up and loosely coifed, lips painted, and cheeks reddened from the frigid air. “Where are you going tonight?”

She grinned. “I have a date with Mark.”

“Really?” I absently rubbed at a stubborn smear on the glass. “What changed your mind about him?”

“You,” she said. I straightened and she walked farther into the café, propping a hip against the counter. “I have a tendency to let go of men too easily. Mark’s a sweet guy, and he’s no longer attached to his wife. I wanted to give him another chance.”

My brows lifted. “You really like him.”

“I do.”

I folded the soiled cloth. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Dinner, and afterward”—she retrieved a postcard from her clutch, sliding it toward me across the countertop—“we are going to Ian’s exhibit.”

I looked at the card with Ian’s name boldly printed underneath Wendy’s logo. Featured on the front were two images I hadn’t seen in Ian’s collection, but I’d been there when he took the pictures. They were from Puerto Escondido. I skimmed my fingertips across an image of two men smoking cigars in a storefront. “There are people in his photos,” I murmured to myself.

“You should go. Give him another chance.”

I shook my head.

“Have you seen him since you left Mexico?”

“No.”

“Have you called him?”

“He hasn’t called me.”

“You already know how he feels. Have you told him yet you love him?”

“Not yet,” I said without thinking.

Nadia flashed a grin. “I knew you loved him.”

I moistened my lips and studied the postcard.

“I have to go. Try to meet up with us at the gallery. Kristen and Nick will be there.”

“I’m not sure . . .” My voice trailed, and I slid the card into my apron pocket. “I have shelves to stock.”

She buttoned her coat. “The shelves aren’t going anywhere.”

But someone else might.

She let the unspoken words hover, and then she kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you tonight,” she called, backing out the door. A discerning smile touched her bright lips.

I locked the door behind her, then went back to cleaning. I scrubbed the counter harder, put another load in the dishwasher, and unpacked several boxes of supplies. It wasn’t until I started straightening the newspapers and magazines on the community reading rack I realized I was stalling.

I looked at the postcard again. His images were beautiful and I wanted to see them. What had changed his mind about his photos?

I also wanted to see Ian. I missed him.

So, what was I waiting for?

My clothes were rumpled and my hair a mess, but if I went home to change, I would find an excuse to bail. So I turned off the lights, armed the alarm, and left the café, walking the two blocks to Wendy’s gallery.

As with his previous showings, the gallery was crowded. I recognized many faces. Ian’s adoring fans. Unlike before, there wasn’t a mix of photos from different expeditions. Every picture displayed was from Puerto Escondido.

I stared transfixed, slowly moving through the main room. Banner-size portraits depicting a millisecond of life reached from floor to ceiling. Surfers barreling through harrowing water tubes. Couples embracing, silhouettes against the sunset. Carlos leaning against a palm, staring off toward the ocean’s horizon.

Carlos.

I touched my stomach. No nerves or anxiety. No sense of anticipation or loss. I glanced at my toes before looking back at the picture. A hint of a smile tugged the corners of my mouth as I realized it was Carlos I saw in the portrait. Not James.

All the pictures were dazzling, making the room blaze with an array of color. It was unlike anything I’d seen from Ian.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Nick said from beside me. “I see James, but the eyes are different. Then I don’t see him and it’s someone else.”