Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
marlowe
B y some miracle i make it through the night, the next day, the next week and into the following month.
I survive, but I’m not really living. I’m just sort of existing, crushed by the weight of my heartache.
After the breakup, I moved back into my old apartment with Quinn. When the lease expired shortly afterward, we upgraded to a bigger apartment so we’d each have our own room.
A week later, Lilith Halifax called me.
“I hope you don’t mind that Gunner gave me your number,” she said. “As I told him, I truly enjoyed meeting you at the art opening last month. I was impressed with your viewpoints and the depth of your knowledge, and I’d like you to come work for me. I run an international organization called the Halifax Music Society. We’re in dire need of a dedicated librarian to serve our members and administer our fellowship program. I know you’re in grad school, so we can work around your schedule. I might not be able to match the salary Gunner was paying you, but I can provide an enriching experience with room for growth and many opportunities to indulge your love of music. I’d also like to mentor you, if you’re open to learning.”
Even though Lilith insisted otherwise, I suspected Gunner had orchestrated the generous job offer. But I couldn’t prove it, and I was undeniably drawn to the prospect of working for such a dynamic woman. So I took only a day to consider her offer before accepting.
I started the new job the following week, and so far so good. I enjoy interacting with the organization’s members, answering their questions and helping them find the materials they’re looking for. Next spring Lilith and I are traveling to Austria to meet with the curator of a rare classical music collection. We’re also attending a concert at the Vienna Philharmonic, which ranks near the top of my bucket list.
While my professional life is on the upswing, my personal life is in shambles. Between work and school, my days have settled into a numbingly busy but predictable routine. I come home every evening and change into comfy sweats, pour a glass of wine and tackle my coursework, occasionally watching something mindless on Netflix. Dinner is always an afterthought, and sometimes I don’t even bother.
Quinn has been a wonderful sounding board, letting me cry on her shoulder or just listening to me vent about damaged alpha males. She tries to lure me out of the doldrums by inviting me to hang out with her and Eric. But I don’t want to be a third wheel, and my energy reserves are so low, the thought of putting on a cute outfit and going to a club makes me want to curl up in a ball.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get Gunner out of my head. Every time my phone rings, I hope it’s him and I can’t breathe. Every time I think of him moving on with someone else, I feel sick to my stomach.
I miss him so much. I miss the sound of his voice and the sexy rumble of his laughter. I miss hearing him call me kitten and smartass. I miss his mouthwatering scent and the heat of his skin. I miss being pulled onto his lap to cuddle and kiss. I miss our deep intellectual conversations, the way we probed and fed each other’s minds. I miss his fierce lovemaking, the powerful thrust of his hips as he drove into me, working my body into a frenzy until I exploded.
I miss him beyond words. Almost beyond bearing.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who’s miserable. Sansa has been moping around like she lost her best friend. Though I bought her new toys and tried to replicate Mrs. Calder’s recipes, she doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite—for food or sport.
“You can’t really blame her,” Quinn remarks one day. “She went from having the run of a palace to being banished to a nine-hundred-square-foot apartment. She probably feels like a dethroned queen reduced to living in squalor.”
When Sansa meows plaintively and butts her head against Quinn’s leg, she gives me a rueful look. “See? She agrees with my diagnosis.”
As if I weren’t wallowing in enough self-pity, Sansa’s depression makes me feel like the worst cat parent in the world.
If my cramped abode isn’t good enough for my beloved kitty, it definitely won’t pass muster with my mother. Which is why I insist on meeting her and my sister at their hotel when they come to town the following weekend.
Mom booked the congressional suite at the Four Seasons. I agreed to pack an overnight bag and crash at the hotel while Quinn stays with Sansa. She knows my mother’s visit has the potential to devolve into a shitshow, so she’s relieved to be spared the drama.
On Friday morning, I drive to the hotel in the new silver Audi I bought with part of my severance check. Gunner paid me through the next nine months to complete what would have been a full year of employment. I wasn’t expecting the additional funds, and my jaw dropped when I saw the amount. Gripping the check in my shaking hands, I felt a complicated tangle of sadness, gratitude, anger and humiliation. It was as though I’d outlived my usefulness to him, so he’d kicked me to the curb and tossed me some extra coins for my trouble.
My hurt and anger motivated me to splurge on a more expensive car than I normally would’ve considered. I figured if I’m going to be dumped by a billionaire, I might as well get an Audi out of it.
Reaching the luxury hotel, I valet park and take the elevator to my family’s suite on the ninth floor.
Ember opens the door and wraps me up in the longest, tightest, most loving hug ever. By the time she releases me, I’m choking back tears.
“Wow, what a greeting,” I try to joke.
She strokes my cheek, her eyes full of compassion. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Work has been?—”
“Crazy, I know. It’s okay,” I assure her with a watery smile. “You’re a busy lawyer. I’m just glad you came.”
She pulls me inside and closes the door. “I wish I could’ve come alone?—”
“I heard that,” our mother says, emerging from her room. She gasps in shock when she sees me. “My goodness, you’ve lost so much weight!”
I force my lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Hello, Mother.”
“Oh, darling.” She gives me a perfunctory hug and an air kiss before pulling back. She lets her gaze run over me, then meets my eyes and shakes her head. “You poor thing. You’ve been too depressed to eat, haven’t you? I suppose that’s one benefit of getting dumped.”
“Don’t start,” Ember warns sharply. “Don’t you dare start.”
“I’m just making an observation. She looks thinner than I’ve seen her in years. It’s a compliment,” Mom assures me, patting my shoulder.
Her highlighted blond hair is a cascade of perfectly sculpted waves. Her bold red lipstick offsets her green eyes and creamy complexion.
While Ember wheels my bag to the bedroom we’re sharing, Mom continues inspecting me for defects, which she always finds.
“Your hair needs deep conditioning. And when was your last trim?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” I say with a sigh. “I’ve been busy.”
“Aren’t we all?” She combs her fingers through my hair. “Your father blessed you with his luscious locks, right down to the rich color.” Something softens in her eyes, so fleeting that I almost miss it before she tsk-tsks me. “Never neglect your hair, no matter how busy or depressed you are.”
I stifle another sigh. “Sure, Mom.”
Ember shuffles back into the living room and flops down on the plush couch, yawning as she stretches her arms above her head. “What do you want to do today, Mar? I wouldn’t mind touring the state capitol and your school campus, and maybe later we can hit the warehouse district. But we’re at your complete disposal,” she says around another yawn. “Just let me grab a power nap?—”
“A power nap? ” Mom echoes indignantly. “We didn’t come all this way to sleep or sightsee! We’re on a mercy mission. Your sister is in distress, and I have just the cure for her blues.”
“A new vibrator?” Ember suggests.
“No, silly girl. A trip to the spa!”
“The spa?” I say with as much enthusiasm as I’d muster for a root canal. “I’m really not up for?—”
“Too late. I already made reservations.” Mom claps her hands together. “Off we go, girls!”
We head down to the posh spa for massages, facials and mani-pedis. Afterward we climb into the executive car that Mom rented for the weekend. The friendly driver takes us across town to an upscale Italian bistro, which we enter through a charming courtyard with a fountain and wrought iron tables.
Over lunch I tell Mom about my new job, but I sense she’s only half listening. My suspicion is confirmed when, barely seconds after I finish talking, she pivots to the next topic—the only topic she cares about.
“So what exactly happened between you and Gunner? Your sister has been stingy with the details.”
“With good reason,” Ember grits out. “You’re not exactly the most sympathetic?—”
“Nonsense. I’m a mother. No mother wants to see her child suffering, which Marlowe clearly is.” She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Tell me what happened.”
I take a sip of water to lubricate my throat so my voice won’t crack when I talk about Gunner. “He had control issues, which caused some friction in our relationship. And I had difficulty . . . trusting him.”
Mom narrows her eyes. “Did he cheat on you?”
I swallow tightly. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” I say with more conviction. “He didn’t cheat.”
“Did he ever”—Mom lowers her voice—“hit you?”
“Of course not!”
“Just making sure. You said he had control issues?—”
“Not like that,” I say vehemently. “Gunner would never lay a hand on me.”
“Glad to hear it. One never knows with powerful men who’re used to getting their own way.” Mom purses her lips, studying me shrewdly. “So what went wrong between you and Gunner? From what I could tell, he was very good to you.”
“He was,” I mumble miserably, pushing my steamed mussels around the plate. “He was wonderful. Totally romantic and amazing. But his inability to . . .” I trail off, reluctant to badmouth the man I love. “I just think he has mommy issues. Daddy issues, too.”
“So do you. Congratulations. You’re perfect for each other.”
I frown. “I don’t have daddy issues. Dad was?—”
“Perfect? Yes, in the eyes of a twelve-year-old girl who thought her father could do no wrong, Bowen was perfect. Except he wasn’t.” The last is spoken with a bitterness that stiffens my spine and raises Ember’s eyebrow.
She looks at me, then at our mother. “Is there something you’re not telling us about Dad?”
Mom presses her lips together. “Your father was a very good man. But he wasn’t perfect. No man is.” She takes a shaky sip of wine, sets the glass down and pins me with a hard look. “All your life you’ve put your father on a pedestal—a pedestal he never asked for. Over the years, I’ve watched you compare every boy to him and find them lacking. I don’t know the whole story behind your breakup with Gunner. I don’t know if you pushed him away like all the others. What I do know is that if you keep holding men to some mythical standard of perfection, you’re going to end up alone and bitter.”
A heavy silence engulfs the table, broken only by the tinkle of china and silverware as we finish our lunch without further conversation.
Although I manage to eat, I can barely taste my meal. My head is spinning, doubts and fears swirling in my gut. Am I responsible for the breakup? Did I make unreasonable demands of Gunner? Did I drive him away?
The troubling questions only serve to ramp up my misery and angst.
As we’re leaving the restaurant, my mother says suddenly, “Oh look, darling. Isn’t that your former beau?”
I follow her gaze to a group of businessmen seated around a table in the corner of the courtyard. When I see Gunner among them, my heart slams into my sternum.
He’s leaning back in his chair, a goblet of red wine cradled in his hand, lips twitching indulgently as he listens to some raucous joke. He’s not wearing a suit today, just dark slacks and a blue button-down shirt, cuffs rolled up and collar unbuttoned.
Casual Fridays , I think with a pang as I drink in the sight of him, not knowing when or if I’ll ever get another chance.
“What a delightful surprise,” Mom coos excitedly. “Let’s go say hello.”
I shake my head. “He’s having lunch?—”
“Don’t be a coward, darling. Fortune favors the brave.” Her manicured talons curl into my arm, not so subtly dragging me forward.
As laughter erupts from the table of businessmen, Gunner turns his head in my direction.
When our eyes meet, I skid to a halt. For a split second, something like pleasure lights up his face, disappearing so quickly I wonder if I only imagined it.
He watches me, his eyes veiled and distant. When I remain frozen in place, he sets his glass down, excuses himself from the table and begins walking toward me. I feel my chest tighten and my body start to shake as my mother lets out a purr of approval.
I force myself to keep moving forward. His stare never wavers from me, and I don’t miss the way his eyes skim over my body, sending heat sizzling across my skin.
And then finally we’re standing face to face. Or rather face to chest, since the top of my head has never cleared his shoulders.
“Marlowe.” His voice is low, with just a hint of a rasp.
“Hello,” I say calmly even though everything in me aches to touch him, to press myself against him and feel his arms envelop me once again. “My mother and sister are in town. We were just leaving when we saw you?—”
“And I insisted that we come over and say hello,” Mom gushes in a breathy voice I’ve never heard before.
Between clenched teeth and a tight smile, I introduce Gunner to my mother and sister. They shake hands and exchange warm pleasantries. Though Ember vowed to kick his ass if she ever met him, she looks a bit swoony now that she’s actually in his presence. I can’t really blame her. He seems to have that effect on all women.
Case in point, my mother can’t stop fluttering her lashes at him. “It’s wonderful to finally make your acquaintance, Gunner. Though I was hoping to meet you under better circumstances.”
I can’t interpret the flicker of emotion in Gunner’s eyes. It’s there and gone in a flash before he smooths his features into a polite mask, then tips his head to my mother and sister.
“Pleasure meeting you both. Enjoy your visit.” Sparing me a brief glance, he turns and walks back to his lunch companions.
As we leave the courtyard, Ember wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up when my legs threaten to buckle. She guides me into the backseat of the executive car and hugs me close with her arm around my shoulders, infusing me with her warmth and strength.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
I’m not, and she knows it. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. But I refuse, absolutely refuse, to give in to the tears pricking my eyes.
After speaking to our driver, Mom slides onto the opposite bench seat with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”
Ember shoots her a “not now” look.
She ignores her, fanning her face as she gushes breathlessly, “Gunner is even handsomer in person. So tall, so virile. What is he? Six foot four? Good heavens. And what about those gorgeous blue eyes? And that voice ?—”
“Mom,” Ember warns.
“What? Just because he broke up with your sister doesn’t make him any less attractive.” She sighs pityingly. “My poor daughter. No wonder you couldn’t resist him. You never stood a chance in hell.”
Ember skewers her with a glare. “Maternal sensitivity. It’s a thing, Mother. You should try it sometime.”
Mom just shakes her head at me, her expression full of disappointment.
Ember squeezes my hand and mouths, You’re going to be okay.
I wish I believed her.
when we return to our hotel suite, Ember and I head to the deck overlooking Lady Bird Lake. After the run-in with my ex, I need to regroup before making any evening plans.
I’m secretly hoping our mother will retreat to her room to make a phone call or take a nap, anything that will keep her out of our hair for a while.
Disappointingly, she brings out a bottle of wine and three glasses and makes herself comfortable next to Ember. She pours wine for them both, frowning when I decline. She probably wants to ply me with enough alcohol to loosen my tongue and get me oversharing about Gunner.
Not a chance.
“What a lovely view,” she says, admiring the lake. “I must say, I rather like what I’ve seen of Austin so far.”
“So do I,” Ember agrees.
“Don’t go getting any crazy ideas about relocating.” Mom pauses. “Unless you plan to make a play for Gunner’s twin brother.”
Ember rolls her eyes. “Here we go again.”
“I’m just saying. Someone needs to lasso one of those long, tall Texans.”
Ember scrunches up her nose. “Long, tall Texans. Isn’t that the name of a book series by?—”
“Diana Palmer. One of my favorites.” Mom sips her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass.
I have a bad feeling she’s going to bring up my nonexistent love life again. Hoping to distract her, I clap my hands together and smile brightly. “So what should we do tonight?”
Ember grins. “I’m game for anything.”
Mom heaves a long, put-upon sigh. “If you were still dating Gunner, we could have been lounging around his palatial estate right now. I was really looking forward to that.”
“Sorry to ruin your plans,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“Honestly, darling, there’s still hope for you and Gunner. I mean, he didn’t seem terribly happy to see you, I’ll admit. But that doesn’t mean he’s already moved on.”
My heart twists at the careless indelicacy of her words. “He broke up with me in the library, which he knew was my favorite room in the house,” I say bitterly. “Less than two weeks later, I saw a tabloid picture of him leaving a restaurant with another woman, and it wasn’t a business dinner. Trust me, he’s moved on.”
Ember winces sympathetically.
Mom’s lipsticked mouth turns down in a displeased frown.
Desperate to change the depressing subject, I muster a teasing grin for my sister. “Maybe by the end of the weekend I’ll have you convinced that you belong here with me.”
“Don’t count on it.” Mom pats Ember’s knee. “Your sister loves practicing law. She would never jeopardize her career trajectory by quitting a job in her first year.”
Something inscrutable flickers in Ember’s eyes, her fingers tightening around her glass.
I shoot her a questioning look.
She ducks her head, avoiding my eyes as she gulps down her wine.
Mom gives me a tight smile. “Ember’s not flighty like you. She never would have applied to grad school on a whim and gallivanted off to a whole other state without securing employment first.”
I can feel the hurt little girl of my childhood kicking and clawing her way to the surface, demanding to be heard. I push her back down and grind my teeth, trying to maintain control of my emotions.
“You’re right,” I say evenly. “Ember has always had more common sense than me. That’s why we get along so well. Opposites attract.”
Despite my self-deprecating response, Mom continues needling me, spoiling for a fight she’ll always win. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to hold onto a billionaire. You always make everything so infuriatingly difficult.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, digging my nails into my palms.
She spears me with her frosty green gaze. “It took you five years to graduate college. Since moving here in May, you’ve lost not one but two jobs. If you’re wondering why I paid scant attention as you prattled on about your new job, it’s because I don’t expect you to be there much longer.”
I hear Ember’s breath hitch sharply. Or maybe that’s mine.
Mom sets her glass down hard. “I’m sorry, Marlowe, but your track record doesn’t lie, and the sad truth is that you fail more often than you succeed.”
The scathing indictment rips through my soul like a grenade, detonating my fury.
“ What the hell is your problem with me? ” I howl at her like a wounded animal. “ Why do you hate me so much? ”
She blinks rapidly in surprise. “What?—”
“Don’t play innocent, Mom!” Ember shouts. “You were way out of line and you fucking know it!”
I’m up and out of my seat, trembling with pent-up rage born of rejection. “You hate me because I was close to Dad. Because we bonded over music and you felt left out. That’s why you gave away his records!”
She leaps to her feet, glaring furiously at me. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Yes, I do!”
“You idolized him?—”
“And you resented me for it! You always have!”
“WITH GOOD REASON!”
Her shrill outburst cuts through the air, stealing my breath and knocking me back a step.
In the utter silence that follows, Ember and I stare at her in openmouthed disbelief.
She scrubs a trembling hand over her face and turns away from us, staring blindly across the lake. “You were so young when he died. Neither of you understood what was going on.”
“What’re you talking about?” I sink back down in my seat, my voice barely a breath. “What was going on?”
Hugging her midsection, Mom starts pacing up and down the deck. “Your father had been having headaches for weeks. Terrible, crippling migraines. I was so damn worried about him. I kept nagging him to go see his doctor, and he kept promising he would. But there was always another song to compose. Another recital to rehearse for. Another music class to teach. Another contest to judge. He kept putting off making an appointment, and sometimes he’d outright lie about having a headache when I could clearly see he was in pain.”
My throat tightens as I remember the time I found my father huddled over his piano, pale and shaking, head cradled in his hands. Seeing him like that terrified me. But he’d blamed the migraine on writer’s block, and I’d naively taken him at his word.
Mom stops pacing and faces me, her eyes flashing with emotion. “You had a piano recital one winter afternoon. It was circled on the calendar, but somehow it slipped your father’s mind. I had already phoned you from work to tell you that Aunt Nora would be taking you because we couldn’t make it. But once your dad remembered, he canceled his doctor’s appointment to attend your performance. I told him there would be plenty of others, but he insisted on going. He wanted to surprise you?—”
“ No ,” I whisper, shaking my head. My heart is pounding with dread and I can feel the ground crumbling beneath my feet as she keeps talking.
“I blew up at him. Told him you were a good pianist but you’d never be as gifted as him. I told him to stop filling your head with foolish dreams, and he got angry and hung up on me.” Mom sets her jaw. “On the way to your recital, he had a massive stroke and veered off the road, slamming into a light post?—”
“Nooo!” I cry out tearfully as Ember claps a hand over her mouth. “You told us it was a hit-and-run!”
“I know.” A single tear escapes the corner of Mom’s eye. She takes an angry swipe at it and sniffs hard. “The autopsy revealed that his headaches were caused by a treatable brain hemorrhage, which a CT scan would have detected if he’d only gotten help sooner.” Her nostrils flare, suppressing emotion. “After he died, I couldn’t look at his record collection without falling to pieces. So I packed it up, loaded up his van and headed to a local charity.” She pauses before whispering almost inaudibly, “I never made it.”
I stare at her in shock. “You mean . . . ?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the records. I couldn’t do that to you or your father. But I couldn’t keep them in the house either. They were an unbearable reminder that he was never coming home. His piano was, too. But I didn’t want to deprive you of practicing and honing your talents, though I died a little inside each time I watched you play, your dark hair falling forward, the way you closed your eyes like him.” The sorrow ravaging her features breaks my heart. “For my sanity, the records had to go. So I drove to a storage facility and locked them away.”
All the air rushes out of my lungs.
Ember shakes her head slowly, her face ashen. “All these years . . . you let us think you gave them to charity.”
Mom nods and closes her eyes, her voice hoarse. “I was so hurt and angry. Your father was my best friend. My whole damn world. We were supposed to grow old and gray together. He was supposed to walk both of you down the aisle someday.” Her lower lip trembles, her voice rising in pitch as she asserts, “I’ll never forgive myself for arguing with him the day he died. And I’ll never forgive him for leaving me to raise our beautiful girls alone!”
Overwhelmed by her heartbreaking revelations, I burst into tears. It sets off a chain reaction, and soon we’re all crying.
When Mom sits next to me and pulls me into a fierce hug, I blubber tearfully against her shoulder, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to know,” she sobs brokenly. “I knew you’d blame yourself, and I couldn’t saddle you with such a heavy burden. What happened to your father wasn’t your fault, and don’t you ever believe otherwise!”
I weep harder. We both do.
I’m remembering that awful day eleven years ago. I remember standing at my father’s gravesite, sobbing desperately as I watched his coffin being lowered into the cold ground. The finality of it hit me hard. Suddenly I understood that I would never see him again. I’d never receive one of his crinkly-eyed smiles or feel the reassuring warmth of his hug. I’d never watch another Steelers game or attend another concert with him. I’d never hear the melodious notes wafting from his piano when I ran through the front door after school.
The realization that he was gone forever was unspeakably painful. Seeking comfort and connection, I’d reached for my mother’s hand only to be rebuffed when she snatched herself away from me.
So much of the past makes sense now. If only I’d put the puzzle pieces together much sooner. But how could I when my mother was keeping so many secrets?
I don’t know how long we hold each other before she draws back and strokes my face with a tenderness I’ve never felt from her before.
“I’m so sorry I let my grief and resentment poison our relationship. I never should have discouraged you from pursuing a music career. I didn’t want to be reminded of your father, and that was horribly selfish of me.” She wipes the wetness off my cheeks and holds my face between her hands, our foreheads touching. “I know the hurt and damage I’ve caused can’t be repaired overnight. But I hope one day you can forgive me.”
I swallow tightly, my eyes closing as she gently kisses the top of my head. My throat is raw and my chest aches from sobbing so hard. It hurts like hell knowing that my poor father was in so much pain and never uttered a word of complaint. He sat at the piano with me, teaching me songs, laughing and teasing, never letting on that he was suffering. That’s going to haunt me forever.
Opening my eyes, I meet my mother’s earnest gaze. “It . . . it’s going to take time,” I say thickly. “I know you were devastated over losing Dad, but you made my life a living hell, Mom. You made me feel worthless and unloved, something no parent should ever do to their child. You had your reasons and I accept your apology. But I . . . I need time to process everything you’ve just told us. I need time to heal.”
“Of course, baby,” she whispers, brushing my hair back from my face. “You deserve so much better than the horrific version of me you’ve gotten all these years. I’m going to spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness, if that’s what it takes. You hear me, baby? I’m going to be here for you the way I should have been all along.”
I swallow hard and nod. I don’t want to be at odds with her anymore, so I’m willing to give peace a chance.
Ember joins us on the couch for a group hug, Mom embracing us on either side.
“I love you girls so much.” She kisses our foreheads in turn, then drops her head back against the seat cushion and closes her eyes, emotionally drained. “God, that was long overdue.”
“Way overdue,” I agree.
She wipes her face and gives me and Ember a teary smile, a shadow of sorrow lingering in her eyes. “You know what we should watch for old times’ sake? Sixteen Candles .”
My mind flashes to that night in the library with Gunner: sitting on a table sharing a carton of ice cream, our lips melting together in a movie-perfect kiss.
The bittersweet memory, coupled with the emotional cyclone I’ve just endured, cause me to burst into fresh tears.