Chapter Twenty-nine
Martina
I sit on the couch with my laptop, Bex at my feet, and try to get some work done. But it’s hard. Especially because I can’t take my eyes off Dallas. He’s working too. And I’ve never seen this side of him. He paces around, talking to whoever is on the other end of the phone, stopping to jot down an occasional note. He sounds so professional talking about financial reports, forecasts, and a new tax law that could affect the winery.
He’s all businesslike, and so different from the reclusive mountain man I’ve come to know. I can almost picture him sitting behind a desk wearing khakis and a button down.
My flesh comes alive with goosebumps as I imagine him making love to me in an office. I fantasize about him sweeping everything from his desktop, hoisting me up onto the edge, and burying his face in the valley between my thighs.
Dallas’s amused eyes swing my way, his lips twitching with a smile as he continues his call.
Was I gaping at him?
I close the lid of my laptop, work being a futile effort at this point, and I make my way to the coolers in search of something to make for lunch.
When he’s done with his call, I light a few candles and take plates to the table, then we sit side-by-side to eat the last of the Thanksgiving food.
When he gets up to fetch a bottle of wine, I dish a heaping spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. “Tomorrow is December. Can you believe it? Where did the time go? I haven’t even started buying gifts.”
“Mmm,” he grumbles, pouring us each a glass.
I want to ask if he even celebrates Christmas anymore. But I don’t. He doesn’t need me bringing up painful memories. He had one single Christmas with DJ. One . He would have been four weeks old at the time. Dallas was probably dreaming of the next year when his son would be toddling around, tearing into his new toys, smiling, laughing, calling him Daddy.
My heart hurts so much for him it overshadows my own painful memories.
Dallas sips his wine. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask.”
My heart flutters. Is he going to ask me to stay? To be his girlfriend? To have some sort of long-distance friends-with-benefits thing?
Staying isn’t an option. No matter how much I’d like to hide out here forever and live this surreal life with my mountain man, Charlie is my number one priority. Being Dallas’s girlfriend would be nice, but there are so many logistics we’d have to work out. And would I even want a no-strings, see-you-when-I-see-you relationship?
“Marti?”
I shake away the thoughts. “What? Oh, yeah, ask away.”
“How come you didn’t fly to New York?”
Letting out the breath I was holding, I’m not sure if I’m sad or relieved he didn’t make one of the aforementioned propositions. “Because I don’t fly.”
“Ever?”
“I flew once. I won’t again.”
“What happened?”
I take a long drink of wine to tamp down the anxiety that grips me as I think of it. “Six years ago, Charles and I went to the Bahamas for our honeymoon. I told you we got married right after high school, right?” He nods and I continue. “Okay, so I was super excited. I’d never flown before. It was a short flight in a small plane, not one of those massive 747s. This one had those propeller things.
“Halfway into the flight, I was mesmerized looking down into nothing but blue ocean. I’d been to dozens of beaches but had never seen the ocean from above. It was amazing. Almost like the first time I saw snow up here.”
He sits back in his chair, not eating, eyes glued on me as if he’s hanging on my every word.
“Then everything went south. The plane started shaking violently. People were screaming. Belongings fell out of the overhead bins. Those oxygen mask things came down. It was terrifying.”
Dallas puts a hand on my arm, running his thumb in circles. It soothes me and calms my pounding heart as I recall the horrific experience.
“Charles told me it lasted less than a minute, but to me it felt like an eternity. I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. They say we went through a change in atmosphere—something to do with thermals—and it was just bad turbulence. Anyway, that was my first and last experience in an airplane.”
“So they turned around and went back to Florida?”
“No, we landed thirty minutes later on the island of Great Exuma and had the most amazing time.”
He tilts his head. “But you said that was your first and last flight. You must have gone on the return flight. How’d that one go?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t lying when I said it was the only flight I’ve ever been on. While the vacation was great, the one and only thing Charles and I fought about the entire week was my refusal to get on another plane.”
“Did you charter a boat?”
I laugh. “Only a gazillionaire would ask that question. No, Mr. Moneybags, we did not charter a boat. But we did take a ferry. It extended our vacation by five days because we basically ferried between Bahamian islands one at a time until we got to Bimini, the closest island to Florida. From there it was only a two-hour ride on yet another ferry. It was rough. A lot of people got seasick, but I didn’t care. At least I wasn’t thousands of feet in the air. Thank goodness Charles’s dad offered to pay for our extra hotel nights and ferry charges. I’m not sure what I’d have done if he hadn’t helped. I’d probably still be living in the Bahamas.”
“That must have been some turbulence.” He picks up his fork and shovels potatoes into his mouth. “And for the record, I’m not a gazillionaire.”
“Okay, billionaire.”
He shakes his head. “Not that either.”
“Millionaire?” I ask, head cocked.
He shrugs.
“Wow. So you actually have like a million dollars sitting in a bank account?”
“Money isn’t everything, Marti. And it’s only because my parents made something of the winery. I had nothing to do with it. I’ve never been one to live large.”
I snicker and wave my hand around. “Obviously.”
“Besides, it’s my parents who are the billionaires, not me.”
“I’ll bet you have one hell of a trust fund though.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is money important to you?”
I don’t like the way he asks it. And I feel guilty for pressing him on the subject. I throw my hands over my eyes. “I’m such an idiot. No, Dallas, of course not. I mean, yeah, sure, who doesn’t want money and the security of not living paycheck to paycheck, but I swear money has nothing to do with the way I feel about you, or—”
I stop talking. Because there it is. Accidentally, I put it out there. We haven’t talked about feelings. Not one time in the past eight days has either one of us even alluded to it. Sure, there have been looks, gestures, insinuations even. But no words. Never words.
“I mean—” I sigh and pick at my food. “You know what I mean. Forget it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I detect the hint of a smile.
“So you really don’t think you’ll ever fly again?” he asks.
I shake my head vehemently. “It would take an act of God.”
“Hmmm. Even now? Are you upset you didn’t fly, knowing what you could have avoided?”
What I could have avoided. The accident? The snow? Him?
I look him straight in the eyes. “No. I’m not upset. Not even a little bit.” I swallow. “Are you? Understandably, your life would have been a whole lot easier if I’d have simply flown.”
“No. I’m not upset,” he says, holding my gaze. “Not even a little bit.”
A million butterflies pirouette in my stomach. And I momentarily wonder if the flapping of their wings will change anything—as in the course of my life.
~ ~ ~
I stare out the window as Dallas chops wood. There is a pattern developing. Every time we get too close emotionally, he leaves physically. He puts distance between us. Erects proverbial walls. He’s not upset that I’m here, obviously. It’s evident by the amount of time we’ve spent in bed. But men aren’t like women. They can separate sex from feelings.
Still, every time he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. He feels something. Maybe he even feels more than something.
I push the thoughts aside and make my daily call to Charlie, delighted that he seems to be taking things in stride.
Then, just as I’m getting engrossed in the autobiography again, Asher calls.
“I just landed in Syracuse. I’m renting a car and should be with Charlie in a matter of hours.”
I sigh. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know you’re going to be there for him. Is Bug with you?”
“She’s staying with her friend Mel until I get back. She said it would be too depressing. Any word on when you might be joining us?”
“Two days, maybe.”
“Damn. You must really be in the boonies. The interstates and other major roads seemed clear based on what I could see from the air, but there are still blankets of snow covering a lot of the state. You doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine? Martina, what aren’t you telling me? Has that rich asshole tried anything? I swear to God I’ll drive through ten feet of snow to kick his ass if he so much as touches you.”
My eyes roll at his over-protectiveness. “Calm down, Asher. I said I’m fine. Just missing Charlie.”
I decide not to tell him about falling through the ice. Climbing the tower. And the dozens of orgasms the rich asshole has so diligently provided me.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “Don’t worry about me. Just get to Charlie.”
“I’ll call you when I get there. Are you staying warm?”
I glance out at the ever-growing wood pile and the man adding to it. “Yes, there’s plenty of wood.” I hold in my snicker at the double-entendre.
“Okay, they’re calling me over to pick up my car. Talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
As soon as I’m back to reading my book, Dallas’s phone rings. I look up, surprised. I haven’t heard it ring since I’ve been here. Either he’s had it silenced this whole time, or he just doesn’t get many calls.
I ignore it and it rolls to voicemail.
A few minutes later, it rings again.
When it rings a third time within another few minutes, I begin to worry. I glance outside and don’t see Dallas, so I spring off the couch and go to his phone. The screen reads “Allie,” and the picture of a beautiful girl is in the background.
Allie. His sister . What if this is an emergency?
Without giving it another thought, I swipe to answer. “Dallas Montana’s phone, can I help you?”
“Um… uh… are you sure this is Dallas’s phone? Is he okay?”
“Yes, it’s his phone, and yes, he’s okay. Can I help you?”
Puffs of air that I’m quite sure are laughter, come through the phone. “And you are?”
“The woman stranded at his cabin after my car ran off the road last week.”
“Last week?”
“There’s been a blizzard and I’ve been unable to get a tow truck.”
More laughter coming from the other end of the line assures me there is not, in fact, any sort of emergency. “I’m Allie. His sister.”
“I’m Marti.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Marti. Really, really nice to meet you.”
I can practically feel her smile. And the insinuation behind her words is as deep as the snow drifts out back.
“I don’t normally answer his phone, by the way. He’s outside right now. But it was ringing so much I thought it might be something urgent.”
“It isn’t. I just know my brother. He doesn’t answer his phone. Texts either. Not unless it’s work related.”
“You work for the winery too?” I ask.
“I do. I’m the events coordinator.”
“That sounds fun. Is there a message you’d like me to relay?”
“An invitation is more like it, to Lucas’s birthday party.”
“Your oldest brother? That’s nice. When is the party?”
I could swear I hear her say ‘wow,’ but I’m pretty sure the word wasn’t meant for me. “It’s Saturday.”
Saturday. Five days from today . It’s like a punch in the chest to think that by then, all this will be a memory, and we’ll be back to living our own lives.
“I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“You could come too.”
“Thanks, but once I get to my son we’ll be heading back to Florida.”
“You have a son?”
“Yes. He’s three. His name is Charlie.”
“He’s three?” she asks, shocked. “Does Dallas know about him?”
I sigh. “Yeah. He does. I try not to talk about him much out of respect for DJ though.”
Silence. So much silence I think the connection has dropped. I glance at the phone, worried the tower might be down again, but I see full bars.
“Allie? Are you there?”
“I’m here. I’m just… stunned.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say Dallas isn’t one to talk about himself or his past.”
“Well, I don’t know much, just what he’s told me about the winery, and you guys, and that Phoebe and DJ died two and a half years ago.”
“Okay, wow. Marti, you must be some kind of man whisperer, because if I’m not mistaken, that’s the most personal my brother has gotten with anyone since it happened.”
“Would you mind…” I glance outside to see Dallas swinging the ax again and decide I might be waiting forever if I wait for him to tell me. “Could you tell me how it happened? How they died? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but—”
“You’re curious. It’s only natural. And it’s no big secret. They died at home. It was carbon monoxide. It happened while Dallas was at work. In fact, he was working late, which is why he blames himself.”
“Oh my god, that’s horrible.” My hand flies to my mouth recalling my own devastating memories. “And he found them?”
“No. It was a delivery driver. Through a window, he saw Phoebe having a seizure on the floor. By the time anyone got there, they couldn’t be saved. DJ was in his crib. They said he died peacefully. They couldn’t be so sure about her.”
Tears stream down my face as I watch Dallas swing over and over. It’s inhuman how long he can keep that up. Is he somehow punishing himself? Because of them? Because of… me?
“Poor Dallas,” I say as my voice cracks. “I’ve lost people in my life as well.” Too many of them . “Just last week, my son’s father, who was also my best friend, died. That’s why I’m here. I was driving up to get Charlie who was spending the holiday with him and his new wife.”
“I’m sorry, Marti. It sounds like you and my brother have a lot in common.”
More than either of you know.
“I don’t know about that. He lives in the middle of nowhere. I could never do that.”
“He doesn’t live there because he wants to. He’s running away.”
I blow out a long breath. “I kind of had a feeling.”
“So you’re going back to Florida, huh? That’s a shame.”
“How so?”
“Because, Marti, I believe my brother has opened up to you more than he’s opened up to anyone, and that’s a huge step in the right direction.”
I let her words sink in as I stare out the window at the man we’re discussing. I hope she’s right. Because Dallas needs huge steps—in any direction.
It’s a lot to process, so I retreat to more comfortable information. “Well, the weather has been clearing. It looks like I’ll be able to get out of here in a matter of days. But I’ll be sure to pass along the message about the party.”
“Thank you. And Marti, the invitation stands. You know, in case you find yourself in Calloway Creek.”
“Thanks,” I say, not adding how unlikely that is. “Goodbye, Allie.”
I stare at the blank screen, all of my suspicions having been confirmed by his sister. He’s not up here because he wants to be at one with nature or some existential crap like that. He’s here because he’s trying to run from his past. Or avoid dealing with it. I’m not sure which. I glance over at the hobby room door. I’m drawn to it more now than ever.
I peek outside to make sure he’s still working, and then I pick up the lantern, walk over, and open the door.
It’s odd being in here now. The last time I was in this room, I thought Dallas had created everything. It makes me look at things in a different light. Upon closer look, the paintings all have initials in the lower right corner. PKM. Was this her profession, I wonder, or just a hobby?
My eyes fall on something I didn’t see last time. Dallas got those two large coolers from this room, maybe they were hiding what sits in the corner. Tears cloud my vision when I see the Moses basket. Inside it is a blanket, a stuffed elephant, and a pacifier.
This room is a shrine to his family.
“What are you doing in here?”
I jump at his words. I turn and see him in the doorway, not happy that I’m in his private space.
“I’m sorry. Allie called and I—”
“Allie? What do you mean Allie called? She called you? My family doesn’t know who you are or even that you’re here.”
I hold out his phone. “She called you. The phone kept ringing over and over and I thought it might be an emergency, or your tow truck guy calling with news.”
He takes the phone from me a little too hastily. “You answered my phone? You’re just full of surprises today. What’s next, you want to go through my laptop? Do a deep dive on the internet?”
“Dallas, it’s not like that.”
“Please tell me what it’s like then.”
“How about you tell me?” I snap, suddenly fed up with his attitude. “Tell me why you came up here supposedly to live this reclusive life and get away from losing your wife and son. But the reality is you brought them with you. I mean, there’s keeping mementos of your loved ones, and then there’s this.” I motion to all the artwork. “It’s like she’s still here and will walk in at any minute and pick up a sketch pad or paint brush. This is unhealthy, Dallas. You need to let people in. And you have to stop bottling it up inside. The pain isn’t going to go away until you face it. Until you talk about it.”
“What the hell do you know about my pain? Yeah, I get you’ve lost people. But until you lose the love of your goddamn life, and worse, your own flesh and blood child, you have no right to give me advice or even think you have any idea what I’ve been going through.”
“You think you have a corner on this market, Dallas Montana? You think nobody could ever understand the pain of losing a child? An infant?” I step forward and jab him in the chest with my finger. “Well, fuck you and your high horse, because guess what? I have lost a child. Her name was Alex. She was pink and perfect with ten fingers and ten toes, and I had eight incredible days with her. Eight days…” I swipe a tear from under my eye and suck in a deep breath. “On the ninth day, I woke up at seven in the morning and realized I’d slept all night. She hadn’t woken to eat. Before I even looked over in the bassinet, I knew what I was going to find. Week-old babies don’t sleep ten hours straight.” I wipe snot on the sleeve of his Yale sweatshirt. “It hurt. It hurt like hell, but I got through it. You know how? With the help of Charles and Asher and Bug and even Charlie. Being around people helped. Celebrating her birthday still helps.”
He leans against the door jamb as if it’s the only thing holding him upright. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you’re still where I was. Two and a half years later, you’re where I was right after it happened.” I perch against the table. “After I lost Alex, my therapist told me that when you’re in hell, you just have to keep going until you find the exit. And with her help, I learned the only way out is through. But you… Dallas, you seemed to have set up camp in your purgatory.”
He pulls out the sole chair in the room and sits, shaking his head over and over.
“You’ll never find your exit if you continue to let fear have such a grip on you. What if I’d let fear keep me from climbing the tower? What if you’d let it stop you from jumping in the pond? Fear keeps you locked in a prison. This cabin is your prison.”
I feel the stab of his glare as he looks up at me. “You think I’m here because I’m afraid?”
“Of course you are. You think you came here to get away from them? Their memories? You did exactly the opposite. You brought them with you. Fear made you leave the town and the family you love. And fear is what keeps you from going back.”
“Okay, Ms. Psychoanalyst,” he huffs, clearly pissed. “What the hell do you think I’m afraid of?”
I hold my arms out to my side. “Me.”
He looks dumbfounded. “You?”
“Or someone like me. You’re afraid to open yourself up again, to feel what you felt for them. You’re afraid of getting hurt and losing people. Maybe like I was, you’re afraid that somehow you may have been responsible for their deaths. Maybe you’re punishing yourself by not letting anyone be a part of your life. Whatever it is, it all comes down to fear.”
He shakes his head, looking like he’s going to bite my entire head off. Tell me I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe even tell me to get the fuck out of his cabin and his life. But someone needed to say something.
He points to the door. “Get out of this room. And don’t come back.”
I nod and pass him, tears streaking my face. He doesn’t look at me. He just slams the door shut behind me. I’m surprised it stays on the hinges. I run over and flop down onto the bed, burying my head in a pillow as muffled sobs bellow out of me. I’m crying for him. For DJ. For Alex. I’m crying for everyone either of us have ever lost. But most of all, I’m crying because I know for sure, if there was any sliver of hope of us having a future, I just squashed it. By answering the call. Going in the room. Accusing him of things I had no right to say.
Sometime later, I hear him exit the room. He goes outside. Of course he goes outside. He chops wood even faster this time, grunting loudly with every pained swing.
I wipe my eyes. “Way to go, Marti.”
And for the first time in eight long days, I wish I had flown. Because then my heart wouldn’t be breaking over a man I love but who is incapable of loving another. A man who, in just a few days’ time, I’ll leave forever.
A man who will always reside inside me to the depths of my very soul.