Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Wynter
S cott drives up the long driveway to a two-story yellow Victorian house. It’s large with an enormous wraparound porch, complete with swings, rockers, colorful hanging baskets of flowers, and an American flag. It seems vaguely familiar. “This is my parents’ house?”
“The house has been passed down through the family since the 1800s. Your parents have done two remodels. One back when you were middle-school aged and one a few years ago to create an open floor plan. They wanted a room where they could cook, watch television, and keep an eye on the grandkids.”
“Oh, I didn’t ask if I had brothers and sisters. Am I an aunt?”
I put the car in park and run over to her side, lifting her out of the truck and carrying her to the front porch.
“No, you’re an only child.”
“I figured, or my parents would have said something.”
“Do you want to sit out here a minute before we go in? Maybe take it one step at a time.”
“No, nothing ever got done by waiting.” Which is true. In my bones, I feel like I’m a doer. Of course, I could be a lazy cat hoarder. I have no idea.
Scott laughs and opens the front door. I think he liked my answer. My parents’ house is beautiful. There’s a little office room looking out onto the porch and front yard, but then there’s a large great room with the kitchen on the left behind the office and square island. A large cream sectional in a u-shape sits in the middle of the room, and the other wall has three photos at least five feet tall. All three are of flowers or trees taken from unique angles and are absolutely stunning.
My mom comes from the hallway. “Sweetie, so glad you’re home. If you want us to change anything, let us know. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, say the word, and we’ll put it up.”
“Nonsense, this is your home, and it’s beautiful. The photos are magnificent. Did you buy them from an art gallery?”
“Oh goodness, no. We know the photographer. She’s local and very good, don’t ya think?”
I nod and can’t quit staring at them. They’re captivating. “Where do you want me?”
“If you feel like eating, we could eat before Scott takes you to your room.”
“That sounds good.”
“Did you make my favorite?” I ask. Mom looks at Dad, who looks at Scott. “I’m kidding. I know you didn’t have time to fry chicken on short notice.”
“Heaven’s no. Frie d chicken is for Sundays. What can I whip up for you?”
“BLTs? I’m pretty sure I can’t go wrong with bacon.”
Scott laughs as he delicately sets me on the couch and positions me toward the large television that takes up a stone wall and fireplace. “Yeah, who doesn’t love bacon?” He lifts his brows. “Comfortable?”
“Yes, thanks. Can I see Vanessa and Jessica now? I have some memories of them, and I think it would help jog my memory.”
“Sure, when do you want them to come?”
“Maybe in a couple of hours, after I nap.”
After lunch, Scott takes me to my bedroom. I look at the pictures scattered on the bookshelves. There are two of me, Jessica, and Vanessa, then there’s one of the three of us with Scott and two guys I don’t recognize. We’re probably in early high school judging by the hair and clothing. There’s one of the dance team and a few photos of me by myself.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” He places my journal on the bedside table.
“Could I get another glass of sweet tea? Pretty sure I love it.”
“Yeah, babe.”
Babe? I really need to figure out my life because I’m falling for a guy I can’t have. A guy I’m not married to. I need to ask more questions, and I intend to ask Jessica and Vanessa.
“Here you go. Oh, and the girls will be here in a couple of hours. They can’t wait. They were at the hospital for hours and hours. They love you.”
“I know. From what I remembered so far; I can tell we have a close bond.”
“You do. Get some re st.”
I hear him go in the room next door, and I place the journal on my lap, turn to the page past our Hangman games, and write down the memory I had of Jess and the mysterious person rubbing my back in the hospital when Mark died. Then I write what I remember from my dream about Vanessa.
But I also jot down unrelated items.
I don’t think I’m happily married.
Drake acts guilty of something. Were we fighting? Is that why he brought me lunch? To try to make up?
Scott is so attentive, when his fingers skate over my skin, it ignites an explosion of goosebumps. I find myself wanting him to hold my hand and wanting to hear him laugh.
That memory of having sex on the couch was incredible. I wonder if it was real. Scott said my memory of the couch was correct. I try to search that memory back to the forefront, so I close my eyes. Can I see anything else?
Instead of pulling up the memory, I drift to sleep and dream of Scott kissing me. Except it doesn’t feel like a dream. He’s so real I can taste him, and I wake up coated in sweat. Damn, he’s a good kisser, and that wink at the end promised more. Was it a dream or a memory? I guess it’s possible that we dated at some point before I married Drake.
Quick, heavy steps come from the hallway, and two women burst into my room. “Wynter. Oh my God,” they both say as they come toward me. Taking turns into hugging me and pain like glass shoots through me. Do I care?
No.It’s like the lever of the dam that had been holding back my tears is pulled, and they rush out like white water rapids. “I remember you. I remember you.”
“Vanessa fiddles wit h her golden tight curls. Well, I don’t think you could forget this hair.”
“You’re beautiful and don’t fish for compliments.” We burst out laughing. “Thank you for coming.” Even with only fragmented memories, I feel content and reassured that I’m not alone.
“Where else would we be?”
“With your husbands? Boyfriends?” I ask.
I point to the picture on the shelf. “Is that Mark?” Jess tucks her lips in as she nods. “I dreamed about the day he died in the hospital, except it was real. God, I am so sorry I can’t remember him, but I feel the pain I felt.”
“It’s okay. He’s always with us.”
“Scott slipped and told me you’re married to Maverick. That’s crazy. The Maverick I remember is so brooding and fucking built.”
Jess throws her head back, cackling. “So, you remember hot guys? Yes, Maverick and I are married… very happily I must say.”
Vanessa, ever the girly girl, searches my drawers for nail polish. “Aww, here it is. A blast from the past—Funny Bunny nail polish.”
“Is that from Easter fifteen years ago when we tried to convince my mom I was prim and proper?” I ask as she beats the little glass jar against the heel of her hand.
Their jaws slack before they finally scream and get up to dance around like Elaine from Seinfeld. “Yes. Yes. That’s a memory.”
I guess it is. Maybe being in my childhood home will be good for me. Just then, Scott stands inside the door jamb. His body drips with water beads, and his hips are draped in a floral towel. His sculpted torso and that deep V trave ls underneath the towel starts my synapses firing all over my body. He’s a freaking gorgeous man.
“I love it when you ladies laugh. What’s so funny?” he asks, and I can’t possibly concentrate on my memory when my center is pulsing at the sight of him. He seems to notice something in my eyes and says, “Like the towel?”
I smirk. “What kind of towel would you prefer, Mr. umm, Mr.—”
“Plain. Any plain color.”
Vanessa runs to Scott and pulls him deeper into my room. “She remembered about the Funny Bunny nail polish. Do you remember when she went through her goth stage and wore black nail polish, and her mom was horrified? Not exactly church-like in a small town.”
“I do. I kind of like that wild side of Wynter.”
My skin reddens, almost stinging at his compliment. I tuck my chin into my chest as I gather myself. The room feels supercharged with ionic particles, zipping and zapping between us. Unspoken words and lingering glances. “I better get dressed. Then I’ll take you downstairs, and you can sit on the porch. I know how you ladies love to drink your sweet tea and swing.”
When he leaves, we giggle like schoolgirls. “God, he’s hot,” I say aloud without thinking.
Jess says, “When your parents let me live here for a few years, he was wiry and hadn’t fully come into his own but now look at him. Shew!”
“We have pretty hot husbands,” Vanessa adds.
“Speaking of husbands… Am I happily married?” My voice shakes with guilt and indecision.
“Yes, why? ”
“Because I can’t quit thinking about Scott. When Drake touches me, it feels awkward, uncomfortable and he seems a little guilty. Are you sure we haven’t been having problems? He brought me a sandwich for lunch the day I fell, and I keep seeing a flash of me jerking away from him. I… I don’t know if I’m conjuring up these images, or if they’re real. And it sucks no one will tell me anything.”
Scott returns in a performance tank and gym shorts. Just what I needed, more of the man I can’t have. Plus, he’s my friend, and he’s married. Wait. Who is Scott married to?
He picks me up honeymoon style and gallops down the stairs like I’m weightless. The scent of eucalyptus and pine infiltrates my nose, and I suck in a deep breath of Scott. There’s something so familiar about the way he holds me, so I ask, “I know we’ve known each other a long time. How many times have you carried me like this?”
His head swivels to mine as we come to the ground floor landing. Our eyes are tethered together. “I would venture to say more than a thousand. Maybe thousands if you count piggyback rides.”
The girls exchange a glance as Scott sets me down on the daybed swing. Vanessa holds it still while he positions my broken leg out in front of me and props it up on a cushion. Then they climb on with me. They show me magazines and ask me to pick the outfits I like, then they agree, “She’s still Wynter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve always been the stylish one of us. Ready to jump on a new trend that Kissing Springs may not be quite ready for. Like the goth nail polish.”
“I must have been wa y ahead of the trend because everyone in these glossy magazines have dark nails,” I declare as Mom brings out the tea, and Vanessa reaches in the bag and pulls out a bear claw.
“Oh my God, I love bear claws.”
“We know.”
After they leave, Scott returns from a run, speckled with sweat. He leans down and shakes his hair out on me.
“Ooh, stop.” I’m starting to believe that I do think he’s fun.
“You love it,” he teases.
Maybe I do but probably more when we’re both naked.