Chapter Eleven #3
A sharp chill rips through my spine when his hand touches my back.
Why does his touch still affect me after all this time?
It would be so easy to give in to the sexual attraction I’ve always had for Micah, but we both know that wouldn’t be enough for him.
He would want pieces of me I can’t give him. Pieces I no longer have to give.
He takes his time pulling the zipper down, the metallic zip the only sound between us. My flesh begs him to keep going, to keep pulling until the zipper has reached its end and the dress pools at my feet, but he doesn’t. He stops just far enough so that I can do the rest myself.
Leaning down so his mouth caresses my ear, he says, “The rest is on you, track star.”
When I turn around, he’s gone.
At Daria’s insistence, we’re staying at her house while we try to figure out what Tanya’s next clue could be.
We met her parents briefly before they retired to their rooms. Daria and I find ourselves sitting out by the pool while Sam grabs us some dinner and Micah has disappeared for a sunset hike.
“Sometimes I regret it,” Daria says, her head leaning against the back of her chair.
“Regret what?”
“Moving my parents in.” She winces as she blows air into her cheeks, as if the words taste like bile in her mouth.
“The house is about thirty minutes away from the ranch where they got married, and I thought that would be good for them, you know? They loved that ranch so much. I thought I could take them there whenever they needed a reminder of past times, and everything would be fine, but it hasn’t been.
I haven’t designed anything in so long. Your clothes for the gala were the very last thing, and it felt great to get back to what I’m good at.
But ever since, my creative well has completely dried up.
It’s like I’m afraid to progress my business because I don’t want it to take me away from them.
And sometimes I wish I could turn a blind eye to their illnesses just so I could have that part of my life back. Is that terrible of me to say?”
“No, it’s not.” I don’t have the words to comfort her. I can’t relate to what she’s going through, but it’s easy to see how much she loves her parents. Wanting the best for them and more for herself is only natural.
“Hmm, if you say so. Anyway, when I told you about my parents earlier, you looked at me like I was some kind of saint. I wanted you to know I’m not.”
“Oh shit, so that wasn’t a halo I saw on your head earlier?”
She chuckles. “No, but I see why you would think so. I am ethereal,” she says, fanning her fingers in front of her face.
“Real goddess-like,” I add.
“You get it.”
I turn at the sound of a small purr to find Holden sneaking toward the pool. He swipes at his reflection in the water and backs away at the sight of the ripples.
“He does that every time,” Daria says to me. “Come here, Holden baby.” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue as she holds her hand toward him.
He skips happily over to her, wrapping himself around the base of her lounge chair, then doing the same to mine. When she reaches over to pet him, he reaches his paw out and presses down on her hand.
A loud cackle escapes from the depths of my belly. “He said unhand me.”
When she tries to pet him again, she receives the stiff arm. “He only likes to be touched on his terms. Which—I mean, go off, king—set your boundaries. But I’m your motherrrrr.”
“You gotta play hard to get. You want it too badly,” I tease.
“I guess I was due to be told that once in my life.”
We watch the sunset from our chairs and encourage Sam to join us when he returns with our food.
I don’t see Micah for the rest of the night.
The next morning, the smell of coffee brings me down to the kitchen. Daria’s mom’s nurse is pouring himself a cup while he waits for her mom’s breakfast to finish cooking. He pours a cup for me and makes idle chitchat until his job in the kitchen is done.
It’s quiet once he leaves; nothing but the birds singing in the trees outside can be heard. The stillness of the world around me amplifies the thoughts swirling in my head.
From all the work that needs to be done at home to how I left things with Micah, I can’t get my mind to quiet down.
You’re okay. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.
Micah’s heavy footsteps into the kitchen are a welcome distraction. “Morning,” he says as he makes his way to the pot of coffee.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“I woke up with a cat on my chest. So, I guess good?” Of course Holden is drawn to Micah. The man is walking catnip.
“Did he let you pet him?”
He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “He was sleeping on my chest.”
“Right,” I say, still waiting for an answer to my question.
“He invaded my space.”
“Right,” I respond.
“So, yes, I petted him.” He holds his hands out as if that answer should’ve been obvious.
“Not what I asked. I asked did he let you pet him? Like did you force him to let you pet him or he just … let it happen?”
“I don’t think you understand. We’re best friends now. He let me pet him.” He takes a sip of his coffee, hiding a grin behind his mug.
“Daria is gonna be pissed,” I jokingly admonish.
“If it makes her feel better, he did meow very loudly in my face before he left. It sounded like a scream, it was kinda scary.”
I’m not sure if that will help or hurt the sting of betrayal, but since Holden didn’t even bother to acknowledge me this morning, I’m definitely snitching.
“So, think there’s any of Tanya’s clues hiding out in Daria’s house that she doesn’t know about?” Micah asks.
We rack our brains trying to figure out where else Tanya could be trying to lead us. There has to be another clue we haven’t found yet.
“I think we need to find Daria,” I concede when my brain feels as if it’s going to explode.
We never got the full tour of the house, so Micah and I stumble around, carefully peeking into room after room in search of Daria.
There isn’t any sign of her, which is strange, because she said she’s normally an early riser.
I’m hoping to at least bump into one of the nurses so I can ask them where she’d be.
As I start to open one door, I trip and slam through the opening.
“Woah,” Micah exclaims. Inside, we find a mini showroom. It’s the size of a large walk-in closet packed with mannequins decked out in fabulous clothing.
Before we can step into the room, we hear Daria’s voice behind us. “Oh, there y’all are.”
“We were looking for you,” I say. “But, um, what are these?” At first glance at the outfits closest to me, I can tell Daria didn’t design them. They’re beautiful, but they’re not her. They lean too much on the chic side than the edgy.
“Sorry. I was sitting on the upstairs balcony. These”—she pauses as she joins us at the threshold of the showroom—“are Tanya’s designs.”
“Wait, what?” I ask.
She smiles as she walks into the room and picks a book off of one of the shelves. She flips open to a random page that has a pantsuit roughly sketched on it before plopping it down on the table below the shelves.
“You know Tanya loved to pick up random skills. She got hooked on Project Runway and started learning how to draw clothes just so she could sketch designs with me.” She looks down at the sketch, then out to the sea of designs before walking around each mannequin dressed in Tanya’s pieces.
She strides around each garment with purpose, so gracefully her feet almost look like they’re floating, stopping at the exact suit from the sketchbook.
“You should’ve seen this when she first sketched it.
It looked like a poncho made for a giant. ”
And now it looks damn good for a novice. I have to give her credit; she never held on to her hobbies for long, but she never let them go until she damn near perfected them.
Micah grabs the sketchbook and flips through it feverishly, looking up to the ceiling when he reaches one page in particular.
“What is it?” I ask him.
He puts the sketchbook back down with his index finger on top of the page. “She designed this?” he asks Daria.
I look at the sketch and freeze. It’s the dress Tanya was wearing in her casket at her funeral.
Unaware of the emotions clogging our throats, Daria smiles at the sketch in question. “Yeah. When I told her that I had started sewing her designs, she asked if I would ship that one to her. She said people had to see her in it.”
And that they did. When I saw her lifeless body in that pink dress at the funeral, I wanted to laugh. Only she would pick a hot pink dress as her final resting outfit, but knowing that she designed it herself adds all the color I need to understand why.
Micah and I share a look, silently agreeing not to tell Daria where she wore it, but we tell her that we indeed saw Tanya in the dress, and that seems to give her comfort.
“Good. I’m glad someone saw one of her designs. Actually, do you want to take the rest of them? You can add them to her auction. They deserve to see the light of day.”
Micah furrows his brows. “You don’t want them? Make them part of your next launch?”
She looks over all the mannequins, tears welling up in her eyes. “They’re not mine. I don’t know if I’ll ever design again, but I can’t pass off Tanya’s creations as my own. I just wanted to bring her vision to life, you know?”
Tanya wouldn’t have cared what Daria did with the garments. She would probably be honored to have her designs grace one of Daria’s shows, but I understand where she’s coming from.
An idea starts brewing in my head. One that I think would both honor Tanya and help Daria find her way back to her destiny.
“We would love to include these in the auction. But, do you mind if we use them for something first?”
She hums. “Use them for what?”
I clap my hands in excitement. “Leave everything to me. I promise I’ll take good care of them.”
She taps her finger against her chin. “Secrecy. I like it. Go on.”