Chapter 18 Legend Has It
Legend Has It
It was strange to feel so apprehensive about going for dinner.
I deliberated over how to wear my hair—up or down?
I pulled it up a dozen times before finally settling on down.
I put way too much makeup on and then rubbed it back off again.
I didn’t know what to wear. No doubt it would be a casual affair, but how casual was too casual?
Given Katrina’s daytime attire, somehow jeans and a T-shirt didn’t seem right.
And I certainly didn’t want to look like I was trying to impress anyone.
It was quite the pickle, this non-date thing.
I bit my nails and stared at the different outfits laid out on my bed.
Calm down. It’s not like you care what anyone—particularly Ethan—thinks.
I chose my green paisley dress with a pair of tan ankle boots.
Reapplied makeup and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
My face looked much healthier now, at least. My skin had gained color and had its glow back.
My eyes though, looked different, darker, as if the hurt had shifted something deep inside, like a shadow blocking out the light.
That thought churned against my chest, made me feel weak, made me feel like I had no power. Made me feel like a victim.
I drew in a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, staring at the shadows. It was then I decided perhaps the darkness wasn’t blocking the sun, it was armor, so no one could ever hurt me again.
It wasn’t long after a vehicle rumbled to a stop outside. I opened the door and went out. I’d expected him to drive a convertible sports car or something else cheesy, but it was a large, shiny black SUV with windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see in.
He was leaning on the hood of his car, wearing jeans and a black shirt. The sun was half-cast over the mountains, sending a warm glow across his face. I couldn’t help the flutter that filled the pit of my stomach. Why was it that “good-looking” always came paired with “conceited asshole”?
His gaze swept over me, drinking all of me in. “You look beautiful.”
I strode down the steps and kept my chin high. “Ethan, flattery will get you nowhere.” My response was blunt, rude actually. It was bad enough he was picking me up; I didn’t want to encourage him.
His lips twitched up. “Really? What works for you, Happy Endings?” He opened the car door for me.
“Stop calling me that,” I ground out, climbing in.
He chuckled, clicking the door shut behind me. The interior was all black, with leather seats, a racing car shifter, and the latest gadgets across the dashboard.
“So, what brings you to Church Heights?” he asked, glancing at me as we bumped down the gravel road. “And don’t tell me it’s beautiful here and you needed a change.”
“How did you hear what I said?” I asked, taken aback. “You were at the other end of the bar.”
“I have superman hearing.”
“I suppose you have x-ray vision too?” I scoffed.
“Not quite—close enough, though.” When I didn’t respond, as if I didn’t know he was joking, he explained, “Shelley told me.”
“Good to see I’m the talk of the town,” I muttered, staring out the window at the cathedral of green. “Feel free to add in something juicy.”
He laughed and the sound rumbled softly through the car. Through me. “You can’t move to a place this size and expect that everyone won’t know your name and talk about the beautiful new girl.”
I stifled a groan.
“Will your boyfriend be joining you?” he asked, tone casual.
“No,” I replied bluntly.
“Oh, girlfriend?”
“What? No.”
“Ex-boyfriend you separated from but are hoping you will get back with?”
I didn’t want to think about Tom. Maybe it was because the armor I deluded myself to thinking I had was only a shadow, and shadows needed light to remain. And the thought of Tom only spread more darkness—more armor—in theory, but I was too fragile to carry it right now.
“Yes, an ex-boyfriend,” I snapped. “But no, I’m not hoping to get back with him. I really couldn’t think of anything more nauseating than being with any man who cheats on his girlfriend or sleeps around.”
Ethan’s eyes stayed on the road. “You wear a ring on your engagement finger, so I just assumed.”
“You assumed wrong.”
“A gift from your ex-boyfriend then?”
“Really, Ethan, you don’t give up, do you.”
A little smile played on his face. “Nope. I always go for what I want, Amy.”
His inference didn’t escape me. I sighed. “If you really must know, the ring was a gift from my mother.”
“Well, your mother has good taste.”
“Had good taste,” I murmured. Unexpectedly, pain stung my heart. I sought refuge toward the window, away from his gaze. The memories always came back in fragments, like broken shards of glass, glinting against a black abyss.
A horrible pain flared in my head; the side of my face was wet and warm.
For a moment there was no sound, the world had gone silent.
Cold air brushed against my cheeks. My vision swum with shades of black and red.
I turned my head, and the sound came rushing in like two sharply clashing cymbals. I blinked trying to clear my vision.
I went to a theatre once. It had giant red velvet curtains, and a fan blew across the stage, making the black ties swish in front of it. That’s what it looked like now.
It took me a moment to realize that it was my mother’s hair swaying in front of her bloody face.
It took me another long moment to register we were hanging upside down.
Her lips were parted. I cried out her name as I stared at her, my heart feeling like it was being torn in half, waiting for her to blink, waiting for her lips to move, waiting for her to draw a breath. Blood slithered over her forehead like the curtain dropping on some horror stage show.
The smell of gas burned up my nose.
The darkness swarmed in, and mind shut down as if it didn’t want to remember anymore.
When I woke again, my head throbbed, my neck was in a brace, and tubes ran out of my arms. Dad was sitting by my bed, his head down, his shoulders slumped.
I murmured his name. He lifted his head, his skin so white it was almost gray.
He was barely breathing, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his eyes were bloodshot and swollen.
He made a whimpering sound of pure pain as he tried to speak.
He didn’t need to tell me she was dead. The look of agony in his eyes told me well before he spoke.
My hearing must have revolted because as he spoke the sound got lost among the screaming in my head.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ethan said softly, shunting me back to the car. The empathy in his voice was surprising, since I hadn’t expected any type of depth beneath his perfectly curated surface.
“It was a car accident. We were T-boned by a drunk driver at an intersection. I walked out—she didn’t.”
“Were you driving?” he asked.
I brushed a few wayward tears from my cheeks.
She was picking me up from a party I’d snuck out to.
Someone had pulled out drugs, and it got a little wild and I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
Of being watched. Uncomfortable and wanting to leave, I’d rung her and she’d come to collect me.
The pickup had hit us three blocks from home.
If I hadn’t gone, or if I’d called a cab instead, or just stayed there, she’d still be alive today.
Nerida didn’t deserve to lose her mother, nor my father his wife.
Sometimes—all the time—I wished the truck had just slammed into my side.
I shook my head. “No.”
A few minutes later we pulled off the main road onto a long driveway.
The house, like Katrina, screamed wealth.
It was timber-clad, painted crisp white, and sprawling.
In front, in a sandstone circle, a water feature cascaded softly over two naked figures.
Short, vibrant-green lawns spread out on either side of the premises.
Neat garden beds, full of blossoming roses and purple flowers, lined the front of the house.
The covered front porch housed a white patio setting built for four.
On either side of the black double doors, sandstone pots with green plants that looked like giant lollipops.
Ethan leaped out of the car. Wearing an above the knee dress wasn’t the wisest move in hindsight, in my rush to get out before he could get to my side and catch an eyeful of my thighs, somehow, I managed to hit my knee on the door.
Hissing a curse, I hopped to the side, snapping the door shut, my face flushing as I turned to face him.
He chuckled, his eyes sparkled with amusement, so captivating I felt my breath catch in my throat. I stared at him, my head a little dizzy, the ground a little shaky under my feet.
He held out his arm. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the house.
I jerked out of my stupor, ignoring his arm as I strode toward the door. He caught up quickly. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, and I ignored that too.
“Ethan, Amy, come through.” Katrina greeted us on the front porch, wearing neat black slacks and a pretty blush blouse.
She ushered us in through a snow-white hallway.
It had Edwardian architraves and an exquisitely detailed round molding on the ceiling.
A glinting black ball etched a pretty mosaic of light on the walls.
I grew up in some homes that could be classified as hovels more than houses.
My parents’ house was older, but neat and tidy.
Tom’s was modern, but this place looked like it was straight out of the pages of a magazine.
Katrina ushered us into a room with white linen couches. Bob was chatting to two other people in front of a fireplace. I was introduced to her husband, Robert, and Bob’s wife, Marg.
Robert was a plain man, shorter than his wife, with brown hair and a potbelly. He seemed nice, warm and inviting, but even so, Katrina must have been quite the catch for him all those years ago.