Chapter 13
13
Christian
I pull my truck up to a diner in Fairview before sitting in the cab for a moment to look around. I haven’t been back for more than two years now because there was no point. The entire town was incinerated, including my cabin up the hill, and there was nothing to see.
But in the time since, there’s been a lot of rebuilding, and the downtown looks good. There’s a selection of small shops with fresh paint, their awnings clean and new. When I step out of the truck, there’s no smell of ash in the air, and saplings line the road, their branches nothing more than twigs, thin and puny. Still, it’s good to see trees rather than an apocalyptic landscape. The photos from after the fire were horrifying, and reminiscent of a sci-fi movie, complete with the steaming, burned-out husks of cars, random metal stairwells that survived the flames, as well as an odd chimney still smoking here and there.
“Welcome to the Fairview Diner!” a plump waitress greets with a bright smile when I enter the establishment. “Where the air is clean, and the water is cleaner, all on the South Shore of Lake Tahoe. Where would you like to sit?”
I smile, although it’s more of a grimace.
“By the window would be great.”
“Is this booth okay?”
“Yes, thanks,” I rasp, taking a menu. “I’ll have a coffee to start, with bacon, eggs, and some rare steak if you have it.”
“We do,” the waitress burbles with a nod. “I’ll get that order in and have your coffee ready in just a moment.” Then Tanya, as her name tag reads, bustles away, and I take a look around. There’s no one I recognize in the diner, but then again, when I was at my cabin, I wasn’t exactly social. I came into town to get groceries once in a while, but that was about it. I didn’t hit up the bars or cafes, nor frequent the farmer’s market, nor meet any of the locals. I was a fucking hermit, savoring my alone time in the peace and quiet of my cabin in the woods.
Tears prick my eyes unexpectedly, and I dash them away because what the fuck? It’s been two years since Emily died, and yet I haven’t recovered from her loss. I think of the beautiful blonde every day, images of her sweet smile and curvy form invading my thoughts at the most inopportune times. I’d see her while making my coffee in the morning, or during an important meeting with investors. I’d work up a sweat in the gym, only to catch a glimpse of a curvy blonde figure in the mirror. I’d glimpse Emily crossing the street, but when the person turned, it was just a random woman with long blonde hair.
The shock always made me despondent. My heart would leap, thinking it was my love come back to life, but then the stranger’s face was jarringly different. My stomach would plummet to the ground as I ground my teeth with frustration and disappointment.
So I went berserk. I threw myself into work, and the Degas Hotel has never been more successful. People the world over flock to stay in our suites, losing millions in our casinos. Our food is world-class, helmed by TV chefs who promote cookbooks, products, and tchotchkes, along with a fine dining experience perfect for Instagram. Not only that, but we’ve become renowned for our entertainment, which currently features a Cirque du Soleil-type show helmed by lithe, beautiful ballerinas who dance to a mix of Top 20 hits and jazzy show-tunes. It sounds cheesy and fucking lame, but that’s what people expect from their time in Vegas, and I’m just the man to deliver.
Unfortunately, none of it gives me joy anymore. There’s no excitement at seeing my name lit up in lights. I don’t give a shit about the millions hitting my bank account each day, nor the women who throw themselves at me daily, vying for a piece of my attention. Instead, my life is empty, and I know I look empty too. I see myself in the mirror each day, and despite the immaculate suit and chiseled male features, my eyes are vacant. There’s no feeling, no hope, and no nothing in them. I’m a ruthless automaton who goes about his business, shielding a hidden pain within.
Fairview isn’t making things much better either. Sure, it’s a sunny day and the sun’s rays warm my skin as I sip my coffee. But this is the scene of where everything went wrong, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake coming back. Sure, I still own my land up the mountain, but there’s nothing to see. It’s just a pile of burned-out detritus, and I curse myself internally. What am I thinking, coming back? This was a mistake, and I reach for my wallet while standing, getting ready to throw a couple bills on the table before I leave.
But then, something catches my eye. There’s a woman walking along the sidewalk pushing an enormous truck of a stroller, and something about her is familiar. It’s the long, blonde hair draped over her shoulders in soft waves, as well as the generous sway of her hips. She’s curvy as she strains to manage the stroller because that fucker is heavy. I see that it’s got six babies loaded into it, all of them with sun hats covering their faces and warm jackets to shield them from the chill.
She comes closer, and I stare, my hand still on my wallet. Could it be...? My heart leaps into my throat, my pulse quickening. I can hardly breathe as literal drops of sweat break out on my forehead. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I think I might pass out.
But then my conscience speaks. Stop, asshole , it commands. This has happened before. How many times have you glimpsed a beautiful blonde on the street, only to find out that it wasn’t her? Emily’s dead. There’s nothing you can do to change it, so calm the fuck down and get yourself under control.
Yet I can’t look away. The curvy girl draws closer, and my heart hammers in my chest, my hands trembling. Is it...? Could it be...? I can’t stop myself from hoping because somewhere deep inside, I miss Emily so much that I’d do anything to get her back. But you can’t bring back people from the dead , the voice whispers again. Sorry, asshole. Even Christian Degas can’t make that happen.
Yet I can’t stop staring. My chest wheezes as I watch the woman approach, pushing with all her might at the giant stroller. But then a baby sitting in the middle wails, and she pauses on the sidewalk before coming forward to pick him up. She’s loving and tender, cradling the child in her arms as he sobs, knocking his little hat off in the process.
That’s when I literally stop breathing. I’d been straining for air already, but now, my lungs contract as my heart squeezes tight. Not only is that unmistakably Emily, with her sweet smile and plush pout blowing kisses at the baby, but the child has dark hair, a dimple in his chubby cheek ... and eyes just like mine.