Chapter 15 #3
“She told me she quit her job, but I ran into one of her co-workers. He asked me how Frankie was handling things after being fired. That’s when I became suspicious, but I held back from asking her about it.
Then she wanted for me to loan her some money.
By then, we were practically living together.
She still had a room in town she rented, but she spent all day and most every night at my place.
She’d spend time in town, writing. I’d wake up, and she’d be gone.
She’d leave me a note, telling me she’d gone for a walk or headed back to do some writing. My suspicions grew.
“And then I caught her in another lie. A big one.”
Keaton kept looking straight ahead. “I won’t go into particulars.
I caught her getting high. She lied about that, saying it wasn’t something she ever did.
That she was just low on creativity and was trying it to boost herself.
But I knew. I began tearing her room apart.
I found drugs. Lots of them.” He shook his head.
“I felt like such a fool. The one thing I had wanted from her was honesty. Well, two. That—and no drug use.”
“Did you leave Jackson Hole when you found out about her using?”
“Not at first. I was hardheaded. Why should I leave? I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Of course, she came around a few times. Begged me to take her back.
Pleaded with me, saying she’d stopped cold turkey and was going to meetings.
I offered to pay for her to go to rehab.
She refused. Said she’d been to it twice, and more drug use occurred in a rehab clinic than out on the streets.
That’s when I told her not to come around again.
I wanted to cut all ties with her. I went into a deep depression. It affected my art.”
Layne reached for his hand. “I’m sorry your relationship ended on such a bad note.”
“What ended it permanently was that she OD’d,” he said, bitterness seeping into his tone.
She gasped. “She … died?”
“Yes. She left a note for me. The police contacted me, informing me of her death and asking about our relationship. I explained how I’d discovered she was an addict and that I didn’t want to have anything to do with her.
That we’d broken up months ago. Or rather I’d cut all ties.
The police chief said Frankie had left a note, which they’d read.
He said he didn’t think it would be good for me to read it, especially since we weren’t even together anymore.
I took him at his word and told him to burn it.
I’m sure Frankie wrote something about how it was all my fault.
I didn’t need to carry that burden. I was already hurting bad enough as it was. ”
Keaton glanced to her. “That’s when I left Jackson Hole.
” He looked back ahead of him. “I’d loved the mountains, but everywhere I went—everything I saw—reminded me of Frankie and how she’d abused not only drugs but my trust in her.
In what we had. I wanted to get as far away as possible.
Have a completely different lifestyle. I’d never seen an ocean.
Never been to the Gulf Coast. I did know water had a soothing effect on me, though, because I’d sketched and painted on the banks of a nearby creek and a lake not far from my cabin.
I brought up a map of Texas on my tablet, closed my eyes, and touched the screen. My finger had landed on Driftwood Bay.”
“That’s why you came to the Bay? Oh, Keaton, what a leap of faith for you.”
“Sounds pretty crazy, now that I think about it. I packed up my truck. Told the landlord I was breaking my lease. The news about Frankie’s death was out by then, so he got it.
He only had me pay until the end of that month.
I drove to Dallas and dropped off what I’d been working on with Sidney, then drove straight to Driftwood Bay.
I’d found Hillary Horton online and had emailed her about finding me a house to rent. ”
He laughed. “I wasn’t totally crazy. I decided I’d rent for a few months and see if I liked living in Driftwood Bay.
If I did, I’d think about buying a place, preferably on the water.
And that’s the story, Layne. How I came to the Bay.
Living here, it felt like where I should have always been.
I picked up running again. I rented a boat and starting going out on the water.
My painting is getting better. Being close to the water has a soothing effect on me. I’ve made some friends.”
Keaton smiled at her. “I’ve found a woman to love. We’re going to live in a house on the bay.” He swallowed. “Hopefully, happily ever after.”
She brought their joined hands to her cheek, nuzzling his hand against her face.
“That had to hurt like hell, sharing all that with me. Thank you for doing so, Keaton. It helps me understand you better. I promise I will never give you any reason to doubt me or my love for you. Trust is also important to me.
“And you’re the man I would trust with my life.”
“Same.”
They drove two more hours in silence, not a strained silence, but one which was good.
Comfortable. Things were solid between them.
They both had suffered in different ways, but they had found one another.
Even though he’d ripped open the old scab by talking about Frankie, Keaton knew doing so had been important.
Now, it was time to help each other heal.