Chapter 23 #2
“Very much,” he said softly.
Dahlia reached for the letter tucked under Harry’s foot and read Lil’s proof of love.
Dear Dahlia,
Enclosed are my journals. They hold the key to a secret that has been buried for far too long. I didn’t have the guts to share it while I was alive, and I am deeply sorry for that.
I met an amazing man in 1955. He was what Daisy would call my twin flame.
It was the summer my father took a job at CBS Studios in California.
I was just sixteen but wise beyond my years.
He was nineteen, and oh, was he a looker.
He swept me off my feet, and we fell madly in love within weeks.
It was the kind of love that moved mountains and parted the seas.
It was the stuff movies were made of and books written about.
At the time, he was just an errand boy, but I knew he would make it big in film someday. He had so much drive and determination.
Dahlia read on about Lil’s monstrous father, what he’d threatened to do to Gene if she didn’t obey his wishes, and how there was no choice but to have her sister raise Rose. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the one who hid those letters.
Reading Lil’s words to Gene stirred an emotional tsunami inside her. Her shaky voice barely made it to the end. “Are you still there?” Dahlia asked, feeling tears slip from her eyes at a quiet pace.
“Yes. Please continue,” he mumbled.
This must be shocking, but I need you to know where you came from.
Your biological grandfather’s name is Gene Obermann, but he changed his name to Charles Halston when he hit it big in the movies.
I am hoping he is still alive. Please get in touch with him, tell him what happened, and that I died loving him. It would be my last wish fulfilled.
There was silence on the other end. She was praying his heart didn’t give out.
“Gene, she died loving you. Every day, it was you, her, and my mother Rose. You can read about it in her journals too, if you’d like.” She peeled herself from the floor, returning the blood flow to her legs.
His voice faded as he asked, “I wonder why she didn’t reach out to me ever?”
“Maybe she was scared that you moved on. I’m sure she saw your big life back then.
Knowing Lil, she probably didn’t think she’d fit into it.
You know, square peg, round hole.” She knew that feeling all too well.
But it was more than that. As a mother herself, she knew Lil’s reason was Rose.
Just like she’d stayed in a hollow place for too long for Daisy but kept that part to herself.
“And don’t forget she never got your letters, so she didn’t know what you felt after she left that summer. ”
“I never stopped loving her. We would have always fit together no matter the time or space.”
All she heard was quiet sobbing on the other end, which made her weep with him.
“Oh, Gene, what are we going to do without her?” Dahlia asked, picking up a small, framed picture of the two of them on her dresser.
It was from Dahlia’s sixteenth birthday when Lil made a big fuss with balloons and homemade pastries.
“I don’t know.” He blew his nose, and she imagined him using a crisp white hanky from his pocket. “We’re going to be in each other’s lives. That’s for certain,” he said firmly. “I want to meet my granddaughters.”
“You do?” Her fingers touched her lips. In the back of her mind, she’d hoped out of protection for her own heart that he wouldn’t want to meet. Loving someone, anyone, meant eventually losing them.
“Either you could come here, or if you have a service for Lil, I’d love to come there.”
“Oh, sure, yeah.” Service for Lil. Dahlia hadn’t even thought about it. They’d had something small in Connecticut as per her wishes, but now that didn’t nearly seem enough to honor such a remarkable person.
“Listen, I have an appointment that I’ve got to get to. Can we chat tomorrow? I want to know more about you,” he said.
“Of course. Tomorrow.” She nodded.
“Dahlia, thank you.”
“Of course, Gene,” she said tenderly as her mind whirled with ideas.
She hung up and rested the phone on the dresser.
A smile tugged at her mouth. That was it.
They would have a celebration of life party to honor her.
But if she was going to do this, she was going to have to brighten up the place.
It needed to match her colorful barn and life.
And with that, she grabbed the keys from the dresser and headed to the hardware store.
Dahlia dipped her roller into Tranquility and rolled the pale blue onto the living room walls.
With each motion, the cream all but disappeared.
It was like a fresh start. Dahlia didn’t care if it was good for resale.
All she cared about was honoring Lil the best way she knew how: by highlighting her optimism and her ability to rise from the ashes and create something beautiful from the pain.
Dahlia knew from her past that painting was the best way to do that.
Dahlia had painted every room in her old house, even though they’d had a contractor.
Looking at the contrast with the red buffalo-checked chairs, she knew this color would be the perfect backdrop for Lil’s paintings. Feeling a vibration in her pocket, she rested the roller on the tray and answered.
“Hey,” she said.
“Where are you?” Noah asked.
“At home, painting. Why?”
“Wait, didn’t you just repaint everything cream for resale?”
“Well, I changed my mind. I decided something. I’m going to have a celebration of life for Lil here, in the house, and I want the house to reflect her love of color. Right now, it doesn’t.”
“Your house, your rules,” he said, grinning.
“Smart man.” She laughed, lifting her chin in the air.
“Want to meet me at the vineyard a little early?” His voice sounded perky.
Dahlia looked down at her paint-splattered shorts and legs. “How early?”
“Now early? The house crew is at Croteaux. Come on, it will be fun to catch up.”
“Is Josie there?” Dahlia stared at the crack in the floor.
“She’s away at a wedding this weekend. It might be nice for you to get to know them without her.”
“Are they filming?” This show and these friends were still important to him. And he wanted her to meet them. She should go.
“Yeah, I think they are,” he said.
Her neck muscles tightened, and she hesitated. “Noah, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll sit this one out.” There was no way she was walking into that lion’s den as the cameras rolled. “But you go.” Could this really work? They were obviously in two different seasons of their lives.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ve got plenty to do here.” She blew the hair out of her eyes.
“Have fun.” No matter what season Noah was in, she wanted him to embrace it.
She knew what it felt like to miss out and didn’t want that for him.
And whatever was meant to be would be. Dahlia was starting to grasp the idea of faith.
But how much she’d lean into it was anyone’s guess.
“Okay, I’ll come by later then,” Noah said.
“I’ll be here.”
She ended the call, realizing she’d missed a text from Tomas, the gallery owner from Archive in Southampton.
Great meeting you yesterday. Come by the gallery tomorrow at 11?
It was presumptuous that he’d assume she’d be free. She tossed the phone on the bench, uncertain if she’d go or even answer. “Looks like it’s just you and me, boy, and maybe Sinatra.” She couldn’t forget to ask Gene about him.
Harry lifted his head off the floor for a brief moment, snorted, acknowledged the comment, and went back to sleep.
Dahlia put her humid hair up in a bun and tied the oversized off-the-shoulder T-shirt at her waist. The navy short shorts she found in a drawer were old and essentially falling apart, so paint splatters weren’t a concern.
She filled her water bottle and turned on the record player.
This was good. Although she was alone, she didn’t feel lonely.
A peaceful painting night was exactly what she needed, even though she still had heaps of stuff to get through.
She stretched her hands over her head, watching the bold hue erase the ordinary color of the walls.
Memories of how many times she had painted Daisy’s room through all her phases infiltrated her thoughts.
There was lilac, bubblegum pink, sunshine yellow, and who could forget gunmetal gray.
She didn’t mind, though. Painting was always a way for her to center herself, think, and find answers.
She swayed to the hits of the fifties and belted the lyrics into the wet paintbrush while trimming the room in blue.
There was a knock at the door, waking Harry from his slumber.
He barked, which quickly turned into a whimper.
It was a clear sign that the person at her front door was a friend.
Dahlia set the blue brush on top of the can, turned the music down, and stepped up into the hallway.
She peeked from behind the sheers and beamed.
It was Noah, holding up a bottle of wine and a brown bag.
“What are you doing here?” She opened the door as giddy as a schoolgirl.
“What can I say, I’m addicted,” he said, giving her a playful smooch. “I brought the vineyard to you.”
She felt her heart flutter under her paint-stained hand. “You’re supposed to be hanging out with your friends.” Her eyes trailed an easy line up and down his body. Fitted black jeans clung to his thighs and other parts too, and a gray T-shirt hugged every curve of his corded arms.
“Do you want me to go back?” He pointed to the door with a goofy grin.
“Hell, no.” Her smile reached the heavens. He had to be the most thoughtful and incredibly sexy man alive.
“I need to tell you something,” he said after kissing her thoroughly.
Her stomach sank.
“I didn’t sign on for another season of Hamptons House.
You mean way too much to me, and that chapter of my life, well, it’s closed.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t really belong there in the first place.
” He held her hand, which most likely meant his hands were now covered in paint too.
But he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t pull away or say a word.
“This, what we have, is real, not that. But …” He hesitated with a smile she couldn’t quite place.
“But what, Noah?” Her heart hammered against her rib cage.
“Can you handle me just being me without the celebrity status?”
“Noah.” She held his whiskered face with an unwavering glance that said everything and more. “That never meant a damn thing to me. You know that.”
He claimed her mouth again, this time with a hunger like no other.
It was as if her reassurance unlocked something inside him.
Her legs felt boneless, and her blood hummed with need.
It took all of her willpower not to yank off his shirt right there.
This is what she’d been waiting for, and she wanted to lean into this moment with all she had.
But she also had a job to finish, and now he was there to help her, whether he wanted to or not. But she’d make it worth his while.
When they finally broke free, he gave her a closer look. “D, you’ve got paint all over your clothes.” Then his eyes wandered down to his hands, and they too were covered in pale blue paint.
“Oops.” She shrugged with a devilish grin. “I have a proposition for you. How about you help me, so we can finish and go upstairs?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“Every time I get paint on something, I have to strip.”
He smiled and moved closer, reaching around her slim waist.
“But you have to do the same.” She reached for a paintbrush dipped in paint and handed it to him. His warm hands left her hips, and she silently groaned from the loss.
“That’s easy, you’ll be naked within ten minutes. That doesn’t seem like a fair trade.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, painting his cheek. He stared at her in shock, but then dipped his fingers inside the can with a look that both terrified and tickled something low in her belly.
“That’s it,” he said, chasing her into the kitchen as she squealed.
Within ten minutes, they were both naked, which led to a much-needed premature paint break. So much for willpower.