“What exactly were the terms?” she asks finally.
Every woman who came before her now seems like a vague memory. “Exclusivity,” I tell her, “but no commitment in the long-term.”
With a delicate movement, she tugs her robe tighter around her. “And you never felt tempted to make an exception with any of the women you’ve been with?”
“No, never.” I shake my head. “I’ve felt pressured, but usually as soon as a woman starts to demand more than I can give, I walk away.”
“Oh.” Her face is expressionless. “Lucky for me I never asked you for a long-term commitment,” she says blandly.
Is she offended? Joking? Mocking me? I can’t tell. I hold her gaze. “This is just sex, and I don’t want to pretend it’s anything more,” I say softly, repeating what she said to me before we left for San Francisco. “Those were your exact words.”
“Yes.” She smiles and turns away from my gaze. “I remember.”
She wanted nothing more than a temporary sexual arrangement from me at the time. We might have prolonged that arrangement for a few more weeks, but the specter of an ending is still here, hovering over us.
It’s not what I want.
But what does she want?
I refill her wine. “Do you like the food?”
“Yes. It’s great.”
Our conversation turns to other things as we eat, and after, I finally show her around the house, which is empty. The Hayes are in their apartment, and the staff that help maintain the mostly empty house have left for the night. In one of the balconies on the upper floor, we settle on an outdoor divan and watch the sun set.
We talk late into the night, about her family, Aidan, Laurie and Brett, even work, but we don’t talk about us. Finally, she falls asleep, and I carry her to my room, to my bed. When I join her there, she snuggles against me, staying there until I fall asleep.
“It’s your father.” Wilson’s voice is breaking. “Come back to the house.”
The dread is like bile in my throat. “What happened?”
“Why don’t you come back, and we’ll talk.”
I’m driving down a gray highway. “Dammit Wilson, what’s going on? Where’s Aidan?
“Just come back.”
“Wilson…”
A truck brakes in front of me and I swerve, barely in time to avoid it. I veer off the road, stopping with a screech half off the shoulder.
I see my mother’s hair burning. “Let me go! Mom!”
I’m back in the house and Aidan is screaming. “I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.” Then he’s asleep, sedated.
“Your father’s dead,” Wilson says.
My mother is driving and I’m in the back, wishing anything would happen to make us turn back, go back home and wait for my dad.
The car swerves off the road.
My mother turns her face to me as the car burns. “Landon, help me.”
“Mom!”
My own scream wakes me. Beside me, Rachel is still asleep, oblivious to the ghosts of the house. I swing my legs off the bed and place my head in my hands. A moment later, I feel her hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?”