Chapter Twenty-Two
Rick
The lighthouse that once was a refuge is now a prison, and I lock myself up in solitary confinement, talking to no one. Beau and Talia invite me for Thanksgiving, and I decline knowing there’s a good chance Devyn will be there. My parents, whom I rarely speak to, invite me to their Florida beach house to relax and unwind in the sun, and I’m almost tempted to go, get out of the cold, but my mother hates confrontation and I’m too surly to keep my attitude reined in to visit them.
The three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are poor times to do business, but I do it anyway and purchase an office park located in downtown Old Harbor. I don’t want Beau to accuse me of lying or shirking on my duty to M&H, and I make the realtor’s whole year buying the huge, neglected building. The space needs a complete overhaul, but it will be a nice first step in investing in Old Harbor as most of the suites will be put up for rent once the renovations are completed.
At one point, while I walked with the realtor down the sidewalk from the parking lot, I thought I saw Devyn’s blonde hair fluttering in the cold wind, but the woman disappeared into the Harbor Herald. It wouldn’t be Devyn. She wouldn’t bother working at a small newspaper like this when she could write for the Times.
I was so proud of her when I read the article she’d written about the accident. Picked up by the Associated Press, it was printed everywhere, and everyone wants to interview me now, ask me about what happened, if I’d be pursuing legal action. I direct everyone to Beau and our company’s PR department. He has more patience than I do and when I talk about Devyn, I miss her.
My body is still recovering from hoisting myself up to the second floor, though my masseuse, whom I usually agree with, told me I can’t get better physically if I’m sick mentally. “I’m not sick mentally,” I’d said irritated as he rubbed me down.
“Heartbroken.”
“I’m not heartbroken.”
“Yes, you are. The first time you came to see me, it was over your ex-wife. Now it’s a different woman. Find balance, Rick. Your body’s tired of the stress.”
I didn’t speak for the rest of the session.
I know what he wanted to ask. She loves me, and I love her, so what’s the problem?
The problem, is, I think, as I step over branches and rocks surveying land I want to buy along Harbor Lake’s coast, is that she deserves better. It’s why Renata left me. She felt she deserved better, and she went to find it. It’s debatable she found it with Bill Newsom, but if that’s what she thinks, then who am I to argue with her? I can save Devyn from facing the same choice down the road. Should she stay, should she go.
I sit on a log and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. I miss her so much.
What is she doing right now while the sun sinks into the horizon? Dressing to go on a date? Sitting at her desk at the Times typing out a story, some guy hanging over her shoulder, breathing in the scent of roses the way I used to do?
Is she making love, maybe with a man who can hold her, anchor her to a wall while driving inside her?
I couldn’t do that. I can barely handle missionary without having to adjust my body just right. She was always asking me, “Am I hurting you? Are you okay?” So fucking romantic, huh? So fucking romantic to stare into my face, look at my scar.
Fuck.
I’ll buy this land and leave it how it is. Fuck it. All these trees torn down; the view blocked by a luxury resort. What’s the point?
If Devyn were here, she could tell me what to do. A small resort, tasteful. Not some gaudy thing that would ruin the landscape. I sound like a little kid. Since when have I ever needed anyone’s help to do my own fucking job?
I crunch back to the truck, tiredly, carefully, limping along, snow and sticks under my work boots. When I dressed in my suit for the meetings Beau force me to go to, the material, the fit of the jacket, the gleam of my wingtips, they all felt so foreign. When had I lost the business side of the man I am? When had I stopped caring?
The roads are busy with people leaving work and going home. Stevie’s Sweetshop is packed full of people, and that’s another regret I’ll have now that all this is over. Devyn never found what she was looking for. I don’t mean me. We fell into a relationship we shouldn’t have, but she should have had the evidence she needed to take Stevie Johansson down.
Simpson’s suicide letter wasn’t enough for just cause. Not enough to warrant even a hint of an investigation. Once again, she slipped through Devyn’s fingers, and there’s no way I can see to expose her. Her affiliation with Everett could have been enough if there had been just one piece of damning evidence, but there’s nothing. Nothing but her standing by Everett’s side, declaring injustice.
The road to the lighthouse is plowed, salted, and sanded, creating a slush my tires spray as I wind my way up. When I reach the top, I want to slam on my breaks, but I steady myself, gripping the steering wheel.
She picked a helluva time to visit.
I park next to Devyn’s car. She’s walking along the lighthouse and disappears from my sight, perhaps to stand and look over the water the way I’ve started doing for hours on end, searching for some kind of answer, some kind of plan that could keep her in my life.
I want to pounce on her, shake her, crush her to me and kiss her. Drop down on my knees and beg her to forgive me, to come back, though I’m the one who left.
I want to ask her to marry me, but I won’t. I can’t listen to her say no.
Rounding the lighthouse, I slow. She’s there, dressed in a green coat, black boots covering her jeans and stopping at her knees.
She turns when she hears me crunch through the snow, and my breath slams out of my lungs. Christ, I miss her.