Dirty Red (Love Me With Lies) (9 page)

I woke up to the sound of my
name. It was my mother’s voice, impatient. I sat up quickly and flinched at the pain that zigzagged across my scalp. She was standing next to my bed, fully dressed, her hair coiffed on top of her head in a perfect chignon. Her lips were ruby red and pulled tight. She was angry with me. I flinched again and pulled the sheet up to my chin.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Get up.”

“Okay
…”

“Your father is very angry, Johanna. This is the third time this year you’ve had an incident with your car.”

I shifted uncomfortably. She was right.

“He’s having breakfast. He wants you to come down so he can speak to you.”

I nodded. Of course he would send my mother. Ever his envoy, my father never spoke to me unless he sent my mother to summon me to a meeting. Even when I was a little girl, I remember being called this way when I did something naughty.

I hurriedly dressed in my clothes from the night before and followed her down the stairs to the dining room. He was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, with the paper spread out in front of him. At his elbow was a cup of coffee and a goat cheese and spinach omelet. He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Sit,” he said. I scooted into a chair
, and the housekeeper brought me a coffee and a small, white pill.

“Johanna,” he said, snapping his paper closed and peering at me with his hard, grey eyes. “I’ve decided that it’s in your best interest to come work for me.”

I started. I already had a job. I worked as a teller at a local bank. My father did not employ family; he called it a conflict of interest. Just last year, my cousin begged to be taken on as an accountant and my father refused.

“W
— why?”

He frowned. ‘Why’ was not a word my father enjoyed hearing.

“I mean — you don’t believe in mixing family and work,” I rushed. My palms were sweating. God, why did I drink so much last night?

My father was handsome. He had olive skin and light grey eyes. He had spent ten hours a week in the gym for years and had the physique to show for it. With my flaming red hair and pale skin, I look nothing like him.

His eyes locked onto mine and in that moment, I knew what he was saying.

A dull ache worked its way across my chest as if it was searching for something. It found my heart, ripped it open and climbed inside. I picked my emotions up from the floor and looked my father in the eyes. If he wanted me to leave my job and work for him, I would leave my job and work for him.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You’ll start Monday. You can take the Lincoln while your car is in the shop. Leave your keys with Cliff.”

He reopened his paper, and I knew I’d been dismissed.

I stood up, wanting to say something else, wanting him to say something else.

“Bye, Daddy.”

He didn't even acknowledge I’d spoken.

My mother was waiting for me in the hall. She handed me the keys to the Lincoln. This was such a well-oiled operation.

I drove straight to the bank and informed them I would not be returning to work. Then I headed to my townhouse with the full intention of drinking a bottle of wine and going to sleep. When I got home, Caleb was sitting on my doorstep. I stopped short. He was in his work clothes: grey pants, white button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was sitting with his legs spread, elbows resting on his knees and looking at the ground, seemingly deep in thought. When he heard my heels on the concrete, he looked up … smiled. It was his crooked smile. It reached all the way to his eyes and made you wonder if he was picturing you naked. God, I was so lost to this man. I walked right past him and unlocked the door. When I opened it, he stood and followed me inside.

Afterward, we ordered Thai food and sat in bed eating it. I was still a little raw from my conversation with my dad
— not to mention, I’d just slept with Caleb, again, after he told me he didn’t want me.

“Why did you come here? You can’t come for booty calls and then tell me I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend.”

He set his container down on the side table and turned to face me.

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t need to, asshole. Actions speak louder than words.”

 
He nodded. My chopsticks froze on the way to my mouth. I had expected him to at least put up a fight … deny it.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He took my container of curry and my chopsticks and put them next to his. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand while he was distracted. Something big was happening. I could feel it.

He pulled me o
nto his lap so that I was straddling him.

“I’m only going to talk about this once. No questions, okay?”

I nodded.

“I was with her for three years. I loved her
… love her,” he amended. Jealousy rushed. That’s all it did — rushed through me with nowhere to go. It felt like I was going to pop from the pressure. I bit the insides of my cheeks.

“You never quite stop loving someone when you're in that deep.” His eyes kind of glazed over at that point. “Anyway, we were really young
… and stupid. I couldn’t control her the way I wanted to; she was too strong for me. I made a really bad decision one night and she caught me.”

“You cheated on her?” Up until that point I had kept my mouth shut, too afraid to speak in case it broke the rare chatty moment he was having.

The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared.

“Yes
— no.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was...” He dropped his hand to my hip. He looked so tortured that I reached up to put my palm against his cheek. I knew a little about Caleb’s father. He was a notorious womanizer. Currently, he was married to a woman younger than me. It was his fourth marriage. From what I gathered from Caleb, he highly disapproved of his father’s behavior, so cheating was coming as quite a surprise to me.

“I’m not a cheater, Leah. But,
God that woman doesn’t trust anyone…”

I took a deep breath and let it ooze from between my lips. He watched me carefully, trying to gauge my response.

“But, did you do anything with her?”

“Not technically
— no.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. Did he think that he cheated just because he wanted to cheat? Did he want to cheat?

“Leah,” he swiped my hair over my shoulder, his fingers brushing against my skin. I shivered. We were having a serious discussion and all I could think about was —

I shook my head in frustration. “Either you fucked her or you didn’t.”

He sighed. “I never cheated on her. Not in the traditional sense of the word.”

“God, I don’t even know what that means.”

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Obviously our moral compasses do not point in the same direction.”

I blushed. A rare thing for me to do.

“Leah,” he said. “I like you. More than I should at this point. But, I’m still a mess. I can’t be in a relationship if I’m only in halfway. I still love her.”

My eyes filled with tears. He was telling me that he couldn’t even try to love me because he loved someone else.

“Fuck.” I swung my legs off of him and sat on my side of the bed. The sheet was pushed down to his waist. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. His face was wiped of emotion.

“So what are you saying? May I remind you that
you showed up on my doorstep, not the other way around?”

He laughed,
and tackling me to my back, he leaned over me.

“I am
very attracted to you.” He kissed my nose. “I care about you. When you left the other night, you were hurt.”

“Yes, I was.”

“And now?”

I smiled up at him. “Now,
I’m hurting in a different way.”

He laughed. He had a great laugh. It started as a rumble in his chest and then rolled out in a smooth, raspy wave. Every time I made him laugh, I felt triumphant.

I suddenly grew serious. “I can make you forget her.”

His lips were still curled in a half smile. His eyes grew foggy as he looked down at my mouth.

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, Red,” he said, softly winding a piece of my hair around his finger.

I giggled
— also an unusual thing for me to do.
Red.
I liked that.

He kissed me softly and slid on top of me.

We made love. It was the first time in my life that someone made love to me. It had always just been sex.

I fell hard that day.

Present

I am in my Juicy sweats and a tank top, making a smoothie in the kitchen, when Sam arrives for work the next day. I am supposed to be watching Estella — who is napping in her movable bassinet — while Caleb takes a shower, but by the time I let Sam in the front door, I have forgotten where I parked her.

“How are you?” Sam greets me warmly, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. I wonder if he is planning on spending the night. I am
creeped out by the thought of it.

“So, where’s my charge?” he says
, rubbing his hands together and smiling. For a minute, I think he is referencing a credit card — because it’s something I say often as I browse the mall and scrounge around in my purse for my American Express — and then I realize he’s talking about the baby. It takes everything in me not to roll my damn eyes.

The baby’s insatiable hunger rescues me as she begins to mewl from
somewhere over my shoulder. It is then that I remember wheeling her into the dining room. I glance toward her bassinet in annoyance.

“I’ll get her,” Sam sa
ys, taking control and walking past me. I shrug with indifference and wander toward my laptop. He walks back into the room, cradling her in his arms, just as Caleb bounds down the main staircase — his hair still damp from his shower. I feel a surge of lust just looking at him. Caleb ignores me and walks over to slap Sam on the back like they're old friends. He hasn’t spoken to me since our late night trip to the hospital, other than to ask a question about the baby or to spout an instruction. I turn away and sulk while they discuss things that don’t interest me. I am planning a trip to the spa and deciding how many treatments I can fit into eight hours when Caleb calls my name. Desperate to be the center of his attention, I forsake my computer and look up at him hopefully.

“I won’t be home until later,” he says. "I have a business dinner.”

I nod. I remember when I used to accompany him on those business dinners. I open my mouth to tell him that I’d like to come, but he’s kissed the baby and is halfway to the door. An empty planet.

I turn my attention to the
manny.

“So you’re related to your boss,” I say lamely, biting into an apple. Sam raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t respond. My mind goes to that place where I wonder if Caleb ever slept with
Cammie.

“Do you
… um … do you hang out with her much?”

He shrugs. “
Cammie has a lot of friends. Martinis with the girls really isn’t my thing.”

“But, don’t you want to meet someone?” I ask, getting sidetracked. He’s pretty good looking if you’re into the grungy musician type.
Hellooo, grunge died with Kurt Cobain.

“Is that where you’d hang out if you were single?” He looks directly at me when he asks. It’s a simple question, but the look in his eyes makes me feel like I’m being interrogated.

“I’m not single,” I snap.

“Proof,” he holds the baby up. I look away.

“Have you met any of her friends?” I am hoping for a reference of some sort to Olivia. It would be nice to know if she plays into this somehow.

Sam plays dumb. I can’t tell whether or not he knows something.

“Eh, a couple here and there,” he says dabbing Estella’s mouth with a burp rag. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this?” he nods towards the baby. “I don’t want to take away your time with her.”

When he looks down at her, I roll my eyes.

“Nope, I’m good,” I say pleasantly.

“
You’re not bonding with her, are you?” he says, without looking at me.

I’m glad he can’t see my face. My face is smeared in shock. I force my features into neutrality.

“Why would you say that?” I narrow my eyes. “You’ve known me for what? Five minutes?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says ignoring me. “Most women experience some form of depression after they give birth.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil. I am not depressed!” I turn away and then spin back around. “How dare you judge me — you think you’re qualified to “diagnose” me, psych boy? Why don’t you take a good square look at your own parenting skills? You have a kid in Puerto Rico, buddy … without you.”