Forever Starts Tomorrow (7 page)

She was a monster—truly and completely. Scott felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth as he listened to her bragging, every word humming with the perverse joy of having hurt another person—his father. Scott could understand she'd come to detest his father; he himself felt the same way. But if what she was saying was the truth, she taunted a dying man and destroyed a kid’s life as a revenge for something he had nothing to do with. Only, Scott had difficulty believing a word Dolores was saying.

‘How old is this… José?’ he asked, his voice catching on the name ever so slightly.

‘Twelve.’ She must have noticed his surprise, because she laughed again, her eyes sparkling. ‘Yes, Scott, your father was still chasing skirts in his fifties. Esmeralda was about twenty and very sweet—the perfect mistress for someone like your father. I think she mostly slept with him because she was afraid he’d fire her otherwise. She needed the money to feed her large family. God knows, I cannot believe she enjoyed it.’

‘Did you come all the way to tell me that?’ He watched her, disgusted, every cell of his body screaming bloody murder. ‘Or is there a real purpose to your visit?’

‘I need money.’ She watched him cautiously, his reaction to her words not lost on her. ‘I figured that if you wanted, I would tell you where to find your little brother, Scott. Living in a shack with his old grandma cannot be too much fun, I imagine. You’ve got more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes, I know that.’ Suddenly she looked aged, her face sagging with sadness. ‘Plus, I do feel rotten for letting your father die believing José was doomed to his miserable life. The satisfaction of hurting him lasted only so long. Maybe this way I can redeem myself a bit. Who knows?’

She'd made it all up. He was certain of that as he watched her eyes go greedily around his office. The part about wanting his money was the only true thing in the whole sob story. She had targeted him with a cunning ability, hoping he’d go all soft and ready to pay to find his little brother. Well, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to know anything about it. He refused to listen to the little voice in his head that kept repeating that he might be making the biggest mistake of his life. Letting that pathetic excuse of a human manipulate him was out of question.

‘Get out before I call security.’ The words were cold and cutting, just the way he felt inside. Whatever Dolores expected, that response wasn’t it, because she stepped back, visibly shaken.

‘There's no need for that,’ she murmured, an expression of pleading in her eyes. ‘I just need a small amount, Scott. I'm moving to Alaska, to stay with my sister.’ She searched her bag and produced a small photograph, her fingers shaking lightly as she placed it on the table.

‘Here, so you know I am not lying. This is José. Your father took this picture when he was visiting him the last time before he died. Just take a look and say he doesn’t look like you.’

Scott didn’t move. He didn’t want to see the picture. It was a fake, anyway. Obviously, she had come prepared. However, if she thought he’d be swayed by some pathetic 'proof' that could be just anyone, she had another thing coming.

‘I don’t want to see it.’ He stepped toward the door and opened it with a bit too much strength. ‘Take your stuff and go, now. If you ever come here to harass me again, I will have you arrested.’

‘I’ll leave you my contact number for in case you change your mind.’ She must have been really desperate to get paid, he thought, as he listened to her voice, the shaky tone grating along his nerve endings like the blade of a rusty knife. She hesitated and then produced another small piece of paper, taking a few quick steps back into the room and adding it to the picture on the table. For an older woman, she could move really fast. He felt sick as he moved away from the open door, unable to look at her anymore.

Scott didn’t wait for her to walk out, but stepped to the window, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked out, watching the tops of the trees sway gently in the summer breeze. He could hear her move around, the steps hesitant at first. Then it was over. The door clicked as she left, and the hush that followed was a blessing to his ears.

He turned around, his eyes drawn to the table. The picture was still there, a small square of black and white, the image impossible to see from where he was standing. The crumpled paper with Dolores’s contact info lay next to it, her spidery writing smudged. With a purposeful stride, he walked over to it. Without so much as gracing it with a glance, he swept it into his wastebasket, letting it come to rest among some shredded paper.

FIVE

Melanie watched Scott’s house as her car came to a stop at the gate. She rolled down her window and pressed the buzzer, her fingers shaking a little. Technically, she didn’t have to do it; she knew the combination code by heart and was pretty certain Scott didn’t go to the trouble of changing it after their fight. The gesture was only symbolic.

It always surprised her how modestly Scott lived. He could have afforded a mansion. Instead she was looking at a sprawling bungalow, hidden in the shade of old, gnarled pines. True, the views from the back windows of the San Francisco Bay were spectacular. One of the best addresses in the exclusive part of town, the four-bedroom home boasted a huge garden, a pool, and a strip of private beach.

The gate opened, and Melanie drove in. The driveway was framed by low bushes of lavender and California poppies, and the harmony of the cool blues and fiery oranges was just as beautiful as she remembered.

She had to do it right. She was here on a mission, after all. She had spent a sleepless night before finally deciding to contact Scott. It was a gamble, of course. In the week after their fight in the restaurant, she hadn’t heard from him once. Every phone call had sent her heart rate skyrocketing, as she hoped he’d reach out and try to smooth things out. She wanted him to. The misery of knowing they weren’t together anymore was making Melanie's life force seep away, her usual cheerfulness changing to a zombie-like state.

He never called, never emailed her, never made any attempt to get in touch. Maybe he's relieved to be single again, she thought miserably during her sleepless nights, while tossing and turning in her bed. Had she done him a favor with her emotional outburst? She refused to believe it. Deep down, in the very core of her being, she still believed that they were meant to be, their destinies joined in that fateful moment when they met, seven months earlier.

Today wasn’t about her, Melanie reminded herself firmly, as she parked near the huge oak tree that would provide shade in the early evening sunlight. She’d done it so many times before that the action was purely habitual. It was yet another reminder of her past with Scott, she thought dejectedly, but refused to let any doubts she might be having slow her down.

She was worried. She knew Scott well enough to know he didn’t take well to any kind of pressure, especially if it affected his personal life and choices. There were places where one simply didn’t go, period. His family was at the top of the list. He didn’t like talking about his past; she had learned that early on in their relationship.

He'd invited her to meet his family, of course. His uncle and aunt, both in their sixties, welcomed her with open arms, probably relieved to see Scott finally ready to settle down. His sister became her friend the moment they met.

It was the other part that Scott refused to even touch on, cutting her gentle probing short at the very beginning of their dating. Melanie didn’t push him. She could understand very well why he might prefer not to indulge in detailed descriptions of the time of his life that was pure hell. She'd heard enough from Marnie, who definitely didn’t share her brother’s hang-ups. Their family life was a catastrophe, with their father running off, followed soon by their mother. Melanie could empathize. She had her own stories of woe that were better left untouched.

What Melanie was about to do in Scott's house was crazy. Scott would probably get furious and cut her off the moment she started talking. Wasn’t that why she sent him only an enigmatic message, with no details whatsoever? He probably thought she was here to try patching things up between them.

He was in for a surprise.

There was no point dragging it out, she'd decided with her usual common sense. Instead of sitting in her car, moping, she needed to give it her best shot, regardless of the outcome.

She got out and looked toward the house, her heart stopping for a split second. Scott was there, standing in the doorway, his tall frame achingly familiar. She swallowed hard, her heart beating so fast she was certain he could see it move under the thin fabric of her summer dress. Her eyes went greedily over his features, feasting on the elegance of his face and gliding lower to his chest, which was clad in an old black T-shirt. He was breathtakingly good-looking, she thought wretchedly, his old jeans and bare feet taking away nothing from the effortless elegance she had never seen in anyone else. His personal aura, inexplicable and powerful, didn’t depend on expensive designer clothes. She’d bet her bottom dollar he’d still look formidable in a construction worker's uniform. The sheer command of his eyes and the energy that suffused his whole being were enough to send her pulse racing and make her palms sweat like an inexperienced teenager getting ready for a prom date.

‘Hi.’ He stepped forward, as if too impatient to wait for her to reach him. Melanie had to look up to meet his eyes. The emotions flickering in their dark depths were impossible to read. ‘I was working from home today, Mel. Perfect timing.’ For a second, he hesitated. Then he continued, his beautiful voice losing some of its signature smoothness. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘You too.’ Why were they talking like old acquaintances who met by chance in the park? She hated the superficial quality of their greeting. She wanted to tell him a thousand things—the words in her throat clamoring to come out—such as how much she missed him and how she regretted their split. Of course, she couldn’t do it. First of all, she knew how much Scott detested neediness. She’d never been one to cling to him in desperation, her ability to be a partner, not a follower, part of their phenomenal understanding. And of course, he might not return her feelings. She’d put him in an awkward position if he didn’t care for her anymore—and Melanie wasn’t ready to hear what he might have to say.

They walked into the house, the cool shade of the stone-paved hallway pleasant after the beating heat outside. She noticed how careful he was to avoid any physical contact, walking safely out of reach of her trembling body.

The open-concept room welcomed her as if she'd never left. Its sun-drenched windows illuminated the simple, yet elegant, furniture, the plants in huge oriental pots and, most of all, the photographs on the walls. She knew them all, of course. After all, it was she who'd convinced Scott to add some personal touches to his otherwise Spartan, bachelor-style home. Mementos from their trips and from happy moments together tugged at her heartstrings and made her eyes smart with stubborn tears.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Scott’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see him bustling around the kitchen. Was it only a few days ago that she was cooking there, setting the table for their meal with his sister and her husband? It felt like another lifetime. His polite question reduced her to the position of a guest—welcomed, yet definitely not belonging.

‘Just some water.’ Melanie walked over to the sofa and plopped down. Her knees were shaking, and she would be damned if she’d let him see what a mess she was at that moment.

He was back in an instant, carrying two tall glasses, one already covered with tiny beads of condensed water. The ice cubes made a soft sound as he put it down in front of her, and another memory assaulted her at his simple gesture. Scott had been trying to convince her to abandon her habit of adding ice to her drinks, his eyes serious as he laid out his arguments. Ice was too cold and was bad for her digestion, he insisted. His concern about her health was endearing. In the end, they agreed to disagree and made up, kissing.

‘How have you been?’ He sat across from her in one of the armchairs, his long frame folded with catlike grace. He watched her with an intensity that made it impossible to lie. Her brain lost its battle with her heart instantly.

‘Miserable.’ She was probably making an idiot of herself, but it was too late to take back her words. ‘How about you?’

‘Same.’ There was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his large frame relaxed a little. ‘A week from hell, you could say.’

She needed to get back to the reason for her visit, and fast. She was in imminent danger of losing her resolve, she realized, with every cell in her body screaming to forget everything and focus on her and Scott.

She couldn’t do it, not if she wanted to be able to live with herself and, most importantly, help Scott avoid a mistake that would make him wretched in the long run.

‘Look, I am here to talk to you about something important,’ Melanie started, not sure how to broach the topic.

‘OK.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes cautious. The moment of understanding was over and he was ready to listen. She'd gotten his attention, and she needed to hurry before she lost her nerve for good.

‘I’ve had a visitor.’ The words came out shakier than she’d intended. She cleared her throat and started again, determined to get a grip on her emotions. ‘A woman came to see me yesterday. She said she was trying to reach out to you, but since it didn’t work out, she’d talk to me. She didn’t know we broke off our engagement, Scott.’

‘Let me guess: Dolores Martin.’ How was it possible that his voice dropped a hundred degrees in just a second? Icy cold and deceptively calm, it rattled her to the bone. She was probably in much deeper water than she could handle, she realized. With his narrowed eyes and thinned lips, Scott couldn’t make it any clearer how he felt about the whole thing.

‘I am sorry she bothered you.’ At least his wrath wasn’t directed at her. For a second, his gaze warmed as he leaned forward, his hand coming to cover hers. ‘She won’t do it again, I promise.’