Samuel had never really liked cartoons when we were kids, and preferred to read or play outside. He said the endings were too easy to figure out, but he’d put up with them for my sake. My eyes darted to him—he was perfectly at ease. I relaxed, mission accomplished. By the time we bumped along the back road to the reservoir, we’d found our comfortable rapport.
Slopes steeped in green prickled conifers and clay the color of sunset rose high above our windshields as the mountain lake came into view. The van crawled to a stop, and I hopped down, thin, pine sap air hitting my nostrils. Somewhere overhead, birds squawked at our intrusion. I slipped out of my sandals to exchange them for my Tevas and felt Samuel behind me, hovering.
“Hey, what happened to your foot?”
“What do you mean?” I wiggled my bare feet. He crouched next to me.
“Is that a scar?”
Ah. “No, it’s a white-ink tattoo. A little trilby hat. One of our TrilbyJones clients did it for me.”
Samuel whistled. “Nice. May I?” He glanced at me over his shoulder. It was a boon that I couldn’t see those ice eyes behind his sunglasses.
I swallowed. “Um, sure.”
He lifted my foot to get a closer look at the delicate etching above my toe. A long finger traced the edge of the hat’s brim, brushing my skin. He studied the tiny, translucent detail, and his mouth stretched into that lazy smile.
“This is fascinating. I’ve never seen a white-ink tattoo before.” My breath caught in my throat. Sweet mother, what was he trying to do to me? “You always surprise me, Kaye,” he said quietly. “It’s very unique—I like it. Did it hurt?”
“Yeah. The top of your foot is a really sensitive spot…lots of nerve endings. It doesn’t…doesn’t really go numb when they ink it.” Lord, he needed to set my foot down or I’d soon yank it free.
Sensing my unease, Samuel patted my heel and released me to my sneaks. I jerked them on and laced up with shaking fingers while he dug through the van for his messenger bag, cramming it with sodas and sandwiches.
“So, why the tattoo?”
I mustered my courage for our talk. There would never be a more natural segue than this. “I got the tattoo because of my last name—Trilby.”
“I picked up on that.” I zipped my fleece, and he closed up the van. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he motioned for me to lead the way. “I meant, what made you want to get a tattoo?”
“I guess it was on impulse. I thought they were pretty. That, and the idea of having a tattoo made me feel like a bit of a rebel.” I wasn’t a rebel, I was a coward.
Kaye, Kaye, just tell him about your name change—such a simple thing.
“I worked on a project several years ago for the TatnGo Tattoo Parlor, helping to reinvent them as upscale artisans. The first thing to go was the business name.”
“TatnGo not classy enough?” Samuel teased.
I shook my head, wrapping my pullover around my waist and grabbed the lantern.
Great, Kaye, you stupid lamppost. Way to step up. How can you possibly get answers if you can’t even do something as easy as tell Samuel about your name change?
This late in the afternoon, the reservoir was nearly devoid of people, the last of them trickling home for supper. Samuel and I used to come here occasionally on clear evenings, because the low sun peeking between the mountain range cast the entire lake in orange. Rock and scatters of bleached timber stretched beyond us as we made our way along the coastline.
“Oh! I’m reading
The Last Other
page-by-page this time. No skimming.” I hopped over a toppled tree, careful not to bang my shin.
“Really?” Samuel’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you think so far? How much have you read?”
“I’m about three-fourths through. It’s…it’s brilliant, Samuel, but you already know that. The metaphors frustrate me like nobody’s business and it takes forever to read, but all personal stuff aside, it’s even better than the others.”
He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist the dark side.”
“Well, you did all but dare me to read the thing. But I wouldn’t get too excited. Neelie’s still alive, but barely. I might crash another book signing once I finish.”
Samuel climbed onto a boulder and offered me a hand up. “That bothers you, doesn’t it—Neelie’s eventual demise?”
“It weirds me out a little, reading and waiting for the final ousting of Fiction-Me.” I let go of his hand.
“It was never my intention to ‘weird you out.’ I guess I thought putting Neelie to rest would help both of us. She’s always bothered you, and I’m sorry for it. You have to admit, though, that she’s not a bad gal.”
“Honestly, Samuel, lately I’m more troubled by Nicodemus.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He’s…I dunno. He just seems so sad to me.”
I watched our feet as we walked, navigating the slick, natural cobblestones and sand along the lake coast. Samuel bent over and picked up one of the smooth, weathered stones, deep in thought. Finally, he answered, his eyes fixed on the stone.
“He was sad, but that was years ago. He’s a lot better now.” He gave me a reassuring half-smile. “I’d tell you more, but I don’t want to ruin the ending for you.” Chucking the rock in a pool of water, he watched it land with a plop and walked again.
My heart thudded sickeningly. Thanksgiving, I was right. I should have at least heard him out, then.
We sauntered along while I shared what I enjoyed about
The Last Other
. I asked if he’d really been back to the Alps. He had, and it was as beautiful as ever. I repressed the jealousy bug gnawing in my gut as he described the places he’d visited all over the world, the people he’d met. Samuel had always been an amazing storyteller, and his words allowed me to see the places he’d seen. He loosely committed to sending me some photos.
The sun began to set as we trekked further, me swinging a lantern and Samuel scouting out a place to sit down and eat. He finally found the perfect spot in the recess of two bleached logs. The breeze turned chilly. I pulled my hood over my head and dropped onto the dirt. Samuel took his time, spreading his jacket over the ground.
“You can sit on this with me, if you like.”
I opened my mouth to say no thanks. But the shadowed ground was freezing, so I caved and scooted next to him. The long line of his body was warm, and soon the cold tingling in my arms vanished.
He dug through his messenger bag, passed me a turkey swiss sandwich and the only lemonade.
“We can share this. It’s your favorite, too.” I offered him the lemonade.
“That’s okay. You can have it.” He twisted open a cola.
We watched a couple make their way down the trail, holding hands, fishing rods swinging from backpacks. I thought I recognized them from Planet Bluegrass. Samuel ducked his head until they were gone, intent on his sandwich.
“What’s the matter?”
“You know, this looks really inappropriate for me to have you out here, alone, after the café photo. I’m sorry. If someone snapped a picture…”
I smiled at him sadly. Button Rock preserve was serene, isolated. “Samuel, those photogs have done a number on you, haven’t they? It hasn’t always been this way, since the book was published?”
He shook his head. “My name started to show up outside the context of my books when I dated a musician a few years ago. It wasn’t serious, but it put me in the limelight—walking the red carpet with so-and-so at the Grammys, attending benefit concerts, and the like. Authors rarely struggle with paparazzi. I guess I got caught in the crossfire between photogs and the people they stalked.”
“But what about now? I mean, late night talk show appearances aren’t run-of-the-mill. And you were on a
People
magazine list, for crying out loud.”
He tugged the hair above the knob of his neck. “Yes, the
People
list was strange for me. It’s like I don’t even know that person in the gossip rags, on TV, in pictures. Fortunately, Caroline keeps most of it corralled so I don’t have to deal with it, save for an irritating photographer…or five.”
“But that picture of us got through.”
“That’s my fault, I wasn’t careful. Caro’s using her Midas touch to turn this in our favor. She’s been shellacking paparazzi left and right, tracking down who released the photo. I told her not to stress, but with the press sniffing around my break-up with Indigo…” He paused. “You probably don’t want to hear any of that, though.”
I took a shaky breath. “Samuel, it’s okay, I’m a big girl. Caroline seems very loyal. I’m glad you have somebody who cares about you.” I could barely choke out the words.
“Loyal?” He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose she’s very loyal. Caroline reminds me of Danita, in a way. You have to know how to handle her. She can be self-centered and affected, but she knows what needs to be done and goes for it. She’s pulled me through some really awful times, and deserves my loyalty, too. I’d hate to keep repeating my mistakes, over and over.” He looked at me from the corner of his eyes. I couldn’t miss the implication.
“That’s…admirable. She’s very driven.” It was the best I could do.
Samuel sighed. “She’ll also cut down anyone she sees as a threat. Look, Kaye, I’m not a fool when it comes to Caroline. I know she most likely did something to rile you up—enough for you to loose Jaime Guzman on her. Whatever she did, I’m truly very sorry for it. That’s why I’ve let the whole lesbian hoax go on as long as it has. Just…please don’t goad her. I’ve asked the same of her.”
I very nearly retorted that Caro was the one who started it, but there was no sense in sounding like an eight-year-old. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. If she hounds me, I’m coming after you, of course.”
“Of course. I look forward to your knock-out punch, as long as you don’t do anything that interferes with Danita’s wedding.” Hmm, that was familiar. I wondered if Danita had gotten to him, too.
Honestly, who was I to be upset at him for learning from our painful mistakes? I just really, really hated that Caroline was the one who benefited. She’d been there after our split, helping him with his book, making that life he desired happen when I’d wanted to do that. Heck, I’d been entitled to it after supporting his fairy tales for seventeen years. Grudgingly, I understood why Samuel found a forceful woman attractive. Perhaps Samuel really did know who Caroline was, and liked her anyway. He had to know her better than I did, at least.
Samuel gave me a nudge. “You look like you’re ready to bolt. What are you thinking?”
“Sorry.”
I’d heard him say the same words to me a thousand times. Now I had an extra seven years of maturity to my name. So did he. Yet I danced around his head like a gossamer wing butterfly.
“Kaye, you’re doing it again.” He laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich.
Mother cliff-hucker, he’s right.
“Sorry, just thinking.” I pulled myself up by my boot straps and took a swig of lemonade. “I was wondering. This new life of yours—celebrity, acclaim, travel—is it worth it?”
“Ah. Worth what?”
“I mean, is the success worth the life you left behind, here in Colorado?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he wrapped tawny arms around his knees and squinted at the fading sun.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
I stuttered, not expecting that. How to answer? I’m content? I’m not happy, but I want to be? I settled for ambiguous. “Sure. As happy as the next person, I suppose.” What did my happiness have to do with his leaving? “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Samuel.”
“Two years ago, you told me I’d left you like a spoiled little boy.” He scrubbed his chin, the gears of his mind cranking. Finally, he turned to me with intense eyes. “You and I always had this weird sort of symbiosis. Ever notice that?”
I shook my head, not sure what he meant.
“We fed off of each other’s emotions, even as children. More often than not, you were the one with those overpowering moods—so much life, so happy. I couldn’t help but bask in it. But I remember some days I’d think about things, sad things, and I’d look at you and see it all reflected back at me—same furrowed brow, same pained eyes.”
“Okay, so we felt each other’s sorrows and joys. Isn’t that one of the points of marriage? Heck, of friendship?”
“Yes. But I think we influenced each other a lot more than most people. I didn’t realize it until I went to college, saw how other couples behaved.”
“Screw other couples. They weren’t us.” His cryptic language irritated the crap out of me. “So you’re saying we were too dependent on each other?”
“Kind of. Toward the end, I think our symbiotic relationship leaned toward the selfish, parasitic end of the spectrum, rather than mutualism. I wasn’t strong like you, Kaye. I needed you to stay above water, but instead I dragged you down.”
That was just so…
Samuel
. “You and your science analogies. Basically, you’re saying you would have eventually drowned me?”
“Something like that.”
“Great. It always comes back to water sirens with you.”
“Kaye, please be serious.” He packed our empty bottles and wrappers in his messenger bag, ready to hike back to the van. I hopped up from the ground and tossed my empty lemonade bottle with the other garbage.