"Okay."
"When's she leaving, by the way? Did she give you a date?"
"After the first of the year. She thought it would be too hectic to move during the holidays."
"Great. She can't go soon enough for me. I'll let Merriweather know we've gotten rid of her. He'll be glad to hear it."
Pamela had no idea why she'd lied about her meeting with Amy or the fact that Amy had flatly refused to go. Pamela couldn't tell Chad the truth. It would have brought on a bitter fight that she was determined to avoid at all costs.
She must have looked forlorn, because he slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek—not the mouth.
"I'm sorry you can't come," he claimed.
"Don't worry about it."
"My mother's fussy. She just likes to have family over."
Which either meant Pamela was not yet considered family or that Chad hadn't mentioned her to his mother. Pam was convinced it was the latter. The bastard.
"I understand."
"Thanks for being such a good sport."
"That's me," she wanly said. "A good
sport
through and through."
She fixed a smile as he opened the front door and hurried out.
She didn't follow him into the driveway, but stood on the porch, clutching at her sweater to stave off the frigid wind. Angry clouds roiled, hinting at the blizzard that was approaching.
She watched, feeling invisible, as he loaded his bag in the trunk and slammed it shut.
"Would you like me to buy a Christmas tree while you're gone?" she asked as he headed for the driver's side door.
"If you want."
"We could decorate it when you get home."
"Or you could do it while I'm away. It might help you to pass the time."
"It certainly would."
"See you Monday."
"Yes, see you then. Have fun. Say hello to your mother for me."
He didn't state that he would, but replied instead with, "I'll call you when I'm on my way back," so he wasn't planning to call during the long, solitary weekend.
She bit down on another surge of furious words, continuing to smile as he waved, then jumped behind the wheel and drove off.
If it hadn't been so cold, she might have dawdled forever, glumly observing as his taillights disappeared down the hill. But the weather was dreadful, and she wasn't about to moon over him as if she was a love-struck teenager.
She went inside, listening as the furnace clicked on and blew out a gust of dusty air.
When she'd first met Chad, he'd just rented the dreary house, intending to use it as a base while preparations were made for remodeling to begin. With the economy so bad, there were many bigger, nicer houses for rent, and she'd hinted that they should move to a better location, or that they should move out of Gold Creek altogether and visit when necessary to check on the construction.
He'd agreed that they should leave Gold Creek, and she'd actually heard him talking on the phone about a project his company had in Steamboat Springs. The town was more upscale and offered amenities that Pamela enjoyed. He'd been telling a secretary that he needed to rent a condo, that he'd prefer to be in the ski village.
She'd assumed he was asking for both of them. Yet now—with her not being invited to Thanksgiving—she had to seriously wonder if he would take her with him.
She was positive that she'd played her cards right, that she'd spoiled and charmed and tempted him to think long-term. Since it was clear she hadn't yet snagged him for good, she'd have to double her efforts, but she was so weary of chasing after rich men. Why couldn't one of them—just once—chase after her?
The furnace shut off, and the only sound was the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. She couldn't stand its constant ticking, so she proceeded to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She sat at the table and stared into the yard.
She hated being alone, and she'd fought against it all her life. She couldn't bear the notion of being by herself the entire weekend. She
always
picked men who felt the same way, men who didn't have to run home to their mothers, men who were more than happy to fly her to a hot beach somewhere exotic.
How had she misjudged Chad so completely? And when he returned from Glenwood Springs, why would she keep on with him?
He was a mama's boy. Where did she, Pamela, fit into that scenario? Why would she want to fit into it?
She downed her wine, then poured another and down that, too. When she was away from Colorado, she forgot how short the winter days were. The sun dropped behind the mountains in the middle of the afternoon, making the temperature plummet, making the nights inordinately long.
What was she doing here?
She was antsy and at loose ends. A few days earlier, she'd invited Amy and the twins for pizza, but Amy had declined. Surely, she wouldn't be so cruel as to refuse her mother again? If she was cooking Thanksgiving dinner, maybe Pamela could join them.
Recently, Pamela had been pondering the twins, wondering what they were like, what kind of girls they were growing up to be. It would be pleasant to spend some time with them.
She grabbed the phone and dialed Amy's number, and it rang and rang and rang. She dialed again and again and again, and she kept dialing off and on throughout the afternoon and into the evening.
But Amy never answered.
* * *
"Will you still be here in the morning?"
"Of course. Where would I go?"
Jessica and Jennifer rushed over and hugged Dustin. Awkwardly, he hugged them back. They smelled like shampoo and pajamas and teddy bears.
He wasn't used to their easy friendship or their smooth acceptance of his presence in their apartment. They treated him as if he'd always been part of their lives.
"Good night," they said in unison.
"Good night."
They scooted off to bed, and he went over to the window seat and gazed out at the black sky. The stars were finally visible, the weather improving, the potent wind no longer rattling the old mansion.
For three days, he'd been trapped in Gold Creek. After their Thanksgiving in Denver, where it had been sunny and cool, they'd driven into the storm on the way home, with the predicted blizzard arriving earlier than forecast.
He'd intended to drop Amy, the twins, and Marge at their apartment then continue on to his hotel in Aspen. But slick roads and heavy snow had curtailed that plan.
Amy had insisted he stay with her. He'd consented, but now, after being so closely enmeshed in her world, he saw that it was a mistake.
He had to get back to LA, and briefly, he'd considered asking her if she'd accompany him, but better sense had prevailed and he'd kept his mouth shut.
He couldn't imagine how she might have replied, but he was relieved he hadn't pressed her. He didn't really want her in LA, and she'd be miserable there. She'd hate the smog and traffic and crowds, just as she would loathe snobbish people like Chantal, and Chantal was typical of his acquaintances.
The bigger issue had been with regard to their future. If he took Amy to LA, then grew tired of her, what would he do with her? He hardly knew her, and he wasn't about to support her financially.
So why was he lingering in Gold Creek?
His phone was on a nearby table, and he heard it ping with the receipt of a text message. He glanced at the screen, seeing that it was from Chantal, and he winced. Why would her message be the only one to get through?
It was a warning sign, reminding him of how stupidly he'd been acting. He had a busy, satisfying life in LA, but he was in no hurry to return to it.
He felt as if he was trapped in a bubble with Amy. When he was with her, he forgot about his responsibilities, about his name and fortune and schedule, but he couldn't keep on as he was.
He opened Chantal's text.
Trying to call. No luck. Would you like me to pick you up at the airport?
He typed,
Not coming tonite. Caught in storm in Colorado. Home Mon or Tues.
She'd text him again, but he didn't want a flurry of correspondence. He hit the
off
button as Amy walked into the room. She'd been in the shower, and she was wrapped in a fluffy robe, her hair up in a towel.
"Is your phone working?" she asked.
"Barely."
"Who called?"
She causally voiced the question—as if they'd been together forever, as if they were a couple and she had every right to know.
"It was a co-worker," he lied.
"You have co-workers? I didn't realize you
worked.
I thought you loafed and dreamed up new ways to waste more of your great grandfather's old fortune."
"You're funny."
"Are the girls in bed?"
"They just laid down."
She went to tuck them in, and he listened to the domestic sounds of their evening ritual.
While she tended to them, he grabbed some blankets and a pillow and tossed them on the couch to make it look as if he was sleeping there. Once they were sure the twins had nodded off, they'd sneak to Amy's narrow bed where they would spend the night having wild sex, interspersed with amusing conversation and lots of quiet laughter.
At dawn, he would stumble to the couch and doze for an hour or two before Jess and Jen staggered in to eat cereal and watch TV.
He was exhausted, but exhilarated, too, from the newness of Amy, from the happiness he was experiencing. As their intimacy intensified, he was gaining insight as to why his brother was marrying Faith.
If Lucas felt around Faith, as Dustin did around Amy, then all of Lucas's actions toward Faith became abundantly clear.
Amy returned, and he was sitting in the window seat again. As the blizzard had raged, it had been his constant perch.
They'd been housebound, electricity intermittent, highways and businesses closed, and he should have been claustrophobic and anxious to escape, but his usual desire to flee hadn't surfaced a single time.
He extended a hand to her, and she came over and stretched out. Their legs were tangled, her cheek resting directly over his heart. She seemed to sense his need for pensive silence and made no effort to fill the void with her normal chatter.
Ultimately, she raised the subject he couldn't muster the courage to discuss.
"The weather report calls for sunny skies tomorrow, so the road will be open."
"I know."
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
He almost said
no.
He almost said,
There's no reason for me to head to LA.
But the words died in his throat.
"Yes, I've gotta go."
"What time?"
"I thought early."
"Can you wait until the twins get up? So you can say goodbye to them?"
"Sure," he claimed, but he wouldn't.
He hated poignant farewells, and he had no idea what he'd say to Jess and Jen. They'd ask when he'd be back again, and he was certain the answer was
never.
The notion was too depressing to consider, so why delay in the morning? What purpose would be served? He'd probably sneak out before Amy was awake. He'd let her explain to the twins.
"I don't think you should come back," Amy said, stunning him.
With how close they'd grown, he'd expected tears, dramatic pleas to call or write, and his pride was bruised by her lack of interest in a continuing connection.
He
was the one who left.
He
was the one who never called again. He was Dustin Merriweather. She was supposed to be begging him to stay.
He'd planned to do precisely as she'd suggested, but now that the moment had arrived, it appeared to be a very stupid ending.
Why not see her again?
He traveled to Colorado occasionally, and with Lucas getting married and settling in Boulder, Dustin would visit even more often. Why shouldn't he drive up to Gold Creek and surprise Amy?
"Not come back?" he said.
"No."
"Why not?"
"It would just confuse the twins—and me."
"Why would it confuse you?"
"You know why." She rose up to look him in the eye. "We care about you, and it would hurt us too much to realize that you don't feel the same."
"I care about you guys," he tepidly replied, not able to give voice to the strong feelings roiling him.
She smiled a wise smile as old as Eve's and snuggled down without comment.
He sighed with regret, and they nestled together, not speaking. Eventually, she slipped to the floor, and she clasped his hand and led him to the bedroom. She lay down and brought him down with her.
She kissed him slowly, tenderly, then whispered, "Make love to me as if it's the very last time you ever will."
"It's not the last time," he insisted.