Restore Me (18 page)

Two precarious days have passed since I told
Grams and Elise about the abuse Damon endured. Nobody has said
anything to anyone, so there haven’t been any confrontations, but
I’m still walking around with bated breath, just waiting for
something to blow up in my face. Damon and Brian have been doing
lots of research into Grams’ whole checking account debacle;
interviewing the employees at the home, speaking with the Bank
Manager, and I think Damon is even going to approach Edward about
it soon.

I check the time on my cell phone then glance at
the post-it with her address on it. It’s stuck to my computer and
I’ve looked it so many times I have it memorized.

Beverly W. Davis

227 Poplar Drive

Las Vegas, NV 89115

My leg taps nervously against the floor beneath
my desk. I didn’t think it would be so easy to find an address. I
was even more shocked to find out that the most recent address
listed for Beverly Davis is here in town. When I typed her name
into the search engine, I never dreamed that I would actually find
something. Truthfully, maybe I was hoping I wouldn’t. That would
make this a lot easier to handle. If there wasn’t an address to
mail a letter to, then there’s would be no need to even write a
letter.

“Fuck,” I mumble to myself.
Just get it over
with.
I pick up my pen and begin writing.

Dear Ms. Davis,

My name is Josephine Geroux and I am writing
you in regards to a man named Damon Cole. If this name means
nothing to you, then disregard my letter because I’ve clearly
mailed it to the wrong Beverly.

I’m hoping that this name means quite a bit
to you. I found your name listed on his birth certificate and I’m
hoping to make contact with you. I know you were only 17 when you
gave birth to Damon and I’m sure you had a very good reason to give
up custody of him, but I’d love to speak with you. You have my full
discretion and I hope that I can expect the same from you. Please
call me if you feel that you are comfortable enough to talk.

Sincerely,

Josephine Geroux

I stand up and grab the letter from my desk and
walk out into the store. I scan the space and quickly find Noni.
She’s organizing the coffee bar inventory
again.
She’s been
trying to decide if she wants to color code or alphabetize the
bagged coffees, because she decided that we’ll be a more reputable
shop if we sell coffee drinks and ground coffee to take home. So
now we carry a vast array of locally made coffees. While she hasn’t
asked for my vote (alphabetize, obviously—hello, Dewey Decimal
System; this is a bookstore!), I’m pretty sure she’s been snapping
pictures of all the variations she’s tried. It’s keeping her busy
during the last weeks before we open.

“Hey.” I slide onto one of the high stools that
are lined in front of the counter. “So I wrote a letter to Beverly,
the woman on the birth certificate. Can you read it and tell me
what you think?”

“Oh, okay.” Noni wipes her hands on a towel and
takes the letter from me. I watch her eyes go line by line, reading
my short and to the point letter. She raises her brows and inspects
the letter one more time, then hands it back to me.

“So what do you think?” I ask nervously.

“Ah, well, I think it’s vague. Don’t you think
she might want to know what it is that you want from her?”

I hadn’t thought about it that way and she’s
right. I nod my head in agreement. “Good thinking”

“So if this is her, what do you want to know?
What do you think he would want to know?” she asks. She shakes her
head and snaps her towel on the counter, startling me. “I still
can’t believe you’re doing this without his okay, Jo. Are you sure
you should be doing this?”

“Well, if she doesn’t respond, then he never has
to know a thing about it. I want to know her side of things. I know
Damon says he hates her, but I just can’t believe that she would
just dump him off, ya know?” Noni nods and sighs. I go on talking.
“I want to know what she looks like, too. I think he would look
like her, since he doesn’t favor Edward or Grams. I want to know if
he has any other siblings. I want to know she’s even alive.” I
shrug. “I guess the thought of having family out there somewhere is
a little fascinating to an orphan.”

Noni smiles sweetly and pats my hand. “You’re no
orphan, girl. You have me, Grams, Elise, Brian, and most
importantly, Damon. You’re stuck with us.” She bulges her brown
eyes at me like a crazy person and we both laugh.

“Okay, I’ll rewrite it and let her know that I
just want to know the basics then I’m sending it.”

She takes a deep breath and gives me the thumbs
up.

I’m doing this.

I rewrite the letter in no time and stuff it
into the addressed envelope. I put it with the stack of outgoing
mail and send up a silent prayer to whomever that it reaches the
right person and she’s receptive. Or better yet, interested.

***

Damon’s been acting
strange for a few days and I’m not sure if it’s what’s going on
with Grams or if he’s still annoyed that I spilled the beans about
Edward. He’s been “taking care of a few things” every day since I
told him about Grams. I know some of it is recon on Grams and some
must be work, but his behavior has me paranoid about writing to
Beverly. I regret doing it one minute then, feel excited to know if
it’s her the next minute.

Something’s up. I can feel it in my gut. And I
intend on finding out what’s going on with him.

I absentmindedly line our new inventory on the
shelf. There’s nothing better than the smell of new books, except
maybe seeing lines and lines of shiny new books on
my
fancy
new shelves in
my
newly remodeled bookstore.

We open for business in two weeks and things are
finally looking the part around here. Hiring Noni is the best
decision I’ve made during this whole renovation. I thought maybe we
could sell some pre-packaged bagels and muffins but she shot that
down with a brilliant idea to team up with a bakery here in town.
One of Noni’s friends works there and she was able to hash out a
fantastic wholesale deal for us. We’ll be getting weekly deliveries
from them to sell at the coffee bar. She’s brilliant; it’s a
mutually advantageous deal. I also discovered her secret to making
great coffee. She mixes it, half chicory grounds and half plain
house coffee beans. Simple as that. I’m thinking of having her bag
it as our own distinct coffee—Captain’s Blend.

The familiar bell above the front door rings and
I turn to face the visitor. It’s déjà vu. There’s Damon, standing
in the doorway with sunlight spilling in behind him. I get to my
feet and he walks towards me.

“Hey, you.” He takes my face in his hands and
kisses me before I can say a thing.

“Hey to you, too.” I smile up at him and see him
look over my head to Noni.

“Noni, you know how to lock up, right?” he
calls.

Noni just gawks at my Big Man and nods her
head.

“Okay, I’m stealing her for the rest of the day,
if you don’t mind.”

She shakes her head no and I can’t help but
laugh as she gives me a huge wink. I hurry to the office to grab my
bag and scoop up Hemingway from his spot under my desk.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he opens my door
and I slide into his pickup truck.

“You’ll see.”

“This truck doesn’t fit you. Why do you drive
it?” I’m pretty sure I’ve asked this question before and have never
gotten a straight answer.

Today it’s the truth. “Trucks are bigger and
heavier than cars. They fair a lot better when they get into an
accident.”

“Oh.”
Another after effect of the accident
that changed our lives.
I watch out my window as he drives us
through the city to the outskirts of town where the space between
houses and buildings gets bigger. He turns onto a road and drives
another mile or so. I look at him expectantly.
Where the hell
are we going?

The truck slows as we approach a gorgeous, two
story, brick and stucco house. Damon turns into the drive and stops
at a set of wrought iron gates. He rolls down his window and
punches a code into a key pad. The gates slowly slide open. Damon
glances over to me wearing that crooked grin that I love so much.
He drives forward and parks the truck in the circle drive directly
in front of the sprawling house.

“Who lives here?” I question warily.

“We do.” He swings open his door and hops
out.

My eyebrows shoot up as shock registers.
He
bought a fucking house?

He opens my door and Hemingway jumps down from
the truck in a hurry to find some grass. I sit staring at Damon,
utterly shocked at what he just said.

“Come on, woman.” He grips my hips and sets me
to my feet in the stone driveway.

The house looks like a mission style home
combined with southwestern stucco. Burnt orange terracotta roofing
tiles extend to the edges of the roof. The front door is hand
crafted, a massive mahogany work of art. It has an iron knocker
that matches the gates. There are two tall brick pillars on either
side of the awning over the front entrance. Sago palms line the
circle drive and the perimeter of the house. It’s gorgeous and
impressive, but it’s a bit overwhelming, too.

Damon takes my hand and tugs me forward. “Come
see your house.” He whistles and Hemingway comes running up the
steps.

I’m speechless as I look around. It’s clear now
what he’s been up to. He opens the front door for me and we walk
into a fully-furnished house. I turn to face him with my mouth
hanging open.

“I did it myself.”

I can tell he did. The house looks more like his
bedroom and the library at the penthouse. I cheer on the inside
when I see that there isn’t one modern, low profile piece of
furniture around. The soaring ceilings draw my eye upward to the
track lighting. The walls are painted the color of sand. The floors
are solid wood. They’re the same shade of wood as the old shelves
at the store; Captain’s shelves. I know that’s a small detail that
Damon has made sure to include for me.

“Oh, Damon, it’s stunning.” I actually think I’m
crying a little.
He did this for me.

“Come on, I want to show you my favorite part of
the house,” he says softly. He interlaces our fingers together and
walks me through the massive house. I look like an idiot with my
mouth agape surveying the gorgeous furnishings and décor. For a
moment I think he may be talking about the kitchen, but we walk
past it and keep going toward the back of the house.

Damon opens the French doors and pulls me out
onto the amazing backyard patio. He lifts his hand and points over
toward the back corner of the yard. There’s a small building that
matches the house; stucco with terracotta roofing and a front door
with a knocker. I furrow my brows and look at Damon for an
explanation. “It’s for Grams. So she can come home. She has her own
apartment.”

I gasp and look back to the apartment. It’s
perfect and right here. I can see her all the time. We can eat our
meals together. We can talk as much as we want and, most
importantly, no one can steal from her anymore. I don’t try to hide
the stupid grin on my face. My Big Man looks as proud as I’ve ever
seen him. That crooked smile tilts up one side of his mouth. Those
amber eyes that I love so much are lit up and he looks completely
happy. I take his hand in mine. I look down at our joined hands as
I try to collect my thoughts and come up with the words I’m looking
for. He faces me and waits.

“Damon, I-I don’t know what to say. I don’t
deserve all of this.”

He takes both my hands and puts them around his
back, drawing me close to him. He cups my face in his big hands as
his warm eyes stare back at me. “You deserve every bit of it.
You’re my reason.”

“For what?”

“Everything. I’d be lost without you. Josephine,
you save me a thousand times a day in a thousand different ways and
you don’t even know it. I remember thinking that I wanted to be
your person that day at the accident. Even back then I wanted to be
there for you. You should be called ma’am.”

I furrow my brows. I have no clue why the hell
he would want to call me ma’am for and why that has a thing to do
with us or this amazing house. He sees the confusion he’s caused
and goes on.

“When I called you ma’am in the bookstore, when
we first met, you told me that I shouldn’t call you that. You said
only people who have a title or stature or a husband should be
called ma’am,” he explains, rushing on. “I want you to be a
ma’am.”

I soak in his words through every pore, through
every cell of my body, and let myself be saturated by what he’s
saying. I do remember saying that to him that morning in the store.
Ma’am. What a goofball.