“Figured you could learn. When we’re in Connecticut, it’ll be harder to get around without a car, and I want you to be able to go places if I’m not around.”
“I could bike.”
“Sure. But you could also drive. You won’t convince me you aren’t even a little tempted.” I glance pointedly at her hands, which are still running over the edge of the glossy white exterior. It’s a loving gesture—a caress. And it signals what I rarely see in her for anything but me. A little desire. A little want. She asks me for so little, and I want to give her so much.
“You’ve already given me this.” She waves her ring finger at me. “I’m convinced that I could buy a small country with it.”
I shrug lightly. She isn’t wrong. The five-carat emerald cut baguette diamond on a thin white-gold band did cost as much as a small country’s gross domestic product, but that’s information she doesn’t need to know. If she did, she wouldn’t wear the ring out of the house. “It’s non-returnable, so I guess we’ll never know.”
She rolls her eyes. She knows it’s expensive, but by mutual agreement, we’re not going to discuss the cost.
“How do I get in this thing?” she says after several moments of silent contemplation.
I press down on the LED buttons on the side, and the flush-mounted door handle swings out.
“Very fancy,” she says, picking up the items left on the seat and climbing in. “I feel very…Thelma and Louise.”
“A convertible, hat, and sunglasses make you feel like an outlaw on the run ready to run off a cliff and die?” I ask incredulously. Slipping on my own Aviators, I slide into the driver’s seat, hit a button, and watch the garage door roll up.
“Not the dying part but maybe a little outlaw.” She plops the hat on and wrinkles her nose. “How is this going to stay on?”
“I think that’s what the scarf is for.”
With a push of a button, the engine revs to life and we roar into the street, the over five-hundred horsepower engine rumbling loudly on the pavement. She shoots me an elated grin. Yeah, she likes the car. I smile back at her before switching my attention to the street. Out of my periphery I can see her arranging and rearranging her hat and scarf. The low speed of the city traffic makes it possible for us to talk.
“How come you aren’t making Steve drive me around in Connecticut?” she asks, fiddling with the various buttons and controls on the dash.
“Because I figured you’d like to be in charge of your transportation outside the city. I know I do.”
“Why don’t you drive yourself here if you like it so much?”
“It’s easier to get things done if you have a driver. No waiting around. No trying to find a place to park. If I’m stuck in crosstown traffic for an hour, I can read three analysts’ reports. It’s not a waste. Outside the city, though, it’s nice to be in charge.”
She nods and sits back, a hand trailing outside the door. Tiny’s had so much of her life torn away. Her mother died. She’s had to move. I think she feels a little lost, and if giving her the ability to drive, the ability to move about on her own, can restore a little control in her life it can only be a good thing.
As we merge onto the Connecticut Turnpike headed north toward the sound, the traffic thins. It’s Saturday morning. Tiny’s getting quieter, and conversation grinds to a halt as she stares out the window. The windshield is helping to reduce drag, but her hair is whipping about like crazy. She looks gorgeous, but a little somber.
“Thinking about your mother?”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Yes, sorry.”
“Don’t be. I miss her too.”
She sighs. “I was just thinking about how much she would like to have gone with us. Not to see the place but the trip. Getting out of the city. When she was sick, sometimes she couldn’t leave the apartment because of the risk of infection. Even some random cough on the street could affect her low immune system. Then when she got better, we made this pact to go places…” She pauses and rubs a finger over the hand-stitched infinity rings in the leather. “But we were limited by our funds. We didn’t have much.”
My heart aches. When Tiny and I met, her fifth-floor walkup had been dingy and small and impossible for her mother to navigate. It was desperate circumstances that allowed me to walk into her life and redirect the course of events. There was only one event I couldn’t change: Sophie Corielli’s death. All the money in the world can’t stop a person from suffering loss. Tiny thinks that the gulf between her having no money and me having so much of it is sometimes too large of a gap for us to maneuver, but money is nothing.
“I sometimes wonder if things would be different if Mom were still alive.”
“Because of us?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be down here with you at the warehouse or driving in this two-seater.” She turns and looks at the non-existent rear space covered by a wind blocker. It’s only large enough for a bag or two. No, her mother wouldn’t have been in this car with us.
“If your mother were here, we’d renovate the warehouse. Maybe turn the garage into an apartment. I could have stored the vehicles in the building next door. I own the block. Or there’s a property I’m renovating on the West side. It’s a double-wide townhome I bought that was foreclosed on. And Aston Martin has four-door sedans, or we’d drive the Maybach because I know she liked the footrests.”
“You’re saying we’d still be together?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Maybe you felt sorry for me. Like, here’s Tiny all alone. I want to make her stop crying.”
“I’m not going to tie myself to you for the rest of my life because I feel sorry for you. I fucking love you.” I try not to break the steering wheel.
“Marriages can be dissolved.”
“Not ours.” I’m growing angry. I can’t believe she thinks my proposal was fake and that if her mother were still alive, I’d have dropped her by now.
“You only got involved with me because of Richard Howe, and now you won’t even let me help you with that.”
If we weren’t on the interstate going 85 miles-per-hour, I would’ve slammed on the brakes and pulled over. “Don’t say his name,” I spit out through gritted teeth.
She lapses into silence, and we make the rest of the drive without uttering another word to each other. I drive well over the speed limit and am lucky not to get a ticket. When we arrive at the gate to the property, she finally opens her mouth.
“Is this where we drive off the cliff? Because I’m sick enough over our argument to jump into a ravine.” She touches my hand lightly, and my fury instantly drains away.
“We can jump in the sound, but I’m guessing it’s pretty cold,” I joke. We drive down the paved driveway and around the house to the garage bay. Tiny calls the whole place a monstrosity because we could fit fifteen or more city apartments inside it. But it’s the perfect place for a family.
“I’m sorry I bought up the Howe issue,” she says, making no moves to exit the car. Instead, she’s got an elbow propped on the door and is staring out toward the water. “It’s just that I feel like it’s the one thing I can do for you. I feel so useless right now. When Mom was alive, everything fit. I had a job I was good at. We lived in a shitty apartment, but it was
our
shitty apartment. I didn’t feel like I was stupid or had nothing to offer but now…now I feel real fucking inadequate.” She furiously wipes tears away from her face. I fight back the urge to draw her over the console and into my lap. Somehow I know that’s not the response she wants. She doesn’t want me to feel sorry for her or to comfort her, and even though I’m dying to hold her, I resist.
Taking a moment, I choose my words carefully. “Before you, I had nothing. Yes, I have a few friends. They’re great, but they don’t love me and I don’t love them. I’ve worked nearly every day with my right-hand man Louis for five years without realizing that he’s kind of a shitty human being. Worse, I was the same shitty human being. I cared about nothing but making money, and it didn’t bother me if I stepped on a few toes or hands or faces to get to the top. There’s no question that Richard Howe is a blight on humanity, but he’s meaningless now because you’re my future. Chasing down Howe doesn’t bring my mother back, nor does it bring yours back. All it can do is stifle what you and I could make together. Tiny, if I didn’t have any money, would you feel the same about me? Would you still love me?”
“Yes,” she responds without even taking a moment to think.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
Her shoulders relax as some of the tension she’s wound tight around her frame unspools. Taking a deep breath, I haul myself out of the seat and jog around to the passenger side so I can lift her out. “I thought we’d have lunch, but I’m going to need to make love to you first.”
Her response is to twine her arms and legs around me. “I’m down with that plan.”
Her stomach growls before I can take two steps toward the house.
“On second thought, how about we eat first?”
“Another good plan.” She slides down, brushing her unfettered breasts against my chest. Groaning, I pull her in for a hot, hungry kiss—which is interrupted by another grumble.
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” she says with chagrin.
“Let’s feed you, then. I think I can manage to keep my hands to myself for an hour.”
“I hope not.” She grins impishly and then swings around, purposely brushing her hip against my growing erection.
Awkwardly I maneuver toward the trunk. Inside is the picnic basket, and I unhook the blanket from the custom-made insert.
“So when did you buy the car?”
“I didn’t buy it. We’re test driving it.” I transfer the basket and blanket to one hand and grab her with my other. The walk down to the shore is about a couple hundred yards. It’s a beautiful June day with a light breeze blowing up from the sea.
“They let you test drive it?”
“Yes, for the weekend.”
“That seems weird…and trusting. What if you run off with it?”
“You don’t want to buy a car you haven’t driven before. Didn’t you test out your bike first?”
She shook her head. “No, I bought it used from another courier who was moving up. She bought a Vanmoof.” Her voice sounds wistful, and I hide a grin, thinking of the packages that are sitting in one of the empty garage bays.
The sand on the beach is fairly coarse, but it’s private. Tiny toes off her tennis shoes and wades into the water. “Oh shit,” she yelps and jumps back out. “It’s cold!”
I chuckle at her surprise. “I take it you never went swimming in the sound?”
“Usually Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, or sometimes we’d hit Jacob Riis Park.”
“Never been. Should we go together sometime?” I flick the blanket out and set the basket on one edge. Inside I find two plates, two glasses, and silverware along with salami, cheese, fruit, and antipasti.
With a nose wrinkle, she shakes her head. “No. Jacob Riis is pretty shabby, and Brighton’s crowded.”
“Then maybe we could go up to Vermont. Visit the ice cream factory,” I suggest. It was something Tiny and her mother had planned to do before Sophie had fallen ill.
Tiny gives me a forlorn smile. “Maybe. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
“Then come and eat and tell me where we should spend our summer. It can be anywhere.”
I spread a pretzel cracker with goat cheese and a dab of jam. She wolfs it down with one bite. “Mmm. Can we take this picnic basket with us, too?”
“Of course.” With a raised eyebrow, I fend off her attempts to wrestle the knife from me. “Not today, bunny. Today you eat from my hand.” I offer her another cracker. Her teeth are a shade sharper against my fingers than necessary, but I appreciate the pinch. Always challenging me in her own way. Once she asked me what I would do when the pursuit was over. My response was sincere at the time, but not entirely truthful. She will always confront me, fight me, and test me, therefore the chase is never-ending. Even in this she looks a bit mutinous, and every bite from my hand bears a risk of deeper teeth marks being left behind.
The sad truth is, I’d like to feed her from my hand at every meal. The idea of her sustenance being totally in my control is dizzyingly erotic. But Tiny’s far too independent to allow that to happen, so I’ll take what I can get—like this meal and maybe a little bedroom play tonight. The new bed frame is made of solid mahogany with soaring posts at the four corners.
I’ve had quite a few fantasies about her being tied to those posts, spread eagle and helpless underneath me.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks suspiciously after swallowing down an herbed mozzarella pearl.
“You, of course.” I palm my erection lightly. “He only gets up for you.”
Her lashes sweep downward for a moment and then she glances up—almost shyly. “Is that true?”
It’s a serious question, and one she’s embarrassed to ask if her pink cheeks are anything to go by. Tiny’s sudden bout of insecurity pains me because I know it has more to do with how unsure she feels about her place in my life than her own feelings of self-worth. I bring her hand to my mouth to press a kiss against the palm and then the wrist. “Don’t ever doubt it.”
Pensively, she bites her lip and looks out onto the sea. The water is nearly still, with only the slightest breeze to mar its glassy perfection. From here, the sound looks blue and beautiful, but the glee with which Tiny had greeted the sea has been swallowed by a thoughtful melancholy. “When it was just Mom and me, the fact that I couldn’t read was no big deal. I didn’t realize until she was gone how much I depended on her to do stuff for me—like look up an address on the internet or read the news to me in the morning as I was getting ready. She helped me set up my phone and filled out all the paperwork for our apartment.”
To make it seem like the feelings she was sharing were not of too much or too little importance, I cut salami, plate cheese, and pour wine. She eats and drinks absently. “I’m just wondering if I would have made it if you hadn’t come along.”
“While I’d like to be a pompous ass and say, ‘no, you wouldn’t be able to survive without me,’ I don’t doubt you’d be fine.” I take a swallow of the white wine myself before continuing. “You have a quick mind. You’d get a job delivering again. You’d get a roommate. You’d…” The words stick in my throat. The idea that she could meet and fall in love with someone else is not something I wish to contemplate or give voice to. “You’d have made it.”