Chapter Five
“Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
And I will forget the light.
When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.”
Emily Dickenson
Heart, We Will Forget Him
As the days passed there was little word from Lucian and even less from Sawyer. The more time that went by the harder it became not to pick up the phone and ask what was going on, but she’d made it clear to Sawyer she wouldn’t treat this like a traditional relationship and she needed to keep her actions as low maintenance as possible. That meant she couldn’t appear needy in any way.
Unsure how affairs worked, Isadora adapted her expectations on a regular basis. It was easy to get upset when he didn’t call, but no amount of longing made her phone ring or gave her the courage to contact him. So she did her best to occupy her free time with other things.
Toni had started sixth grade and they spent a lot of time shopping for the school year. If anything, her sister’s temperament could be subdued with a new wardrobe. It was a decent excuse for retail therapy. Isadora only wished Toni found equal excitement in her books and school supplies.
By mid-September Isadora understood a new level of parenthood. Though Toni was young, her classmates were not. Her sister seemed to be hitting the tedious tween stage a lot faster than Lucian had.
Hoping to get to know some of these new middle school players in her sister’s life, Isadora agreed to let Toni have a sleepover with three friends. She didn’t anticipate the level of privacy eleven and twelve-year-olds could demand.
Isadora found herself lingering outside the den where they shut the doors. The boisterous giggles and whispered confessions had her longing for a part of her childhood she’d somehow misplaced. She’d been in eighth grade when their mother first became sick and that time of her life would forever be shrouded in grief and confusion.
After endless nagging and getting the permission of the other girls’ parents, she allowed them to watch a PG-13 movie. Eventually the girls passed out like puppies on a stack of pillows and blankets on the floor. Isadora locked up the house and made her way to bed, no more familiar with her houseguests than she was when they arrived several hours earlier.
She had to be cooler than the other moms. She was a sister, not a mom. She was in her early twenties. Somehow these facts didn’t translate to Toni and her friends the way Isadora had hoped.
As she lay in the darkness, her mind turned over mundane thoughts, but always pulled back to Sawyer. She wondered if she’d embellished her memories, painted a fairytale that could never match the reality.
It seemed her imagination was the only guarantee she could count on. Picturing his dark hair, she shut her eyes and pressed a lock of her own between her fingertips.
Her mind worked hard to conjure the exact scent of his cologne. Sliding her panties down her legs, she slowly drew circles on her torso, her touch traveling lower with each pictured detail of him.
Every time she touched herself like this it became a game to recall as many characteristics as possible. When her fingers finally reached between her thighs she was soaking wet.
Her body arched, driving the fantasy into darker territories that had nothing to do with her time with Sawyer. Sometimes she surprised herself with how erotic her fantasies could get. Other times she struggled to reach completion, too irritated by her lackluster reality to feel much of anything.
As her hand worked between her thighs, her teeth bit into her lower lip, stifling her moans. Stroking faster, deeper, she arched against the bedding, yearning for the exact moment she tipped into ecstasy.
“Sawyer,” she rasped, sliding her fingers over tender flesh. “Yes…”
Her toes pointed and her heart raced. Tiny shivers chased over her exposed skin as a delicate tremble spread through her middle. It was a small victory, but still a victory. Knowing that she could do such things for herself was the only consolation she had in a reality where the guy never called.
Letting her limbs fall flat on the bed, she sighed and stared into the shadows. He’d better call soon or she’d never be able to look him in the eye again.
But time carried on with no sign of him. She felt foolish for harboring hope. Perhaps this was not an affair at all, but a one-night stand. Maybe the second time they had made love truly was an accident, a mistake he honestly didn’t want to repeat.
The thought that she might have pushed him cheapened the memory, making it something tawdry, steeped in expensive scotch and desperation. She blamed herself for getting into this mess, but she also blamed him, because what hurt most was the shame—shame that hadn’t existed until he refused to contact her.
She’d gone to her doctor and requested a prescription for birth control, relieved that her cycle hadn’t been interrupted by a night that apparently meant nothing. But every morning she swallowed that silly pill she felt more ridiculous than the day before. By Halloween she was certain the birth control was unnecessary.
Sawyer had always been a quiet constant in their lives. His continued absence spoke of more than busyness. It reeked of avoidance. She should have run into him by now. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that she thought about him all the time or the worry that he might never think about her at all.
She occupied herself with plans for the holidays. Lucian would be returning for Thanksgiving and she decided to host a feast fit for kings. She never prepared a turkey before, but the kitchen staff was more than helpful. She suspected they would’ve preferred to do the job themselves, but she was determined to have a holiday like ordinary people, one made from love and recipes found online.
Isadora wasn’t prepared for the changes in her brother. Though he’d only been gone a short time, she expected the same person to return. The man who walked through the door on the eve of Thanksgiving was not the boy she watched drive away last August.
Though it pained her to see him grow up so fast, it also filled her with immeasurable pride. Even his clothing seemed more mature.
Toni was thrilled to have their brother home again and it pleased Isadora very much that Lucian appeared equally thrilled to see his little sister. Not only was he attentive to Toni’s prattling tales, he appeared genuinely interested in her middle school drama, teasing her that if any boys dared to kiss his baby sister he’d cut out their tongues.
This confused Toni, who had yet to discover what a tongue might have to do with kissing.
As Isadora peeled the sweet potatoes for tomorrow, Toni disappeared with the phone. Lucian turned to her and grinned. “She’s growing up too fast.”
“The same could be said for you.”
He didn’t acknowledge her indisputable observation. “Soon she’ll be able to stay home by herself.”
“I don’t see why that’s important. There’s always someone here.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned at him. “What are you trying to say, Lucian?”
He shrugged. “Just pointing out that you aren’t chained to the house. You could make time for yourself.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have all the time I need.”
“Really? When’s the last time you went on a date?”
She laughed at the idea. “I don’t date.”
“I know. I’m suggesting you start.”
Holding the peeler in her fist, she lowered her hand to the counter and twisted her lips. “And how am I supposed to do that? Go sit at a bar and wait for some stranger to approach? Or perhaps I could just introduce myself then have the luxury of swatting away all the gold digging letches who care nothing about me and everything about Daddy’s legacy and the doors his name can open.”
“I’m just saying you should get out there.”
“And what about you? Are you getting out there ?”
“I’m not short on company, but I’m too ambitious to tie myself down.”
That he certainly was. “And I’m not ambitious?”
He shrugged. “Are you? What do you want? I want to see you happy.”
Why did she feel like the child here? “I am happy. I appreciate you checking up on my social life, Lucian, but I assure you I’m fine with the way things are.” Sort of.
He opened his mouth to argue, but paused when a voice called from the foyer.
“Anybody home?”
Toni’s shout echoed through the house. “Shamus!”
Isadora returned to peeling potatoes as Shamus walked in with Toni at his heels. Lucian greeted him and her hands slipped when she heard another familiar voice.
Ignoring the slice she’d nicked out of her thumb, she drew in a staggering breath only to be swathed in disappointment as a younger version of Sawyer entered the kitchen.
Piercing blue eyes met hers. “Happy Thanksgiving, Isa.”
Covering her frustration and giving herself a quick reality check, she smiled and wrapped a paper towel around her bleeding thumb. “Happy Thanksgiving, Slade. You too, Shamus.”
“What are we making?” Shamus asked, sidling behind the island and lifting the various foil coverings off the dishes set along the counter.
She offered a description of the menu and then they fell into small talk. There was something magical about the way the three boys laughed, sharing years of inside jokes and unguarded ease with one another.
When Slade bumped Lucian’s shoulder with his and gave his head a shove, she suffered a pinch of envy. Her brother rarely let people get that close to him, yet these boys managed to break down his walls.
“How’s your father, Slade?” The words left her mouth before she had the chance to consider if that was a strange question for her to ask.
“He’s good. I worry about him being all alone in the house now that I’m away, but he says he’s glad to have me gone.” There was laughter in his eyes, eyes so familiar in shape and shade.
“What are you two doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Same as we always do, heading into the city for dinner. Then I’ll probably go out with the guys and he’ll likely go home to watch reruns of NCIS .”
“You should come here for dinner.”
Lucian turned, his dark eyes questioning, but not really suspicious.
Trying to sound casual, she explained, “I don’t see why the two of you should have to travel all the way to the city to eat in some restaurant when we have plenty of room at our table.”
“Thanks. I’ll run it by him and see what he says.”
The conversation shifted, her presence already forgotten as they moved on to plans for the current evening. Isadora wanted to remind Slade to be sure he asked Sawyer about dinner tomorrow, but that seemed pushy and might draw suspicions. For the rest of the night she obsessed over the possibility of seeing him again.
After only a few hours of sleep, she found herself back in the kitchen, preheating the oven and readying the bird. While it was her goal to have a nice home cooked meal for her family, it now became imperative that everything be perfect.
As she bathed and dressed two things became clear. If Sawyer showed up he might not touch her. She accepted that and would make do, because the other possibility was that he wouldn’t come at all and her disappointment would be enough to spoil the entire holiday.
By two o’clock the table was dressed. Toni continued to walk around the house on the phone, telling redundant stories to anyone who would listen about how immature a boy in her class was.
Lucian appeared in the dining room and gave a slow whistle as he spotted the table. “Wow, I didn’t know you had this sort of domestication in you, Isa.”
“Does it look all right? It’s not too much?” She fussed with the napkin rings that she’d crafted out of hot glue and silk foliage.
“Yeah, it looks great. But why all the fuss? It’s just us.”
She stilled, a painful ache forming in her belly. “Are Slade and his father not coming?”
“I don’t know. He probably forgot to ask.”
“Why don’t you call them?”
“I would, but Toni has the phone attached to her head.”
Uncharacteristically frazzled, she went to the door and saw her sister plopped on a chair in the library on the other side of the foyer. “Toni, get off the phone. It’s Thanksgiving and you’ve been at it all morning. Give it a rest and go get dressed for dinner.”
She scoffed. “It’s only two o’clock and what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s a holiday. You should look nice.”
Her sister frowned and continued her conversation, making some snide comment about nagging grown-ups not understanding today’s fashion.
Returning to the dining room table, Isadora brushed a hand over her brow, startled to find it slightly damp.
“Hey, Isa, take a breath,” Lucian said, noting her fatigue. “Everything looks great. Sit down and relax.”
But she couldn’t relax. Once she’d extended the invitation to the Bishops everything seemed so much more important. She’d waited three months to hear from Sawyer without a word. And now, with the boys home from college, she had an excuse to see him again and was determined to get an explanation for his absence.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted more, to see him or to hear why he hadn’t called. The fading chance to have either undermined every bit of calm she’d established over the past twelve weeks.
Turning back to the library, she snapped, “Toni, hang up the phone!” She faced her brother. “I’m going upstairs for a few minutes. Find out if they’re coming, because if not I have too many plates on the table.”
Leaving him with a confused expression she retreated to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her eyes closed as she fought for equilibrium. What the heck was wrong with her? She was waspish and emotional, and behaving nothing like herself.
Sitting on her bed, she stared at the carpet, waiting for the tension in her shoulders to ease. It seemed even the deepest breath couldn’t penetrate the barrier between her common sense and her anxiety.
It aggravated her that a man could make her so unbalanced. She’d been fine, accepting that he wasn’t going to call until she saw Slade and found out Sawyer was doing nothing more than sitting home every night watching reruns. Now her little crush—or whatever this was—had bubbled up and erupted out of control. She had to do something about it, but she couldn’t do anything until she was able to look him in the eye and demand an explanation.
She deserved something . Her aggravation only multiplied when she admitted Sawyer wasn’t just any man, but a man she’d known her entire life. A man she trusted. A man who didn’t have the courtesy to call!
Enough was enough. Sawyer needed to come to dinner. She needed to see him again so she could understand what the heck was going on. If he came and nothing happened then that would be the end. She would not pine her days away for a man who didn’t want her. She was not her mother.
And if he didn’t come… Once the boys were back at school she would drive to his house and confront him. He might be a coward, but she’d be damned if she’d scare so easily. Ridiculous!
Once she composed herself, she returned downstairs. Toni was wearing a dress Isadora couldn’t discern the color of, but it looked nicer than what she’d had on before. Lucian was watching television.
“Did you call?” she asked, as she nosed through the bar for a complimentary bottle of wine.
“Yes. I told them four o’clock. Is that good?”
She turned, her breath suddenly reaching her lungs. “They’re coming?”
Lucian nodded. “That’s what you wanted, I thought.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s good. Four o’clock will be fine.”
Over the next hour, she dressed the hors d’oeuvre platters with centerfold worthy garnish and set the sides in the spare oven to keep warm. The doorbell rang at precisely four o’clock and her mind scrambled.
Removing her apron, she checked her reflection in the window and adjusted the straps of her bra. She’d worn a dark sheath dress with a pale cardigan. Out of necessity, her hair was twisted into a chignon at her nape.
Voices carried from the foyer and her heart thundered wildly in her chest. Should she greet them? Act busy with the food preparations? Perhaps offer them a drink or pour one for herself?
Before she could decide, the door to the kitchen swung open and Lucian walked in, Slade on his heels.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she greeted, her smile a bit shaky. Was there a misunderstanding? He was supposed to ask his—
Sawyer’s tall form appeared and her breath skittered out of her lungs. He was as handsome as ever in a cable knit crewneck sweater sewn of what looked like soft blue. It brought out the shade of his eyes. Yes, she was pretty sure it was blue.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he greeted, placing a bottle of wine on the counter.
The boys disappeared into the dining room where she’d set out the appetizers. She remained frozen in place, unable to utter a sound or break her stare as she looked into those intense eyes.
“I considered bringing scotch, but after last time … everything I had on hand would have been an affront to our palates.”
As he mentioned their last encounter she realized how much she’d feared he wouldn’t. The knot in her chest eased and she smiled. “Thank you for the wine.”
“Thanks for inviting us. It’s been a long time since we had a home cooked holiday meal.”
“Well,” she responded excitedly. “This is my first. I was hoping to make it as traditional as possible, but we’ll see.”
She looked at him, a thousand questions running through her head, but suddenly she’d lost the nerve to ask a single one. Where have you been? Why haven’t you called? How could you just leave me wondering like that? Didn’t you like being with me? Did I do something wrong?
Everything inside of her seemed to jump and bounce too fast for her frame to hold still, so she opened the spare oven and reached to remove the stuffing. “Ouch!” The hot dish clattered against the oven rack.
Sawyer rounded the counter as she cradled her singed fingers to her chest and cursed herself for being so scattered.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s fine. They’ve been warming for the past hour. I should have expected the dishes to still be hot.”
“Let me see.” He carefully extricated her fingers from the clutch of her hand and examined the tips.
He was so close she could see the grain of his beard, the coarse hairs waiting to grow along his jaw and form a shadow by evening. He had a small freckle by his right temple. Thick black lashes fringed his piercing eyes as they studied her fingertips.
Her heart beat with clumsy thumps behind her ribs as she breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, so recognizable the fragrance triggered some sort of accelerated arousal in her body. Her clothing was suddenly an irritant and she had the urge to strip as if she were on fire.
“I think you’ll live,” he whispered, sparing her a teasing smile. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss on the pads of her fingers.
She studied him, a deep urge to climb onto him and wrap her limbs around his strong hips. But there was also the urge to slap him. Looking away, she searched for an oven mitt.
But when her hand pulled, he tightened his grip. She glanced back at him questioningly, hoping to read something in his expression that might tell her what he was thinking. She held his gaze he slowly released his hold. Coward!
Flustered, she said, “Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you pour yourself a glass of wine?”
“Can I get something for you?”
Yes, an explanation would help, then you can get undressed and meet me in my bed. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
He waited with the men at the table as she and Toni carried the last of the dishes to the dining room. Lucian carved the turkey with inexperienced flare and Sawyer offered a toast.
“I’m grateful to be spending the holiday with good friends. Everything looks delicious, Isadora. Thank you, again, for inviting us.” When he spoke, especially the word delicious, his gaze seemed to devour her, though no one else appeared to notice, so maybe she was hallucinating.
The side dishes were wonderful, though the turkey turned out dryer than she’d hoped. The men helped themselves to seconds and several bottles of wine were emptied.
It occurred to her that their father hadn’t called. Perhaps, being that Thanksgiving was an American holiday, it slipped his mind all the way over in Europe. The thought niggled, but didn’t consume her as it once would have. If anything, she was irritated on Lucian and Toni’s behalf.
“Can I sleep over at Liz’s?”
Isadora’s thoughts of withdrawn family evaporated. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“So?”
“So I’m sure Liz is doing stuff with her family.”
“Only dinner at her aunt’s. She asked, and her mom said it was okay. Lucian’s going out.”
“Lucian’s an adult,” she diplomatically pointed out.
“God.” Toni shoved her fork across the table. “I’m never allowed to do anything.”
Before she could comment on her sister’s rude manners Lucian spoke. “Antoinette. Apologize. If Isa says no then the answer’s no. Don’t argue.”
Taken aback by her brother’s mature intervention, she stared at her sister. Sawyer and Slade remained silent, waiting for the awkward family moment to pass.
“Sorry, Isa,” Toni mumbled.
Her instant apology was another shock. Though it was a holiday, it was also the start of a long, much-needed weekend. “If Liz’s mother said yes, then I suppose it’s fine, but I have a lot to clean up. You’ll have to get a ride.”
“Lucian can drop me off.”
“Oh, can I?” their brother asked, voice thick with sarcasm. “Fine, but you have to help Isadora with the dishes first.”
“Deal.”
Who were these people?
Once everyone seemed pleased with the terms, the easy conversation continued. As the meal concluded, Isadora found it difficult to look in Sawyer’s general direction.
The men retired to the den where a football game played on the television. Toni dutifully helped her clear the table and wrap the leftovers.
“There’s so much food left. We should take it somewhere.”
“Where?” Toni asked, making quick work of returning the serving trays to the hutch.
Isadora shrugged. “Maybe a shelter?” She wasn’t sure if leftovers were an acceptable donation to food pantries. She’d look into that for Christmas. Sawyer was somehow tied to the board at St. Christopher’s. Maybe he’d know.
Once the kitchen was clean and the dishes were all put away it was dark. Lucian returned with a fresh shirt and a look of masculine intent glimmering in his dark eyes. “You ready, brat?”
“Yeah. Let me get my bag.”
Toni disappeared and Isadora sighed. “Thanks for taking her.”
“No problem. You have plans tonight?”
She laughed. “I’ll probably read for a split second, then pass out.”
“You should come out with us.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“A club in Folsom.”
“An underage club?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Isa. Be real.”
“I don’t want you drinking and driving.”
“I’m not. I’m just driving to Slade’s and the city, then we’ll probably end up staying overnight at Patras.”
She groaned, lectures of safe sex dancing in the forefront of her mind. Not that she was one to talk. “Be safe, please .”
“I will. I promise.”
Toni appeared with her bag and Lucian withdrew his keys. Slade and Sawyer appeared and the tightness she’d suffered over the past few months returned with a vengeance. He was leaving.
“Thanks again,” Slade said, slipping on his coat. Sawyer echoed his gratitude, but made no move to hug or kiss her goodbye.
“You’re welcome. If you aren’t busy for Christmas…” Feeling stupid, she let her words drift off.
In a flurry of keys, coats and goodbyes, she watched them shuffle through the front door and stared silently as the taillights disappeared into the dark night. A vacant ache formed in her chest.
“Alone again,” she whispered, shutting off the front lights.
As she replayed the night she tried to figure out what this meant. Was he done with her? There was that moment in the kitchen and a few smoldering looks across the dinner table, but nothing concrete. He didn’t even casually kiss her goodbye.
Disappointed that this was probably the end and she’d worked herself up for nothing, she slid into bed. Her book rested on the nightstand with little appeal. Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe she should start going out.
She was embarrassing herself holding out hope for Sawyer—even if no one knew what she was doing. She needed to get a life. It was pretty sad that her eleven-year-old sister had a more exciting social life.
The chime of the doorbell startled her. Breath stilled in her lungs. Swallowing hard, she stared at the ceiling waiting to hear it again and a little alarmed, because no one visited at this time of night. If she was imagining doorbells she was going to the doctor tomorrow.
Another ring and she sprang out of bed, racing out of her room. Her heart so desperately wanted it to be Sawyer, but more than anything she swallowed back a hint of terror that something might have happened to Lucian or Toni. A hundred horrible scenarios raced through her head as she rushed to the front door.
Her feet carried her swiftly across the foyer as she tied her robe, but her hand hesitated on the front lock. Flipping on the porch light, she eased to her toes and checked the peephole.
All her fear washed away, replaced by some unnamable emotion teetering between relief and distrust. Sawyer…
Her breath caught at the sight of him and her mind snagged on unwanted scenarios—break up conversations, explanations she didn’t want to hear. Flipping the deadbolt with shaky fingers, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Intense eyes flashed in the glimmer of the porch light, as her chest seemed to fill with helium.
He gave a quick, somewhat telling grin and she sensed his uncertainty. A reoccurring mantra whispered through her mind... We don’t have to end this…
“You’re back,” she said, stating the obvious.
“It occurred to me,” he began softly, “that I wasn’t tired. Am I interrupting your evening?”
“No.” But you might be ruining it, depending on what you’re doing here. “Come in.”
Breathless, she stepped back to let him in, a thousand questions playing through her head. How nice it would be if this wasn’t an end, but a beginning, that they were finally ready to face this chemistry like two adults and stop hiding in the shadows.
Whatever this was, she would be getting some explanations.