Deb didn’t know what to do with herself.
When Simon was at work, she wandered around his house, feeling lost. As much as she could, she made herself useful—cooking, cleaning, shaping up his wasteland of a yard—but this house wasn’t hers, no matter how many times Simon insisted that it was, and she didn’t feel comfortable asserting her presence on it.
She’d felt stronger the first few weeks, while she’d had a funeral to plan and lawyers and insurance agents and the sheriff to talk to, over and over again. Now, though, two months after the fire, with her father buried, his will executed, the case on the death and destruction of the farm blamed on ‘person or persons unknown’ and left to go cold, and the insurance claim approved, Deb had no choice but to confront the truth of her future: she didn’t have one.
She was a thirty-five-year-old woman who’d worked hard all her life but hadn’t held an actual job in fifteen years. She didn’t have a college degree, and what higher education she’d gotten was fifteen years old. She had the land her father had owned, shared equally with her brother. And, when the insurance payout happened, she’d have half of that. But that land no longer held her home, and a few hundred thousand dollars couldn’t replace anything she’d really lost.
Her worldly possessions now consisted of three pairs of jeans, a pair of boots, a pair of sneakers, five shirts, ten pairs of panties, and three bras—all bought at Wal-Mart, by Mo while Deb recovered in the clubhouse. And the outfit she’d worn to bury her father, acquired at Joanna’s shop. She owned no jewelry, no photographs, no mementos, no books.
Her entire world had been the farm. Her father, the house, that life. All of it was gone. The words ‘total loss’ had been tossed around like a beach ball, by the family lawyer, the insurance adjuster, Sheriff Lucas—everybody who had cause to speak on it threw those words around, and rightly so. It was a total loss. What little the fire hadn’t eaten, the smoke and water devoured. A bulldozer had come and scooped every scrap and ash away. And in that detritus had been everything Deb knew about herself. Her whole life, her whole self.
Simon wanted her to ‘settle in’ to his house, to add her taste to his, to make a home with him. And she wanted that, too. He’d become her anchor—more than that, he’d become her light. Their love was the one thing left in her life that she understood with clarity, and through that, she held off despair, like raising a candle and pushing shadow away.
But in losing her father and her home, she had lost herself. She felt unmoored, adrift. Always disoriented, like psychic vertigo. Adding throw pillows to his sofa wouldn’t change that.
When she was alone in his house, with nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, Deb was truly alone.
~oOo~
Deb checked the peephole. When she saw who it was, she sighed and psyched herself up before she opened the door. She hadn’t expected company, and she wasn’t in the mood for it. Nor was she ready for it: she hadn’t showered, and she’d been walking around in nothing but one of Simon’s Bulls t-shirts.
“Hey, Aly. Did I miss a call?”
Her friend pushed her way into the house. “Nope. I’m a surprise. Surprise!” She hugged her. “You, my love, need a shower and a change. I am taking you out. Shopping, salon, and liquid lunch. You are not spending this day, of all days, moping around in your PJs.”
Deb was not in the mood. The mood was on an entirely different planet. “I’m not moping. I’m just having a quiet day. I should get to do what I want on this day of all days, right?”
“Nope. Not if what you want is to hide in a dark house in your underwear and feel sorry for yourself. It’s your birthday, Debra Louise. The big three-five. You will not sulk this day away. I can’t allow it—it says so in the Best Friend Handbook. So let’s get you into the shower. We’re going to start your fresh start today.”
As she was pushed toward the hallway, Deb complained, “Don’t you have news to produce or something?”
“Took the day. It’s my best friend’s birthday, and she needs me. Now scoot!” Aly shoved her into the bathroom and closed the door.
~oOo~
Deb leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. A clear day and a bright sun had warmed the mid-September afternoon, and the light breeze and summery light gave her a feeling of nostalgic calm. This café patio was hardly the back yard of her home, but with her eyes closed, she could almost make the chatter and clink of dining patrons the chirp and croak of crickets and frogs.
Aly had been right. She could be a lot to handle, her enthusiasm and confidence manifested as a tendency to vault over boundaries, but she knew Deb, and she’d been right. Maybe the feeling of this day wouldn’t last, but right now, on her fifth-ish glass of wine, after a trim and a facial and her very first mani-pedi, and with several hundred dollars’ worth of new clothes in shopping bags at her feet and a probably melting credit card in her purse, Deb could say she was having her first good day since the Street Hounds had torn up her life.
The vague sense that Aly had said something flitted across Deb’s mind, and she lifted her head and opened her eyes. “Hmm?”
Grinning, Aly took Deb’s nearly empty glass from her hand and emptied their second bottle of chardonnay into it. “I said,” she said, handing the glass back, “I was thinking about ordering a third bottle, but I should probably get you back. I imagine you and your honey have big plans tonight.”
Deb shook her head. “Why?”
“Because it’s your birthday, dumbass. Remember?”
“Oh. Well, he doesn’t know that.”
Aly’s jaw fell open. “What? He doesn’t know today is your birthday? Do you know his?”
Deb shook her head. She’d literally never thought about it until right this moment. “I guess that’s bad?”
“You two have the weirdest story. Boning each other’s brains out for years, then you finally get it together, and you barely get together.”
“Don’t forget all the death and destruction and horror in the middle.” She took a big swig of her wine, but that cozywarm contentment she’d felt a few minutes earlier was gone. Now she was just plain old, garden-variety drunk.
Suddenly serious, Aly pushed her empty glass aside and leaned close. “Debbie. Honey. I’m worried.”
Aly was the only person alive who could call her ‘Debbie’ and keep all her teeth. “About Simon? Don’t be. He’s perfect.”
“No, not about him. I doubt he’s perfect, but it’s obvious how he feels about you, and it’s obvious that he’s taking care of you. He seems perfect for you, maybe. I’m worried about you, toots. You have checked out.”
That was unfair and unpleasant to hear. “I didn’t check out, Al. I got kicked out. Burned out. Of my whole life. And my father was shot in the fucking head. Excuse me for needing a minute.” She finished her wine. “I’m out of wine. We should order another bottle.”
Aly shook her head. “Nope. I’m taking you home, and I am going to see to it that Simon knows what today is.” She stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”
“You can’t drive. You’ve been drinking.”
“Not like you have. I’m good. You, on the other hand, are a mess and require care. Let’s go.”
~oOo~
The sun had mostly set when Deb pulled onto Simon’s driveway—behind his Harley. He was home. On days when he only had his shift at the service station, he was usually home by six, so she wasn’t surprised. But just knowing that the house wasn’t empty gave her relief.
As she climbed out of Aly’s Corolla, Simon charged down the walk. “Fuck! Thank God!” He grabbed her as soon as he could reach her and slammed her into a violent embrace. “You scared the shit out of me!”
His force—and the spin he’d put on her to pull her into his arms—sent her wine-infused brain reeling. “What? Why?”
“I didn’t know where you were!”
“I was shopping with Aly.”
He eyed the bags Aly had removed from her trunk and deposited on the sidewalk. “I see that. Hi, Aly.”
Aly waved grandly “Hey, handsome. Sorry—we meant to leave a note, but I guess we forgot. I was being pushy.” She gave Deb a significant look. “It’s her birthday today, you know.”
Simon smiled down at Deb. “Yeah, I know.”
“You know?”
He nodded. “Your brother told me and gave me very specific instructions to treat you good today. I didn’t need the instructions, but I was damn glad for the information. I came home early to surprise you.”
“You know what, Deb? He is perfect. You’re completely right. Okay”—Aly set the last of the shopping bags on the sidewalk and closed her trunk with a solid thump—“My work here is done. I’ll call you tomorrow, birthday girl.”
As Aly walked back to the driver’s door, Simon asked, “Hey—you good to drive?”
“Oh yeah. I got her drunk. I, on the other hand, restrained myself.” Before she got into her car, she blew Deb a kiss. “Love you!”
“Love you, too,” Deb said. But she felt weirdly confused.
Aly backed off the driveway and pulled away with a little toot of her high-pitched horn. Simon gathered up all her shopping bags and nudged her toward the front door. Inside, he set the bags on the floor and closed the door.
“I really was freaking out, hon. Worse than when Gun and I rode out to the farm. Try to remember to leave a note.”
“I thought things were safe now.”
“They are, but now I’ve got all that shit in my head. I know how bad it can get, and I guess I’m gonna jump to the bad conclusions right away. So a note, okay? Or leave a message at the clubhouse, or something.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He wound her up in a much calmer, more gentle embrace and bent down to lay a soft kiss on her lips. “Happy birthday, baby. I did some stuff. Are you feeling up to more celebrating, or did you and Aly do all you can handle?”
She smiled and pulled on his beard. “I’m moderately drunk. I feel…I don’t know…disoriented, I guess. But I don’t think that’s wine. I feel like that all the time now.”
His frown showed her that she’d said much more than she’d meant to say. But he didn’t press her. “Okay. Well, why don’t you put your new stuff away, and give me a couple of minutes to get set up. I got derailed by all the panic.”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He picked up her bags again, and she followed him down the hall to his bedroom. Their bedroom. Whatever.
~oOo~
She stood in front of the open closet and hung up the last of her new blouses. She wasn’t in the mood for celebrating her birthday. The warm relaxation of the wine had become depression, and all she really wanted to do was sleep.
The floor creaked, and she looked over her shoulder to see Simon walking up behind her. As he so often did, he set his hands on her hips and kissed her head. “Looks like you had a good time shopping today.”
“Yeah, it was nice.” She lifted her hand and waved her fingers at him. “Got my nails done, too. Feet, too.”
He caught her fingers and pulled them back for a kiss. “Pretty. Looking forward to seeing the toes.” Still holding her hand, he turned her around. “Come on.”
He led her from the room and stopped at the bathroom door. “I had to throw something together fast, but Maddie was at the station, and she gave me this idea.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “It would have been nice to know today was your birthday, Deb.”
She shrugged, still caught in the depressing sense of dislocation, even stronger now with the wine buzzing her brain. “Wasn’t in the mood to celebrate it.”
Another frown from Simon, this time accompanied by a probing look deep into her eyes.
She blinked it away and smiled. “So, why are we standing in front of the bathroom? Did you get me toilet paper for my birthday?”
His frown changed course and became a smile instead. “Happy birthday, Deb.” He opened the door.
Simon’s house had only one bathroom. It wasn’t a bad room. It probably hadn’t been remodeled in…ever, but that was a good thing. The rest of his house had last been redone in the Seventies, and the dark, pseudo-Spanish style of the kitchen had been tacky always and aggressively outdated within a few years of its installation. But the bathroom retained its mid-century appointments, and it was old enough to have come back around to stylish.
The tub and sink were pale green porcelain. The tiles were the same green and white, in an alternating pattern. The fixtures were utilitarian chrome. The floor was white tile. Everything else was white as well—the paint on the walls above the tile, the vinyl mini-blinds in the frosted-glass window, his towels, the shower curtain, the faux-wicker hamper under the window.
Nothing special. Not much different from the bathrooms at the farm. That had been at the farm.
But the tub was longer and deeper than most tubs, and right now, it was full of bubbles. She hadn’t heard the water running while she’d been in the bedroom; her thoughts, she supposed, had been too far away.
Next to the tub full of bubbles, on one of the little plastic tables he kept stacked by his back door, was a Rolling Rock bucket full of ice—and a bottle of champagne.
Sitting on the table beside the bucket were two juice glasses. A flat package, wrapped carefully and prettily in shiny flowered paper and topped with an elaborate bow, leaned against the table.
Stunned, Deb walked into the bathroom. “You did all this, and you just found out about my birthday today?”
“This afternoon, actually. Yeah. I’d’ve done something better if I’d had more time.”
“This is wonderful, Simon.” She picked up the gift. It was heavier than she’d expected, and much more floofey than she would have expected from Simon.
“That’s—uh—that’s from Gun and Leah. When he asked me to give it to you, that’s how I found out.”
Leah had wrapped the gift. That made much more sense. Holding the package to her chest, she turned in a circle, taking in the bathroom. It smelled of freesia, and wasn’t so far off from Curve, her favorite cologne. On the corner of the tub stood a bottle of drugstore-brand bubble bath, as well as a new loofah and sea sponge. The image of Simon flying to the drugstore and snorting all the bubble bath scents until he found one that smelled like her made her smile and did something painful to her heart. Shit, she thought she might cry.
Shaking that away, she turned and offered him a smile. “This is amazing, Simon. Thank you.”
He brushed her hair back from her face and combed his hand slowly through its full length, as he did several times a day. “I thought you could take a hot bath and relax. I’ll call out for supper, and we can watch a movie. Your choice. I picked up some you like.”
Her eyes fell on the loofah and sponge. “Will you wash me?” She met his eyes.
“If you want.” His brow drew down a bit. “I’d like that, but only if it’s good for you. I want to wait until you’re sure it can be good for you.”
They’d attempted sex only twice in the two months since her dad’s death, and neither time had gone very well. Deb hadn’t been raped, but she couldn’t keep the curved walls and cold concrete floor out of her head. The way those men had touched her, while she was naked and tied up. She didn’t like reliving that while Simon’s hands were on her, and he didn’t like it, either.
Not knowing if it would be good for her yet, she turned her attention to the package in her hand. It felt like a picture frame, and anxious curiosity strummed through her nerves as she opened it.
When she saw what it was, that strum became a barrage. The paper fell out of her hands. “Oh no. Oh shit.”
She was going to lose it. Oh shit, she was going to lose it right here in the middle of this sweetly half-assed romantic scene. Oh shit.
Simon’s hands cupped hers around the frame, and her heart settled a little. “He told me what it was. He wanted me to tell you that he swiped the little copy, and the one like it with him and Martin, out of the photo album awhile back, so Leah could have somebody do paintings of them. They were meant to be a gift for Sam’s birthday, but now they’re keeping the other one and they want you to have this. I didn’t know when to give it to you, but it didn’t feel right to wait.”
Deb stared at the picture. The painting. “Oh shit,” she whispered again.
“Deb? Hon, talk to me.”
The painting. Just like the framed photo that had always hung on her bedroom wall, and the other that had hung downstairs, beside a similar one with her brothers: her mother and her, when Deb was just a baby. Her mother gazing down at her, wearing a small, entirely blissed-out smile. Her wild black tresses cascading loosely over her shoulders, a way she’d never worn her hair in Deb’s memory.
Deb gazing up at her mother, her chubby infant hand on her mother’s cheek. It was one of the set that was her father’s favorite possession. Had been his favorite.
This one had been her favorite.
“Oh shit, oh shit,” she mumbled. A torrent of tears splashed from her eyes, and her knees buckled. Simon caught her. He took the painting from her and set it aside, then held onto her with his whole steady, strong body.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” All she could do was weep and strangle out those meaningless two words. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
He picked her up like a child, cradling her in his arms. “I’m sorry, hon.”
There was no reason for him to be sorry, but, as he carried her to bed, she could only shake her head as she repeated her desolate chant through her tears.
~oOo~
Deb woke in shaded golden light. Her head ached, but it no longer spun. She hadn’t woken with that unsettling moment of amnesiac bliss before memory caught up with wakefulness and crashed her back to earth, and she felt calm. She opened her eyes.
Simon was at her side, propped against the headboard. The lamp on his nightstand was the light in the room. He was reading, engrossed in a heavy hardcover. As usual, he’d set the dust jacket aside, but she knew it was a book about the ship he was working on. He did mountains of research for the models he made. Not just the ships themselves but their history; not only their history but the history of their crew and their world.
She lay where she was and watched him. The book was propped on his broad, bare chest. His long, strong, tattooed arms flexed slightly as they held it, swelling his biceps. His silver chain had slid down from his wrist; it brushed against the book as he turned the page. He took his rings off at home, but he never took off that chain.
When he concentrated deeply, he tended to roll his bottom lip into his mouth and brush his upper lip with the edge of his beard. Deb found it charming.
This was why she’d felt good as she’d woken, headache notwithstanding. Because Simon had been keeping watch over her. She reached out and set her hand on his belly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He closed his book and set it on the nightstand; muscles rolled and flexed under her hand as he leaned. When he came back, he scooted down to lie facing her. “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m okay. I’m sorry I ruined the birthday bath.”
He brushed his hand down her arm. “Not ruined. Just postponed. If you want, I’ll fill the tub right now.”
Deb shook her head; there was something else she wanted now. Something else she needed. “Rain check?”
“Absolutely. Can I get you anything?”
She caught his caressing hand and brought it to her chest. “Simon. You’re perfect.”
“No, hon. Not by a long shot.”
“Yeah, hon. For me, you’re perfect.”
He smiled. “Well, that’s good, then. Nobody else I want to be perfect for.”
“Can we make love?” She sounded ridiculous asking the question, but she didn’t know another way to phrase it, and she didn’t want to say what she, or he, would normally have said: let’s fuck. That wasn’t what she wanted.
“What?” His hand twitched in her hold. His gaze held her, dug deeply into her. He pulled his hand from hers and traced his fingertips over her cheek, along her jaw. His thumb traced her lips. “Don’t push it for me, Deb. I can wait until you want it.”
“I do want it. But I don’t want to wrestle. I just…I want to be as close to you as I can get.”
He didn’t move right away. For a few more seconds, he continued to search beyond her eyes. Deb let him look and set her hand on his chest while he did. She could feel his heart beat, strong and steady, like the rest of him.
Then his hand slid back over her cheek and pushed into her hair. He held her and brought his head to hers. She opened her mouth as his lips met hers.
They lay facing each other on the bed and simply made out. They explored each other’s mouth as if the experience were brand new. And, strangely, it was. In this simple kiss, the meeting of their tongues, the brush of their lips, the way Simon held her head, the warm strength of his chest, his shoulder, his arm, under her hand, Deb felt something brand new. Like she saw something more of Simon than she ever had, felt more for him than she ever had.
She moaned and pushed her hand up, around his head, into his hair. Simon leaned forward, shifting her to her back. His weight on her made her calm. He was exactly where he should be. They were exactly right, and as alone in her head as they were in this room.
When he’d helped her weeping self into bed earlier in the night, he’d taken off her shoes and jeans but left her otherwise dressed. When he’d reclined beside her, he’d stripped only to his jeans. She felt the metal of his belt impressing itself in her thigh. She felt his erection, too; it seemed harder even than metal.
Again, though, he didn’t move to dispose of the clothes between them. He simply kissed her, and she simply returned it. He didn’t go for her clothes until she went for his. She found his belt buckle. When she pulled on it, trying to open it, he lifted his hips, taking himself from her reach, and pulled out of that long, luxurious, beautiful kiss.
“You good?” he asked, hovering over her.
She could hear strain in his voice, breathlessness, and she smiled. “I am.” She let go of him and worked the buttons on her shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra today; she wasn’t big enough to need that support, and she went without when she felt like it.
Her shirt fell open, and Simon’s eyes fixed on her chest. When he didn’t move, she tugged on his beard. “I’m okay, baby.”
Taking her at her word, he dipped his head and put his mouth on her. He seemed even warmer than usual, as if their long, languid kiss had stoked a greater fire between them. His lips and tongue were soft silk over her skin, wrapping their sensations in luxurious comfort and vivid need all at once.
When he finally sucked her nipple into his mouth, the feeling was so intense, so complete, so long overdue, that she arched off the bed, pulled into the air by the pure force of her love and desire.
Ecstatic in the complete focus of her body and mind on the present moment, feeling something new and fresh and real inside her—and between them—Deb needed more. She fumbled with his belt again, and this time, he let her. This time, he helped her. Lifting from her breast, he took over, opening his jeans and kicking them off. Then he helped her with her panties and shirt.
When they were both naked, and Simon lay between her legs, they lay still, locked in the moment of potential. Simon studied her, his eyes full of pale green intensity. “You’re okay?”
It wasn’t that she’d forgotten what had happened, or even that those memories hadn’t risen in her mind while she’d lain here with Simon. It was better. They had risen up. She had remembered. But they’d moved through without causing fresh harm. Simon’s hands hadn’t become the khaki man’s hands.
Booker Howard. She knew his name now. But it had no power over her. Not right now. She was with Simon, and he kept watch.
“I’m good. I love you.”
“God, I love you,” he whispered and pushed in.
They’d never made love like this before. She didn’t think she’d ever made love before at all. She and Simon had achieved real intimacy; well before they’d understood their true feelings, there had been real intimacy between them. Their true feelings had grown in that intimacy. But even so, they’d been chasing the physical sensations, not the emotion.
Now, as Simon moved inside her, slow and steady, as his hands and mouth adored her, lingering over each moment of contact, as she touched and caressed his strong body, as she felt the power in him, and between them, Deb understood why this kind of love was so important. No life could be perfect without it, and any life could be beautiful with it.
Flooded and buffeted by a squall of powerful emotion, Deb wrapped her body around her man. She tucked her head against his neck and opened herself completely to this love.
When she came, it was the breaking of a storm.
~oOo~
“You okay?” Her brother squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back and took a long, careful breath. “Yeah. It’s just…God, Max.”
He didn’t answer, so Deb looked over at him. He stared ahead, his jaw working under his beard.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m not gonna lose my shit, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Maybe we should’ve let them come with us.” They’d told Leah and Simon that they wanted to do this on their own; that was stupid. They needed the support of the people they loved.
But Max shook his head. “No. This…this is us, Deb. I need it to be just you and me first. Nobody else understands. They can’t.”
That was true. She turned back to the sight before them.
The burned rubble had been removed. All that remained of their family home, of the barns, the sheds, the greenhouse, the coop, any of it, was earth, scorched and overturned. Even the cellar was gone, the hole filled in by rubble and upheaved earth. Only the gravel drive and lanes between the buildings were mostly intact, paths now to nothingness.
The fields hadn’t been burned, but they’d been abandoned and gone to seed and weed. A promising crop of sunflowers had been left to die.
Of their animals, only the horses, who’d been out to pasture, had lived. A neighbor had taken them in after the fire.
They stood on ground that had been a front yard and stared at the Wesson family’s personal apocalypse.
The only thing that survived of their past were the two photos Max had borrowed to make a gift for their father. And the paintings that were that gift, one of which now hung in the bedroom she shared with Simon.
“What are we going to do, Deb?”
She let go of Max’s hand and went in closer, hooking her arm around his waist. “I want to rebuild it.”
His head swiveled sharply, and he frowned down at her. “What?”
“I want to live out here again. I’ll buy out your share if you want. I can get a loan or something. I know how to run a farm. For the heavy lifting, Jock and Ben said they’ll come back.”
The crease between her brother’s eyes, which had always been a barometer of his moods, deepened. “You’ve thought about this. Put some effort into it.”
“Yeah.”
“What about Simon?”
“He’ll move out here with me. He doesn’t mind the ride into the city. Would it be okay with you, if I ran the farm?”
That crease smoothed out, and Max smiled. He’d done okay over the past couple of months, dealing with all they’d had to deal with. Leah really did help him stay calm. But the smile he bestowed on her now was the first true, full, unburdened expression of good feeling she’d seen in her brother since the day their father had been killed.
He grabbed her and hugged her so hard she grunted at the impact. “That is fucking perfect. Yes!” He set her back just as fast. “But you’re not buying me out. You work the farm, we’ll both own it, and we’ll figure out some kind of deal on the yield.”
“You could live out here, too.”
“What?”
“You’ve wanted to buy a house, right? Something to start a family in after Leah graduates?” She swept her arms wide. “Well, we’ve got a lot of land and a blank slate. We could put two houses up, maybe.”
Gunner scanned the barren land before them. “I don’t know. I don’t know if Leah wants to be so far out again.”
“Think about it. Talk to Leah. I think it would be cool to have our family together. What’s left of it, and what we add to it.” She stared again at the blank space where the home they’d grown up in had stood. “Dad would like it, I think. To know we were all together.”
Her little brother embraced her again, settling her head on his chest. “I love you, skank.”
“I love you, too, loser.”