Carlene

For about the thousandth time, I mull over my hasty departure from Vegas and Rome as I look out over the Pacific Ocean from my balcony. Did I make the right decision that crazy night? I’ve wondered millions of times as I replay the events of that night, in my head again and again.

All I have left of Rome is the letter he somehow managed to place inside my bag and a heart full of tender, exquisite memories.

I still don’t know how we survived the trip to the hotel in silence. Nor do I know how I managed to form the words, once in the suite, to my travel agent in Australia. Occasionally the time difference does work, and she managed to get me a first-class seat on a plane leaving Vegas a couple of hours later. It meant a stop in San Fran rather than LA, but I didn’t care at that point in time, nor did I care about the exorbitant price.

I remember so vividly how Rome begged and pleaded for me to reconsider—to finish the trip as we had planned. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t look at the pain he was in and prolong it further. I was being cruel to be kind. Well, at least that’s what I told myself as I packed in a flurry and he drove me to the airport.

I would have preferred to have taken a cab and been alone with my feelings. Goodbyes were just too hard, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

He’d driven me, but I wouldn’t let him park and come in. Instead, I insisted he drop me at the curb, and it ran contrary to everything that made Rome the perfect gentleman he was.

The pain was too much—too hard to bare. I had to get out of there.

He took my luggage from the trunk and gave me a hug on the curb. He’d moved to kiss me one last time, and I just couldn’t. Because I knew, one intimate touch and I would have crumbled then and there. My body and heart craved him. My mind remained stoic in rebellion.

Survival kicked in, and I turned my head and instead, I felt his lips brush my ear as I inhaled his unique cologne for the last time.

“I’ll never forget you, Carlene, nor am I giving up,” he whispered into my neck.

A whispered, “thank you,” was the most I managed before I pulled back from him enough to take my final long look into his eyes. Then I turned and made my way into the terminal. His eyes had told me everything he couldn’t express in words.

It pains me even now to remember how my last words to him were so inadequate to describe what our time together had meant to me. I wish I’d said more…maybe.

Since being home, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time doing this, wondering, yearning, and trying to convince myself it was for the best. It seems like a decade ago instead of a month, since he dropped me at the airport.

I’ve made the right decision. I keep telling myself—trying to convince myself.

I had to be strong. It was the smart, sensible thing to do.

Then why do I feel like I have a massive hole in my heart? And why will the slightest thoughts about Rome have my throat closing and getting prickly, as tears leak down my cheeks.

I miss him.

It’s that simple.

I miss having someone to spend time with, to do things with, to share my life with.

Not for the first time, I ask myself if I’ve been a fool.

And yet again, I reach for the letter he left. He must have scribbled it while I was packing and realizing this, warms my heart even more. To know he’d been thinking of me in beauty and affection rather than anger, given the way our night had gone and my decision, speaks of his depth of character.

To torture myself once again, I unfold the letter and read.

Dear Carlene,

I know you said there was nothing I could say or do. (I’m not counting getting you to the airport—which, for the record, I am totally against).

I understand why you didn’t want to hear the words I wanted to say. And even though you haven’t come out and said it, I know you are thinking it. You’re right, the whole “boyfriend experience” can be full on and emotionally confusing, particularly when it’s for the amount of time we’ve spent together.

But if you won’t let me say the words then I need to write them for you to read. I can’t let you go without knowing exactly how I feel.

It was two of the most incredibly intense, beautiful, and memorable weeks of my life. The time we spent together will always be precious to me.

And it was two weeks that were NOT normal for me. I’ve never ever had a connection with a client (nor anyone for that matter) like I have with you. I hate using the word client, because you’re so much more than a client to me.

You’re special to me. At the very least, a very special friend. I’d like to think we could be a lot more.

I may not have known it or been looking, but I really think you’re the lady I’ve been waiting for. In truth, I never expected it to happen. I didn’t think I was looking for a partner, but you came along and changed my mind, without me even knowing.

I can see the skeptical look on your face as clear as I can see my hand in front of my mine. I know what you’re thinking. It’s not true. It’s the situation. Sure, it contributed, but we connected on a much deeper level than just passing time and sharing our bodies. I will remember the look in your eyes, when I saw and felt your heart open to me in Muir Woods for the rest of my days.

Surely, that counts for something? I’ve spent two weeks with you, I feel I know you better maybe than anyone.

Thank you, for allowing me the chance to spend time with you and introduce you to my country and a whole host of other firsts. If all I have is memories, then I’ll treasure each and every one of those forever. I really hope someday we can make more memories.

Missing you already.

Stay beautiful.

Daniel aka “Rome” Langdon.

PS. I know it’s weird, but I thought with what we shared and how I feel, you deserve my real name.

Daniel—I still don’t know how I feel about him revealing his name. He’s been honest with me which means so much in one way, but giving me his true first name only exemplifies in another way just how much of a lie his life is.

I still don’t know what he expects from me.

Sitting out on my balcony and looking through photos and reading his letter is becoming somewhat of an obsession. Rather than the feeling of missing him waning as time passes by, the opposite is happening. I’ll be doing little things and wonder to myself what Rome would think.

If I am being honest with myself, what I feel for him is way more than friendship. He felt “right” beside me. I’m just maybe a little bit in love with him or maybe a whole lot.

The ocean is restless and looks gloomy, kind of like the mood I’m in right now.

For the last month, I’ve settled back into my normal routine of emptiness, almost like I hadn’t even been away. The only difference is I have a head full of memories and one or two regrets.

I need to move on.

I’m fawning over something that will never be. So, he gave me his real name—Daniel. I don’t even have a way to contact him other than through the agency he owns.

Somehow, that just seemed a little weird. I don’t want to be Francesca. I can’t and won’t allow myself to be that “desperate.”

I have more respect for myself and for him.

Regardless, it isn’t real anyway. I’ve been kidding myself.

A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts.

I hurry through my apartment and briefly check the peep hole, not sure who to expect. It’s my son, Jackson, and not for the first time, I wonder why he doesn’t use the access token and pin number I’d given both my kids when I’d moved in here. It isn’t their home, like Colanara had been, but I want them to know they’re always welcome here. I’m here for them—their mother.

I open the door immediately. “Jackson! Why didn’t you use your key?”

“Hey, Mum.” He shrugs and grins at my question, rather than answering, as he steps through the door, and I put my arms around him.

“What a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect you until next weekend.”

He looks so much like Phil did at this age, tall, muscular and with a twinkle in his eye. He often takes my breath away at the similarities. Almost as if I’ve stepped back twenty years and Phil is walking through the door.

“I took a shift yesterday at the hospital, and they said I could have today off. I wasn’t going to argue. I came down the coast early and hit Snapper. It was really pumping. Then it got crowded, and I called it quits, so I thought I’d call in and see you before I head home.”

It doesn’t worry me, that I’m his second option for the day. I’ll take any time either of my kids can spare from their crazy schedules.

“Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll whip up something to eat. I’m guessing you’re starved after surfing all morning.” The grin he gives me takes me back to when he was about ten and still my little man. A time when I could ruffle his hair and pull him in for a hug. I miss those days something fierce.

Jackson retreats to one of the guest bathrooms, and I head to the kitchen. My mind can’t seem to move from the past and the memories that went with it.

As I’m standing there making omelets, I realize just how robbed I feel for having sent the kids to boarding school, while they were still so young. It was the best option for them.

They’ve had the best educations money could buy and so many opportunities. Both the twins are mature, together, and driven—kids I am hellishly proud of and love more than life itself. And they did it all on their own or with the help of strangers.

That’s the part which probably stings the most. I was central to their lives for their first years on this planet, then after that, I essentially let someone else raise them. I loved having them with me, watching them grow and change, learning things, being there for all their firsts.

Yes, they came home for holidays, but even those times got less and less the older they became. Friends would invite them to exciting places, even overseas, and I always let them go, as much as it hurt to do so. I didn’t want them to ever miss out or resent the remote station we called home.

It hits me standing here chopping ham—I resent I’ve missed out on so much of their lives. Colanara has inadvertently taken that from me too. Time and memories I can never get back. The feeling isn’t new, today I just seem to be able to label it and understand more where it is coming from. Funny how that works. Some things just take time to process and understand—then a moment of clarity.

“So, what’s been happening, Mum?”

I jump at the sound of Jackson’s voice and squeal, “Ahh.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he says as I turn around from my top of the range stove. One any professional chef would be happy to own.

“Wasn’t your fault. I was miles away.”

“Oh yeah. Things on your mind?”

“Oh, you know, all the usual. In fact, I was kind of reminiscing about how I loved having you around as a boy.” I only just manage to stop the emotion I’m feeling creeping into my voice.

“Really? Mum, you need to get out more.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“I just got back from two weeks in America.”

“That was a month ago, and from what Chelsea tells me, you’ve been sitting here pining and reminiscing about the past. You need to work on the future.”

His words piss me off a little, partly because it’s true, but mostly I still feel as if I’m stuck in a void, caught between the past and the future with only fleeting glimpses at what it could or should look like.

“I’m just fine, thank you!” I push back. It kind of sucks to be lectured by your all too knowing adult son.

“You should have stayed on in the States for a bit or headed to Europe or something.”

“It’s not that easy.”

He just about spits out the slice of crisp green apple he’s swiped from the plate I set out. “How difficult can it be? You just pick a place and book a seat on a plane and a hotel room. God, Mum, you’re a whizz at everything online, so don’t even think about using that excuse.”

“Two weeks was enough,” I say defensively, and his eyes narrow as he swipes another apple slice.

“I call bullshit. Something happened, and I think it has to do with the escort Chelsea organized for you.”

“What? How…”

He holds up his hand in a sign of “don’t argue.” Something Phillip would have done, and it annoys me he thinks he can pull that with me as well. I plate up the omelets and carry them out to the large table on the balcony. I much prefer to eat outside when I can. Jackson follows me out with a couple of glasses of water and cutlery.

“Chelsea told me all about him.”

“Well, it must have been a short conversation, because there is nothing to tell. I had a nice time with Rome. He showed me all over California and was a perfect gentleman.”

Jackson gives me a knowing wink full of sexual innuendo. “That’s what I heard.”

My cheeks flush, and I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. “Jackson, what happened between Rome and me is really none of your business.”

He shrugs nonchalantly in that “whatever” kind of way guys his age seem to have made into an art form.

“I just hope you got some and he treated you right. Hell, Dad never did!”

My jaw drops, and I’m at a total loss for words. Sex isn’t something Jackson and I usually talk about.

“Don’t speak about your father like that,” I immediately defend.

“Why? I’m just calling it as I see it. He was a cold, emotionless bastard. I don’t know how you stood it all those years. You deserve a bloody medal. He loved Colonara more than he loved any of us.” I can see the anger and hurt in his eyes. Phillip and Jackson’s relationship had been strained ever since Jackson announced he was going to university to study medicine. Phillip had been okay with university for Jackson as long as it was agricultural or vet science or something complimentary to the property.

In Phillip’s eyes, medicine meant Jackson wouldn’t be returning to Colanara and that became the real point of contention between father and son. In fact, at the time of Phillip’s death, it had been two years since Jackson had even set foot on Colanara.

“He loved you, Jackson.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

I watched him fork another mouthful of egg into his mouth and chew angrily. I doubt Jackson would ever forgive Phillip for that last fight they had.

“He paid your university fees,” I argue.

“Yeah, only because you begged him and paid the bills. Don’t defend him, Mum. We both know he wanted me back on that fucking shithole farm.”

“Jackson! Watch your mouth and remember, you’re enjoying a pretty cushy lifestyle courtesy of the proceeds of that very farm.”

He shakes his head bitterly. “Only damned thing that property ever gave me. Best thing you ever did was sell it, and I bet Dad’s turning in his grave. Serves him right for being so pigheaded.”

“He saw Colanara as your legacy.”

“I saw it as a noose around this family’s neck.”

I poke at the eggs on my plate. There’s a very large part of me strongly agreeing with what he said. I often wonder where we’d all be if Colanara hadn’t been our lives for so long. Would Phillip still be alive? Would the kids have done their secondary schooling at home rather than away at boarding school? Would I have gotten a normal job like most other women?

“I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s wasn’t an easy life, but it was the only one your father knew, and Colanara supported us very well for a lot of years. And it will continue to do so for all our lifetimes, and if we’re sensible, for your family for generations to come.”

He looks out over the ocean, and his face is as stormy as the sea looks right now. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I mean, I know how lucky I am to be finishing up med school with no student loan, owning my own apartment, having a brand-new SUV, and a trust fund I could easily live on. I get it. But I’d happily pass it all back, if it hadn’t been so tough on you. You drew the short straw all around, Mum. You’re the one that kept it all together and always made the sacrifice.”

For a young man, he’s an old soul and is far more perceptive than I often give him credit for.

“It wasn’t always like that.”

“Sure seemed like it to me. He kept you chained to Colanara right there with him.”

“It was where I belonged, Jackson,” I whisper.

“Maybe, but it almost seemed like he was punishing you with it. It sure felt like it to me.”

My heart hurts to hear my son say those words. I want his childhood home to bring back happy, fond memories and Colanara was anything but for him.

“I never realized you felt so strongly…”

He put down his fork and studies me, like a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “It’s not your fault, Mum. You did everything you could, always. It was just him. He didn’t know how to show affection or return love. Not to you…not to Chelsea or me. You need to move on and be happy. You owe him and his memory nothing.” He sighs long and hard. “I don’t hate him. I just don’t really feel anything. The last few years, once he realized I wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps, he became nothing more than a stranger to me.”

My heart bleeds at his words. It wasn’t the memories I wanted for my son of his father, but this was very much how it had been between them since the twins had gone off to university.

“He was proud of you, he just couldn’t say it or ever show it.”

“Maybe. He sure had a funny way of showing it, besides it doesn’t change anything.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agree, determined to keep the peace.

“Enough about him. He doesn’t get to have an opinion anymore. He made that choice.”

“We don’t know, for sure…” My voice trails off.

“Stop kidding yourself, Mum. The selfish prick lined up the only fucking tree for miles and steered his ute into it because he couldn’t face the possibility of losing his precious Colanara. Too fucking bad about his family and what it would do to us. What are the odds of it being anything else, given the circumstances and all the other stuff you were going through?”

I don’t even bother correcting his language. He’s an adult, and I’m used to living and working with rough and tumble men. He also has a right to his emotions.

“Move on with your life and don’t give him a second thought. He left you to hold the bag like a fucking coward. And he had the audacity to call himself a man. What sort of man offs himself and then leaves his wife to pick up the pieces of the sort of mess you had? I don’t know how you did it, Mum.”

His words touch me with a sense of pride I wouldn’t feel if anyone else had said them to me. This is my son, one of the people I value most in the world recognizing what I’d had to go through.

“I just did what I had to do. I didn’t have any choice. Colanara had to go.”

“That’s exactly right, you didn’t have any choice because Dad was so stubborn that all other options were removed along the way.”

I can’t argue with his words. He is one hundred percent right. The only option at the end was to sell up. In a lot of ways, Jackson is giving me too much credit. The difficult part had been the couple of years leading up to Phillip’s death. When it got to the point his stubbornness had already made the decision for us.

“I often wonder if he planned the whole thing like this.” I was voicing something with my son I’d only every thought.

Jackson snorts. “I’d bet on it. At least he left you with a massive pile of cash you can do whatever you want with—it was the least he could do. In his own sick and twisted way, he set you free. He just wasn’t man enough to do it while he still drew breath.”

Free.

I’ve never looked at it like that.

Was this really what Phil was doing? It kind of made sense.

“You’re looking at me funny, Mum. What are you thinking?”

“I’d just never thought of it like you put it—free. I think you might be onto something.”

He gives me smug smile. “Wasn’t hard to figure out, Mum. Chelsea and I’ve talked about it many times.” It doesn’t surprise me they’ve discussed this topic between them. Rather, it gives me immense comfort to know my kids have had each other over the last years, even if I hadn’t been able to be there for them. The special bond twins shared.

“We’ve also talked about the fact you need to find someone else who makes you happy, treats you right, and puts you first. You never got that with Dad and you should have. You’re young and gorgeous. Any guy would be happy to have you for a wife.”

I scoff at his words, but I’m also surprised at how open he seems for me to move on. I know Chelsea is okay with it, but normally, Jackson is far more guarded in his feelings. I realize now, today he’s more than likely come to visit me with a clear purpose in mind.

“Jackson, I’m certainly not like that anymore, besides, I don’t know I want to be anyone’s wife again.”

“No rules say you have to get married again, Mum, but you are a total hottie—well, for your age, anyway.” He clarifies with a wink. “Do you have any idea the number of times guys have come up to me and I’ve had to remind them of their manners because they call you a MILF? You are definitely a MILF. Well, not to me, that would just be ewww weird, but you know what I mean. To me, you’ll always be my mum and the best one.”

I laugh at Jackson hastily clarifying.

“Would you stop it!” I chastise. “I hate that term.”

He laughs right along with me and shakes his head playfully. “You might hate the term, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

I rush on, wanting to move past the uncomfortable moment. “Anyway, I don’t need to worry about any of that stuff just yet. There’s no one in my life besides you and your sister at the moment.”

He raises an eyebrow at me in challenge. “Not what Chelsea tells me. She said you and the escort had something that went a bit further than purely business.”

It’s my turn to act coy and try out the shoulder shrug which seemed to work so well for Jackson. “There may have been something, but he lives in America and I live in Australia. Lot of water between those two land masses. Besides, I’m not gullible enough to think it was real. It was a very pleasant escape from reality.”

He motions his head at the letter I left on the table, weighted down with the book I was reading before he arrived.

“Guess this isn’t real either.”

“Jackson Davis, did you read my personal letter?” Embarrassment flashes through me. Why hadn’t I noticed it earlier?

“Bit hard not to when it’s face up and in clear sight while I’m eating.”

He quirks his eyebrows at the letter. He does have a point, although it still feels like an invasion of privacy.

“It seems he’s got unfinished business. Do you feel the same?”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my son. It feels like it should be reversed. Who is the parent in this relationship again?

“Rome is very special to me. I guess we really connected, but I’m not totally convinced it’s real. Also, I was quite adamant at the end, I couldn’t pursue a relationship because of his job. I’m not sure it’s smart to start something with a man like him.”

I watch him nod thoughtfully. “So let me understand this escort gig. He takes women out shows them a good time and provides sexual services if they want?”

I clear my throat as I just about die of embarrassment. I’ve always had a policy of being straight with my kids, but this is just a little too close to the bone. “Ahhh—yes—something like that.”

“Cool gig if you can get it! Where do I sign up?”

“Spoken like a true twenty-two year old,” I chastise.

“But seriously, Mum, he was obviously really cool or you would have ditched him straight-up. You don’t tolerate anyone who’s not genuine.”

“Rome is very cool, as you say. He’s very easy to be around. An excellent companion. And don’t you dare ask anymore probing questions, Jackson Raymond Davis, because I will not be answering.”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Not going there, Mum. Uhhh-uhhh, no way. You’re old enough to figure all that out on your own. Besides, Chels already told me he’s a super stud.” I can see a spark of something occur to him, as a whole new wave of embarrassment crashes over me. “Although, it would be kind of cool to sit down and have a chat to this guy about his experiences. He must know all sorts of kinky tricks. Purely medical curiosity, of course.” The rotter has the audacity to wink at me again.

“You cheeky little-shit.” He just grins at me, and I can’t help but smile right back at him.

“You love me anyway!”

“You’re right, I do. God knows why sometimes.”

“It’s because I’m your first-born.”

“By a whole three minutes,” I remind him.

“Still makes me super awesome.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I agree.

He leans over the table and pops a kiss on my cheek then looks out over the ocean for a few seconds.

“But seriously, Mum, if this guy makes you happy then go for it. Those other few guys you dated were losers.”

I cringe at the thought of the three different guys I accepted invitations for a “date” from in the last six months. God, it was awful. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel. They had either been obsessed with my money or their ex’s. Understandably, I never saw any of them again. Looking back, this is probably also a reason I was more inclined to go along with Chelsea’s suggestion of Perfect Gentlemen. I couldn’t have done any worse! And I didn’t. I’d hit the jackpot—even if I had paid for his services.

I frown at him. “And you’d know this how…”

“Because—“

“Chels told you, right?” I finish for him.

“Yep.”

“Your sister has an entirely too big a mouth.”

“She said he was really cool. Treated you right.”

“I never really spoke to her about him, and I’m still trying to figure out how it is I’m having this conversation with my son.”

“Well, that’s all dirt I got from her. So, you can hardly blame me.”

I give him a dead-pan look. “Of course, you’re Mister Innocent. As innocent as driven snow.”

“I probably wouldn’t go quite that far, but I’m definitely innocent of way more crimes than Chels. You should totally blame her for me knowing all this.”

“You’re both hopeless, but I’m just going to remember you’re both nosey parkers because you love me.”

“We do.”

A few moments silence settles between us.

“You don’t think it’s a problem, he’s…well, you know?”

Jackson seems to weigh up the issue for a few seconds then looks me directly in the eye, so much like his father.

“Yeah, it’s definitely a problem if he’s intending to continue in that line of work and date you. If he’s prepared to give it up, that’s a whole different thing. Everyone has to earn a living. It’s kind of like if I decide to become an OB/GYN. I’m going to be looking at women’s lady parts all day. Not sure too many women are going to be cool with that. Neurosurgery is probably a better option, if I want to avoid my job creating relationship issues.”

Jackson makes an excellent point. Rome give up being an escort—this is not really a thought I’ve given much consideration too. Nor had he mentioned quitting as a possibility. Although in truth, I shied away from the whole discussion every time he tried to raise it with me. Was that what he intended to do? Or was it wishful thinking on my part? He’d been out of the game for six months when he took me on as a client. Did it mean something? Had he already been retired? I’m so confused and have so many gaps in my understanding of what is really between us.

“I don’t want to screw up, Jacko. It scares me so much.”

He nods slowly, understanding.

“Maybe it’s time you took some of your own advice.”

“What advice?” I ask, wondering what on earth he’s on about.

“Do you remember what you said to me when you dropped me off, my first day at boarding school?”

I thought back and recalled a frightened young boy, clinging to me but desperately trying not to look like it was the case. I can clearly remember the look on his face and the emotion I felt deep in my belly. The words though, they elude me.

“I remember the day, just not the words.”

“You told me, it was okay to be scared about new things. It wasn’t okay not to try because I was scared of something new. Seems to me, Mum, you need to remember your own little pep talk. This guy might not be the right one, but you’ll never know unless you try.”

And just like that, I realize I might be a little more successful than I’ve thought. Somehow, I’ve managed to create a son who is pretty damned amazing, if I did say so myself.