CHAPTER TWELVE: GERMANY
Sara
Germany—Home turf for Team Goodall and all the company players are here to keep an eye on their investment. I visited Berlin on my whirlwind European tour a few years ago. There was something about the order of the place I found appealing, the efficiency of it all so seemingly lacking back home.
“Say it again?” I laugh.
“Hockenheium and the Hockenheimring,” says Andy, accentuating all the wrong syllables. I’m sitting on the side of his bed not even bothering to avert my eyes from his sculpted chest and hard biceps. Bathed in morning light, he’d give Adonis a run for his money any day.
I point to the tat on his arm, two pistons rising through fire. “Why the tat?”
“Power.”
“An electrical outlet would have worked.”
“Ah, but it wouldn’t look hella cool, now would it?”
Suppose not.
He runs his finger up my arm, the hairs on it backlit golden in the sun and rising to his touch. Given the tent forming under the bedsheets, they’re not the only thing rising.
It’s time, Sara.
I’m about to lie down beside him when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.
I place the phone to my ear. “Sara speaking.”
“Sara.”
“Mom?”
“I’m sorry to call you like this, baby.” As soon as those words are out I know it can’t be good news. “It’s your grandmother.”
The color leaves my face. Andy sees it, sitting up.
“Mom?”
I can hear the composure break on Mom’s end, her voice cracking. “She passed away, hon, last night.”
I can’t believe it. Nan was eighty-eight, yes, but she was the picture of health. “How?”
“In her sleep, peacefully, but I don’t know what to do, Sara. I just don’t know.”
I look to Andy. “I’m coming home. I’ll catch the first flight out.”
“Honey, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, Mom. I do.”
I hang up, staring at the phone screen like it’s going to shoot out life’s mysteries to me.
Andy’s face is full of concern. “I’m sorry.”
I wipe away a tear, try and pull myself to order. Mom worked a lot of late shifts growing up. It would always be Nan looking after Gretch and me, feeding us. God how I’ve missed a decent home-cooked meal. And now she’s gone, like that. A light switched off never to shine again.
Andy reaches to the phone by the bedside. “I’ll make arrangements.”
*
Our Lady of Saints in Millertown isn’t the most upscale hospital, not that I enjoy spending time at any kind of medical establishment. They’re taking forever to release the paperwork and Mom’s a wreck beside me. I’m barely holding it together myself, but I’ve got to be strong, for her.
The TV in the waiting room is tiny, precariously hanging from the roof. It’s playing a re-run of the race in Germany. In pole position, the race works for Andy from the get-go. Carl’s on him, but there’s little chance for a passing maneuver given the tight way Andy is driving. For a second it looks like Carl might have him coming out of the hairpin, but Andy shunts right and shuts him out. He’s in form, easily taking the win.
I step out into the hall and dial his number. I need to take my mind off things.
“Did you see the race?” It’s nice to hear his voice.
There’s hustle and bustle in the background, people firing questions at him. “I did. Well done. This puts you in the championship lead, right?”
“It does.”
“You sound happy.”
“I am, and I know you’re over there dealing with some tough stuff, but everything’s under control here. I want you to know that. I called Caliber and they’ve arranged all the formal wear for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“The after-party.”
I shake my head. “Right. I’m still a little jet-lagged, sorry.”
“Get some rest, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“How’s your mom holding up?”
I look to the doorway, can hear Mom sobbing in the waiting room. “She’s been better.”
“Give her my condolences.”
“I will.”
“Talk later?”
“Of course.”
I look at the phone wishing I could somehow make him materialize beside me, to lose myself in him, to feel his arms wrapping around me strong and protective.
I take my seat back in the waiting room. “Work, sorry.”
Mom looks at me with red eyes. “Are you enjoying it?” she asks. “I never thought my baby would be jet-setting around the world living such a glamorous life.”
“It’s not all glamorous, Mom.”
She looks at me a little harder and I crack, the first smile in days lighting my face. “Okay, it’s pretty glamorous.”
She sniffs, cheering up on the change of subject if only momentarily. “And the men? Anything catch your eye?”
“Mom,” I scold.
She waves her hand around. “This… thing with your grandmother has put it all in perspective, Sara. Is it wrong for a mother to want her daughter to be happy, to settle down and pop out some grandkids?”
“You make birth sound like baking cookies.”
She laughs and it’s so good to see her smiling. “I’ve only done it twice, and trust me, there were no cookies. But really, there must be someone, no?
I keep smiling. Damn it, I can’t help it. “Maybe one guy.”
She taps the side of her head. “I see. Keeping it quiet from your prying mother. Well, just let me know when Mr. Mystery is ready to meet me. I need a good excuse to pull out the silverware.”
“We’re a long way away from marriage, an SUV and a couple of kids, Mom.”
“I’m just happy you’ve met someone.”
I stare at the wall, thinking. Andy Fortes—marriage material? The idea would have seemed so ludicrous at the start of the season, but more and more I see the man behind the mask, the caring and compassionate man. That arrogant asshole the world sees? He’s still there, but Andy Fortes is more than a big cock—as alluring as that has become. He’s complex, layers and layers to be explored, to be loved.
So why is it I’m reluctant to sleep with him? I mean, not that sex should dictate a relationship, but I want to. Am I really so concerned he’ll forget me the moment he comes? He doesn’t think of me like that, as another notch, an achievement. I know he doesn’t.
Sara Fortes. It does have a nice ring to it.
*
The funeral is small and low-key. It rains lightly, the weather joining our sullen mood. The wake’s not much better, egg sandwiches with wilted lettuce summing up the general atmosphere.
Gretchen couldn’t make it. I didn’t expect her to come. I said I’d pay for her airfare, but she never had the same attachment to Nan as I did.
“My god, Sara.”
I turn, glass of iced tea in hand. “Mrs. Dobson, how are you?”
It’s probably been a decade since I’ve seen Mrs. Dobson, Nan’s next-door neighbor. Her hair’s whiter, but her chubby complexion and rosy cheeks remain.
She looks me up and down. “My god what a fine young woman you have become.”
“Thank you. You’re looking well yourself.”
She rolls her eyes. “Hip’s busted, arthritis everywhere, but I manage. Don’t get old, Sara. It’s no fun. Say, I heard you were flying around the world, a big fashion star.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I only work for a fashion label. I’m not the talent.”
“With legs like yours, you could be. You Young girls and your good looks. You certainly didn’t get them from your daddy.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
She ignores this. “And you enjoy it, the traveling?”
“I do.”
“A man?”
What is it with the man question? “I’m taking it slow, Mrs. Dobson.”
She leans in. “Yes, I remember the business you had with that Millertown boy.”
I’ve tried very hard to forget it, to leave this town behind me. “The whole town knew, Mrs. Dobson.”
She shakes her head. “Took your innocence and tossed you away like rubbish the very next day, the scoundrel. He’s in prison, you know, upstate. Half of those Millertown boys are.”
“Oh?” I reply, not caring one way or the other. That ‘boy’ is the reason I fled Rosie so fast. I can barely remember his face, but I sure as hell remember how it felt to find him hooking up with Gemma what’s-her-name the next day. I didn’t ever want to feel that way again, every relationship that followed ending in equal disaster. I’m no doormat, though. I left him with a nice little shiner. I’m sure he told all his friends he fell down a flight of stairs.
Mrs. Dobson leans close. “If there’s one thing I have learnt from all this business, Sara, it’s that life is far too short for ‘taking it slow’. I had many chances to find a man growing up, but I fussed around thinking and dawdling while the loves of my life were snapped up one by one. Don’t let it happen to you. Dive in. Live your life.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Dobson.”
She moves onto the next geriatric leaving me looking out the window considering her words. They’re cliché, straight from a Hallmark card, but there’s a certain truth in them. Why am I taking things slow? She’s right. Anything can happen, and often does.
It’s time, I tell myself again, but now I’m determined. It’s time to give yourself to Andy Fortes.
*
It’s strange being back in my childhood room. Why was I so obsessed with pink?
I lie back on a pillow with way too much lace going on, looking up at a ceiling filled with boy bands and movie stars, most of whom you couldn’t pay me to sleep with these days. Again, what was I thinking?
You weren’t. Your hormones were.
I run my finger over Andy’s contact on my phone. They still are.
I debate whether or not to call him. It’ll be late in Hockenheim, after midnight.
Fuck it.
I dial, breath short as the ringtone goes on and on and on.
A sleepy voice answers. “Sara? Everything okay?” His words are a little slurry.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask.
“I’ve had a couple of lemonades, sure.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s a little lost without me. “Big night, huh?”
“Just celebrating the win. Not the same without you, though.”
He might be drunk, but he’s happy. “You can’t have fun by yourself?”
“I’d have more fun with you.”
I ignore the drunken innuendo. “Maybe you should get some rest. You’re off to Belgium tomorrow, remember?”
“I could walk to Belgium,” he chides.
“Not with ‘a couple of lemonades’ under your belt.”
“At least I got Stacey back.”
I stiffen at her name. “Stacey?”
He’s laughing to himself. “I bumped into her at the party, as you do. Can’t seem to shake that woman.”
I start tapping the side of the phone, nervous. “You talked to her?”
He giggles again. “You bet your ass I did. Told her to wait for me naked in the lobby bathroom, sent that photographer from the Daily in after her. Felt a little sorry for humiliating her like that—for about five seconds.”
He laughs again and I exhale with relief. “You have been busy.”
“That’ll teach her to fuck with Andy Forbes.”
“Fortes,” I correct. He really is drunk. It’s becoming a habit.
“You coming back?” he says with a lilt.
“Tomorrow. I’ll see you in Belgium.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“And Andy…”
I pause, thinking of how to phrase my feelings, to tell him I’m finally ready to give myself to him fully.
Until I hear snoring.
“Andy?”
The sound’s muffled. Stupid guy’s gone and passed out on me.
“I think I love you,” I tell the phone, promptly hanging up and collapsing onto the bed far too hot and bothered for this cold New Hampshire night.