Dance of Desire (1001 Dark Nights) (6 page)

“So here we are,” Caleb finally says. “Pushing thirty and both divorced. Abel Watson was a helluva man but he sure didn’t teach us how to stay married, did he?”

She knows he’s kidding, but his words cut deep. The cocky grins fades from his expression as soon as he sees the look on her face.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “That— Shit, that came out wrong. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she whispers.

Amber allowed herself a few minutes of tears after they all filed back into the bar. But she’d been in the bathroom alone. Not sitting at the bar in front of Caleb.

He's resting one hand on top of hers, so gently she almost didn't notice at first. She stares at it. Tells herself to look up into his eyes because his eyes will tell her what this sudden touch actually means. But she can't. She just stares at his powerful, veined hand, hears her next words as if some other version of her has spoken them.

“When a man won’t sleep with his wife, that’s a problem, right? I mean, she should know something’s wrong… Right?”

He removes his hand so quickly, she’s left to wonder if he thinks that touching her in any way when she simply mentions sex might seal them together in some awkward or painful way.

“Maybe,” Caleb says.

His Adam’s apple bobs. He sucks in a quick breath through his nose and grips the counter on either side of him.

“We don’t usually talk about sex stuff,” he finally says with a startling blend of tension and hunger in his voice, the same way he’d tell a woman she was wearing a pretty dress even though he was really thinking of what she’d look like once he’d pulled her out of it.

“It’s a simple question, Caleb.”

“You’re asking the wrong one.”

“Am I?”

“You’re asking if it’s your fault. You’re asking if you should take on the burden of a man like Joel. The answer’s no. Scratch that. The answer’s
hell
no. Kick his ass to the curb and get the hell out. But don’t take responsibility for his failings. Not now, not ever. Feelings aren’t a choice. Cheating is. If he was half a man, he would have come to you about the stuff that was making him want to cheat six months before he ever did it. If he were a
real
man, he would have copped to the fact that the stuff that was making him want to cheat probably didn’t have a damn thing to do with you.”

For the first time in years, she allows herself to gaze into Caleb’s eyes, those beautiful, dazzling blue eyes. Her
brother’s
blue eyes. And for the first time in a while, this knowledge doesn’t dim her fantasies of what it would be like to taste his lips again, to rock forward into his powerful embrace.

She allows her mind to swim in the memory of that long ago night before everything changed, when the two of them were brought together by the promise of becoming something altogether different than what they are today.

Caleb stares right back. Has he gone back to the boat dock of her father’s lake house?

Is he remembering what it felt like to gather her T-shirt into his fists in those last blissful moments before her father’s cry pierced the dark?

It’s no matter. Her father’s voice returns just as it always does in moments like these, with the exact same tone he’d used with her that one time they were hiking and he overturned a log with a snake coiled under it.

Back away, girl,
he’d say.
Back away, right now.

Caleb’s had his moments of aggression over the years, but he’s no snake.

Still, the ghost of her father stands between them now. Her father’s wishes. Her father’s plans.

Her phone vibrates on the bar in front of her.

It’s a text from Belinda asking if she’s okay.

“I need to get back to work,” she says.

“Not sure you should be driving right now,” Caleb says.

“I bet. You’re the one who just served me a beer even though I told you I had a martini at work.”

“Is that why you want to get back? Your boss has better well drinks?”

“My boss doesn’t serve well drinks.”

“I forget. She’s a fancy lady.”

“She’s got a fancy house. She’s practically a cowgirl at heart. Kinda like your ex-wife, it sounds like.”

“Uh huh. Julio’ll get someone to drive you. Or I could drive you.”

Alone in the car with Caleb. The thought makes her head spin. Amazing how many times in her life she’s avoided being alone with him for more than ten or fifteen minutes. The effort became so commonplace when they were younger that it took Caleb leaving town for her to realize how much it had exhausted her.

“Belinda’s got a driver,” she says too quickly, like she’s trying to protect herself from the fact that Caleb is just being a good guy.

“Suit yourself,” he says.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“I’d give you a hug, but…”

“I’m behind the bar. Right. Don’t worry about it.”

She picks up her phone in one hand and gives him a weak wave with the other. A few paces from the bar, she turns. He hasn’t moved an inch. He’s staring at her with one hand resting on the counter next to the register.

“Where are you staying?” she asks.

“Old friend’s letting me crash with him for a while.”

“Where?”

“Denton.”

“
Denton
? That’s far!”

“Yeah, well, looks like I’ll be looking for a place closer in now. Closer to this place, anyway.”

“Keep me posted,” she says.

“Sure thing, sis.”

She steps through the entrance. On the sidewalk, she sucks in a deep, hungry breath of humid air.

She’s not drunk. But Caleb’s right. She shouldn’t drive. And she wonders now if the real reason he put that beer in front of her was because he didn’t want her to leave at all.

Then

Standing on the tip of the dock, Amber watches Caleb race up the cedar steps toward her dad. They’re about to smack into each other when her dad seizes Caleb by his shoulders, halting him mid-stride.

Maybe she was wrong about the sadness in her father’s voice a few seconds before.

Maybe he really is about to whoop Caleb within an inch of his life for giving her a kiss that made her forget her name. But violence isn’t her father’s style. At least not when she’s around. But it is her father’s style to pull the Band-Aid off in one swift motion. That’s why it takes him a few seconds to deliver the awful news.

After promising to stay sober thirty days, Caleb’s father snuck out to his local watering hole where his mom found him on his favorite barstool and literally dragged him out into the parking lot. The tussle that ensued might have ended uneventfully in any other environment, but on the side of a busy freeway it sent them both into the path of an eighteen-wheeler, killing them instantly.

She has never seen her father deliver news this terrible before. She’s got no sense of what he’s going to do now that the words are out.

A wail of pure anguish rips from Caleb, filled with more pain than any fifteen-year-old should be allowed to feel. Her father throws his arms around the boy, so tightly it looks as if he’s afraid the news will literally drive Caleb apart. In that moment, her love for her dad grows roots nothing will be able to dig up.

She joins them, holding up the right side of Caleb’s suddenly boneless body while her father holds up the left. The three of them struggle up the steps as Caleb’s sobs rend her soul. But a part of her knows the crying is good and healthy, even if the cause is horrible. Caleb’s releasing all the pain and anger he’s kept bottled up for years now, and Amber and her father are right there to help him through it.

“Get him to bed,” her dad whispers as soon as they’re inside.

In the guest room, Caleb collapses onto the mussed comforter, curls into a fetal position, and starts to cry harder when she curls up behind him and drapes one arm over his side. She keeps her own tears as quiet as possible. That only seems right.

In the living room her father makes a frantic-sounding series of phone calls. She can only make out every few words. He’s booking flights, it sounds like, or maybe he’s just breaking the news to people. She’s not sure.

Because they’re spooning, she doesn’t see him reach up to where her hand is resting against his chest. Instead, she feels his fingers close around hers and she returns his grip.

She has no words for him as powerful as simply being there with him, beside him in the dark. When staying silent becomes too much for her, she gently kisses the back of his neck. He gives her fingers a little squeeze in response.

The house is silent. She’s not sure how much time has passed.

Suddenly her dad’s silhouette blocks the light from the hallway. With careful steps he moves into the darkened bedroom. He sets a glass of water on Caleb’s nightstand, grips the boy’s shoulder, studies him through the shadows.

“Making arrangements to get you home, son,” her dad says. “I’m going to go with you, get you through everything you need to do, ’kay?”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb croaks.

“I need Amber for a minute. You going to be okay in here for a few?”

“Yes, sir.”

She follows her father downstairs to the living room.

On the muted television, Dave Letterman cracks a joke and a faraway audience of people laugh silently. The sight seems obscene given what’s happening, so she looks away from it quickly as if it’s burned her eyes.

In a hushed whisper, her father says,  “My buddy Dale Parsons is at his place on the other side of the lake and he flew his Cessna up. He’ll fly us back to Dallas.”

She’s not surprised that her father is all business in this moment. Her mother has explained it to her countless times—this is how her father loves people. He organizes; he manages. She figures he’s avoiding eye contact because he doesn’t want her to see that he’s been crying.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Should I get my things?”

“No, you’re staying,” he says quickly, as if this were an obvious fact she’d simply overlooked. “I know you hate being here alone so Miss Lita, Dale’s wife, she’s coming over to stay with you. You remember her, right? You met her at Fourth of July last year. Remember?”

“I remember,” she says. But her own voice sounds far away suddenly. Something else is happening here, and she’s not sure what. “Who’s going to bring me back to Dallas?”

“I just spoke to your momma and she’s going to cut her visit to her sister short and take Southwest in tomorrow. She'll probably be here by the afternoon. I’ll leave the SUV up at the airport so y’all can drive it back to Dallas. No need for you to rush either. There’s gonna be a lot he and I are going to have to deal with as soon as we get back. A whole helluvalot.”

“Why can’t I just go with y’all?”

“I don’t think there’s room on the plane.”

She knows this isn’t true. Dale Parsons flies his whole family up sometimes and they’ve got three kids. And her dad’s choice of words is weird.
I don’t think there’s room.

Why didn’t he ask if there was room?

“Daddy…”

Suddenly her father grips her shoulders tightly. He’s got an angry furrow to his brow. When he clears his throat, she realizes he’s about to say words he’s been practicing in his head for a few minutes now. “Amber, look. I know how you feel about the boy. I know what y’all were doing down there, but that needs to change now. You understand me? Caleb’s gonna be in our lives now, but not in the way you want. And that’s what’s best for
him.
So you need to take all those feelings you’re having for him and you need to change ’em. You need to turn ’em into something else. Something that’s better for him
.
Do you understand me, girl? Are you hearing me right now?”

Better for him.
Such simple words, and he said them in such a measured tone. But she’s registered them the way she might register a slap to the face.

All her feelings for Caleb, all her dreams about him, all the longing looks she’s given him that summer, her father could sense all of it. And he’s judged her for it, judged her as bad. So bad, he thinks he has to put a stop to those feelings in the middle of this awful moment that will change their lives forever. He’s determined to keep her and Caleb apart at the very moment when Caleb is most vulnerable. 

She’s always been a daddy’s girl. The title’s never bothered her in the slightest. Everyone agrees: her dad’s a success in life and he’s going to make her a success too. He’s saved enough money for her to go to a good college. He’s a war hero who will walk through fire for his fellow vets. Sure, he’s controlling and overbearing, but the way he controls things, it all usually works out in the end. Right now, though, she wants to bat his hands from her shoulders. She wants to scream in frustration, and holding in that scream is making her jaw quiver. She can feel it.

“Amber,” he says, an angry edge to his voice now. “Do you
hear
me?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I hear you, Daddy.”

“Good,” he whispers. Then he brings his hand to the side of her face, suddenly affectionate, suddenly relieved, like she’s agreed to take medicine he’s sure will save her life.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says. “I know it’s not what you want. But it’s like I always say, sometimes the road rises up to beat you instead of meet you.” It’s one of his favorite sayings, one he claims to have invented, and one he only uses when some grand plan of his has been defeated despite his best efforts. Saying it now has clearly sent regret coursing through him given how Mister Tim and Miss Abby were killed. “God in heaven,” he whispers. “I’m gonna have to shelve that old saw after tonight.”

A few seconds later, Miss Lita knocks on the glass door. When her father slides it open, she steps into the living room quietly, her eyes glassy from a combination of drowsiness and shock. It’s clear she dressed in a hurry. Her thick ponytail is already coming free of its rubber band. When she sees the look on Amber’s face, she curves an arm around her shoulders and steers her into the kitchen.

The neighbor’s sudden tenderness frees the tears Amber’s been fighting. She turns her back to the living room so her father won’t see, but from the way the older woman is rubbing circles on her back, it’s clear to all of them what Amber’s doing.