Recovery (20 page)

Chapter 22

The drive to Hammond took a little over
an hour with the morning commuter rush causing some minor delays. Along the way, Dallas surveyed the damage left from Hurricane Katrina in the swamps surrounding the city. Tall treetops had been sheered off leaving twisted trunks staring up into the sky like broken bones protruding from a beaten body. Dead branches, trash, and even a few boats, lay in piles scattered along the side of the interstate. Fishing camps built upon the edges of Lakes Pontchartrain and Maurepas had been turned into unrecognizable heaps of debris. And everywhere the haunting smell of decay hovered over the fragile wetlands like an invisible fog.

“No matter where you turn there are reminders of the storm,” Dallas commented beside me. “It gets depressing after a while to see so much devastation all of the time. You can never get away from it.”

“No,” I said, taking in the battered swamps around me. “I don’t think we will ever be free of Katrina.”

As we pulled into the town of Hammond, Dallas eyed the genteel surroundings with amazement.

“Looks like some old southern movie with the plantation homes and the moss-draped oaks.” He turned from his window and looked over at me. “How did he ever find this place?”

“My father helped him find the house,” I replied.

“David never told me that,” Dallas said, sounding a little surprised.

“He settled down here a few weeks before the pseudo-engagement party Val gave me and Michael. He loved the country scenery and the quiet. It was a good place for him to paint.”

We made our way through the modest back roads outside of the city of Hammond and I watched as Dallas reveled in the lingering remnants of the old South. But as I drove down the shell road leading to my Acadian house, I heard Dallas laugh to himself.

“Yes,” he whispered, “I bet he loved this place.” He turned to me. “It’s him.”

The place still appeared as it had when David had renovated it so lovingly before his death. The boards around the porch he had painted a deep mahogany red and the four square posts situated along the porch line he had done in white. The shiny tin roof he had replaced sparkled in the early morning sun. The two white swings David had added still sat at opposite ends of the porch, but there were fewer trees around than when he had first bought the place. Several of the moss-covered oaks had been lost to Katrina.

I pulled the car up to the red brick path that led to the front porch.

“Is there a back entrance?” Dallas asked.

I nodded. “Through the kitchen.”

“Pull up around back then,” he ordered, sounding like himself again. “Let’s empty the car then I want to put it in the garage and chain the doors shut.”

I drove around behind the house. As soon as I had turned off the engine, Dallas was out of his door and heading to the back steps that led to the kitchen.

“What is that, a sunroom?” he asked, pointing over to David’s old studio off to the side of the kitchen.

“David had it added on, to paint in. I just have some herb plants and a table in there now.”

He gave a dismissive wave at the room. “Get the table and plants out of there. We’ll have to find some way to seal it up at the entrance. Glass rooms are easy to break into and it’s in the back of the house so we won’t be able to hear if anyone does get in.”

He looked up at the second floor of my home. “How many bedrooms?”

“Three upstairs,” I answered. “There are two bathrooms upstairs and one half-bath downstairs.”

He walked toward the steps to the back door. “Let’s get the supplies in right now,” he called over his shoulder, “and then you can walk me through the place.”

Reflexively I went over to help him up the stairs, thinking of him as still recovering, but he turned his cold eyes to me.

“I can do it, Nicci. I don’t need you nursing me anymore.”

I felt my heart plummet with regret. In an instant, he had changed before me. The professional was back, and I was, once again, nothing more than a job. I left his side and went to start unpacking the groceries from the car.

He came over and picked up two bags from the back of the Jeep. I could see his face pale when he pulled the bags close to his bruised ribs.

“I can do this, Dallas,” I insisted.

He walked to the door carrying the bags. “No, I have to do this. I can block out the pain. It’s simply a question of mind over matter.”

“Oh,” I mumbled to myself, “I thought it was simply a question of stupidity over sense.”

“I heard that!” he shouted behind me.

Once the groceries and supplies were inside my bright yellow kitchen, I took the Jeep and locked it securely in the garage.

As I stepped out from the garage, I saw Dallas coming toward me carrying a hammer. He began nailing a piece of plywood over the only window in the garage. I turned to head back to the house.

“I told you not to leave my sight,” he snapped.

“I have to put the groceries in the freezer.” I saluted him sarcastically. “As you ordered, Captain Bligh.”

“Very funny.” He turned away from the window and handed me the hammer. “Can you finish this?” His face was pale and sweaty. He wasn’t as well as he pretended to be. “And don’t hammer like a girl,” he added.

“I am a girl and will hammer any damn way I please.” I made my way back to the garage. “Men and their fascination with their tools,” I grumbled to myself.

“Are you finished?” he called from behind me.

I turned to him, raising my voice, “Are you?”

He sighed, walked over to me, and pulled me into his arms. I let the smell of his cologne envelop me and reveled in the warmth of his embrace.

“I know, I’m an ass,” he murmured into my cheek.

I pulled myself away from his lean body. “No argument here. And I am not some soldier who signed up for this sort of thing, so stop barking orders at me.”

“I’m sorry. I get a bit…”

“Dictatorial?” I offered.

He gave me an awkward glance. “I was looking for something more like curt, actually. I promise I’ll try to do better.” He paused for a moment as he gazed about the property. “Nicci, when this is over, will you continue to stay here? It’s very isolated and a woman alone, well, I don’t care where you live, but it isn’t safe.”

I looked down at the hammer in my hand. “I already made up my mind before we came out here to sell the place. I’m ready for a fresh start.”

“That’s good. When I head back to New York, I would have a difficult time knowing that you were still staying out here on your own.”

I started back to the garage. “I’m sure once you’re back in New York you’ll have forgotten all about me,” I said over my shoulder.

He laughed behind me. “Wanna bet?”

I stopped and took a breath. I slowly turned around to face him. “Don’t do that. Don’t lead me on and make me think you’re interested when we both know damn well you’re not.” I moved to walk away.

His hands were instantly on me. “I’m tired of you getting under my skin,” he declared as he pulled me into his arms. “I want you out of my system.”

His lips came down on mine. I let the hammer fall from my hand as the warm rush of desire surged through me. I molded my body against his as I reached up and buried my hands in his short-cropped hair. His kisses burned against me and my skin tingled with excitement. I could hear my breath coming in short gasps as his kisses traveled down my neck.

He stopped kissing me and looked into my eyes. “We have to finish unpacking. Later, when we have settled in and the house is secured,” he kissed my forehead, “I’ll do this the right way.”

Standing beside us, I saw the house where David and I had shared so many happy memories. I knew what it was like to feel wanted and loved in that house. I didn’t want to go backwards in my life. I was worth more than a few nights of meaningless sex. I pulled away from his embrace.

“And when this is all over? Then what?” I asked.

Dallas said nothing. His eyes remained focused on the field behind me.

“You’ll go back to New York and I will just be another notch on your gun belt.”

“Nicci,” he sighed. “Why are you making this more complicated than it is?”

I picked up the hammer from the ground. “Because I want more, Dallas. More than you’re obviously willing to give.”

Tightening my fingers around the hammer in my hand, I turned away from him. And without saying another word, I headed to the garage and the unfinished window.

For dinner, Dallas wanted steak and eggs. He prepared the simple meal on the old kitchen stove while I made myself a light salad. I had lost my appetite ever since his kiss earlier that day. Suddenly the prospect of choosing a meal from our stocked pantry became too much of an effort.

We were sitting at the antique round oak dining room table silently eating our food. I could feel his eyes on me as I rolled around a cherry tomato on my salad plate.

“You need to eat more than that,” Dallas insisted. “You have to keep up your strength.”

“Yes, Dallas,” I answered automatically, not really paying attention to what he said.

He stabbed at his steak with his fork. “I’ve sealed off that sunroom with the extra plywood you had in the garage. It’s not very sturdy, but someone will have to make some noise to break through.” He paused as he sawed a piece of steak off with his knife. “I want us both sleeping downstairs. You can have the sofa and I’ll sleep on the floor next to you. Only use the upstairs for taking a shower or changing clothes, and even then, I want you to come and get me when you go up there. You are never to go upstairs alone without me, understand?” He placed the lump of steak in his mouth.

I said nothing. His eyes turned from me and inspected the portrait hanging on the wall behind me. It was the painting David had done of me sitting at that very table, typing away on the refurbished typewriter he had bought for me.

Dallas nodded to the painting. “When did he do that?”

I looked down at my plate. “It was the last painting he did.”

“But you sold or gave away most of the others, why keep this one?”

I pushed my plate away. “It’s what David wanted for me. He wanted me to write.”

“But you are a writer.”

“Not before I met David. He made me realize I was a writer and not a nurse. He believed in me and taught me to believe in myself. He changed everything for me.” I turned and inspected the painting. “That will always be a reminder of what he did for me. He brought me to my senses.”

Dallas chewed furiously on his steak as a few minutes of uneasy silence passed between us. He suddenly threw his knife and fork down on his plate, shattering the quiet in the room.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he yelled.

“Nothing,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“Bullshit! What is it?”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest. “You kiss me and then talk of going back to New York. How do you think that makes me feel?”

He took a deep breath as the realization hit him. He put his hands on the table before him and peered down at the remainder of his steak. “It was a kiss, Nicci. Not an engagement ring. There can be no happily ever after with a guy like me. You need to understand that.” He looked up at me. “I’m just saving you from a lot of frustration.”

“Who in the hell do you think you are? And where do you get off thinking that you can just kiss me and walk away without ever asking me how I feel or what I think or what I want?”

He threw his hands in the air. “You know what I am! Do you think we could ever have a life together? Come on, Nicci, you know what I do. Do you think someone like me could just—”

“I know what you are,” I cut him off, “and what you do, Dallas. But that doesn’t mean you have to continue being that man.” I paused and waited for his reaction. After several seconds, it became apparent that my words had not hit home. “My cousin was right about you,” I finally said. “You’re afraid. Afraid of being with someone again.”

“You’ve got me all wrong, Nicci,” he argued, his voice taut with anger. “In my line of work, I can’t need anybody.”

“Oh please! Don’t you think you’re taking yourself just a bit too seriously? It’s not like you work as a secret agent for some foreign government. You could leave Simon, you could go work with your uncle, or you could go off and sail around the world. You have options.”

“I’m not David!” he screamed as he jumped from his chair. “I’m not going to give up everything to run away and paint pictures with you!”

He stormed off into the kitchen. I rose from my chair and followed behind him.

“I know you’re not David,” I said calmly. “I don’t want you to be David.”

He stopped at the kitchen sink, spun around, and stared at me. “Then what in the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to be you, Dallas.”

He laughed. It was a cruel sound that I had never heard from him before. “Be me? I’ve been in so deep for so long I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

I watched him standing by my kitchen sink and suddenly the man I had known for the past few weeks disappeared. A tormented stranger filled with all the self-doubt that years of loss, lies, and cruelty can inflict looked back at me.