“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, boy.”
“You know I didn’t want to deal with a hotel, so I took a chance that the renters in my house would be understanding about me coming back to the house if I stayed in the attic. But the renters are Amanda’s sister Margot and her husband.”
“Holy shit, Damon! Is Amanda there too?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god! What are you doing to do?”
Nancy has been with me since long before Amanda broke up with me. She left the agency she was with and went out on her own because she believed in me and they wanted to let me go. She’s become a real friend to me, and now she’s someone I can talk to about anything. Just like Amanda used to be.
I pour myself another coffee, without whiskey this time, and tell her what happened last night. Ironically, as well as she knows me, no one knows the full story of the breakup with Amanda. I didn’t want to have to tell anyone about how she’d done an about-face and caved to the culture of her upbringing. Part of me couldn’t believe it myself when it happened, and another part of me couldn’t bear to reveal the real Amanda to anyone—the Amanda who I was in love with and I thought loved me.
An hour later there’s really nothing left to be said. Both Nancy and I agree, me less willingly, that there’s nothing left for me to do in this situation but to work. Sadly, I never thought I’d be here in this paradise without a desire to create.
But this time pouring my pain into it won’t work, I realize as I start to mix the paint. The colors I’ve chosen don’t reflect the headspace I’m in, which is simultaneously being so angry that Amanda is here in my house, and a rush of everything I felt for her before. And the worst part is, she’s even more beautiful than she was five years ago. I’ll be damned if she hears that from me. But I buck up, turn the lights on, and start to paint.
When I look up from the canvas again, it’s pitch-black outside. I study what I’ve laid down on the canvas, and I almost throw a bucket of whitewash over the whole fucking thing. The colors start blurring together, and I realize there are tears streaming down my face.
8
Damon
Before I can pullmyself together, there’s a knock at my door.
What the everloving fuck?
Can’t anyone respect my wishes around here?
“Hold on!” I growl, and storm to the bathroom to splash some water on my face.
I come back and jerk the door open, fully prepared to read the riot act to whoever it is, even if it’s Stirling, and especially if it’s Amanda.
“What don’t you people understand about ‘the third floor is off l—” I yank open the door and…fuck me. It’s Sylvia.
I’m too busy picking my jaw up off the floor to stop her from pushing past me to get inside the studio. And she doesn’t push, exactly. It’s more like she glides while brushing up against me as she passes. Which would be awkward anyway but is made more so by the fact that she’s dressed…not for a family cookout. I mean, seeing this much skin on any woman that I’m not on intimate terms with makes me highly uncomfortable. Not to mention way too much makeup and jewelry. The knowledge that she can’t be up to any good right now snaps me back to reality. I’ve allowed her into the studio, but I can’t let her stay.
“What are you doing here, Sylvia?”
“Bringing you dinner, silly.”
“I mean, what are you really doing here?” I say with a little more irritation, which is mostly with Stirling for letting her come up here. Then again, she probably didn’t give him much of a chance to stop her.
“Like I just said, bringing you dinner. You can’t stay up here 24/7 without eating anything.”
“First of all, I can do whatever I want. Second, I went to the store and fully stocked my kitchen up here. And third, your dad already invited me to dinner. I said ‘no thank you.’ If I’d wanted to come to dinner, I would have.”
“Nice space you’ve got up here,” Sylvia says, as she looks around, still holding the plate piled high with food in one hand. “Too bad my step-grandad and other step-aunt Emily didn’t come too. They would have loved this whole house. Too bad Grandpa Sutter probably couldn’t even afford your pool furniture these days, much less a house like this.”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just a rumor that’s floating around. I heard Margot talking to Amanda about it a couple of months ago. I sure hope she’s okay—I mean my dad does his own thing, and Margot isn’t really involved in Grandpa’s business anymore—but I don’t know about Amanda. I heard they had to rent out their house or something.”
I know I can’t hide the shock or the curiosity that has surely bloomed on my face, and all anyone needs is to give this little vixen more ammunition to play with. I have got to get this under control, because clearly Sylvia is looking for some roundabout way of starting something between me and Amanda.
“I’m sure none of that is any of my business.”
“Don’t you care what happens to Amanda?” Sylvia is practically purring at me now, and she straddles the arm of my couch and leans alluringly over the plate of food she holds. And damned if it doesn’t smell fantastic. I bet it’s still warm too. “I could tell you about it over dinner…or we could just relax.”
