“A boy. He was maybe ten or eleven. My father had locked me in a storage room as punishment for sitting under a table to draw, and this boy just…appeared..”
Something stirs in my chest. A memory, hazy and half-formed.
“He brought me some dessert,” Maura continues, her voice soft with nostalgia.
“And orange soda. He sat with me for a while. He was the first person who ever reallylookedat my art, you know? Like he was taking it seriously.”
The plane lurches, and she squeezes my hand tighter. I squeeze back, but my mind is elsewhere. Horses. A storage room. Cake from the kitchen.
It can't be.
“His parents came to get him eventually,” Maura says. “His mother was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And the way his father looked at her...” She trails off, shaking her head. “I'd never seen love like that before. Not in real life. I think about them sometimes. I hope that boy found someone who loves him like that.”
My throat feels tight. I should say something. I should tell her.
But the plane shudders again, Maura's face goes pale, and the moment passes.
“But, anyway, back to the story with Beau—how did you get out of being arrested?”
I shrug. “How else? Writing a significant check to the mayor’s campaign fund, given with promises to keep Beau fifty yards away from the daughter at all times.”
“I’m guessing Beau didn’t keep to those promises.”
“Of course not. Reckless streak and all. The next week, he twisted his ankle jumping out of the daughter’s bedroom window. Spent one month on crutches and two months bitching about the pain.”
“Stop.” She laughs, grabbing her stomach. “Seriously, I’ve had to pee since takeoff, but I’ve been too scared to walk to the bathroom. If I keep laughing, I’m going to have to pay to get your leather seats professionally cleaned.”
“As soon as there’s a break in the turbulence, I’ll help you walk over,” I promise.
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I can walk by myself.”
“I’m walking you, because I’m not taking any chances and getting a second twisted ankle on my conscience,” I tell her. Hopefully, wrapping it in a joke will make her accept it, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go on her own.
She rolls her eyes. “So bossy.”
“I thought you knew that by now.”
“Think we’re good now?” she says after a few minutes of relative calm.
“Yeah.” I pull her to her feet and put my hand on her lower back, guiding her to the back bathroom. Immediately, I’m glad I insisted on walking her, because her legs tremble slightly underneath her. I brace my spare hand on her elbow to help her balance, the silk of her blouse soft against my skin.
“You’re not going to follow me in, are you?” she asks as she pushes the door open.
“I’m not that controlling.” I take a seat in a nearby row. “I’ll wait till you’re done, though. Just in case.”
The plane remains calm when we walk back to our seats. After a few minutes, the flight attendant comes out to offer us coffee or tea. Without the turbulence, Maura doesn’t take my hand again and we fall into a charged silence as she reads and I study her face in profile. Trying to see the little girl from the gala who promised me she’d be at the next one but never showed.
My chest squeezes and when Maura looks at me with a question in her lifted brow, I clear my throat and look away before she can guess at my thoughts.
I file away the memory and hope the bone deep sensation in my chest can be locked away with it, gripping the armrest until my pulse slows.
30
MAURA
The afternoon sun turns the white Grecian rooftops a warm, yellowy shade that makes the blue sky even more intense. We’ve just gotten off the jet, but already I'm so captivated by the beautiful views of the islands that I don't want to go inside again. I wish I could just grab James's hands and drag him to the airport exit. We could just walk until our legs were exhausted, exploring everything.
Unfortunately, James only has one destination in mind—the sleek black car, waiting on the tarmac.
