Good For You
“How is that possible?” I know I’m not going to get anything from him, and my frustration mounts higher with every composed rebuff he offers.
“Our client wishes to remain anonymous.”
“But… why?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
Reid exits the back door, glances around and catches sight of us speaking. “Can’t, or won’t?” I ask while staring at Reid, who hasn’t moved. Chad fol ows my gaze and sighs, compressing his lips again—a perfect analogy for the fact that I won’t get anything further out of him.
I don’t know what game this is, including the questionable twist of fate that put Reid on my Habitat project again. His eyes shift from his attorney to me and he remains frozen at the door. Did he think I wouldn’t research that trust, wonder where it came from and who was behind it? I’m torn between intense gratitude for what he’s done for Deb and crushing terror of how easily it could end. And then I do the only thing I can do with this jumble of information.
I turn and leave.
Chapter 49
REID
Wearing the same bewildered expression she wore this morning when she turned and I was there, and with the same tone of voice, she says, “Reid?” from the opposite side of the stil -closed screen door, making no move to open it. Her dog stands next to her, staring at me with—I swear—its eyebrows knit in aggravation. “What are you doing here?”
I want to be exasperated with her, angry even, but I can’t.
What comes out is the thing that built and ran through my head al day, but without the fire. Like al that’s left of me are these smoky whispered words before I dissipate and blow away. “I’ve come to ask how you do it. How you feel what I know you’re feeling and then walk away like that.”
“How do you know what I feel?” she returns, but she can’t be angry either. There’s surrender in her tone, and I focus on nothing but the hum of it, threading through her armored words to find me.
“Open the door, Dori.”
She shakes her head slightly.
“Are you alone?” I ask and she nods, and I tel her again,
“Open the door.”
She reaches towards the inner handle and pauses. “Did you do it? The private room for Deb?” I nod once. “Why?” My hands bracket the doorframe and it’s al I can do not to fal to my knees, standing here looking at her and knowing that this is it, this is my one shot and there may not be another. She’s strong and she’s stubborn, and if I can’t get her to admit how she feels, she’l be lost to me. “Dori, open the door. Please. And I’l explain whatever you want me to.”
Her fingers brush over the lock and it clicks, but she doesn’t move to push the screen door open, so I do. I step inside and let it close behind me, and our eyes link as I reach back and blindly shut the solid door, too, and turn the bolt. “Come here,” I say, reaching for her, and she sways towards me, bracing her smal hands on my chest. Keeping me at arm’s length, in the most literal sense.
“Why? Why?” she asks, and I’m struggling to comprehend how this could threaten her.
“Why did I do it? Because I love you. There’s no other motive—I real y am that simple.”
Holy shit. I just told her I love her. There’s no going back.
Nothing to do but own it. But there’s the crux of the matter—
I want to own it.
Her eyes are ful and her mouth trembles. “What do you mean, you love me? And what about when you stop? What then? What happens to my sister then?”
My hands are at her shoulders, tracing her arms and cupping her elbows as they bend to my need for her. “I think love is a fairly self-explanatory emotion. And I don’t plan to stop. But there’s no stipulation. The trust Chad set up for your sister is life-long and has nothing to do with what I feel, or what you do—or don’t do. It can’t be annul ed, if that’s what worries you.”
She starts to cry, tears running slowly down her face.
“Everything worries me. How can you love me? I’m—I’m nobody.”
“How could I not love you?” I insist. “No one has ever affected me like you do. When you told me goodbye last month, I tried to let you go. I told myself it was the best thing for you because you wanted it. But you’re wrong, Dori. I’m good for you even if you don’t know it yet. I know because I’ve never been good for anyone before.” I fight to keep the pressure of my hands on her relaxed and control ed. “You al but lost your sister, and fought through a loss of faith that would destroy most people, and you didn’t fal to pieces.
You manned up when your parents needed you. But just because you’re strong and resilient doesn’t mean you never need someone to be there for you, to take care of you.” I grip her elbows. “You needed me that night at the club.”
She swal ows. “I did. I did need you. But I can’t be that helpless somebody-save-me type of girl—”
“You’re not helpless. In fact you’re the most maddeningly self-reliant girl I’ve ever known—”
“How is that maddening?” she cries, pul ing her elbows from my grip and wrapping her arms around herself.
“Because you won’t let yourself need me,” I say, the words echoing in my ears like the battle-cry of the co-dependent. “Both of us are so good at resisting being control ed, or having any control over someone else, that we don’t know how to need and be needed. Last summer, I let myself believe I could get past what I felt for you, not because what I felt was insignificant, but because I always have. I don’t linger over relationships. Hel , I don’t have relationships. I didn’t realize until I saw you in that club that I was no closer to getting over you than I’d been the last time I’d seen you, three months before.”