Briefly, she told her mother about Jim Bartlett’s request and the last-minute business trip.
“Honey, that’s wonderful. Your boss must think pretty highly of you to bring you along.”
Her mind flashed back to the dock and the feel of Simon’s fingers against her skin. “I don’t know what he’s thinking,” she murmured, her fingers unconsciously tracing his touch’s path.
She quickly shook the thought away. “Signing this account means a lot to him. He wants to make sure the Bartletts feel comfortable with everyone involved.”
“Which he wouldn’t do unless he thought you’d impress the man. This could be the start of big things for you.”
Delilah had to smile. There was no sense arguing the point. Her mother’s over-the-top enthusiasm was her way of making up for being mentally missing during Delilah’s teenage years. “You know you’re biased, don’t you?”
“Just because I’m biased doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” There was a pause, followed by a soft sniff. “Your dad would be really proud of you. He always said you were his brainy child.”
“Thanks.” Truthfully, who knew what her father thought; he’d been gone so long her mother’s memories had become a mixture of truth and wishful thinking. Still, the reference meant a lot to her mother so she went along. Besides, after tonight’s weirdness, the reassurance was nice to hear. “I hope so.”
“I know so. Now,” her mother said, clearing her throat, “tell me what else is new. How are those two friends of yours?”
Knowing her mother wanted details, Delilah settled back against the mountain of pillows lining the head of her king-size bed and caught her up on everything, including Chloe’s barista crush and how Larissa was treading dangerously close to Bridezilla territory.
“I swear she thinks I got myself invited on this trip just to avoid going to another bridal show,” she told her mother.
“Some women get a little crazy when it comes to weddings. Which reminds me, don’t be surprised if we have one of those around here soon. Danny and his girlfriend are getting pretty serious.”
“No way.” Delilah almost dropped the phone. Next to Simon, her younger brother was the biggest serial dater she’d ever met. “Did he hit his head or something?”
On the other end of the line, her mother laughed. “Nothing so dramatic. He simply found his missing piece. Isn’t that wonderful? I’m so happy for him.”
“Yeah,” Delilah replied, feeling strangely bereft. “Me, too.”
“That’s all I want for all of you kids, you know. To find someone as great as your dad.”
Better not hold your breath waiting for your middle daughter, Delilah thought.
She spent several more minutes being caught up on the rest of the family and the neighborhood gossip. Finally, after promising to call more often, as well as fielding a plea by her baseball-crazy brothers to send them Boston sports souvenirs, Delilah hung up and tossed the phone beside her on the bed.
As she looked around her hotel room, a sigh worked its way out of her lungs. Any other time she’d be overwhelmed by her surroundings. Things like the super-soft king-size bed and the walk-in shower the size of her entire bathroom back home. Tonight, however, they passed with little notice. Her mother’s call left her more out of sorts than ever. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Danny, who never committed to anyone for more than a week in his life, was talking marriage, while she was here, alone in a Boston hotel room crushing on her disinterested boss.
This was all her mother’s fault. All those years going on about soul mates and missing pieces, making love sound like some grand romantic concept. “I knew the minute I laid eyes on your dad, he was the missing piece to my puzzle. That one perfect person who made my life complete.”
So complete, she fell apart when he died. Four long years of wishing she’d die, too, while her children struggled to find a way to live without her. Soul mates. Delilah hated the word. Hated that she’d been conditioned to believe that kind of true love was possible.
Now her brother had gone and found his soul mate. And what was she doing?
Damned if she knew. The surreal moment on the pier teased her the entire shower. Did she really see heat in Simon’s eyes? Or was the whole moment a product of her desperate imagination? If the latter, someone needed to let her body know. Her entire nervous system was awash with awareness.
Tightening the belt on her robe, she got up and walked to the glass. By complete coincidence, her hotel room had the same view as the dock. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see the lights of departing airplanes. Simon’s room was only a few doors down. Was he watching the same view? For that matter, was he even in his room? After the security guard rousted them for sitting on the dock, Delilah had made a beeline for the elevator. The very idea of being in a small space with Simon turned her inside out.
No, the idea of being in a small space following Simon’s rejection of you turned you inside out. She saw how quickly he pulled away when the guard arrived. Obviously, if there had been a moment, Simon wasn’t interested in it continuing. Why would he be? Simon was probably on the phone right now chatting with his socialite girlfriend or some other gorgeous prospective lover. Or having another whiskey to forget the whole evening ever happened.
Her head fell against the glass. Maybe forgetting wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Like Simon said, the best thing she could do was start out better and stronger in the morning.
* * *
The boathouse was damp and cold. Without sunlight, the air never warmed. Simon’s breath made small gray clouds as he dragged the scull from the doorway. Every few feet he had to stop and readjust his grip because his numb fingers wouldn’t hang on. At this rate, breakfast would be over, meaning he’d have to sit through algebra on an empty stomach. Crap. This was so not how he wanted to spend his mornings. But, his father insisted he participate in sports. “Sports are an important part of prep school. They teach team spirit as opposed to those damn video games you’re always playing.” And so here he was, freezing and wet, dragging a stupid boat out of the stupid Charles River.
He didn’t see the shadows until they were on him. One minute he was fine, the next he couldn’t move. Someone had his arms pinned behind his back.
A face pushed close, the breath moist and sour from vodka filling his nostrils. “Where you think you’re going, Freshman?”
* * *
Splash! The cold water surrounded him and Simon felt his lethargic body slowly return to life. It might not be Olympic-size, but the hotel’s rooftop pool more than served its purpose. He propelled his way to the other end, his arms slashing the surface. Coach Callahan would have a fit if he saw him now. There wasn’t a bit of technique to his strokes. But Simon wasn’t interested in technique. It was the burn he craved. He wanted to push himself so hard his brain had no choice but to clear.
Last night’s nightmare came out of nowhere. Damn inconvenient, all these memories rising to the surface. Made him stupid, off his game.
He never told anyone about that day in the boathouse. Masking the broken parts of himself the best he could, he took what happened that day and filed them away in a locked part of his brain.
