The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet Page 5

  I brace myself and say quickly, “I don’t want you to ever hate me. I don’t want us to be enemies. Not ever. It’s important to me that we don’t hate each other. Maybe someday be friends. I’d like that.”

  A long pause. His even breathing grows louder with each second. Finally he says, “We are the farthest thing from enemies, Chrissie. I will always love you.”

  My heart turns over, my tightly coiled nerves unfurl, and the last of my energy gushes out of me. I say it without thought, my drowsy mind betraying me, “Me, too,” and then sleep.

  ~~~

  I wake sweaty and hot beneath too many blankets with something hard cutting into the side of my cheek. I lift my head. Crap, the phone. I fell asleep talking to Alan.

  My cheeks flush. I didn’t want to hang up so I listened to Alan until I couldn’t, letting the sound of him follow me into sleep.

  Fuck, Chrissie, how pathetic is that?

  I roll onto my other side and toss my mobile onto a night table. 10 a.m. I’ve slept halfway through the morning. And Linda is out there. Another day trying to figure out how to amuse her.

  Struggling to sit up, I chastise myself for the uncharitable thought. I expected having Linda here to be hard, awkward for us both, but it’s nice, really nice. Comfortable. But then that’s Linda. She’s like Rene. Everything just works for her, even incredibly emotionally complicated relationships with ex-girlfriends of a guy she had a thing with, too.

  That always bothers me more than it should, that Linda and Alan at some point had a thing together. Totally ridiculous, since I was a little girl at the time and I’m not even sure what kind of thing it was. Neither of them talks about their history together, though being that it was Alan, sexual is the logical assumption.

  I feel another internal proprietary kind of prick and scrunch up my nose. Face it, Chrissie. You’ve moved from pathetic to ridiculous this morning. Stop it. Alan wasn’t yours back then and he isn’t yours today.

  After peeing and brushing my teeth, I go down the hall, finding the door open to Linda’s room, and peek in. Nope, not there. I continue on to the kitchen. Empty as well.

  I frown. I take in the room in a single fast-moving gaze. What the hell happened in here? It’s spotless. I make my way to the center island and find a tray with a carafe of coffee labeled with a Post-it note: decaf. Fruit salad. Muffins—I lean in to smell and then touch—fresh baked blueberry, still warm.

  Jeez, it’s like rooming with Mary Poppins, only Linda is definitely a weird incarnation of that. Why is she going out of her way to be exceptionally kind to me? She’s my guest. I should be doing things for her. But then I remember our time at The Farm. Her take-charge attitude of Alan’s house. Her delicious cooking. How she made sure everyone had everything they wanted, always.

  I pour a mug of coffee, smiling. Linda is so sweet in her own way. After putting a muffin onto a plate, I take my breakfast with me as I look for her again. Waddle. Waddle. Waddle. I exhale loudly. Not in the living room. Well, she’s certainly made herself at home here if I can’t find her.

  I look at the door to the downstairs. Nope, not doing it. Then I notice that the door into the garage is open. I climb the stairs, go into the garage and maneuver through the cars. The door is open to the patio we built above the second floor.

  A widow’s walk, someone had called it, but it was just the only place where we could have a large patio on our slanting mountain property and the views from here are incredible. Ocean, islands and Santa Barbara visible in one direction, mountains the other.

  I don’t see her but step out anyway. Linda is sitting reclined in a chaise dressed in tight, short aerobics pants and a half top, feet clad in Nikes, hair back stylishly, and full makeup. She’s stunning even dressed like that.

  I set my coffee and muffin on a table before sitting down beside her. “Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast. You must have gotten up early.”

  She smiles. “I can’t sleep here. It’s too damn quiet.”

  Her eyes start searching the front drive as if she’s expecting to see something. I laugh. “You’ve turned the chairs the wrong way. The view of the ocean is on the other side of the house.”

  Her eyes sparkle impishly. “I’m waiting for the return.”

  I frown, not following. “The return of what?”

  “The most incredibly hot guy, shirtless, ran by about an hour ago. He came from that direction.” She points east. “I figure that’s about the limit of entertainment up here so when he has to come back this way I don’t want to miss it.”

  Laughing, I prop my feet up on a stool. “You’re awful, Linda. And yep, he’s going to come back this way. Runs every morning. He lives in that house up on the hill above me.” I shake my head, tearing off a piece of my muffin. “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him. That’s Sandy Harris’s brother, Jesse.”

  Her eyes sharpen. “Sandy Harris the music promoter? His brother? The reporter from the New York Times? That Jesse Harris? Really?”

  I nod. “Yep. Moved in two weeks ago. I haven’t a clue why he’s living up here. He hardly ever leaves his house. It seems strange him being here given that he works for the Times.”

  Linda shrugs, untroubled. “Maybe he’s writing another book.”

  “Another book? What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes brighten, excited and amused. “You don’t read Jesse Harris’s books? He writes all those spy thrillers. They’re incredible. I love them. The Dante DeMaze books. Amazing stories. I can’t believe you haven’t read any of them.”

  “Who has time to read?” My brow crinkles. “I didn’t know he was a novelist, but he does spend a lot of time sitting on his patio with his laptop. You’re right. He’s probably writing a book.” I let out a heavy sigh since one bothersome mystery—why a reporter became my neighbor—is solved. I look at her. “I was kind of worried with a reporter up there. Especially with how much Neil is in the papers these days. Jesse’s always sitting up there looking down on my house writing something. I’m so relieved. You’re probably right. He’s just writing another book.”

  Linda grins. “Who cares what he’s doing? Who cares if he’s the press? Lucky you. He’s a fucking gorgeous man. He’s been the highlight of my morning.”

  I roll my eyes. “For me he’s just part of the scenery. He runs past my house every morning. But he’s a nice guy—” For a moment my thoughts carry me back to Alan’s party in Manhattan that spring, how Alan dumped me and Jesse stayed with me through that long, horrible night. “A really nice guy. So don’t give him shit when he’s back from his run.”

  “Fine. But I am a sucker for a hot blond-haired, blue-eyed man.”

  “Really? He’s definitely attractive, but—” I crinkle my nose. “—he must not be my type because he doesn’t do anything for me.”

  She gives me the aha look as if to say, I know your type, Chrissie.

  I flush. “So is that what we’re going to do this morning? Wait for him to run by?”

  Linda smooths back and fluffs her hair with her fingers. “Why not? It’s fun to look.” She smiles, overly affectionately again. “It’s nice. Just sitting here. Having girl time with you.” She laughs. “The world changes. Music changes. Fashion changes. Technology changes, but women never do. We chat over coffee and talk about men. What else is there to do?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know, Linda. You seem to have everything worked out for the both of us.”

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Good. Sorry I slept so late and left you to fend for breakfast yourself.”

  “Well, last night was probably a later night than you’re used to,” she says in an amused, heavy-with-meaning kind of way.

  I tense. I reach for my coffee and take a sip. Her expression screams fess up. She sighs, frustrated by me.

  “Manny called me around 4 a.m. Woke me up. Said you went silent in the middle of a phone call with him. Had me check on you to make sure you were OK.”

&nbs
p; Crap. Why isn’t anything with Alan ever private? The last thing I want is anyone to know I called him, even though I am more relieved than I should be that we finished the call in a good place.

  “Oh,” is my only response.

  “Oh? That’s all you have to say about that?”

  “Fuck, Linda, what do you want me to say? I called him to thank him for the gifts. We talked for a while. I fell asleep. End of story.”

  “End of story, huh?”

  I meet her stare for stare. “Yes.”

  She purses her lips and looks away. “Fine. Be that way.”

  I ignore that comment and focus on finishing my muffin. Abruptly, she sits forward, her face brightening. “There. He’s coming back. Oh my.”

  Jesse waves up at me. I wave back and Linda watches him in an oh-so-obvious way until he’s out of view.

  She sinks back into her chair. “Do you have his number?”

  “Linda, you’re terrible. Of course I don’t have his phone number. I don’t ask for phone numbers from single men. I’m married.”

  She turns in her chair, making a face at me. “You asked for Manny’s.”

  I look away, shaking my head. Nope. Not responding to that one either.

  Linda sinks back into her chair. “You should get Jesse’s number, Chrissie. Before I leave. In case you have an emergency. He’s the only one who lives up here with you,” she says, serious out of nowhere and take-charge again.

  ~~~

  A week later, I walk Linda to the front door. She takes me in a firm, breezy hug, then steps back and lays her hand against my cheek.

  “Thank you for having me, Chrissie. We should do this more often. I had a wonderful time.”

  “Me, too.” It’s the truth. I smile. I don’t know how or why, but we now feel like the closest of friends. Weird. I don’t how it happened. But it feels good. Really, really good.

  She does a fast look around the room as if working through some sort of mental checklist.

  “I cooked meals and froze them for you. I cleaned up my room. Jack is right. You should hire a housekeeper soon. Being in this house alone so much of the time is not good, Chrissie. And I put together a call list for when this little one decides to say hello to us all.” She pats my belly and her face takes on a faint glow. “Oh, and Jesse’s number is now on the front contact list with mine for emergencies. Have I forgotten anything?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve done so much. Been such a big help.”

  She takes my face in her palms. “I love you, Chrissie,” she says in an intense, emotional way that takes me by surprise.

  “See you soon, Linda.”

  I wave as she climbs into her car and watch as she drives away. We had a pleasant week, and yet out of nowhere everything is moving through me, rattling and loose and uncomfortable. Linda is always randomly intense. I don’t know why it bothers me. Maybe it’s just me. Even when things feel good, sometimes they feel really, really strange.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  January 1995

  I lie on the couch holding the phone against my belly, listening to Neil sing to Kaley. My smile grows large as my heart flutters. It’s so cute how he does this every day with her, his own little father-daughter ritual.

  I put the phone back up to my ear. “Nope, nothing. Not even an elbow punching me. Don’t take it personally. She is very quiet today. Probably in there plotting something.”

  “She’s all right, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she still be jumping around in there?” Neil sounds worried.

  I clumsily turn onto my side. “She was active this morning. But I think she’s frustrated and has given up trying to turn.”

  Neil laughs. “I hope she stays frustrated and stays in there until I’m home on the twentieth.”

  I hear the call-waiting beep for about the tenth time since this two-hour call with Neil began. Annoyed, I wait for the interruption to end and then say, “My due date isn’t until the twenty-fifth. Doctor says I’m on track. Our timing isn’t going to suck, Neil. It’s going to work perfectly. I just know it.”

  “I hope so.” He sounds tired and anxious.

  “I know so.”

  “You’re moving down to Jack’s tomorrow, right?”

  Change of course. Nice one, Neil. Slipping that one in when I’m really missing you and really liking you so I won’t be irritated at you making me do this.

  “Yes. I’m packed. Jack’s picking me up in the morning. I will stay with Jack until you’re home again. I told you I would. I’m doing it. Happy, Neil?”

  “Very happy. More than you know.” He yawns. “I’m tired of the road, Chrissie. I’m ready to be home. I wish the break were for longer than two weeks.”

  “Me, too.”

  He sighs. “When I come off the road, when this tour is done, I’m not going back. Not ever. I’m going to live like you. A hermit on the mountain. Just make love to my wife and play with my little girl.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” I whisper, though I know it’s just emotion-inspired bullshit. “I think the guys and Ernie and the label will have other plans, though.”

  “Fuck them. I’m not doing it again. Not after this tour.”

  I stare at my copy of Time magazine lying on the coffee table, Neil’s face right there on the glossy cover. He’s gone mainstream. Jack is right, Neil is a business now, and there is no turning back from there. His career has been like a fast-moving rocket since our marriage. He’s everywhere. Print. TV. Magazines. Arctic Hole’s music is on the top of all the Billboard charts. Success only means he will be on the road more. I know it and so does Neil. But it’s sweet when he says things like that, and I almost believe him, even though we both know it’s never going to happen. Not ever.

  I smile. “I should let you go. You sound tired.”

  He exhales. “I am tired. I’ve been awake thirty hours straight.”

  “Then go to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to hang up. I miss you too much.”

  I laugh. “Then I’ll hang up for the both of us. You’re tired and I’ve got to pee.”

  “Oh well. I’m not even going to try to change your mind on that one.” He laughs. “Talk to you soon, baby.”

  “Talk to you soon, Neil.”

  I click off the phone, toss it down, and fight my way off the sofa and onto my feet. I move toward the bathroom. The phone starts ringing. Crap. It’s probably whoever was beeping while I was talking to Neil. Blocked number. I hate that. Nope, not delaying the bathroom for Mr. Incredibly Rude Blocked Number.

  When I leave the bathroom, I go into my bedroom just to make sure I’ve grabbed everything I’m going to need while at Jack’s. I carefully lower to sit on the floor and starting poking through my bags.

  There’s a knock on the door. I exhale loudly. I grab hold of the edge of the dresser, pulling myself back on my feet while the voice in my head tells me to just ignore the door.

  It’s not a mystery who it is. I only get two visitors here: the mailman and Jesse Harris. Usually it’s the big excitement of the day, but as I lumber down the hallway I’m hoping it’s the mailman and not Jesse. The mailman leaves quicker. Jesse likes to chat.

  God, I’m tired today. Neil is right about moving in with Jack. Everything is just a little harder this month. A little more tiring. But I’m not going to tell Neil that.

  I grab the banister and climb the short flight of stairs to the foyer. I try to get the latch to turn on the thick wood front door. Darn heavy security bolt. I should never have let Jack send someone up here to install it. I can never get the damn thing to turn.

  “Just a minute,” I yell through the wood and, frustrated, I go to the garage, hit the door button and wait for it to lift.

  I find a Harley parked in my driveway. Startled, I step out into the light.

  My heart stops. I’m held in an intense black stare.

  Alan is standing on my front steps dressed in leather biker gear, long black hair messed by the wind, ri
ch olive skin with just the right amount of sun hue, and looking as sexy and beautiful as ever.

  “Hello, Chrissie.” His voice is cool, his expression nondescript, and his eyes hooded and impossible to read. What is Alan doing here? My emotions take off in a hundred directions, from worried to thrilled to dread to happier than I should feel at this moment of seeing him again. Vaguely, I’m aware of how I must look to him. Frazzled and fat, not at all attractive, but at least I dressed cute today in a short blue sundress and I did do my hair.

  “I tried to call,” he explains dryly.

  I flush. Crap, that was him beeping in during my call with Neil. And double crap, how long have I been standing here staring at him? Say something quickly, Chrissie. Say something funny. Humor is the only thing that is going to get me through this unexpected, extremely awkward change to my day.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry to just stare at you. I was expecting someone else. You’re not the FedEx man.”

  A few seconds of silence pass then Alan laughs. Some of the tension between us wanes.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed.” He doesn’t smile, but there is a slight upward curl to the edge of his lips and his gaze softens.

  I can’t stop myself. I smile. “Definitely not disappointed. You win over the FedEx man any day of the week.”

  The second the words are out I wish I could make them disappear. I wanted to sound calm, in control, as poised as Alan is in every circumstance. Instead, I said a stupid thing and spoke it in a lame, flirty kind of way. Damn, Chrissie, damn.

  Alan crosses the driveway toward me and I’m not sure what to do next. We ended our call, I think, on our way to being friends. It doesn’t clarify how I should behave with him now.

  Do I kiss him on the cheek? Do I give him a fast hug? Do I just invite him in? Which one correctly says friends?

  Before I can figure this out, he leans in to put a quick peck on my forehead. It reminds me of the silly kiss he gave me in Jack’s studio the day we met. Barely touching, fleeting, and yet potently him. I stare up as he pulls back, wondering if he’s thinking about that as well.