Beautiful Graves, page 9
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Things are changing. You need to come here.”
I’m silent for a moment. Dad said the same thing, more or less, but he insisted that they were both healthy. Now I’m starting to think he lied.
“Are you guys okay?”
“Physically? Yeah. Top condition.”
“Money problems?” I ask. Unlikely. Dad is the most fiscally conservative man I know. He has a great job. Mom was the one who made uncalculated money moves, and he still loved her.
Renn snorts. “No.”
“Mentally . . . is there . . . I mean, are there . . . ?” This is a hard one to articulate.
“It’s nothing like that. Nothing apocalyptic.” He sounds short, annoyed.
“Then what’s going on?” I press.
“It’s not for the phone. Just come home. You’ve been gone for years. I know you’re pissed with yourself, and honestly? Dad and I are pissed with you too.” It hurts to hear, even though I already knew that. “But now there’s shit to deal with, so it’s time to drag ass back home before it’s too late.”
Late for what? I’ve already lost you.
“I’m coming,” I say defensively, sitting up straighter in my bed. “At Christmas. I already told Dad.”
“Christmas is too far away. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”
“I can’t help that I have a job, Renn.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your job’s the last reason you’re staying away. We both know that.”
A loud, lengthy honk pierces my ear through the other end of the line, followed by, “Are you coming, or what?” It’s the woman he’s seeing. I already hate her. Can’t she see he’s busy?
“Yeah, yeah,” Renn mutters, sounding completely bored with her existence. To me, he drawls, “Thanks for the gifts. Just remember next time that material stuff means jack shit. When we need you, you aren’t here.”
The line goes dead.
A storm rolls over Salem that day to complement my shitty mood. I have a shift at Witch Way Out, and I’m working on autopilot. Whenever the shop’s empty—and it’s mostly empty, seeing as nobody in their right mind is strolling the streets in this weather—I use the time to call Renn. I get his voice mail again and again. Something stops me from leaving a message. I don’t know what it is. Or maybe I do—I have no good excuse. He is right. They need me to be there for whatever reason, and I’m not ready to face the wreckage I left behind. I’m so much better at sending birthday gifts and cards and letters.
Dom texts me throughout the day to make sure I’m okay. I don’t bring him up to speed on my family drama. He has a day off today, but we can’t meet. I have to go and give a tour right after my shift. When I close the shop for the day and prepare the register for tomorrow, I hear a knock on the glass. At first, I think it’s hail.
But when I look up at the display window, I find Dom plastered against it, holding soaked flowers and a clichéd heart-shaped box of chocolate.
Rain pours down on him, rolling along his nose, stroking his cheekbones. His hair is drenched and jet black. I’m worried he’ll catch a cold. I think I’ll always be a little freaked out about Dom’s health, knowing what I know. I bolt to the door, then unlock it as I pull him inside.
“Jesus, Dom. What are you doing?” I usher him inside.
“Wooing you with a romantic gesture, I’m hoping.” He shakes the raindrops away like a dog after a bath. “Is it working?”
I laugh. “Not if you end up catching pneumonia. If I have to visit you at the hospital, I’ll be pissed. Hospitals aren’t my favorite.”
“Ha!” He raises his fist skyward. “She cares. I knew it.”
I grab a quilt from behind the register, the one Jenine, my boss, usually lets her dog sleep on, and wrap it around his shoulders.
“Hope you’re not allergic, but this quilt is the equivalent of seven big-size dogs.”
“You’re smothering me with all your love. I can’t take this anymore.” Dom leans down and drops urgent, desperate kisses all over my face. His lips are cold and wet. I giggle as I stumble backward, trying to hold his face and pull away. But he stalks me across the room until my back is pressed against the wall, and we are tucked far away from the display window view, between crystals and the tarot section. He drops the flowers and chocolate to the floor with a thud. His rapid-fire kisses continue down my neck. My willpower to take care of this crazy man is diminishing, replaced with white-hot need for him.
He grabs my ass and hoists me to wrap my legs around his waist, then rolls his pelvis against mine. I groan into our kiss, yanking at his hair to bring him closer. Then I remember that he could truly get a lung infection, and I pull myself together.
“Come on. Let me see you,” I say breathlessly, finally managing to hold his face still. He looks a little pale and cold but otherwise fine.
He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously, pretending to bite the tip of my nose. “Hello. Hi. This is me. Dom. Let’s make out.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a nutcase, you know that?”
“Well, it’s your fault for being so pretty.” He kisses the edge of my jaw. “And interesting.” He kisses my chin. “And, uh, let me see . . . talented.” This time he travels south, down my throat.
“Wait a sec.” I roam my hands over his chest. “Your clothes are soaking wet. You need to go home and draw yourself a hot bath. I’ll come nurse you back to health as soon as I’m done with my tour.”
“Haven’t you heard? Work’s canceled. There’s a thunderstorm.” He points to the storm brewing outside. “Call your boss and ask them if you’re working today. We both know what they’re going to answer.”
“I can’t bail on work, Dom.”
“No one’s asking you. I’m sure you’re the best tour guide in the world, but no one is going to show up, and we both know that.”
Hesitantly, I pick up my phone and call Jenine. She owns both the witchcraft store and the night tour. She answers with a thick smoker’s cough.
“Crazy storm, huh? Haven’t seen one like that since the eighties. We’d better not see a power outage. I’m too old for this shit.” She has this habit of starting a conversation from the middle.
“That’s what I was calling you about.” Just as I answer her, a tree collapses over a power line outside. On the street is a heap of wires and wood. “Crap. I think I need to call 911 and report that,” I say.
“I’m on it.” Dom dials up the emergency number and wanders to the little kitchenette at the back of the shop, leaving wet shoe prints everywhere.
“So, I’m guessing you know the answer to your question.” I hear Jenine lighting up a cigarette.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No one in their right mind is going to get out of the house in this weather. Not to mention, if you catch something, you’ll be missing much more than a couple days’ work. I’ll handle the cancellation.”
I’m hanging up the phone just as Dom reappears beside me. “Help’s on the way.”
“Thanks. I’m off for the rest of the day.” I grab the flowers and the chocolate box from the floor, then press them to my chest. “That was sweet.”
Dom grins. He is so wholesome. So vibrant. “I am sweet.”
“Right. And it will take me time to get used to it.”
Dom takes a step forward and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I have all the time in the world,” he says slowly, meaningfully. “Or at least, I hope I do.”
“Let’s draw you a bath. Race you to the car,” I suggest, snapping us out of the moment. Things got heavy for a second there.
“Which car?” He tugs me by the collar of my shirt, frowning. “Mine or yours?”
I think about it. “Yours. You can drive me back here later. Because, you know, we’re not going to have sex.” Just putting it out there, in case he gets any ideas. I like Dom a lot, but I also don’t feel ready yet. Not only do I still not believe I deserve good things, but I’m also not 100 percent over Joe.
“None whatsoever. No sex.” Dom raises his fingers in a scout’s honor.
We race it to his car, giggling and shoving at each other and ducking our heads like we can escape the rain. We both accept the unspoken truth of it.
That I’m not going to go back to get my car tonight.
I’m going to stay at his place. We’ll cuddle, and watch movies, and make food, and make out. Pretending for one perfect day that I’m a normal girl. Just like Nora.
Because somewhere deep down, I think I still am.
NINE
Dom and I cover a lot in the four weeks that follow the storm.
We go to Boston—twice—once to the zoo, and another time for a ferry ride by the harbor (or harbah, as he calls it). We visit the New Bedford Whaling Museum, check out the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and take a day trip to New York when both our schedules permit. We eat one-dollar oysters in Lynn and hit up an old record store in Ipswich. We ride bikes, smell flowers, run to the balcony, and dance every time it rains. Staying true to his promise, he drinks his morning coffee from my clay mug. At least when he doesn’t work night shifts.
I haven’t done so many things since my trip to Barcelona with Pippa, but Dominic insists I have the full Massachusetts experience. “You’ve spent enough time in New England purgatory. You’re one of us now.” He hooks his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close when we leave an axe-throwing joint. “Time for an early suppah.”
Indeed, we cover a lot in the four weeks we date. Other than one serious milestone—we haven’t had sex yet.
We’ve cuddled, we’ve spooned, we’ve fallen asleep holding each other, and we make out all the time, but we haven’t gone all the way yet. I still fear taking the final step. Maybe because having sex is admitting the girl I created six years ago is no longer there. It’s not like I’m not attracted to him. I truly am. And I don’t know many men on the cusp of thirty who would wait around for a woman to have sex with him. But so far Dom has been understanding and hasn’t pushed the subject.
The weekend before Thanksgiving, Dom picks me up for a dinner date. It’s the first time we’ve gone out to a restaurant in Salem, and it feels like we’re officializing our relationship. Christening our hometown, so to speak.
Loki is sitting on the windowsill, watching us with a malicious expression while snapping his tail here and there. Holding the passenger door, I wiggle my finger at my cat. “Be good to Auntie Nora, and don’t you dare pee in my new boots.”
He huffs and gives me his back.
“They grow up so fast,” Dom sighs from inside the car.
I slide into the passenger seat and kiss him on the lips. He looks amazing. Freshly shaven and sporting a new haircut. There’s a duffel bag strewn in his back seat, which I recognize not to be the same one he takes to the gym every day.
“Are the Feds after you? Are we fleeing?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yup. Axe-murdering operation gone wrong. It’s a whole mess.” He leans in to give me a deeper, more passionate kiss. It lasts for a while, so I’ve almost forgotten what we were talking about when he continues, “I got you a fake passport too. Run with me to Argentina? I hear their dulce de leche is crazy good.”
I smooth the collar of his shirt. “No, really. Where are you going?”
We are still parked in front of my dilapidated excuse for an apartment. Dom glances toward my front door, and I see that it is half-open. Weird. I remember locking it behind me.
“What’s going on?” I turn to him.
His face pinks. Uh-huh. I don’t like secrets. Don’t like them one bit.
“About our dinner plans . . .” He rubs at the back of his neck. “How would you feel if we extend the evening, to, say . . .”
“The night?” I help him out. A sleepover would be nice. Warranted, even. We’ve been dating for a long time now.
“More like the entire weekend.”
“You want to take me on a weekend?” I echo.
“Very much,” Dom admits with a shy smile. “Very, very much.”
My front door opens all the way, and Nora skips toward Dom’s car, holding my suitcase. She packed for me. I don’t know what’s more disturbing. The fact that she did that without telling me, or the idea that she and Dom have apparently been talking to each other. They’ve met a couple of times, when he arrived to pick me up for our dates, and hit it off really well. I hadn’t realized they’d exchanged numbers, though.
Nora swings the back door of Dom’s car open and stuffs my small suitcase into it. She shoves half her body into the car through my window and smacks my cheek with a loud kiss. “Here you go, kiddos. Enjoy the Cape!”
Dom is doing the international nope-nope-nope sign with his hand to his neck.
Nora slaps a hand over her mouth. “I just ruined your surprise, haven’t I?”
“In a spectacular fashion.” Dom hangs his head, shaking it. He is so adorable my breath catches.
“You perfect asshole!” I grab his cheeks and pull him to me, kissing him frantically. I’m overwhelmed by his consideration. “That’s so thoughtful.”
“Not bad for an axe murderer, huh?” He winks at me. This joke never gets old. I imagine us bantering about it two, three, four years from now. And that’s good. It means that I see Dom in my future.
“Not at all.” I grin.
“So if I’m ever in need of help to get rid of a body . . .” Dom trails off.
“I’m your girl. Just a phone call away. No questions asked.”
He leans to kiss me again before revving up the engine. I turn my head to the window and spear my roommate with a look. “You. Nice work. I didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Save your thank-yous for when you open your suitcase.” Nora laughs as she skips back to our apartment.
What’s in the suitcase? Now I’m curious.
Dom and I hit the road. He tells me he’s made a playlist for the drive. He hooks his USB into his stereo and plays Nickelback and Dave Matthews Band throwbacks. It’s not my jam, but I don’t tell him that, since he’s made such an effort to surprise me with this romantic weekend. Throughout the drive, our hands are rested on the center console, our fingers laced together. Sometimes he sings the lyrics to the songs. Sometimes we talk about his work or mine, or how awesome Nora is for going along with his plan. Apparently, he slid into her DMs on Instagram a week ago and asked for her help.
I’ve never been out on the Cape. I’ve never been anywhere. Actually, I hadn’t been anywhere. Dominic is changing that, quickly. This couple-retreat experience feels so mature. Especially when, two and a half hours later, he pulls up at a charming bed-and-breakfast. It’s a white Cape Cod colonial with black shingles and overflowing flowerpots. It is beautifully restored and offers an outdoor restaurant in a gazebo overlooking the ocean. I grab Dom’s hand and squeeze.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“That I’m so going to put out tonight.” I’m only half joking.
He laughs, then gets out and pulls out our bags. He gives the valet the keys to his car. Then he opens the door for me, bowing chivalrously. “Wait till you eat the scones here. This is the OG Mrs. G’s favorite spot.”
“Mrs. G?”
“Mrs. Graves. Mom. Gemma. My parents used to take us here for a traditional summer holiday, every year without fail. Well, save for one or two, you know.”
When he was sick.
I feel even more overjoyed when we walk inside and the innkeeper, a woman named Dana, shows us to our room. Dom and I follow her, holding hands. I’m pretty sure I’m grinning like an idiot when I notice how she looks at us. With quiet approval. He tells her he’s been here many times, and she shares that this is her first year running the place. Before she leaves, she hands us a brochure. Dom takes it and promises to try at least two of the things she suggests we do. He pushes the door open. The room is small but gorgeous. With crown moldings, oriental carpets, and nautical art. The balcony overlooks a golf course.
Dom walks over to the nightstand and picks up a small wooden ship. A smile touches his lips. I wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my head against his back.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hello.”
“What’s up, the World’s Most Perfect Guy?”
“Please stop calling me that. You make me sound like Chris Evans, and he looks like a douche.” He puts the small woodwork down, turning around to gather me in his arms. “See that little ship I was holding?”
“Yeah.” I peek behind his shoulder to take a better look at it. It’s handcrafted, made from rosewood, with a long mast and yellow linen.
“When Seph and I were small and we used to come here, we would play with that ship all the time. In this specific room, actually. That’s why I asked for it. We had this thing where we always tried to steal the ship when it was time to leave, and my mom always caught us and made us put it back. It was exasperating.” He lets out a little laugh.
“And adorable,” I add.
“Sure. The first decade. We did it until I was a junior in college.”
Laughing, I kiss his chin. “And you couldn’t find a replica?”
He shakes his head. “Apparently, hundreds of hours are required to complete one model, and the design belongs to this woodturner who died decades ago. I found models that came close, but never an identical. And anyway, it’s about the nostalgia. This ship symbolizes cartwheels on the beach, lobster rolls, and Mom and Dad making out when they thought we weren’t looking.” He shudders comically.
Jealousy sinks its claws into me when I picture his family. They sound like a normal happy family. I remind myself that they’ve had their fair share of disasters. That I, too, have precious memories with my family. Even if they’re now tainted by what I’ve done.
“So what do you wanna do tonight?” I ask, giving Dom my back so I can unpack, but also because I don’t want him to see whatever’s on my face.
