The Last Door, page 16
His lips tweaked up in the corners. "I kind of enjoyed it when you were passed out from whiskey."
"You did not!" She didn't believe him for a second.
"I did! I stared at your cleavage for over twenty minutes. You think I'd have gotten away with that if you were sober?"
She burst out laughing. "That's ridiculous! You didn't really!"
"Did." He waggled his eyebrows up and down, leering at her .
"I can't take you seriously when you do that," she laughed.
"I don't want you to."
She threw a piece of her toast at his face. He caught it and ate it.
"You going to work today?" he asked.
"I think I'm going to quit."
"What? Why?"
"I'm not sure that's what I want to do. My dad runs an architect firm; I think I might see if he'll let me work there."
She'd minored in both art and architecture. At the time she'd thought it was a rather silly thing to do, but she couldn't talk herself out of it. Her hand was always doodling, drawing clothes or shoes, changing the rooflines of buildings.
"Will you be okay with that?" she asked.
"I don't care what you do," he said seriously. "You don't have to work at all if you don't want. You can be an architect, or you can open a tart shop; I don't care. As long as you're happy."
She absolutely loved him. She was honestly the luckiest girl in the world. How everything had worked out so perfectly, she couldn't imagine. If it hadn't been for that one stupid decision, the moment she walked away from her daddy, she would have never, ever met Mitchell Tate. She'd never fallen in love with him. She'd never be his wife.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"So," Tate said, draining his cream coffee, "you should probably call my mom. She's been asking for you, but I said you were out of town for work."
"You lied to your mom for me?" she asked, totally dumbfounded.
"Only for you," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep your parents out of it too."
"It's alright. They would have found out eventually. I want him to be part of my life." He nodded, accepting that. "I want you to meet him," she said. "I hope... I mean... I want you to like him. He's... he's..."
"I get it," Tate said. "If he loves you, I'll like him."
She smiled, happiness welling inside her, threatening to overspill.
"Anyway," he said, "I have to go. I'll see you tonight?"
"I'll be here with bells on." She grinned at him. "That's it though. Just bells. "
His eyes blanked for a moment as he tried to picture it. "Don't mess with me," he said, voice low.
"Not about bells. Never."
He kissed her, kissed her like he'd just returned from war, and she clung to him, returning his kisses with equal fervor, equal love. By the time he left, he was late.
She stared out the window, watching him leave. For a while there she had been worried that the ability to totally screw everything up was genetic. Not that she hadn't screwed up. She had. Time after time after time.
But the fact was, if she and her daddy weren't such colossal screw-ups, she wouldn't be here right now. With Tate. And he had forgiven her. He had actually forgiven her.
"It's all my fault. My fault. Mine."
David Quinn had written it over and over, on every single page. The burden he must have carried, knowing she'd still be alive if he'd just said no.
It couldn't be easy though. Telling someone you love no. He'd never told Ana no. Just that occasional, "Stay in the car, Sweet Pea" .
Tate hadn't told her no either. Not when she wanted to try the pills. Not when she started drinking whiskey. He hadn't said no until that moment when he'd thought she was dying. He'd said no to save her.
She smiled. He really was perfect. And it didn't bother her at all. She knew she wasn't perfect, but she loved him enough, so much, it would be all right. Everything would be all right.
She called Mrs. Tate. "Amy!" she snapped. "Why haven't you returned my calls?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Tate. I was out of town, really busy. I'm back now."
"It's about time! Your wedding is only two months away!"
Really? Had that much time passed? When? Where had it gone? That couldn't be right. "Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure!"
How long had she been in the hospital? How much time had she lost?
"We still have so much to do!" Mrs. Tate's voice was furious.
"I thought we had it all ironed out."
"That's because you're not a Tate! "
No, she wasn't. But she would be soon. "Do you want to meet for coffee?" Amy asked.
"No, you come here! This afternoon."
"Yes, ma'am," Amy said, hanging up the phone with a roll of her eyes.
Mrs. Tate didn't often leave her house. She liked to stay home, behind the comfort of her solid oak doors, with her clever little alarm system, and her bloodthirsty dogs.
Amy didn't particularly like to go there. It had huge windows, but it still felt dark and gloomy. Depressing. But if Mrs. Tate wanted it, Mrs. Tate got it. Except Amy. She didn't want Amy. But Tate did.
Amy swung by DHS, told her boss she was done, ignoring his protests, told Cindy thank you for taking such good care of her clients, grabbed her personal stuff, and walked out the door.
She'd helped a lot of kids. And Amy was proud of that. But Ana didn't particularly want to help children. She wanted to draw, to design, to make modern castles.
She bought a new phone and called Malika. They met for lunch, but Amy refused to apologize. "I quit my job today," she said when Malika finished cussing her out .
"You did? Wow! What're you going to do?"
"Work for my dad. I hope."
It suddenly occurred to her she didn't know how to contact him. She didn't have his phone number. He didn't have hers. She'd deleted all his emails. Deleted deleted. But he'd promised. And they never lied to each other.
"So what did Tate say?"
"I love that man. Have I told you that?"
Malika rolled her eyes. "Only every time I see you."
Amy laughed. "He was mad. I've never really seen him mad, you know. I like it."
"You're a sick woman, Amy Harrison."
"You weren't there. Anyway, he was mad, furious really, but he loves me. He stayed. He actually forgives me, and he's willing to let Daddy be part of our lives."
"He's a saint."
"No. Even better; the sex was fantastic."
"Really, do tell?"
Amy chuckled softly. "Never kiss and tell."
"Fine; don't tell me. One of these days I'll find my own Tate. Did you hear about the chief of police? "
Amy's breath caught in her throat. "What about him?"
"He was murdered. Knocked over the head with a club, in an old cemetery somewhere."
"No!" Amy gasped, like she was surprised. "What happened?"
"No one's saying. Either they don't know or they don't want to release the information yet."
Amy was hoping for don't know. There wasn't any real way they could tie her to Fagan. Or David Quinn for that matter. The only one who knew was Max. Oh God she hoped he kept his mouth shut.
"Are you okay?" Malika asked. "You look a little pale."
"I'm sorry. I was thinking about the wedding." Always with the lies. She had thought she might be done with that.
"I can't believe in two months you're going to be a Tate!" Malika squealed. "Remember how we drooled all over the Tate cousins in high school?"
"I only ever drooled over one," Amy said.
Malika rolled her eyes. "You never had eyes for anyone but Tate. I nearly died of shock when you met him after college. And I actually considered drinking when he asked you out. "
"No!" Amy exclaimed, laughing with her. "I can't believe it."
"Almost!"
"He took me to Della Terra the other day. It's like a castle."
"You really are a princess, you know that?"
Amy just laughed and finished her chocolate mud cake.
After lunch she went to see her parents. It was time consuming cleaning up all her messes. She'd be relieved when all this was over.
They hugged her timidly, and she felt bad for excluding them. Knew how hurt they must have felt. They were good parents. It didn't matter that she had picked them for their money and status, they were still good parents.
"I wanted to apologize," she said. "I should have told you what I was doing to begin with. I just didn't want you to be hurt."
"We understand," Pamela said. "It's important to know where you come from, especially when you're thinking about things like children."
"Exactly! I just wanted to have answers to all the questions I knew they'd ask me someday. Where was I born? What was my favorite toy? And I do now. "
"We're happy for you, dear," Roger said.
"David's a wonderful man." She couldn't bring herself to call him Daddy to their faces, even though she'd long ago stopped calling them Mom and Dad in her mind.
"He's an architect," she added. "He didn't leave me. I left him. I did something I didn't think he could forgive, and I thought it would be easier for him if I was gone. I was wrong. But it gave me you." She would have rather had him.
"And it gave me Tate." Tate was absolutely essential. "So I can't regret it."
They smiled at her, and she hoped they couldn't feel her defection. She didn't want to hurt them. Ana had used them. Ana had had a plan, and they were part of it. Ana had needed them, but she had never loved them.
Amy told them she'd quit, told them she planned on working for David, told them the wedding was still on, nothing had changed.
"I've got to go see Mrs. Tate now. She's in a frenzy about wedding stuff." Amy stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Pamela had never liked it when she rolled her eyes. David Quinn didn't mind .
She drove to the outskirts of town. Mrs. Tate's house was surrounded by other tall houses. Houses with gardens and gardeners. But Mrs. Tate's was the only one with eight foot tall fences and guards.
Amy showed her ID to the guard at the gate, and he opened the gate for her. She drove up the short driveway, parked outside the front door, and showed her ID to the second guard.
She thought it was ridiculous. She'd been coming for over a year. And how on earth could she have changed between the door and the gate?
Mrs. Tate was in her sitting room, even paler than usual. She was drinking her nervous tonic straight out of the jar, which was unlike her. She usually had the decorum to use a glass.
Amy sat and waited. Mrs. Tate didn't like it when Amy spoke first. Mrs. Tate's Doberman stared at Amy, growling softly. Amy resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.
"You still haven't picked the song for your first dance," Mrs. Tate finally snapped.
"Okay. What did you have in mind?"
"Frank Sinatra."
"Really? Frank Sinatra?"
"Sinatra is one of the classiest singers of all time. "
"Okay. Sinatra's fine."
"There aren't enough rooms at the hotel for the entire bridal party. You need to figure out which members you want to cut."
"I only care about you, Mom, and Dad being there with us. It's really important to Tate and me that you guys share our special day with us. Other than that," Amy shrugged, "you pick."
Mrs. Tate glared at her. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.
"Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Tate?"
"You're cheerful. You aren't arguing. You're agreeing with everything I say. I don't like it."
"I'm just so very happy to be marrying Tate. It doesn't matter what the song is or the flowers are or the cake."
Mrs. Tate downed her tonic in a single gulp and glared at her.
Amy made an attempt at small talk. "Did you hear about Police Chief Fagan? Bludgeoned to death with a club. What's the world coming to? Even the chief of police isn't safe."
Mrs. Tate's face paled even more. She leaned towards Amy, eyes burning with hatred. "Three hundred thousand to call off the wedding and disappear from his life forever. "
Never going to happen. Ever. "No thank you."
"Get out!" Mrs. Tate screamed. "I hate you! You're gutter trash! You may have put a shine on it, but that's all you are!"
Amy didn't bother to argue. Mrs. Tate was never going to like her. It was just one of those immutable facts.
"I'll see you at the wedding though?" Amy asked as she stood. "It'd be bad form if you didn't show up. Being a Tate and all."
"GET OUT!" Mrs. Tate screamed.
Amy left.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It wasn't more than a day before he called her. She was glad he had. If he hadn't she'd gone driving, trying to find his first house or the second one. She'd have combed the entire city looking for him. The entire world.
"Ana," he said.
"Daddy." She didn't want to call him dad. She'd never called him dad, and she didn't want to confuse him with Roger in her mind.
"I can't invite you to the wedding," she said.
"I know."
"But I wondered..." She paused. What if he said no? He'd never told her no, but it'd been so long. Maybe he'd learned.
"What?"
"Can I work for you? I know how to draw, I minored in architecture, and I'm really good at reading people. Please?"
For a long time he didn't say a word. Amy's heart slowed to a thump... ... ... thump .
Finally he said, "I'd like that," so softly she almost didn't hear it.
"Thank you! Can I start tomorrow?"
"Don't you have a wedding to plan?"
"Nah. Mrs. Tate's taking care of everything."
"Okay."
He gave her an address, and she told him Tate had forgiven her. They sat in silence for a few minutes. It was awkward. The last time they'd really talked, she'd explained an entire Babysitter's Club plot to him. He'd listened raptly, asking all the right questions.
But now? They didn't know each other. They were strangers. More... But they knew each other better than anyone ever could.
She didn't know if she should say, "I love you. See you tomorrow" or just "See you tomorrow". She didn't know what to say. Finally she just said, "I have to go."
"Okay."
And that was that. So stilted. So strange.
When Tate came home, she was waiting. Wearing nothing but bells in her hair.
"What's this?" Tate asked, voice abnormally pale .
"What?" Amy asked groggily. They'd already made love twice, and she was sleepy.
"This," he said. "These doors."
He dropped the papers from the hospital on the bed beside her. The doors. All fifty-two of them. Four of them circled.
"I was thinking of changing out the front door." Not a lie. She had decided it could use a change. "Max and Malika like this one." She pointed to the double door.
"No," he said, voice strangled. "I don't like that one."
"Okay, what about something with stained glass?"
"I don't care," he said. "Pick whichever one you want, just not that one." He grabbed the paper with the double door, crumpled it in his hands, and threw it towards the trash.
"I need a drink," he said. "Do you want anything?"
"No."
She watched him go with a frown. She hadn't liked the tension in his voice, the undercurrent of fear. But it did make her feel better. She wasn't the only one with secrets. The only one with lies .
She fell back asleep waiting for him to return to bed.
She and Tate married and everything was perfect. They had a perfect baby girl, but Amy forgot everything she had remembered. The baby's first words were "What was your momma like, Momma?" But Amy didn't know. She couldn't remember. All she could remember was Pamela patting her on the head when her goldfish died and telling her it was part of life.
She asked Dr. Winters for more red pills, but Dr. Winters wouldn't give her any. So Amy killed her with an envelope opener and ransacked her office looking for them. She needed to remember.
They were hidden in a secret drawer, and she took them all. Memories came flooding back. Everything came flooding back, but when she stepped back out into the sunlight, everything was gone, and she didn't remember a thing.
She woke holding her head, moaning in agony.
"Amy, are you okay?" Tate sounded worried. He always sounded worried anymore.
She remembered David Quinn. She was going to start work today. With him. She remembered Ana. She remembered Julia Miller. It was a dream. All just a dream .
"Nightmare."
"Sorry."
"Must've been the sushi we ate."
"I dreamed about a tax lawyer with a sense of humor," he said. "What did you dream about?"
"What?"
"A lawyer with a sense of humor."
"Is that a nightmare or just a dream?"
"I'm not sure. What about you?"
They were a team. She couldn't lie to him. Not anymore. "I dreamed about taking the pills again." But she could be like David Quinn and not reveal all the parts.
"Sorry."
"It was weird."
In the morning she read the paper. The front page article summed up the chief of police's untimely death. Apparently a hobo in desperate need of a fix had stumbled across the chief as he was walking through the cemetery to visit his parent's graves.
The hobo had caught the chief by surprise, bludgeoned him over the head, stolen his wallet and gun and proceeded to spend all the cash on alcohol .
They had apprehended the murderer in the graveyard, wallet in hand, gun in his backpack. He had a rap sheet already. Assault with a deadly weapon among other things, and he had nothing to say for himself.
How neat. All tied up with a neat little bow. It couldn't have been more neat if she'd planned it. Everything was coming together just fine. It wouldn't be long now.
David Quinn greeted her with a smile. She hugged him, glad already to see him again. He showed her the office and introduced her to the staff as his daughter. Then he took her to a meeting with a client.
She loved it. She loved watching him talk to people, she loved it when he drew up a quick sketch of something, just like he'd drawn for her as a child, lines long and hard, just on the edge of sloppy.
