“Good. I feel better already,” she said, finally relaxing and nestling against me. “Promise me I’m the cowboy.”
“You’re the cowboy, baby,” I said. “I’m the bed.”
Taking me by surprise, she hugged me. “Thank you, James. Thank you for helping my brother. You’re a good person.”
I lifted her chin in my hands, and I kissed her softly on the lips. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “I’m the cowboy, and I say you’re wrong.” She ran her hands through my hair again. “So… you’ve seen some of my really ugly skeletons now. I seem to rememb
er last night you said you had some in your closet, too. Wanna share? So we can balance the ugliness between us?”
I looked out the window. It was a beautiful, sunny June day. “Do you remember what I said? About the fact that you don’t want to know?”
“I think that was my line, James.” She traced my jaw with her finger. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand.”
I looked over at her then. The thing was, she did understand. She was the one woman I’d met in decades with whom it was easy. Even though it wasn’t easy. Audrey was the only woman I’d met in forever that I felt connected to.
* * *
“I lost someone close to me. A girlfriend.”
“I’m so sorry. When was this?”
“A long time ago. The summer after high school.” I rubbed my face. I hadn’t talked about this ever, really. Maybe a few words to Todd when he asked me if I was okay. He’d been so young when it happened. I don’t think he understood how it wrecked me.
“Her name was Danielle. We’d dated our senior year at Philips Andover. I’d never met anyone like her before—she was a scholarship student, from a very different background than me. She was brilliant. And open. And kind.” I smiled at the memory of her.
“She sounds lovely,” Audrey said. “What happened?”
“She was going to Brown in the fall, and I wanted to change my plans and follow her there. My parents didn’t approve. I’d been accepted to Harvard. That’s where my father went, and that’s where my father wanted me to go. They were against the relationship, anyway. Her family was lower middle class, nobodies from Tewksbury. Actually, they were really nice people—I’m still in touch with them. Which means they still send me a Christmas card.
“But just because I thought she was wonderful and her family was great didn’t mean that she was acceptable to my parents. The fact that she’d gotten a full-boat scholarship to Brown for biology didn’t earn her any points, either. She didn’t have the pedigree. They wanted me to attend Harvard and end the relationship. I fought with them about it the whole summer.
“One night Danielle came over, and my parents were horrible to her. Really vicious. They told her that she was breaking our family apart by trying to get me to follow her to Brown. Which she wasn’t—that’d been my idea. But knowing my parents the way I do, I just sat there. There was no use fighting them. Danielle became hysterical and left.”
He paused for a beat. “She got into a car accident that night, Audrey. On her way home. And she died.”
Audrey sat there, holding my hand and looking white with shock. “I’m so sorry.” She looked as if she was going to cry for me. “But you can’t blame yourself for that. She got into an accident. You didn’t cause it.”
“I did nothing to defend her that night. My parents told her she was unacceptable to our family. It was like they’d gutted her. And then she left, sobbing. I never heard someone cry like that before.” The memory of it still haunted me.
“There was a thunderstorm, and the police said the visibility was bad. She hydroplaned and went off the road, into a guardrail. That never would have happened if she were calm—I know that. And she had her whole life in front of her. I took that away.”
“James.” She took my face in her hands. “You can’t carry that guilt around with you forever. It was an accident. Yes, she was upset. But it wasn’t your fault. Your parents must feel horrible about it, though.”
I looked out the window again, trying to calm the sharp edges I felt inside of myself. It was like this every time I thought of Danielle. There was so much regret it physically hurt.
“My mother said it was fate.” My voice sounded dead to my own ears.
“She did not,” Audrey said. “Please tell me that’s not true.”
I shrugged. “She was appropriately mournful to begin with. She went to the service, said all the right things. She donated an obscene amount of money to the scholarship fund Danielle’s parents set up in her memory. My mother is a master at putting on a show.
“Still, I knew she was relieved. And at Christmas that year I drank myself into a stupor and accused her of as much.”
“And?” Audrey asked.
“And she told me that I was lucky. That Preston luck and fate had given me an out.” The memory’s sharp edges of pain dulled to a flat hate.