Taking the Leap (River Rain 3)

I shut up.

“Go on,” he encouraged gently.

I took a big breath.

And went on.

“Even before they got divorced, I spent almost all my summers in England.”

“Why you call your mom ‘mum.’”

I nodded. “That, and she wouldn’t allow us to call her anything else.”

“Okay.”

“I liked it there. In England, it’s a way of life to be outdoors. When it’s nice weather, when it isn’t. Folks hit the beaches. Bodies cover parks. People walk places. The footpaths are ancient. They’re also public. It doesn’t matter how rich you are, if you have a footpath going through your property, you can’t stop anyone from using it.”

“That’s cool,” he muttered.

“I know,” I agreed. “I wandered a lot when I was out there. That’s what they call it. Wandering. I like that too. That it’s called wandering. There’s obviously intent when you go out and do it, but it’s also just doing it. Like, it’s so peaceful. You’re going nowhere, and you have all the time in the world to get there.”

He started stroking my back.

His hand still at my neck started stroking my jaw.

Both felt nicer than I’d imagined they’d feel, and I’d had my fair share of daydreams about Rix and what it would feel like if he was mine, so that was saying something.

I kept talking.

“I honestly have no idea if my father and mother ever loved each other. Even their wedding pictures, earlier shots of them at parties or out on boats or on the beach, they’re all posed. For Mum, not a hair out of place, lipstick always perfect. For Dad, it’s like he thinks people won’t take him seriously if he gets caught smiling, so he just doesn’t do it very often. Dad being taken seriously is a big thing for him. He was taught he has to prove himself, because my grandfather had to prove himself, and my great grandfather, and so on. They came into vast wealth, and it wouldn’t do for a man who’s less than a man to inherit it.”

“Right,” Rix murmured when I paused.

“I guess the lack of affection might seem natural for Mum, given the stereotypical English reserve. But trust me, it’s not. I spent a lot of time there and some English folk might not be overtly friendly, like Americans, or the Scots and Irish, but they’re friendly and they’re kind and loving. On his part, sometimes it felt like Dad actually forgot we existed. I know Blake felt it too. Her response was to act up. Dad’s response was to teach us both a lesson for her transgressions. My response to that, and the fact that Mum and Dad fought a lot, like, a serious lot, was to try not to be seen, heard, or noticed at all.”

He winced, and both hands stopped moving, his arm curving tight around my back, the other hand cupping my jaw.

Then he started to look pissed.

My hands were resting on his chest, but when I saw his shift in mood, I pressed in. “Don’t be mad, Rix. I escaped.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he lied, because I could tell he was still ticked.

“Anyway,” I carried on in an effort to move us past that, “it wasn’t just that. I wasn’t like them. I never was. I felt it even before I knew what I was feeling. I think Grandmother Brooke was like me. She played golf and she’d drive herself places with her chauffer riding shotgun and give him the keys to take off when she got where she was going. But when he came back to get her, he’d get out, and she’d slide behind the wheel.”

Rix’s lips tipped up.

Yeah, that was Grandmother Brooke.

She was a character.

“And she’d snipe at Blake when she was lazing in front of the TV or taking too long to do her hair, ‘The sun is shining, girl, by God, what’s the matter with you?’ She would buy me fancy dresses and make me wear them when she took me out to tea or to the opera, but whenever I pulled one on, she’d say, ‘Never forget, when you’re amongst the enemy, be sure you’re wearing brilliant camouflage.’ Then we’d go out for that tea or to the opera and she’d say things like, ‘The key, my girl, is not what they think it is. They try to hide they’re watching, but you know they are. Foolish waste of energy. It never fails to take someone off guard when they know you’re watching.’ And then she’d blatantly be up in everyone’s business. I don’t think she saw a performer sing a single note onstage. Her opera glasses were always turned to the audience.”

Rix grinned.

I grinned too.

Then I stopped doing it and dropped my eyes past his lips.

“And I’ll never forget, when she got sick and knew she was dying, she called me to her, told me what she was leaving me and demanded, ‘The most important thing I’ll ever say to you, Alexandra, is that not one single soul in history is remembered for toeing the goddamned line.’”