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At best, we had a few more days together and nothing more. I had to go back to New York and pick up my real life. His life was here.
I no longer believed he was any kind of threat to my uncle. Yes, he’d had some episodes of rage, but one of those times had been in reaction to being attacked, and the other had been the result of a violent nightmare. Both had been borne of his life behind bars. I'd never once seen him even raise his voice to any of the ranch hands. I'd seen him around the horses, and he’d been as gentle and patient with them as when he'd been a kid.
Whatever had caused him to go after my father, I didn't believe he was capable of that kind of behavior today. Maybe I was being foolish, but I just couldn't put the Xavier I knew in the same column as the Xavier I'd seen standing over my father's body. And as hard as it was to admit, the knowledge that my father had paid Ronny and his friends to beat up Xavier had taken root in my brain and refused to let go. I’d been so keen on putting everything on Xavier that I’d never even considered that maybe there'd been a reason for his actions. It was another conversation he and I needed to have, but I was afraid of what I’d hear.
I’d tried talking to my mother about it a few times over the phone, but she'd sworn that she'd never heard anything about my father having Xavier beaten. I was torn between loyalty to my family and my need for Xavier.
"It can't be like it was, Xavier," I said as I looked out the window. "I'm not asking you to hold my hand in public or anything, but you can't just turn your back on me—"
"I know," Xavier said. His hand covered mine on the seat again. And this time when he laced his fingers with mine, he didn't let go.
I decided to move on to different territory because I was too nervous to talk about what would happen when we got home. I wanted Xavier again so badly, but I was terrified of what would happen after we’d taken our pleasure in each other’s bodies.
In the past, that had been enough with other guys. But despite having no future with Xavier, I still couldn't have it only be about sex. Not with him. As it was, the whole thing was making it virtually impossible to leave Eden unscathed. My only reasoning was that I could either spend the next few days mourning the loss of Xavier, or I could spend as much time with him as possible and then mourn once I was gone. Since mourning was in the cards either way, I’d take what I could get until then.
I thought of Uncle Curtis and whether or not he would've chosen more time with Del if he'd known the end was near, or if he'd have tried to somehow distance himself to protect his heart. But I knew the answer to that before I even finished posing the question to myself. Maybe my relationship with Xavier wasn't anywhere near that level, but I knew in my heart that if things had been different, it could be… at least for me. I wasn't just basing that on the couple weeks I'd been back in Eden. I’d had those feelings when I’d been fifteen years old. I’d tried to convince myself that they'd all gone away when Xavier had done what he’d done, but that was just one more lie in a line of many. I'd worked so hard to protect myself from the hurt, but it hadn't done any good.
I was tired of running.
I was tired of pretending to be something I wasn't.
At least here in Eden when it was just me and Xavier, I could be exactly who I wanted to be. It was a gift that only he could give me.
"Is your mom okay?" I asked.
He was silent for a moment, then said, "No."
His answer surprised me because I'd approached the topic as a form of polite conversation. I remembered what he'd said to me the day he’d come into the office. He’d wanted to talk about his mother. He'd used that exact word… talk. But I hadn’t wanted to listen.
I squeezed his hand and said, "Tell me."
"She’s bipolar. She's had it for years but was only recently diagnosed. After I got out of prison."
I’d met Olivia Price several times when I’d been a kid. She'd worked as a housekeeper for my parents. I'd always really liked her. She'd made cookies for me and Xavier when she had time and she’d always had a kind word for me. I hadn't ever really seen her with her husband, but I’d had the same strange thought every time I’d looked at her… that she'd seemed sad. Sure, she’d smiled and laughed, but there'd always been this underlying sorrow that I'd wondered about.
