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Chapter Twenty-One
Vivian
There is a strange woman in my house.
I don’t know her but Walt does, and he’s fond of her, given his wide, goofy smile. He excitedly introduces her as Dee. I recognize the name. This is one of the “friends” he lived with while he was in Atlanta. Oddly enough she resembles him. She’s thin with dark hair, though she’s a good foot shorter than him, and covered in tattoos. Just on her arms and legs from what I can tell, but there could be more.
Beneath a pile of black eye makeup are pale blue eyes. She doesn’t strike me as a particularly warm person, but she’s friendly. She’s chattering about how she recently achieved her thirty days of sobriety. Hence the visit to Clear Ridge.
“We’re heading out for tacos. You want to come with?” Walt asks.
No way am I going on a date with my brother and this chick. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he has a friend in town to occupy his time who isn’t me, but I’m not hanging out with them after a full day of work. I mentally tack on that Walt hasn’t worked a full day in a very, very long time. I want to vent, but I don’t feel comfortable in front of a guest.
“Can’t. Nate and I have plans tonight.”
Before Dee walks outside she turns, her hand on the doorframe. “Walt told me about your boyfriend. Said he owns a bunch of properties. I heard he’s super rich.”
I don’t know what to say so I nod. My brother also used to be “super rich.” I wonder what he’s told her about our family, if anything.
“The car is here,” she tells him and then she skips outside to climb into an Uber. Walt tells her “one second.” After she scampers outside, he turns to me. “Can I borrow twenty bucks?”
“Is that why you invited me? So that I’d pay for dinner?”
“Don’t be a bitch, Viv. I need an allowance or something.”
“You need a job.” But I’m already en route to my purse. I hand him forty dollars and he makes a plea for an additional twenty. I give that to him too. I don’t have the energy to argue or teach him a lesson tonight. I have a feeling it wouldn’t stick anyway.
After he walks out the door, I call Nate. Before I can launch into my tirade, he says, “Come to Grand Marin. I’ll take you to dinner.” Then he shouts goodbye over what sounds like large machinery chugging away in the background.
I guess venting can be done in person as easily as over the phone. I drive to the job site and find him in the office, hovering over a laptop. He’s dressed down in cargo pants and a T-shirt today. This is probably the most dressed down I’ve ever seen him.
“The wall looks good.” I point over my shoulder and his eyes flare with heat. That was the first time we met. Had we known then what we know now… “Doing some of your own dirty work?”
He doesn’t honor my joke with an answer, standing from his desk to kiss me hello. “I hope you’re okay with casual dinner or carry out. I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Nope. Eight course chef’s menu or I walk.”
I’m teasing, but he nods his head curtly.
“I’ll make a reservation.”
“You do well with high maintenance, do you know that?”
He grins. Yeah. He knows.
Within half an hour, we are being seated at a very relaxed Mexican restaurant. Of course I didn’t let him make reservations. That’s ridiculous. He would’ve though. He’s spoiling me and I’m starting to like it. Not because it reminds me of my old life—but because this is a whole new experience. Nate is a new experience.
I like the chips and salsa here. La Piñata is a place I’ve been to more than once. After a quick look around to determine this wasn’t the same taco joint where Walt and Dee absconded to, I relax.
“So you were saying…” Nate motions for me to talk while he drags a chip through the dish of salsa. I started to tell him about what was going on with Walt on the drive over, but then he took a phone call. The gap gave me time to reconsider my approach. I no longer feel like fuming, unless it’s at Walt, but that will have to wait.
I summarize, explaining how I gave my brother and his “friend” money for dinner. “I don’t know where she’s staying while she’s in town. I bet she’s staying with Walt. Also, me.”
“Tell her she can’t.” He shrugs as if it’s that easy. Arguably it is. Telling Walt is the hard part.
“I don’t want to let him down,” I mutter, noting how weak that sounds.
“You’re afraid if you upset him he’s going to start drinking or using again, aren’t you?”
