Sweet Fate Read online

  “He looks like that guy from the Monopoly game,” Audrey whispered at my side. “He’s only missing the monocle.”

  He did indeed, but… “Rich Uncle Pennybags does not have a monocle.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No. That’s Mr. Peanut. And also Scrooge McDuck.”

  “Scrooge McDuck has spectacles,” she said defiantly. “And your error about that makes me less likely to believe you about Rich Uncle Pennybags not having a monocle—is that really his name? On the other hand, you are very wise. Maybe I should trust you.”

  “I am wise,” I agreed teasingly. “And I know my rich old men.”

  She put her hand up to straighten my bow tie. “Not so old. Not old at all, really.” Her hand lingered on my chest, and I could feel the warmth of it through both the layers of my shirt and my undershirt, all the way to my skin, where it branded like a hot iron. She looked up at me, her gaze trapping mine. Her expression grew serious and intense, and if she kept looking at me like that, staring into me for even one more second, I was going to kiss her.

  “You are not going to believe this!” Dena, the woman with the hired date, pulled at Audrey’s arm for her attention. “Am I interrupting? I’m so sorry if I am. I just have to talk to Audrey.”

  Audrey glanced furtively between me and her coworker, apparently torn between the two of us.

  “Go ahead. I can entertain myself for a few moments.” A minute alone was probably a good idea right about now, anyway. I needed to regroup, gather the wits she always managed to scatter back about me.

  She seemed soothed by my permission, her features relaxing. “I’ll be right back.” She stood on her tippy toes and gave me a peck on the cheek before rushing away with her friend.

  I felt the place where her mouth had been for long moments after she walked away.

  She hadn’t been gone long when I was approached by a brunette with a silver streak in her hair. “Good evening, we haven’t met yet. I’m Jana Spruce, the art director here at the Gallery. Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

  Jana—Audrey’s boss.

  “I am, thank you. It’s a lovely event. I’m here at the request of one of your employees, I believe. Audrey Lind. I’m Dylan Locke.”

  Jana lifted one brow in surprise. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Locke.” She shook my hand. Hers were cold and bony, especially compared to Audrey’s warm ones.

  Already I missed the heat of her.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Jana said, stepping in closer, “but it is my job to try to entice you into a donation. We could use your support, Mr. Locke.”

  I scanned the room to be sure Audrey wasn’t watching—she wasn’t—and pulled my checkbook from my inside pocket. “I’m very interested in making a donation. Could you tell me what the money is going for? Specifically?” I started to fill in the check with the details—the Pay To, the date.

  “Certainly. We are always in need of funds, of course. Grants and endowments only go so far, I’m afraid. Donations cover daily operations and pay our staff. This particular fundraiser is meant to pay for the renovations we have set for January.”

  I’d read about these renovations in the paper. “I thought the renovation had already been paid for. Wasn’t that part of the promise to the public before going on to the next phase?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Locke. You know your facts. It’s the details surrounding the renovation that need to be paid for. In particular, we are looking for funding for an artist who will watch over the art while the work is being done. We need a specialist to be sure that there will be no damage done to any of the pieces. We’re hoping to give that position to one of our current interns.”

  In other words, this money could secure Audrey’s place at the Gallery.

  Naturally, I would donate it. “How much do you need to fill the whole salary?”

  “We aren’t expecting any one person to donate the whole amount. Any sum you give will be gratefully accepted.”

  “How much for the full salary?” Was it wrong to want to keep her here? It might have been, but it was also one thing I could give her when I could give her nothing else.

  Jana said an amount that made me blink—an increase to Audrey’s current pay, no doubt—but it wasn’t too much to put a dent in my checking account. I filled in the total for the entire salary, signed my name, and handed the check over.

  “Mr. Locke, I don’t know what to say. I’m very appreciative.” The way she batted her lashes, it seemed she was interested in more than just the sum I’d given her. She was an attractive woman. And likely born in my generation. Another time, I would have paid more attention to her.

  She handed me a business card from her jacket pocket. When she placed it in my hand she left hers there a little too long. “Here’s my card, if you need anything.”

  From the husky texture in her voice, it was clear she meant anything.

  I took the card and put it in my jacket along with the checkbook.

  “Audrey did say that you would be generous,” Jana continued, heavy with flirtation. “I had no idea how generous.”

  A memory suddenly occurred to me from deep in the past. Ellen and I, on the verge of divorce. I’d finally noticed her cheating, finally confronted her. In one of our more heated arguments, I had asked, “If you wanted to be with other men so badly, why did you stay with me?”

  She had looked me directly in the eye and said, “Because staying with you paid better.”

  Long after the love between us had dissipated, her attraction to my money had lived on.

  Was this why Audrey had brought me here? She’d asked me not to make a donation, but had that been a ruse? Was the content of my pockets what she cared about most? Had she only kept our status as friends because it paid better?

  My throat suddenly felt dry and my skin cold. I looked to where Audrey had disappeared, and found her there again, giggling with Dena. It felt like they were watching me. Had I just walked into the trap they’d set? Willingly, no less.

  I swallowed past the desert in my mouth. “Jana—may I call you Jana?”

  “Of course.”

  “I prefer that my donation remain anonymous, even to Audrey.” Especially to Audrey. I didn’t need to bear the humiliation of her knowing I was such a fool over her.

  Jana agreed and excused herself to mingle with other guests.

  I turned back to Audrey and found her eyes were now glued to something else, someone else—a man who had to be around her age, wearing a hideous tux and crossing the room toward her.

  She ran up to hug him, exclaiming his name loud enough for me to hear from where I was standing. “Percy!”

  I could see things clearly now. Percy, the artist, was the type of man she wanted. A man who saw the world in full color like she did, young enough to give her a gaggle of babies, bold enough to show up at highbrow events wearing a purple suede tux. He likely couldn’t pay to take her to a concert or an opera, but he could give her art in the ways that mattered most to her, on paper, in clay. He was the kind of man she could pine for.

  And where did I fit in?

  Now that I’d paid for her living, I didn’t fit anywhere at all. What other interest would a girl like her have in a guy like me?

  In quick strides, I approached her, wishing I was a different kind of man—a man who made grand gestures and dreamed big dreams—but I could only be who I was. A middle-aged pessimist who longed for someone out of reach.

  “Dylan, this is—” she began when she saw me, but I didn’t let her speak.

  “Audrey, something’s come up. I have to go. I’m sorry.” More sorry than she could ever know.

  She frowned. “Are you sure? I can come with you!”

  “No, you stay.” I left before she could say more, before she could change my mind. Before I could once again be sucked into the fantasy of her.

  I didn’t belong in her world. She didn’t belong in mine. Life after love was a desert. That was where I lived. That was my truth. A
ny vision I had of Audrey being there with me was a mirage.

  Six

  “But I don’t get why I can’t say it,” Aaron said in that godawful whining tone that made me want to claw my eyes out of their sockets.

  We were talking over FaceTime. I usually preferred to converse over the phone where he couldn’t try to interpret every gesture of mine. I also preferred these calls to take place while I was at home, not at the office, but he’d wanted to show me the art piece he’d drawn for class before he took it to school. His drawing was phenomenal, far superior to anything I could have drawn (he’d definitely gotten his talent from his mother’s side), but as often happened these days, our conversation had turned from a complimentary discussion on his shading techniques to a battle about how to speak to adults.

  “Because it’s disrespectful. You shouldn’t call anyone a ‘loser,’ let alone your own father.” I fought the urge to pinch the sides of my nose. This shouldn’t be something I had to explain to a fourteen-year-old.

  “But I was joking!” That blasted whine again. He threw himself down on his mother’s couch—where was she during all of this? She could be helping here. “You don’t understand me.”

  “I do understand you,” I said impatiently. “It makes you feel better about yourself to put other people down, but—”

  “That’s not why I said it! You don’t get it. You don’t understand my humor, you don’t understand my taste in music, you don’t understand anything about me. No one understands me.”

  It was hard to argue with him. I didn’t understand him. But I wanted to. I wanted him to believe I had all the answers and that I knew everything he needed me to know, but I did not, in fact, know anything. I didn’t know why calling someone a loser was a “cool” thing. I didn’t know why he insisted on turning everything into an argument. I didn’t know what it was he wanted from me or what would make him happy or how his mother and I fell apart. I didn’t know if she’d ever loved me or if it had always been about my money or if Audrey had used me for the same reason or if I’d assumed the worst, and most infuriating, I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop thinking about her and the anguished look she’d given me when I’d told her I was leaving Saturday night.

  And right now I didn’t know what else to say to my son.

  It had been so much easier when these disputes could be worked out with a cookie and a cuddle. Where had the time gone?

  “Parents never understand. That’s, like, a law written in the stars somewhere,” Audrey said, and I nearly jumped out of my chair.

  “What, how, what?” I stammered. I’d been facing my computer screen and the windows when she’d walked in behind me, so quietly I hadn’t noticed. More importantly, she’d come in without anyone telling me.

  I leaned back in my chair and peered out my office door, trying to see if Louise, my assistant, was at her desk.

  “There was no one there, so I just walked in. I’m sorry I startled you.” She was trying not to laugh. “And I shouldn’t have interfered. Sorry! I’ll talk to you when you’re done here.”

  She started creeping backward, but Aaron stopped her. “Wait! What were you saying?” He was sitting up again, his face filling the screen.

  She glanced at me, as if to ask permission.

  “By all means.” I wasn’t doing any good here. Besides, I needed a minute to calm my heart down.

  Now that she’d been invited, Audrey had no reservations. She stepped right up to the desk next to me and knelt so he could see her face. “Hi! I’m Audrey. We met once a long time ago, but no worries if you don’t remember. I was just saying that you’re right—parents don’t understand, and they never will. They share your genes, but there’s the generation gap, and frankly, adults are so busy stressing over life, they forget to stop and feel their feelings. They think they’ve felt it all before, so why bother?”

  I had to bite my tongue not to defend myself as both an adult and a parent. Honestly, though, she was right, and I wanted to see where she was going.

  “So all that sucks,” she said empathetically. “But the good news is that there are people who understand you. Maybe you haven’t met them yet, but your world is small now. Get through high school. Once you get in college or are out doing the things you want to do instead of have to do, you’re going to find them. Just wait. It’s totally going to blow your mind.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Aaron said, sounding more upbeat than he had a moment before. He still wore a scowl, but that was his usual look these days. “And I remember you.”

  She beamed. “I’m in London now! Cool, huh? Working with people who totally get me. It gets better, man. Totally better.”

  “Awesome. Thanks.”

  Right. Thanks. Thanks for saying something I should have known to say myself. Thanks for reminding me how completely inadequate and out of touch I was.

  “If this has been settled, can we say goodbye and talk later?” My irritation was apparent. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Your picture is fantastic, Aaron. If you don’t get an award for it, I’ll be very surprised.”

  “It’s just an exhibition. Everyone’s showing their work. There’s no awards, Dad.”

  “Well, there should be.” Like I said, completely inadequate.

  “Can I see?”

  I wanted to be annoyed at Audrey for extending the uncomfortable call, but it was also endearing that she’d asked. She didn’t have to.

  Aaron held up the drawing, a portrait of his mother done in pencil.

  “Oh, my! That’s incredible! You did that yourself? And you’re only fourteen?”

  My chest expanded with pride. “It’s quite good, isn’t it? She knows her stuff, too, Aaron. Audrey works at The National Gallery.”

  “My portraits were never this detailed,” she said, dismissing the attention I’d brought to her. “You’re really good. You have passion for it, and it shows. That’s not something you can teach. Keep it up!”

  I heard Ellen calling Aaron in the background, and I wasn’t in the mood to explain who Audrey was to my ex. “Yes, keep it up. Best get on to school now. I love you, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  He rolled his eyes at my declaration of affection but said it back, quickly, then ended the call. Well, that turned out quite better than it could have.

  Thanks to Audrey.

  I turned my head toward her. “How did you do that?” And could she teach me?

  “Do what?”

  “Talk to him without him transforming into a Gremlin.”

  She blew it off. “It’s easier to listen to someone who isn’t his parent.”

  That wasn’t all of it. “I wouldn’t have even known what to say. I mean, I didn’t know. Everything I said was wrong.”

  She gave me a gentle smile. “I’m closer to his age, is all. I remember what I wished someone had said to me.”

  Pointing out our age difference didn’t help with my mood.

  “I shouldn’t have interfered, though. So I understand if it wasn’t appreciated.”

  God, she could read me. Not quite accurately, but she was close, and that was irritating, for some reason.

  Also irritating was her presence in general. I had walked away from her. Why was she in my office? And why did I want her presence to mean something? There was nothing for it to mean.

  I swiveled my chair sharply to face her. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?” I could feel my mouth curled down in the same frown my son had worn. Maybe he’d gotten that particular expression from me.

  Still on her knees, she sat back on her feet. “I should have called first. That was rude on my part. I just didn’t have the idea to come here until my lunch break was about to start, and I don’t know. I got so consumed with getting here, I didn’t think about it.”

  Her demeanor was genuinely apologetic, and with the addition of her permanently sunny disposition, I couldn’t help but soften. “You came over here on your lunch break?”

  “Yep. I�
�ll have to leave to go back in about five minutes or so. Your office is deceivingly farther away from the museum than I’d guessed.”

  She’d used her lunch break to come see me. I didn’t know whether to be suspicious or delighted.

  “Was there a reason you came by?” Suspicious it was, then.

  “Yeah. I wanted to see if you were okay after you left so quickly on Saturday.”

  And now I was delighted.

  I sat straighter in my chair, leaned forward a little. I could feel the closeness of her. I was the cat and she the fire. I wanted to stretch my paws out in her warmth.

  She seemed to sit up taller as well, stretching toward me. “I didn’t even get to thank you for coming.”

  “You did. I’m sure of it.”

  “Not properly.”

  The heaviness of her tone and the innocent way she looked up at me through her lashes had the unfortunate effect of making me think dirty thoughts. Very dirty thoughts. She was on her bloody knees, for Christ’s sake. (Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.)

  As always, she was oblivious to my struggle. “Jana said she spoke to you, too,” she said, “so I got points for your being there—and may I say good job not letting her talk you into a donation. She’s very persuasive. Anyway, thank you. For coming. You didn’t have to, and it really meant a lot.”

  I bobbed my head in a nod, not quite sure how else to respond. Had she really not wanted me there for my money? Had I jumped to conclusions? I could ask, but I was chicken.

  “It was nothing. Really.” Bawk bawk. Such a coward. “I must admit, I did give a small donation. Nothing to boast about.”

  “Your heart’s too soft,” she said, then we both laughed because it was me we were talking about. “You’re okay, though? What drew you away wasn’t too serious?”

  “Not too serious at all.” She wanted to know, and I felt bad lying to her, but what else could I say? I certainly couldn’t tell her I’d run off because I’d felt used, not when she’d never asked for the money. When she’d specifically asked me not to give anything at all.