Lady Luck Read online

  The good thing was, with that many people, all of them wanting Ty’s time and to get to know me, distance from him didn’t seem unusual, so I nursed that as best I could. He was in huddles, I was in huddles. Sometimes, we’d find ourselves in the same huddle and his arm would move casually around my shoulders and I’d smile bright and listen hard so I didn’t miss anything but mostly so I wouldn’t dissolve into tears again.

  And those tears I was holding back were because his arm slid casually around my shoulders, tucking me to his side, a place I liked to be but no matter our physical closeness, he was gone. I saw it in his impassive face which he didn’t only give to me. He was going through the motions and I wasn’t the only one to notice this. Tate caught it early on, Krystal not long after and Wood not long after that.

  But they didn’t say anything. They watched but said not a word. We ate, we drank, we cut the cake which Ty flatly refused to do in a traditional wedding way no matter how much everyone was teasingly trying to push him to do it. I ended up doing it, saying stupid shit about how the superhero Mr. Humongo was above cutting cakes and didn’t use the laser beams he could shoot from his eyes for trivial purposes, making people laugh and doing all this in an effort to cover for him.

  Then we opened presents. Like Ty, his friends were generous. A whole set of brand new, stylish, expensive stoneware including serving platters, bowls, creamer and sugar, the whole enchilada. It was awesome, the tops and insides a shiny, dusky sky blue, the backs and outsides a gorgeous matte dark gray. Also a whole set of beautifully shaped glasses including drinking, wine and even martini glasses. And a whole set of unusual but kickass cutlery. And, last, a new KitchenAid coffeemaker.

  “Ty’s got good shit but he’s a man. Men buy expensive TVs and mattresses. They do not think of stoneware,” Maggie explained to me after I’d opened everything (Ty also didn’t open presents) then to Ty with a wicked smile she said, “Goodwill, honey. That’s where your old stuff is. Kiss it good-bye.”

  Ty sighed. I forced a laugh that I hoped didn’t sound forced.

  “And Tate told me Ty told him you liked your coffee,” Laurie whispered in my ear, surprising me with this news. “So I sent Pop and Jim-Billy to the home store to get you a good coffeemaker so you’d be covered.”

  There it was again. Good people. Generosity. Thoughtfulness. Kindness.

  I smiled at her and it wasn’t forced but my eyes were again wet.

  Her return smile was warm and she gave me a hand squeeze. I knew she saw the wet but thankfully she didn’t mention it.

  Presents didn’t herald the end of the party though, night fell and they kept on going. I liked them, they were fun, their vibe was good enough to cut through my worry but I still wanted them to go so I could talk to Ty.

  They eventually did but by that time, I was slightly drunk, dead on my feet and Tate, Wood, Bubba and Deke sent their ladyfolk home with others and they moved to the front deck with Ty getting close to me and saying, “Go on up. I’ll be up later,” then not waiting for an answer and following the men.

  It was time for a man huddle. I knew a woman never messed with that. And with those men, I knew she never, never messed with it.

  So I went on up and fell asleep before he came up.

  I woke up with him gone and no note. Mid-morning, my cell rang and it was him saying he had the Charger and was “seein’ to shit” in town and didn’t know when he’d be back. I didn’t get that single word in edgewise before he disconnected.

  I spent that day getting used to his house and phoning my girls in Dallas to see how things were progressing.

  Ella told me three boxes of stuff were already in the post, shoes and clothes. She was still sorting and would get back to me.

  Then I gabbed with Bessie handing her the same story with the same omissions I gave her Mom, skirting pointed questions because Bessie could smell bullshit a mile away and finally steering her into talking about herself, telling her I didn’t want to think of that shit and wanted us just to act normal. I felt shit about doing this. She was my best friend and I never kept anything from her but with the way things were with Ty and me, I didn’t have it in me to go into full disclosure. Bessie gave in but I knew she didn’t like it nor did she buy it. She was worried about me. That made me feel more guilt but I set it aside. I was feeling too much, something had to go and Bess had been through the thick and the thin of it with me. She’d stick through a new thin.

  I also called Margot and she told me that she’d talked to the HR Director, a woman who had been there since the doors opened five decades ago (slight exaggeration), a woman who hired me, a woman who supported my four promotions, a woman who talked the CEO into taking a chance on me as head buyer even though I’d been assistant buyer for only a year and a half and never been allowed on a buying trip (the old head buyer was a bitch which was one reason why she was asked, nicely but firmly, to leave) which made me the youngest head buyer in Lowenstein’s history and, last, she was a woman who had no idea about Ronnie or Shift until Margot told her. Therefore she was a woman horrified, not that she’d employed me, but that I’d had to live with that. She was also stunned (in a good way) that I’d never let that leak into my work. And when Margot transferred my call to her she was a woman who told me I was brave, she admired me, she wished me all the luck in the world and she’d be happy to give me a stellar recommendation when it was needed, “You just call, shugah. Me and Lowenstein’s will be there for you.”

  After hanging up with her, I realized I’d forgotten that Texan women liked strength, the quieter, the better, Texan women liked survivors and Texan women stuck together.

  I should have remembered.

  There you go. Thanks to Margot I left a bridge unburned and thanks to Ella I had clothes and shoes coming. Two good things.

  When Ty said he didn’t know when he’d return, he meant he was going to return when I was asleep.

  And he did.

  Then he was gone again when I woke up. No note. No Charger. Another mid-morning phone call.

  At my greeting, he said this: “At the garage, Wood took me back on. I start today. Boys are goin’ to Bubba’s after so I’ll be late. Wood knows we just got the Charger right now so he’ll pick me up for work tomorrow so you’ll have wheels. Later.”

  Then he disconnected. That was it. He disconnected.

  I’d said, “Hey, Ty,” and that was all I said.

  And he did, indeed, get home late. I’d tried to stay up but I couldn’t. I wanted to talk to him or maybe, at that point, yell at him and I wanted that bad. Bad enough to stay up as long as I could. But I couldn’t stay up long enough that was how late he stayed out.

  And again the next day I woke up and I did it early but no Ty, no note and that morning, no call. No call that afternoon. And no call that evening when five o’clock went to six, six went to seven and seven slid past eight.

  And at this point, I was pissed. He was supposed to be a newlywed too. I didn’t know what his business was and maybe he was seeing to it. Any man let out of prison would want to get on with his life, I guessed, so starting a job would be good. I could see that. But disappearing for an entire day? Going out with his buds for drinks after work, drinks that lasted into the wee hours? Not coming home until way late? How did any of that say newlywed?

  What the fuck was up with that?

  This anger stopped me from calling him because I worried I’d shout at him over the phone and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do that because if I did, it was easy for him to hang up. When I shouted at him, I wanted it to be hard for him to get away from what I was saying.

  At a quarter to nine, he came home in sweaty workout clothes, long shorts, skintight, sleeveless shirt, carrying a workout bag and two plastic grocery bags.

  “Yo,” he said to me at my place on the couch watching TV.

  Uh… yo?

  Three days with the definition of minimal conversation, he comes home when I’m awake and he says, “Yo”?
/>   Then he dropped the workout bag, turned to the counter, dumped the grocery bags on it and started to take stuff out of them.

  I turned the volume down on the TV, rolled off the couch and approached the kitchen asking, “Where have you been?”

  He turned slightly to me, very slightly, looked down at himself, glanced at me then turned back to the counter.

  Although I knew these actions were a form of communication, he didn’t respond verbally.

  I sucked in a calming breath so I didn’t unleash hellfire.

  Then I started, “Ty –”

  “Wiped,” he cut me off. “Gonna make a shake, hit the shower and hit the sack.”

  It was then I saw he had a package of strawberries, a bunch of bananas, a pot of yogurt and a big, plastic vat of something I didn’t know what it was. He pulled the blender to him and started to peel a banana.

  “Um… we need to talk,” I said, putting my hands flat on the island where I stood opposite him, the island between us, Ty at the counter at the back wall.

  “’Bout what?” he asked.

  About what?

  “Where do you want me to start?” I asked back as he dumped the banana into the blender then opened the strawberries.

  “Don’t care. Just start. Like I said, I’m wiped so, sooner we get it done, sooner I can hit the shower.”

  I stared at him as he pulled the stems off of the (unwashed) berries and started to add them to the banana.

  “Ty –” I whispered and he turned to me.

  “Spit it out. I’m not fuckin’ with you. I’m not in the mood for this but if you got something to say, say it.”

  I swallowed against a throat that was closing and this was because, suddenly, I wasn’t pissed anymore.

  I was something else.

  And that something else was understanding that I’d been wrong that day we’d arrived in Carnal. He hadn’t shut down after our kiss. This wasn’t the closed Ty. This was a different Ty. This was an asshole Ty.

  And it hurt to know that there was an asshole Ty.

  “I…” I started, not knowing what to say, he went back to his strawberries and then I tried to start with something easy. “I don’t know what you want me to be doing.”

  He didn’t respond. He finished with the strawberries, leaned way to the side, opened a drawer, grabbed one of our awesome new spoons and went after the yogurt.

  “Ty,” I called. “I can’t spend my days hanging around and watching TV. What am I supposed to be doing?”

  “Starting a life,” he told the blender, spooning in yogurt.

  “How?” I asked.

  “How?” he asked the blender.

  “Yeah, how?”

  He opened the big vat, dug in with his hand, came out with a scoop full of powder and dumped it in the blender saying, “What people do. You want a job, get one. You don’t want one, I can cover you. Deal with your shit in Dallas. Buy groceries. Clean the house. Do what people do.”

  He screwed the lid on the vat of powder and went to the fridge. I watched him get a big handful of ice and go back to the blender and drop it in. Then he went back to the fridge, got the milk (Maggie had kindly stocked us up) and splashed some of that in. He put the milk beside the blender, shoved the lid on top and fired it up. Then he stopped it, took the lid off and drank directly from it.

  I didn’t speak throughout this. I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t like the feeling that I was right there and he was acting like he didn’t know I was even on the same planet.

  He was halfway through his shake when I said quietly, “Something’s changed.”

  He turned to me and leaned his hips into the counter.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Something’s changed. We’re here. This starts. No fuckin’ around. I got shit to do, it’s important and I gotta focus on it. Vacation’s over. Time to earn your fifty K.”

  Then he threw back more shake like he hadn’t just delivered a verbal blow to the gut. And this blow was reminding me about the fifty K, something, for some stupid, insane reason, I thought we’d gone beyond making us something we obviously were not.

  Even so, to remind him of who I thought we had become, when he dropped his arm, I whispered, “That wasn’t nice.”

  His blank but still beautiful eyes leveled on mine. “Never promised I’d be nice.”

  “You’d been being nice,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah,” he affirmed then said, “Mistake. Told you in Vegas, been in chains five years, don’t need anything chaining me.”

  Blow two.

  “I’m not chaining you,” I told him, my voice trembling.

  “Woman, you’re pussy and never met pussy that didn’t come with a chain. Some of them are heavier than others. Don’t wanna find out how heavy yours is.”

  Another blow. That one savage.

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” I whispered.

  “Well I did,” he replied then threw back the last of the shake, put the blender on the counter and left the milk, banana peel, strawberry stems and everything where it lay as he headed to the steps saying, “Hittin’ the shower then goin’ to bed. Wood’s comin’ again in the morning to get me. Man who was lookin’ after my ride’s bringin’ it back tomorrow. Probably see you tomorrow night.”

  Then he was up the steps and gone.

  I stood at the counter seeing nothing. Then I moved around the island and cleaned up his mess. Then I went back to the TV.

  I didn’t go to bed until way late and I did this only after spending a good deal of time wondering if I was going to do it at all. And that wondering included whether I should sleep on the couch or whether I should write him a note, tell him to go fuck himself and shove his fifty K up his ass and then get in my car and go.

  For some reason, I went up to bed.

  Now was now.

  I stared at the ceiling realizing that I was hurt and angry, both in equal measure. Ty had opened to me and showed me something beautiful then for some fucked up reason all in his head, he snatched it away from me.

  And I had two choices. Either I break my back and work him to pull that back out again, help him to deal with whatever he was dealing with, get him to trust me, show him that whatever demons he was battling, he could let them go and I could give him a good life. Or I could do my job, collect my fifty thousand dollars and move the fuck on.

  I considered these choices.

  I loved Ronnie, I loved him a lot. I loved the way he could make me laugh and the look in his eyes when he looked at me, even early on, when his future was bright, he’d look at me like he couldn’t believe his luck. I loved that he gave me a family. I loved our quiet moments when I could forget our lives were a complete mess and that shadow he cast blocked out the sun. No matter what Ty said about Ronnie, and he was probably right, still, I knew there was something there for Ronnie, something he got from me. And I liked giving it to him so I did it even longer than I should.

  But even though I had years with Ronnie and only five good days with Ty Walker, I knew, if he let me in, I could love him more than Ronnie. With all that I gave to Ronnie, all the devotion, every last chance, I still knew I could love Ty more. I didn’t know how I knew it but by the time we hit the “Welcome to Carnal” sign, I knew it down to my bones.

  But I didn’t need this shit anymore. I’d broken my back and laid a man in the ground who couldn’t have an open casket because his face was blown off even though I’d spent years begging him to leave that life behind, a life that could lead to that and it did. Now I was with a man who bought a bride and needed hundreds of thousands of dollars to take care of some unknown business, who could give me something beautiful, snatch it away and calmly stand opposite me and talk to me about my pussy coming with a chain.

  I didn’t need that shit.

  I’d been right while searching for a wedding dress. I’d been wrong about changing my mind.

  I needed to give up while the giving up was good.

  Deciding (again) to
do that, I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom.

  The interior of Ty’s house was more awesome than the exterior. He didn’t have a lot of stuff but what he had was excellent quality, stylish and expensive. This was probably why he didn’t have a lot because, before his life was interrupted, he’d been patiently accumulating, buying the best, happy to wait until he could afford the next addition because it had to be right, what he wanted, the “nice shit”.

  I didn’t know if he bought the condo at build but either he or the people who ordered it had to have chosen every upgrade. Gleaming marble tile in the bathrooms. Shining oak floors. Fabulous slate floors in the kitchen. Top of the line appliances. Granite countertops in kitchen and in bathrooms.

  The top bedroom was the entire floor though stuttered, the balcony off of it running the entire length but being the roof of the second floor. There was a staircase going through the middle of the house on the upper two floors which meant that there were three sections of the top bedroom. A wide back where the furniture was and two big areas on either side of the staircase that were void of anything. It had floor to ceiling windows too and the balcony off had a wooden railing. Completing this area were a huge bathroom with a big, oval tub that could fit two, a separate shower, a toilet in its own room and a very long counter with two basins and a huge mirror lit by fantastic, cool-as-shit lights as well as a large walk-in closet.

  Ty only had a bed, two nightstands and two dressers in that room, one dresser tall, one long with a mirror. All this was handsome but sparse. There wasn’t even a rug to cover the floorboards under the bed, in fact, there were no rugs in the house because he obviously hadn’t gotten around to buying rugs.

  There was an enormous amount of space left over. You could put couches and chairs up there. Have a TV space and a reading space, one on either side of the stairs. Deck furniture on the balcony with thick cushions, I’d pick lounges.

  It was already fabulous but it could be spectacular.

  I would, no doubt, never see that. I was pissed at Ty but I still hoped that he did whatever he had to do and then went back to building his life and filling it with “nice shit”.