Portrait of a Girl Adrift Read online

  Leila often rationalized that she couldn’t miss what she never had when it came to her mother, but with Joe—he had been such an influential part of her early childhood. She ached for the relationship they once enjoyed, and she resented the years he had been gone.

  “Have you been in touch with him?” Leila asked.

  “I have. In fact, he’s the one who contacted me.”

  A twinge of jealousy tugged at Leila. Why hadn’t he called her? She hesitated to ask, “Is he okay? I mean, was it a good call?”

  “Yes, actually. He’s been working hard at cleaning up his life. He’s been in a program.”

  “What—like a twelve-step?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Good—” Leila said as a rush of emotion threatened to erupt.

  No call for Leila? Was she at the bottom of his “make amends” list, or did he already feel that he had settled up with her after she stumbled upon the truth about him and her mother? Perhaps there was no need for him to further make amends, aside from his selfishly pursuing his music career overseas rather than be there as Leila nursed her dad, Marcus, through cancer for four years before he died, leaving her a virtual orphan if not for Artie Sparks—Joe’s dad and Angela’s one-time lover. Artie was great, but an eighty-year-old formerly famous blues musician with memory problems, and an eclectic cast of old cronies singing the blues on Saturday nights, did not constitute a father image!

  Leila thought she had moved past her resentment, but now, her irritation belied any forgiveness. She looked once more at Clarence Myles, the man—the real man—who stepped up, better than a father figure. Better than a mentor. He was the best friend she had ever known, out-ranking Ian but only by virtue of longevity. A dissonant combination of resentment and gratitude welled from her core. She staved off tears, scrambling for a change of subject.

  She rallied. “So, what are your honeymoon plans?”

  “We are going on a month-long Mediterranean cruise.”

  “Wow,” Leila said.

  Clarence grinned. “I got to choose where to have dinner tonight, and she got to choose the honeymoon.”

  “So, my next question is—” Leila sipped her water, “—what do I give to the couple who has everything?”

  “Actually,” Angela said, “we are asking that no one gives us any gifts—”

  “But in your case,” Clarence interjected, “we would welcome a gift by way of two requests.”

  “Oh? And what might those be?”

  “One, that you attend the wedding.”

  “That’s a given. What else?”

  “This might be a little more difficult, a bit of blind faith.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’d like your compliance on a simple request without your knowing what it is.”

  Leila leaned back. “Well, that’s kind of risky.”

  “Yes. But you trust me, and so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “True.” She folded her arms. “But this is very strange.”

  “In the end, it won’t seem so strange.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Then you agree?”

  She leaned forward. “Yes. I agree to comply if—”

  “No ifs.”

  She studied his immovable gaze. “Fine. I agree. Unconditionally.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s order dessert!”

  Chapter 2

  Several rows ahead of Leila, toddler and family struggled to gather their luggage. The mother appeared harried, verging on frantic; the child, unwieldy upon her hip, protested with a whiny grunt as they inched their way forward. Leila would have been beside herself it she was traveling with a child. She shook off the unsettling thought and pulled her bag from overhead and made her way down the aisle. Hopefully, Clarence would be waiting.

  Leila’s heart sped as the terminal corridor emptied into the waiting area. The family with the toddler disappeared into the crowd. Scanning expectant faces, Leila spotted Clarence making his way toward the corridor. Her heart jumped as she quickened her pace until she met his firm embrace.

  All the memories flooded back, every tender moment, every confidence, every hope and every disappointment they had shared. She held back tears—this was not the right moment to unleash all she had been restraining for the past two months.

  He smiled broadly, her shoulders still in his grip.

  “Well, this is a big change,” he said, nudging hair at her earlobe.

  “Yes, well, you know me—I get a little carried away with scissors on occasion.”

  The lightheartedness of the moment faded as he studied her face. Was he recalling the last time she chopped her hair off, correlating the duress that prompted such a drastic change? His eyes widened with alarm, and even more so as his gaze darted around her.

  “Where’s Jared?”

  “He’s back in New Hampshire,” she said, forcing an even tone. She bit her lip.

  “Did I misunderstand? I thought you were traveling together.”

  “No—he won’t be coming. We um—we called it quits.”

  “You broke up.”

  “Yeah.” She looked away and stepped aside, sparing herself the brunt of his pity. “Let’s get the rest of my bags.”

  “Of course.” He followed, his presence guiding her as the crowd moved them along.

  Feeling his protective arm across her back, she said, “Please don’t—” and gripped her carry-on tighter. “I’ll make a scene.”

  He strengthened his hold and paused, pulling her to his chest. The bustle of people faded as she surrendered to tears, which turned to weeping. The sound of her own sobs, and the softness of Clarence’s coat, gave way to the familiarity of his scent, the pounding of his heart, and the stroke of his hand smoothing her hair. He didn’t speak a word, and he would hold her until she was spent.

  When she finally caught her breath, she withdrew, her fist and fingers aching as she released her bag. A quick look at his expression showed his own unabashed emotion. Leila glanced from him to the crowd moving at an indifferent pace, preoccupied and uninterested.

  Leila wiped her face. “I look awful.”

  “And we don’t care.”

  She exhaled a deep breath. “No, we don’t.”

  He wove her arm through his and moved them forward. The luggage on the carousel had thinned and she easily picked out her mismatched bags. She gestured at them in a clump.

  “Three?” he said with surprise, reaching for the second.

  “Oh yes, I’ve accumulated baggage. I’m no longer the lightweight you used to know.”

  “You have never been a lightweight,” he chuckled, lifting the third. “You need some of that luggage with wheels.”

  “Seeing as I’m going to be dragging it along for a while, yes.”

  With a nod toward the terminal exit, he said, “Come along. Garrison has been driving circles for the past half hour.”

  As the automatic door opened, Angela’s Mercedes pulled up in front. The trunk popped open and Garrison climbed from the driver’s side, smiling.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Leila,” he said, rounding the back of the limo as Clarence deposited her suitcases in the trunk.

  Leila dropped her bag at the bumper and reached to hug Garrison. “Hello. You look wonderful. Thanks so much for coming to retrieve me!”

  “Not at all. It’s always my pleasure.” He opened Leila’s door and she scooted in as Clarence climbed in the other side.

  As Garrison pulled away from the curb, Leila settled in, filling her lungs with the scent of leather upholstery—and Clarence Myles. She glanced at him surreptitiously. He looked good, even handsome, but didn’t stir the feelings she’d had a year ago. She blushed at the thought of ever imagining him in a carnal way. She shook her head—how little she understood her own feelings, how fickle she was. Jared was right. She didn’t know her own heart.

  “What?” his brow arched.

  She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re here. I’m
glad me and you are okay.”

  “Were you afraid we’d be otherwise?”

  “Not afraid, no. I just still feel foolish about—”

  “Don’t. You are not foolish, and your feelings weren’t foolish. We are entitled to feel what we feel, even if it takes us on a roundabout route that we don’t fully understand.”

  “That improves with age, right?”

  “You mean understanding your feelings?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Given a modicum of introspection, it should.”

  “It’s going to take me forever.”

  “Doubt it.”

  Eager to move on, she feigned distraction, “Oh, by the way, who will be standing up at the wedding with you?”

  “No one.”

  “That’s an interesting testimony to the state of your social lives.”

  “It’s not our fault that the persons we would have asked …”

  “Died.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ian would have been honored,” she said. “And so would have Marvelle.”

  “Yes,” he said, “but now it seems all we have left is the butler, and I’m not really sure he’s maid-of-honor material. Besides, we are both too old for those traditional trappings.”

  “True enough ….” Leila sank back, smoothing the leather on either side of her. “I don’t suppose there’s any music in this jalopy.”

  “Garrison!”

  As if Clarence and the butler-chauffeur had it all planned ahead of time, piano music instantaneously streamed from the speakers—the blues.

  “Would you prefer something different, a little more upbeat?” Clarence asked.

  “No. This is fine,” she said and closed her eyes.

  Setting her thoughts adrift, they landed on her breakup with Jared and his reaction to her choppy hair the day after their falling-out, before she allowed the hairdresser to improve her appearance.

  “It doesn’t make sense to keep investing in a relationship that’s going to end up tearing us both apart. We are better off calling it quits now,” Jared had said.

  The recollection of his words stung, but Leila would not give in to another wave of tears, not when they were so close to arriving at Grand Oaks. She peered out the window as the Mercedes turned a corner and continued down the oak-lined road. Now a rush of happy memories displaced the sadness, warm memories of her first visit to her grandmother’s antebellum estate.

  It was hard to believe it had been only a year ago. As they passed the gravel patch where she had run with André and tripped, she couldn’t help chuckling to herself. She didn’t know what to think of him when they first met—all full of himself, assuming she would fall for his charm, looks, and money. She was not impressed, although she had to admit, she didn’t find his attention entirely off-putting. Even though they had different expectations relationship-wise, she still enjoyed their banter. Just the same, she was not looking forward to seeing him under her new circumstances. She had spoken to him on several recent occasions but not in person, not allowing him opportunity to inspect her ring finger as he had often done in jest, asking, ‘Just when does that boyfriend of yours plan to make his move?’ André liked to make her squirm, and so she had not let on about her breakup.

  Leila’s surveillance traveled along the oak trees, memorizing the way sunlight filtered through the draping moss, drawing her attention down the road and to the house in the near distance. The sun lit the roof as it sat upon its crest, obscuring everything below. As they approached the circle drive, shadows engulfed them. The pillars stood in murky darkness as Garrison pulled up to the curb in front of the grand entryway.

  As Leila stepped out of the car, the muggy air enveloped her like a cashmere sweater. Stretching her back, she filled her lungs with a yawn and exhaled. Clarence and Garrison retrieved her bags, and she allowed it as she followed them to the front door with another yawn.

  Inside, Garrison continued up the grand center stairway as Angela appeared from the drawing room to their right. She kissed Leila’s cheek.

  “Oh my dear girl, please do forgive that I didn’t come along to the airport—I have so much to do before tomorrow afternoon.”

  “No, that was fine. Besides, you knew I would want Clarence to myself for a little bit.”

  “Hmmm … yes. There’s no pulling one over on you. And look at you with short hair. How Parisienne—so Audrey Hepburn. I like it.” If Angela had only seen it the day Leila cut it!

  “Thanks.”

  Angela peered behind them. “Where is Jared?”

  “He won’t be coming,” Leila said, rehearsed and unemotional.

  “Oh, dear, I hope he’s alright—”

  Clarence shook his head, cautioning Angela.

  “He’s fine,” Leila said.

  “Oh dear—” Angela whispered.

  The scent of flowers drew Leila to the doorway opposite the drawing room. Gold light streamed in from the open doors at the far side of the ballroom, making the floral display glow. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Yes, hmm,” Angela replied, coming up behind Leila. “I should mention that André—” just then, two silhouettes blocked the sunlight, stepping through the French doors, “—and Elana arrived just an hour ago.”

  “Oh.”

  Leila prepared herself for André’s gloating over her breakup, not that there was anything to gloat over now that he had a girlfriend. Leila approached him headlong, trying not to notice how good he looked and how genuinely happy he appeared—did it spring from the sight of Leila, or was it the beautiful woman on his arm? Elana appeared angelic, the late afternoon sun backlighting her blond hair like a halo.

  “Leila!” he said, extending his hand as she accepted his kiss on the cheek.

  “Hello André. Elana.”

  Elana and Leila embraced like fond acquaintances, without pretense.

  “Love your hair,” Elana said.

  Leila just smiled, avoiding André’s scrutiny. “Good to see you both,” she said.

  “Where’s Jared?” he asked offhand.

  “Not here. Not coming,” she said, again rehearsed and without flinching.

  André’s brow rose and Elana’s eyes widened.

  Leila commanded her vocal cords not to quiver. “Yes, we broke up.”

  Ready to turn away, she paused as André’s hand rested on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Honestly.”

  The tenderness that beamed from his eyes refuted any gloating and caught her off guard. She was not prepared for such empathy. Her eyes misted over. She shrugged. “It’s for the best,” she said, struggling to breathe.

  “Well, now,” Angela interrupted, “I think we should let Leila unpack and rest up a bit before dinner.”

  “Yes,” André replied, “of course.”

  Leila turned to find Clarence at her side, and she grabbed his arm. He led her from the ballroom as private tears slipped down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “At your service,” he said, escorting her up the stairs.

  She blotted her face and inhaled with a snuffle. “That’s the worst of it. I’m fine.”

  He patted her hand as they ascended, rounding the staircase onto the first landing and then to the upper balcony. From there, he led her to the room she stayed in last winter, and opened the door; he closed it behind them and sat in the overstuffed chair.

  She leaned against the edge of the bed where her suitcases awaited. Facing him, she met his stare. “I’m a mess,” she said, letting the tears fall. “I thought I was all better, but I’m not. Not at all.”

  His head tilted with empathy as she read his thoughts.

  “Yes, at least I’m not repressing. You’ll be glad to know I’ve done a fair bit of crying.”

  “I’m sorry, Leila. I know you’re very fond of Jared. I like him too.”

  “We were so good together.”

  He waited.

  “He wants children—lots of them. I don’t. I don’t want to be a mother. Huge
deal breaker.”

  He nodded, biting his lip.

  Her shoulders slouched. “He gave up custody of his little girl, Emily—she wasn’t his, after all. I think he was under the assumption that if our relationship continued to progress, that I would want lots of kids … or at least one.” Her heart sped with the recollection of the panic Jared had triggered, the way he tried to convince her that she might change her mind, as if she were the one who needed to adjust her viewpoint. “I kind of had a meltdown.”

  “And that’s why you lopped off your hair?”

  “I’m not exactly sure why I did it, but I was in a bad place—thinking about my mother, realizing Jared and I have very different views about parenthood.” She recalled the way her hand slipped from his like fingers from a perfectly fitting glove. “All of it seemed to rake up a bunch of junk—weird flashes of memories …”

  The smothering sensation that woke her on the morning after the break up welled again. That panic had sent her back to the frenzy of emotion she had experienced when Ian drowned, and even farther back to when she was eighteen, soaked with tears and sweat, sitting on a beach in a violent storm as waves crashed nearby. The recurring thought—Talking won’t change anything—it won’t change the fact that my mother was a junkie whore—and it won’t bring her back!—rang in her ears.

  Leila inhaled, a high-pitch buzz filling her head as her heart thundered as it had weeks and years ago, that void her mother left—not only when she abandoned Leila at three years old, but when she killed herself years later—split wide open.

  She caught her breath, too tired to give in to another wave of hysteria. Her stomach tightened as she said, “The thought of motherhood just really freaks me out.”

  Clarence rose and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “If it’s any consolation, reassessing the relationship was probably a good call under the circumstances.”

  “That’s a less traumatic way to look at it—reassessing rather than breaking up.”