Nowhere but Here Page 4

  He threw his arms up and smiled from ear to ear. “Katy, you made it!”

  “I did.”

  “Good to see you again.”

  He reached a hand over to R.J. “R.J.”

  “Jamie. Everything running smoothly?”

  “Always, R.J. Always.”

  Their exchange seemed strange, almost strained. I was getting the feeling that Jamie wasn’t the most compliant employee, and clearly R.J. was not the best boss. I sat next to R.J. on stools at the bar. After Jamie set two wineglasses in front of us, Susan went behind the bar and Jamie followed her to the other side. He bent his tall, six-foot frame down toward her; I saw her whisper something in his ear. He looked at her cautiously and then she rubbed her hand up and down his back before he leaned over again and kissed her cheek. She patted his back and then left, waving to me as she walked away. There was something very maternal about her behavior toward Jamie. When he turned and headed back toward us, I took in his appearance more closely. He had cleaned up since our encounter on the road. He was wearing a black polo shirt with the R. J. Lawson logo on it and dark Levi’s cuffed over a pair of new-looking Converse. His hair was slicked back. I noticed it was long enough for a little curl of hair to just barely stick out from behind his ears. It drew my eyes to that part of his neck. As he was pouring the first tasting, I glanced up and noticed his eyes were on me.

  He shot me a crooked grin. “See something you like?” I shook my head nervously.

  R.J.’s cell phone rang. “Put that thing away, man,” Jamie said to R.J., scowling. Oh my god.

  “I have to take this,” R.J. said as he got up and walked toward the door.

  “Wow, I can’t believe you talk to him like that.”

  “He’s kind of on my shit list right now. You know, no raise in a while.” He smiled and then tilted his head toward the wine he had just poured. The small bit of growth on his face couldn’t hide his subtle dimples when he grinned. He was undeniably handsome with his chiseled jawline, but there was also something really adorable about him. He still had a hint of baby face hidden in his rugged good looks.

  I reached for the glass. “That’s our 2009 Estate Pinot Noir, the big award winner.” He watched me as I took a sip. When his gaze moved to my mouth, I noticed a tiny smirk play on his lips. “What do you think?”

  “It’s amazing, totally decadent and vibrant.” He began nodding and smiling, seemingly thrilled at my satisfaction. “The acidity is perfectly balanced and it has such a full, earthy finish. It’s really fantastic.” He was watching my mouth again.

  “I thought you would like it,” he said softly.

  The brief moment was intense. It seemed like it would have felt completely normal to lean over and kiss him as a way of thanking him for the wine. I had to do something quick.

  “R.J. hit on me like twenty times during the interview. I wish I liked him more because this place is wonderful and this wine is absolutely divine.” That definitely shattered the moment.

  Jamie’s eyes went wide and the muscle in his jaw flexed. “He hit on you?”

  “Yeah, big time.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “God, what an ass.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you tell Susan?”

  “I think she heard him, but anyway, what good would that do?”

  “Well, she might be able to straighten him out.” He was wearing a slightly penitent smile but I couldn’t understand why. “I’m really sorry he treated you that way.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

  He nodded slowly but seemed unconvinced. “What else did you talk about in the interview?” Jamie’s eyebrows were pinched together and his lips were completely flat. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer him. “Did he mention how hard we work here to make this place completely sustainable?”

  “Yes, he did,” I said immediately and smiled.

  He nodded. “Good, that’s good.”

  “He just didn’t tell me much about his personal life. I was trying to find out about the organization in Africa.”

  “The organization is great. It’s really grown over the last eight years, and it does a lot of good for people, especially children all over Africa.”

  “I guess R.J. might not be so bad after all.” I reached for my glass and took the final sip of wine.

  “Let’s move on. What can I give you next—something deeper, more full-bodied?” Somehow I forgot that Jamie was talking about wine. He was leaning forward with his forearms resting on the bar. He looked me right in the eyes so intensely that it felt like he was looking inside of me.

  “Huh?” Now I was watching his mouth. He smirked very slightly.

  “What would you like to taste next, Katy?”

  “Uh, what?” My voice got really high.

  “The wine, Katy. The wine,” he said, chuckling.

  “Oh, right! Um, actually I’m famished, I think I really need to get to my room and settle in. I should get a bite before I have any more wine, otherwise you’ll have to carry me out of this place.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” he said. At that point R.J. had returned quietly and sat at the bar to finish his glass.

  “Would you like me to walk you to your room? Or maybe you can use those investigative reporter skills to find it on your own?” He really was a smug bastard.

  Before I could respond, Jamie chimed in, “Susan said she’d walk her up.”

  “Well then, I must be going. Kate, I guess we have to give this another shot when I’m back in town on Thursday, although I don’t think either one of us is too thrilled about that.” He turned without addressing Jamie and headed toward the door.

  I couldn’t hold back, and once he was out of earshot, I let out the sigh I had been holding back. “What a total jackass.”

  Jamie nodded and then reached over and grabbed my hands in his. “Listen, forget about him—just write about the winery. We all love it here. He was being a jackass, but it’s not a reflection of what we do. Susan and Guillermo and I will show you everything that we do here.” There was urgency in his voice. “Listen, Katy, go up to your room and relax, I’ll have the chef send up something special. I’m really sorry about R.J.”

  “Are you related to Susan?” I asked. He jerked his head back in surprise. “Well, I just saw the way you spoke to her, and it looked like she was comforting you.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I guess I would say that Susan has been sort of like a mom to me. She got me this job.”

  “Huh, interesting.” I stood slowly from my barstool. “I have a lot of questions.” I said it softly, almost to myself, but I knew Jamie heard me.

  “Let’s pick up this conversation later. Do you have any food allergies, or is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Okay.” He smiled warmly at me. There was silence as we stared at each other. The connection was palpable. “Truffle mushroom risotto?”

  I was in a daze, still staring into his eyes and he into mine. It felt like he was burrowing into the depths of my soul. He was captivating me, enchanting me with fancy names for rice dishes. I must have been very hungry.

  “Is that hyperbole?”

  “No.” He laughed. “It’s Chef Mark’s signature dish.”

  “It sounds amazing.”

  He paused then whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

  “I have a boyfriend.” I whispered back.

  “You mentioned that.”

  Right at that moment my knees buckled, but luckily Susan had suddenly appeared at my side and grabbed me from around the waist, hitching me up.

  “You need to eat, young lady. You’re a waif, and we don’t want you passing out on us,” she said.

  I looked up at Jamie, who shrugged. “She’s righ
t. Up to your room, young lady.”

  Susan pulled me toward the door, and I turned and spoke over my shoulder. “Bye, Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “At least,” he said, grinning.

  Walking toward the inn, I took the opportunity to drill Susan.

  “Does Jamie ride a motorcycle?”

  “No.”

  “Is he in a band?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about rodeo. Does he rodeo?”

  She laughed. “Jamie does a great many things around the R.J. Lawson property. He is our resident jack-of-all-trades—you’ll see that for yourself over the next few days. And while I see you’ve picked up on some of his bad boy tendencies, he really is just a sweet, good ol’ boy.” Her smile flattened abruptly as she squared her small frame and looked me right in the eyes. “You should know that he’s like a son to me. He’s experienced great personal loss and betrayal by the people who were supposed to love him. He’s found a home and a family in this place. I hope you don’t come in here looking for some kind of story in all of this. Or maybe you’re looking for a fling? If so, you’re looking in the wrong place,” she said with a perfunctory smile.

  “Whoa, Susan. Jamie seems like he can take care of himself,” I said. She shrugged. “Anyway, I was just curious. I have a boyfriend, by the way.”

  “Who are you reminding of that fact?”

  My eyes began to well up. She was putting me on the spot and embarrassing me, but I held back the tears. I was a professional.

  “I’m looking for details for the article, that’s it. I’m supposed to be writing an article on R. J. Lawson and, well . . . you know how that interview went.” I said the last part with a huge lump in my throat.

  “I’m sorry, Kate. He acted very inappropriately. That is not what we’re about here, and I’ve asked that he complete the interview via e-mail so you don’t have to go through that all over again on Thursday.”

  “What? No! My whole reason for being here is to conduct the interview in person. I won’t get the answers I need if he can calculate all of his responses in an e-mail.”

  She tilted her head to the side and then huffed. “That man has a very small role in the operations here.”

  I pointed my finger up to the sky. “I knew it! It’s just his big, fat, stupid wallet, isn’t it? Everybody thinks he’s like this genius, but he probably just throws his money at everything.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know where you’re headed, Kate. Look, the staff will show you around and let you in on how we run the winery, restaurant, and inn. It’s up to you what goes in that article, but I know by now you’ve heard that R.J. has veto power, so I hope you’ll think twice about how you approach your commentary.”

  We entered the large, three-story bed-and-breakfast and went up a small flight of stairs to the first level. I held on to the fine, polished, wooden banister until we reached the landing. She handed me a key. “Your room is here. Your dinner should be up soon. I hope we can all start fresh tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” I said sincerely. I’m going to get a story no matter what.

  She smiled and headed down the stairs, shouting back, “You’ll get an itinerary under your door in the morning.”

  Wow, an itinerary? This was one carefully organized operation.

  I shut the door and leaned against it, surveying the room, then slowly made my way around. It was finely decorated in the same Arts and Crafts style as the lobby. Great taste. It had a Mission-style four-poster bed next to double doors leading out to a small balcony housing two captain’s chairs. The bathroom had a beautiful claw-foot tub, with gold fixtures and ornate tiles running along the walls, framing a porcelain pedestal sink. I collapsed into the feather bed covered in white fluffy pillows and an eyelet duvet and proceeded to type a text to Stephen.

  Kate: I’m okay, not that you care.

  Stephen: Do you realize how late it is here?

  I’d really had a colossal mind-fuck of a day, but I was feeling feisty and decided to go for it.

  Kate: Do you love me?

  My phone rang instantly.

  “What’s going on, sweetie?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know where I’m at and what I’m doing?”

  “You’re out of town on an assignment.”

  “I’m not in the fucking Secret Service, Stephen. I told you where I was going, but of course you weren’t listening.”

  “You’ve been distant.”

  “Me?” I said in shock.

  He sighed. “Ever since Rose died and you started having that dream, Kate—that bizarre fucking dream—and following that homeless dude around on the train like you worship him. I don’t get what’s going on with you. I wouldn’t blame you for losing your mind for a little while, but this has been going on for months.”

  “I . . .”

  “No, listen. We’re different, Kate; we always have been. Things have felt wrong for a long time.”

  “Hold on. Are you beating me to the punch, you asshole?! You’re trying to break up with me first?”

  “Listen . . .”

  “No, you listen, Stephen. God, how can you be so heartless? It’s not a dream I keep having about Rose, it’s a fucking nightmare, and sometimes I wake up from it and realize the nightmare is real. She’s gone, just like my mother. She’s never coming back, but her sad, lonely life still haunts me. I was all she had, and then when she was gone, it was like she never existed. I’m terrified I’ll end up the same way, but at least I had you, though now I’m not sure I ever did . . . It doesn’t matter now.” I calmed down while Stephen remained silent. “It doesn’t matter now because I don’t want you. I’ll tell you why I’ve been listening to Bob on the train. It’s because he’s right. I’m all I’ve got.”

  I began crying but made certain Stephen couldn’t hear me. Then he finally said in the calmest voice, “Well, I guess that’s it then, Kate,” indifference seeping through every syllable.

  I swallowed. “Tell me the truth. Do you really think you love me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think by now you should know.” My voice cracked.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “So that’s your answer?”

  Without waiting for him to respond, I hung up, feeling more stupefied than sad. The tears had stopped. I was shocked—not that I was losing Stephen, but that I had wasted two years of my life with someone who didn’t love me. I guessed my reaction meant that I wasn’t in love with him, either. Stunned, I stared at a tiny crack in the wall for several moments until I heard three rapid knocks. A shiver ran through me before I hopped off the bed and ran to the door, swinging it open dramatically. There was an older man carrying a tray. Had it been Jamie, I might have jumped into his arms. “Your dinner, ma’am.” I stepped aside and let him set the tray on the small dining table in the corner of the room. “Truffle mushroom risotto and a bottle of our 2009 Pinot Noir, compliments of Chef Mark Struthers and R. J. Lawson.”

  “Oh, right!” I laughed maniacally, making a crazy cackling sound. The day had really gotten to me. The waiter gave me a frightened look as he opened the bottle of wine and proceeded to pour a glass.

  “Enjoy, ma’am,” he said and then hurried out the door. Once he was gone, I plopped onto the bed again as the tears began flowing once more. I thought about Stephen and tried to conjure up one truly happy memory with him besides him fucking me on the washer in the basement, which could hardly be deemed as happy. In retrospect, our time together was mediocre at best.

  Rose never liked him; she had said he was cold fish. I thought about the dream Stephen referred to in our argument. Shortly after Rose died, I began questioning my life so deeply that it started to unnerve me. Not having any family or knowin
g where you come from can make you feel like you don’t exist.

  I would look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I would say, “Who am I?” over and over, and the feeling, the anxiety of not knowing the answer, would send me into a panic. I wished I’d asked every question I could think of before she died, but I didn’t. There were just a few pictures and a tiny bit of information that I knew about my parents and grandparents, but it wasn’t enough to imagine their lives. In my mind, if they didn’t exist then I didn’t exist, and it was when I started believing that to be true that the dreams began, those tiny whispers that sent me reeling.

  Rose’s funeral was closed casket, but in my dream it was open and she was lying there, looking nothing like herself. In my dream she wore white, a color she never wore and a dress she certainly did not own and one I definitely did not bury her in. It looked like a wedding dress with lace sleeves and a satin bodice, but Rose had never married—like my mother, she lived a solitary and mundane existence. I walked toward her and could feel someone else’s presence next to me, but I didn’t know who it was. I leaned over and stared at Rose, lying there lifeless and appearing much younger than she had been in reality when she died. She had long brownish-red locks that tumbled over her lace-clad shoulders in the most angelic way. Even though she appeared to be about twenty years old—much younger than I ever knew her—there was an obvious sense that the body lying there was my Rose.

  When I turned to look at the figure standing next to me, something stopped me, an invisible force. It was one of those dreamlike moments when you try so hard to do something physically, but your body won’t let you. I felt paralyzed. All I knew was that the figure gave off a peaceful and soothing presence. I wondered if it was my mother or my father or God. Looking back down into the coffin, I noticed a tiny movement, and then the motion became more pronounced. I leaned in closer. Rose’s mouth was moving, but I could tell she was having trouble. I knew it was wired shut, the way a body is traditionally prepared for burial. Her eyes bolted open as wide as could be, and she was violently moving her lips, trying to open her mouth; it was horrifying. She’s alive! Help her, I kept shouting, but my voice made no sound. She finally pried her lips apart. Her expression was urgent. She was desperately trying to give me a message, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. All I could hear was the sound of heartbeats, and that’s the moment when I would always wake up.