You unappreciative stodge. Be that way. Stay in the dark. Did you open it yet?
I giggle. I wonder if she has Phillipe texting for her as per usual. He’s rolling his eyes at word choice.No I didn’t open the envelope. I told you. I’m not going to. If you want to give me details so badly tell me why he needs my sizes. P.S. I’m here.
She responds,Didn’t tell me.
I push open the front door to her house and lock it behind me. She never leaves the doors open unless she’s expecting someone. The large foyer is devoid of all clutter, the marble floor immaculate. The only sign a woman lives here is a pair of sky-high heels off to the side. They were obviously kicked off upon entry. I slide off my own heels and head for her office.
“Hey Windsor. Morganna is in her room.” Phillipe’s light voice echoes in this fortress of a house. I make small talk with him for a few minutes. It’s obvious he’s been staying here constantly. His bare feet and lounge pants speak volumes.
I turn and head for the stairs when he takes a personal call on his cell. I wonder how his boyfriend feels about his boss’s needy status. My feet squish into the plush hallway carpet as I approach the huge French doors at the end.
I take a deep breath and push into the room. Morganna is sitting in the middle of her California King sized, four-poster bed. The dark wood envelops, hiding her. I set the bag of take-out on a table. “Is this monstrosity really needed?” I swing around one of the posts and land on the bed next to her.
“Stone liked it,” she says, petting the blankets around her. She has on a pair of black boy shorts and a ratty college t-shirt. Her face is completely bare. She’s stripped of Morganna Sterns. Now, she’s just a woman who lost her husband. The sadness in her eyes diminishes when she falls back to lie on the bed. “Plus I can sleep sideways, upside down, or regular,” she explains. Honestly, it just looks lonely.
“Your room is a mess,” I admit, glancing around at clothes, bottles of water, and makeup shit everywhere. It truly is wince worthy. This is the new Morganna—the one that was born of Stone’s death. I’m still getting used to it. To the rest of the world she’s the same bull nose. Which is how she wants it. She shrugs. I pick up a drawing sitting next to her on the bed. It’s Stone’s lobster tattoo. She takes it from me.
“I’m trying to get all of his tattoos drawn by the artists. You know…so I don’t forget.” I think she wouldn’t mind forgetting this one, but I nod and give her a small smile. My chest tightens. How do you remember and let go at the same time? Is it some precarious method of blocking certain things and grasping onto others? How do you choose? I’d want everything.
“Maverick is trying to get you back, Win. By now you’ve realized that. Before he died…Stone told me you were the one that would give Maverick a life. He’s only ever had things. A great career, all the material possessions a guy could ask for, he’s good at things, but he’s never had what you give him. Stone believed that people’s lives intertwine for reasons out of our control. I always told him that was nonsense, just as Mav did, but can’t you see that it’s not? It’s real. I know he hurt you. I know Stone’s death turned him into a different person, but you have to let the person he used to be speak for him now. That’s the fair thing to do,” she says staring at the ceiling. She catches a tear that leaks out of the side of her eye. Propping both of her tiny feet up on a bedpost she laughs. She sounds maniacal. But I don’t care because it saves me from responding.
I lie down next to her and stare up. “I’m afraid to ask what’s funny.”
“The swirls on our ceiling had to be repainted three times. They weren’t geometrical. It drove Stone nuts.” It sounds just like something Maverick would do. They are like the same person.
“Stonewasnuts,” I say, laughing. She grabs my hand next to her on the bed. We stare at the white swirls, both trying to find a lopsided swoop.
She whispers, “He was. Wasn’t he?” The silence stretches on and on, and it’s comfortable because this is Morganna moving on. I feel it. She’s taking pieces of him and locking him away in the part of her heart that will always belong to him.
She tightens her grip and says, “You should go home now. Enough time has passed.” I shake my head.I’m swamped, can you bring me some dinner?My ass.
“I should have known you didn’t want to hang out with me. What did he do now?” I ask. I turn my head toward her. She’s still staring up, lost in thought. She looks at me, tears rolling off her nose.
“I always want to hang out with you, but I have no idea. Only that I needed to thwart you for a little while so he could perform another step of his master plan.” She walks me to the door and down the hall. I ask her if she knows what the last step of his grand plan is, but she just smiles. I’d shake her if I didn’t feel so sorry for.
I remind her of the time her college ex-boyfriend wanted to take her to a farm for a date. It was her worst date ever. That was a surprise. She isn’t budging, though—insisting I need to go along for the ride. Phillipe is waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. He’s holding out the pair of Morg’s shoes.
“Clean up your mess, you hag. My boyfriend will be here in ten minutes. So, you may want to put on some pants,” he says, eyes roving her nearly naked body. “And maybe a bra while your at it.” Morganna laughs, snatching her shoes.
“I’ll just put these on and call myself proper,” she jokes, dangling the designer heels off her fingertips. Phillipe shakes his head. That exchange just took place. What. The. Hell. I look wide-eyed to my friend. She throws her arms out to the side. “What? He’s off the clock at five. The rest of the time he’s just my friend. I hate being here alone.”
I would, too. It’s big. But the Morganna transformation just took on a new, unexpected facet. She’s changing more than I can comprehend. I throw on my own shoes and walk to the door.
“Don’t be scared, Windsor,” Morganna says—standing in the middle of the marble foyer, in her underwear. The shoes she’s clutching are the only remnants of the old Morganna—her old life. “Let him love you. It’s worth it every time. No matter what happens. They never make the same mistake twice.” Her tone is pleading. Like her life hangs in the balance. My heart pounds out at a frenetic pace for Morganna…and her loss.
I tell her I won’t be scared and that I’ll do everything she says. Not because I’ll actually do it, but because the sight of her right now, holding those shoes, is enough to spike the air with loss…and I don’t want any part of it. I’d say anything to get away.
When I slide behind my steering wheel, I just sit there a couple of minutes calculating everything that could go wrong…or right if I do this. I slip my hand into the side of my briefcase and pull outtheenvelope. Clicking on the overhead light, I flip the smooth paper over a few times and watch my name written in tiny block letters appear and disappear. I tear it open because I just want to get it over with. I can do this. I want to read this. The only thing that’s kept me from it before is fear. I unfold the top flap and then the bottom. My throat constricts when my gaze lands on certain words. I read it.
Windsor,
From the very second I looked at you, I knew you were different. Not just because you were the hottest fucking woman on the planet, but because of what you made me feel without even trying. I never thought to ask for more out of life other than what I was already given. Asking for the perfect woman was out of the question. I mean how much luck can one man have? But there you were, like a freight train with a heart of gold and a body made for speed. I wanted you. There was a difference between you and every other woman I’ve been attracted to. I wanted you to want me back.
Initially I thought you’d be this unobtainable goal, but then I realized you weren’t unobtainable…not really. My brain just labeled you that way because it saw the fucking DANGER signs posted around you. “Slippery slope. Will fall into fucking oblivion.” Or something like that. I never listen to fucking warnings. Maybe I should have and perhaps you wouldn’t be reading a grave letter right now. I don’t regret going after you, Windsor. You’re the best detour my life has ever taken. You are merely the best thing. That’s an all-encompassing statement.
I can’t write you this letter like I’m already gone, because I’m not. I’m still thinking of you and picturing you in my mind and living my life one day at a time to get back to you. To hold you. To kiss you. To love you. So while I may be dead as a doornail when you read this, I sure as shit wasn’t when I wrote it. I can still feel your lips on mine. I know what my name coming out of your mouth does to me. I’m aware that I’ve left the likes of the Hope Diamond out for the taking. Maybe it’s naïve to think because I love you so much no one else will touch you. Maybe not. You give me hope in a fucked up world.
I want to give you everything in life. Everything and more because that’s what you deserve, Win. Not just material possessions either. I know that shit doesn’t mean anything to you. I want to give you laughter that never ends, understanding, acceptance, gratitude for taking a chance on the wild card, love…oh, boy do I want to give you that. I’m not sure that I know how to love you properly. All I know is that you have all of my love and somehow it grows each and every day. It fills me up until only you consume me. Things have consumed me before….my career and the rush of a fast-paced lifestyle, the glory of being a SEAL, but Windsor consumption can’t be compared to anything else.
