Abandon All Hope Page 10

  He stiffened at the sound of her boyfriend’s name. It was one thing to see his face in a picture frame, another thing altogether to have a living, breathing Phillip calling her on his phone. But, before he could say anything, Hal had rattled the number off and she had typed it in and sent it.

  For the next half hour, the room was full of the sound of keystrokes and guitar chords, although he and Hope were getting little accomplished. She was staring out the window. He was remembering the feel of her lips on his, the sweet taste of salt and sunshine on her skin, the way his body automatically reacted to hers, bending toward her so they touched at as many points as possible.

  Chase, for his part, spent much of the time peeking over at Hope and wondering over the fact that after all these years she sat six feet away from him, staring at her laptop, oblivious to the effect she had on him.

  After a while, she seemed so disappointed in the paragraph or two she had written that she slammed her laptop closed. “Do you mind if I check out that bathtub of yours?” She began to smile in anticipation.

  He grinned. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t already.” He reached up and closed his computer. “I’m not getting anything done here. How ‘bout I start dinner?”

  “Sounds fantastic! I’ll make it quick then so I can help you.”

  “No. Take your time. I’m going to take a quick shower, too, before I start.”

  * * *

  As Chase let the hot water pour over his body, taking with it all the salt and sand that had been deposited on his skin, it dawned on him that just on the other side of the shower wall, Hope was naked. His movements stilled and he stared at the marble as if he could bore a hole through it with his eyes. On a whim, he reached out with both hands and touched the wall, then leaned his forearms against it, letting the water flow over his back. He could just make out her voice over their combined water use, singing. Since she hadn’t turned on the jets yet, he was able to make out the melody of “In Your Eyes,” the song they were shooting the video for. It hadn’t even been picked up yet by many stations, but obviously she had heard it. Had she guessed the lyrics had been written with her in mind?

  All I want is to forever be lost in your eyes,

  To sing you my love, and to hear your reply.

  I strum in the dark, put my heart on the stage,

  To the roar of the crowd, but it’s your voice I crave.

  I pace in the shadows and wait for my cues,

  All the while wondering why I must pay these dues…

  He pushed his arms back out straight and raised his head to let the water tap dance on his eyelids and flow over his lips and chin. Then, he hung his head between his arms and let it pound into his shoulders, losing himself in the sensations. He reached down and finally turned off the shower, and then stepped through the open marble doorway to grab a towel from the bar.

  He rubbed his hair briskly, and then patted the moisture off his body, finally wrapping the towel tightly around his waist. He moved over to the mirror, veiled in steam, placing both hands on the marble counter and leaning, his head down, still hearing the sound of her sweet singing, if only in his head. He grabbed a hand towel out of a basket and rubbed an oval in the steam, peering into his reflection. Why the hell had he ever agreed to let her do this story? Her nearness was like poison running through his bloodstream, burning him from the inside out.

  He heard the phone ring in his bedroom. He thought about Hope’s email message and rushed to pick it up before the second ring. “Hello?” He noticed the jets turn off in the next room; she must have heard the phone, too.

  Over the static, he heard a male voice reply, “Hello? Is Hope Creswell available?”

  He hesitated only a second, moving in the direction of the door. “Um…she’s in the tub. Just a minute.” He hurried into her bedroom and up to the bathroom door. “Hope, you have a phone call.”

  “Oh, just a minute.” She sounded flustered. She opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist, holding out a receiver. Her eyes grew wide, and she quickly reached up to secure her towel with one hand and grasped the phone with the other. Then she waited, pointedly, until he left.

  He knew he shouldn’t be listening in on their phone conversation, but he had to get dressed, didn’t he?

  “Phillip! How are you? Do I have my own room?” Chase smiled. His plan to make Phillip nervous about the accommodations had worked. “Well of course I have my own room. What sort of a brazen hussy do you think I am? Oh! That sort of brazen hussy. Oh my! You have been away too long.” She laughed in that low, sultry way that gave him goose bumps. “You’re in London? That’s fantastic! No kidding? Tomorrow? Sure, let me get a piece of paper to write this down.” He heard her rummaging through a few drawers before she, evidently, discovered a pad of paper and something to write with. “Go ahead. The Sunset Astoria Hotel. Isn’t that expensive? Well, of course I’m worth it. I never questioned that,” she teased. “But can you afford it? What do you mean something special? All right,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to wait then. I’ll see you tomorrow night. You, too. I will. Goodbye.”

  He listened carefully for any type of reaction to the phone call—an excited squeal, happy humming, Hope throwing the phone against the wall—but he heard…nothing. So, it sounded like What’s-His-Name is on his way back, he thought, though he knew perfectly well his name was Phillip. It’s not like the two are engaged. And I’ll be damned if I let her walk out on my life again. So, I’ve just got tonight. He got ready carefully, wanting to look his best.

  * * *

  Chase knew his way around the kitchen and soon had a linguine with shrimp underway. He knew he could hire a cook, but he liked to keep his life simple. Besides, he found he enjoyed cooking. Hope came into the kitchen wearing a white floral halter top tied behind her neck and tan shorts. He noticed the sun had loaned her skin a soft glow, and that she had twisted and swept her hair up in the back, giving it a carelessly elegant appeal.

  “I’m sorry about the whole coming in your room dressed in a towel thing. I just knew you’d want to talk to your boyfriend as soon as possible, and he was calling long distance and all.”

  Hal made a snorting sound, staring at him with raised eyebrows that said, “Just who are you trying to kid?”

  “Well, uh, thanks.” She seemed like she wanted to steer clear of the subject. “Can I help with the salad?”

  “Sure.” He moved to give her room. Over the countertop where he was working was a wide cutout opening between the kitchen and the dining room.

  “I’ll do you both a favor,” Hal called from the dining room, where he was again waist deep in paperwork, “and stay out of the kitchen. I’m a miserable cook.” He added the last under his breath.

  Chase grinned. “I’ll just throw in some French bread. Toss in whatever you want from the fridge or pantry.”

  Hope combed the state-of-the-art refrigerator and played around with the sliding shelves of the pantry. “Boy, I wish I had these in my apartment. There are probably things in the back of my cabinets that have been there for decades.” She returned to her salad bowl, gently ripping apart the lettuce leaves. Hal,concentrated on a document’s fine print with the thoroughness of a car-detailer. Chase came over to check her progress and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Does he wear a suit to bed?”

  “Only on special occasions,” he joked.

  “I heard that.” Hal sighed, thumbing through a planner now without looking up.

  They both chuckled.

  “So,” he queried, peeking over her shoulder and checking out the assortment of items she had found on the shelves, “what ya got there?” He leaned in, inhaling her fragrance. He couldn’t believe the way she still smelled like a pear, freshly picked from the tree.

  “Do you mind a raspberry vinaigrette?” she responded tentatively.

  “No. That sounds good. Just let me know if you need anything. Wine?” He offere
d her a glass and she took it, their fingertips brushing for a second. She looked up at him with an indecipherable expression, and then turned back to her work.

  When she had finished the salad, she asked if she should set the table, and he directed her to the linen drawers.

  Hal had taken his cue and cleared his things off the table, going to his guest room to wash up. Chase reached up and turned on some soft music, his attentive eyes following her as she moved around the table. Unaware of being watched, she swayed to the music as she straightened utensils and refolded napkins. When at last all of the food had been brought in, he held her seat out for her.

  Hal cleared his throat. “So, Hope, you said you moved to Chicago with your mother. Is she still living there?”

  She swallowed a drink of wine, setting the glass down on the table carefully. “No, actually, she passed away just a few months after we moved there. She had lung cancer. She was a secret smoker, and it caught up with her.” Talking about her mother obviously moved her. She took another long drink of her wine.

  Chase’s face must have registered the shock he felt. He thought if something like that had happened in Hope’s life, he would have known about it somehow.

  “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” He hesitated. “Were you in contact with your dad at the time?”

  She chortled derisively. “No. I tried to avoid all contact with my dad.” She took another drink, draining her glass. “He found me, though.” She sighed, looking up at Chase meaningfully.

  He suddenly wished Hal would become violently ill and have to leave and stay in his room for the rest of the night. He wanted so badly to ask her about it all. He had always imagined her happy somewhere, and to hear she had suffered, without his being there to help, pained him deeply.

  “Chase,” she stated with forced lightness, “this linguini is absolutely delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”

  “My mom taught me, mostly, I guess.”

  “That’s right. I remember what a fabulous cook she was.” She smiled, the memory evidently warming her. “I would sometimes sneak over to Chase’s house after our supper and eat there, too. My mom was a horrid cook. But she tried. Too hard sometimes.” She chuckled. “Remember that time she had you over for dinner?”

  Chase laughed. “I’ve never had Chicken Cacciatore since!”

  “Ugh! And I burned that Tater Tot Casserole recipe she had, but then she just made it from memory, and it turned out even worse!” They all laughed.

  “Listen,” Hal said after a while, “you two cooked, so I’ll clean up. Why don’t you go out on the porch? It’s a beautiful evening.”

  They rose, thanking him, and took his suggestion. Chase held open the door, and they stepped outside into a night that still retained much of the daytime heat, but countered it with a soft breeze. She didn’t move to sit, but stood instead, leaning her forearms on the top railing of the deck. She twirled the wine glass in her hand by its stem and stared into its depths. He touched her arm, and she turned to give him a curious look.

  “Hope, I’m so sorry about your mom. She was a neat lady. I always liked her.”

  She nodded silently, again studying her wine glass, then gazing out over the water. He could see the tears collecting in her eyes in the moonlight. “Damn!” she murmured, swiping a tear that had escaped. She turned away from him slightly, struggling with her emotions.

  He laid his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around to face him. “Hope,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. She ducked her head, but he cupped her chin in his hand and tenderly lifted it to raise her eyes to his. She was crying noiselessly and she looked so sad and lost, his heart caught in his throat. “Hope, tell me about it.”

  She nodded, her voice strained. “Okay.” She crossed to a wicker settee and sat down, curling her legs to one side, leaning on the arm as he took a seat in a rocker close by. “I think she must have been sick for awhile, but too afraid to do anything about it. By the time I got her to the doctor...”

  Her voice faded away. She looked down into her lap and he let her gather her thoughts without interrupting. She sighed. “It was pretty bad at the end. The cancer whittled away at her until she was next to nothing. It took her strength, and finally it took her hope. She couldn’t eat because of the mouth sores from her chemo.” Her voice caught, but she pressed on. “She used to pray to die.” She glanced up. “We ran out of what little savings we had. We lived in this horrible place.” She shuddered and stopped talking, lost in thought. “We moved to Chicago so my dad couldn’t find us, to sort of melt into the crowd. And it worked, until the night before her funeral.”

  She played with the hem of her shorts. “I came home after making some final arrangements, and my apartment was dark. I don’t know how he got in.” She seemed to be getting more emotional. “He blamed me for her dying, said I didn’t take good enough care of her.” A small sob escaped. “He was really angry.” She shook just remembering it, but then her face contorted, as if another thought had crept into her mind. “I had always wondered how he, without fail, could find us, but my Uncle Tim, he came to the funeral. When he saw what my dad had done to me, he broke down crying, saying he never thought my mom’s stories were true. And if he’d known, he would have never told my father anything. Tim was a cop, so he had access to a lot of information, and my dad always knew just how to wheedle it out of him.”

  Even though he knew all about her dad’s temper, he was shocked. “Your dad, he…hit you?”

  “Ohhh yeah. He did a real number on me. I never hurt like that.” She bit her lip, looking off into the distance, trying to compose herself.

  “Hope, I’m sorry. If I could have been there—”

  “Yeah,” she said with an edge, jumping up. She moved again to the railing, spreading her arms wide and leaning on it. He wondered what he had done to set her off, why she suddenly seemed so distant. She took a deep, shuddering breath, turning at last to face him. “Do you have any more wine?” she said, holding up her glass and beginning to laugh through her tears.

  “I think we drank all we have in here, but…” Sensing she needed a break, he added, “I’m building a wine room. Do you want to see it?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, laughing at herself. “Do you have a lot of wine in it?”

  He chuckled, putting his arm around her as they moved toward the door. “I think I have enough.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Chase led her away from their bedrooms. A large, open room spread out to their left.

  “I’m also redoing my exercise room right now.”

  “So you do the work yourself?”

  “Yeah, the heavy labor stuff anyway. I don’t fool around with electricity or plumbing much. It’s great for when I’m struggling with a song. Using my body physically seems to loosen up my mental self, too. Maybe the sweat oils the cogs or something. And here…” he said, opening a door just beyond the weight room with a flourish, “is my wine cellar.”

  She stepped through the doorway and into a large closet. The walls were lined with cubbyholes big enough for a bottle of wine. In the middle of the room was a pair of sawhorses with a board stretched between them, and a saw sat on the wooden floor, which had been covered by a tarp.

  “Wow!” she gazed around in awe. “You must have had a lot of problems with your songs.”

  He laughed. “Well”—he ran his hands over a shelf—“I have been keeping busy.” Maybe I’m taking out my sexual frustrations, he thought, chagrined.

  “I’d say!”

  “Oh, and here’s the cool part. When the electrician gets this hooked up”—he indicated a keypad by the door—“the door will seal shut and this room will be climate controlled with just a touch of a button.” To emphasize his point, he tapped the keypad. There was a sudden hissing noise. “What’s that?”

  “Uh…I think you just hermetically sealed us in here.”

  “Oh my gosh! I thought he hadn’t hooked it up yet.”

  “What do
you do to get out?”

  “Enter a code.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t know the code.”

  “Okay,” she replied slowly.

  “Do you think that Hal could hear us from this far away?”

  “I don’t know if noise will escape very well through a sealed door, but it’s worth a try.”

  They screamed in tandem and Chase tried various combinations on the keypad, but after twenty minutes, he turned away with a laugh. “I guess we’ll have to wait until Hal notices we’re missing.” He walked over to a mini-fridge, which was plugged in, nested in the far corner of the room.

  “But what if he doesn’t miss us?”

  He shrugged. “He’ll miss us eventually. And besides, we have this,” he commented, pulling a wine bottle out of the fridge.

  “Oh, great! So we can get drunk,” she said sarcastically. “Chase, what if there is a fire?”

  “We pray the seal will keep it out? I don’t know, Hope, I guess we’re going to just have to sit here and wait.”

  She sighed resignedly. “So how are we going to get the wine bottle open?”

  He smiled and pulled something out of his pocket, which turned out to be a Swiss Army knife complete with corkscrew.

  “How very Boy-Scoutish of you.”

  He retrieved a mostly clean coffee cup from the end of one of the saw horses, cleaned it off with the bottom of his shirt, and poured her some wine. “You should be thanking me.”

  “For sealing me in this room?”

  “Well, gosh, when you put it that way…” He stretched his long legs out with his back to the wall, patting the ground beside him.