The Original Sinners: The Red Years

Reisz Tiffany

“I don’t care. There’s no one else I want to be with. But if you want to be with Zach…I just want you to be happy. That’s all that matters.”

“Listen, last night with Zach—it was about the book. I went over to his apartment yesterday to throw the book in his face, to show him it was done. I was going to leave. He asked me to stay, to help him finish editing it. We got it all done in one night.”

“I saw you when you came in. You didn’t just work on the book. I’m not completely stupid about everything.”

“You aren’t stupid about anything. I am. I’m the one who forgot to call, who forgot we had plans. I was just so shocked that Zach had changed his mind…that he wanted to read the book. Wes,” she said and Wesley met her eyes. “He signed the contract. We celebrated.”

“I thought we were going to celebrate.”

“We still can. We—”

“I wasn’t talking about dinner and a fucking movie, Nora.” Nora flinched at the sheer agony in his voice. “I wanted us to be together.”

“Wesley…” she began but couldn’t find another word to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said and ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to yell. This is…I don’t know. Last Sunday on your bed, Nora, I can’t even tell you how that made me feel.”

“I never felt anything like what I felt with you, either,” she said and remembered that abject panic she felt when she and Wesley had come so close to making love.

“Felt what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked cold and tired. She wanted to wrap her arms around him until they both felt warm again.

She laughed a little. “Performance anxiety.”

“Performance anxiety? Nora, you don’t have to perform with me.”

“I think that’s why I was so scared. I don’t know how to be with someone like you. I don’t know the rules to this game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“Then how will we win?”

Wesley didn’t answer, just stared past her.

“I guess that answers my question,” she said.

Wesley took a deep breath. “I’ll try. I’ll try to be what you need me to be. I know I’m not like you, but I can try. It’s worth it if I can be with you.”

“But it wouldn’t be you with me. It would be some version of you that was trying to be what I wanted. I won’t let you sacrifice who you are to be with me.” Wesley shook his head and headed for the door. “Wesley, please—”

She started to stand up, wanting to go to him.

“Don’t.” He raised his hand. She froze where she was. “Don’t apologize and don’t explain. I’ll live with this. I just need you not to talk about it.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

“Hey,” he said with false levity. “At least it’s not Soren.”

Nora shrugged and clenched her teeth.

“Wes…will you let me give you the combs back? I can’t imagine how much they cost and I know—”

“Keep them.” He grabbed his coffee mug and headed to the door again. He paused next to where she sat huddled in her chair. “They’ll look beautiful in your hair.”

Nora rested her head on her knees. Her stomach rumbled from stress and hunger. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but the thought of food only made it worse.

“I gotta go,” Wesley said. “Study group.”

“Be careful.”

Wesley left without another word. The door shut. She heard Wesley’s car start and pull away. And she knew she was alone. Coughing on purpose, Nora tried to relieve the pressure in her throat. She rose and poured a cup of coffee and half-considered spiking it with whiskey.

Sipping at her coffee, she swallowed the bitter heat gratefully. She needed more sleep, she decided, or another shower. No, she realized. What she really, who she needed was—

The doorbell rang jarring her from the dangerous trajectory of her thoughts. She set her mug on the table and went to the door.

Nora opened the front door to find a woman standing on the porch. Her hair was an elegant shade of red and her fair skin was dusted with becoming constellations of pale freckles. Lovely beyond description, she looked a year or two shy of thirty, but her shining turquoise eyes glowed with a wisdom and intelligence well beyond her years.

“Hello,” Nora said.

“Ms. Sutherlin,” the woman said and with the first lilting words out of her mouth Nora knew exactly who she was. “I’m so sorry to trouble you. I’m—”

“My God,” Nora breathed, “you’re Grace Easton.”

“I am,” she said. “How did—”

“Welsh, beautiful, freckles. I don’t see that combination much in this neighborhood.” Nora smiled at her, sensing that this meeting was somehow preordained. “Please come in.”

33

Nora poured her coffee down the drain and replaced it with tea. She filled another cup and placed it on the kitchen table in front of Grace.

“Milk?” Nora offered.

“Thank you, no. Zachary always called me a heretic for drinking my tea without milk.”

“It’s not very English of you,” Nora teased. “But then again, you’re Welsh.”

“My father is, and my mother is Irish.”

“I can tell.” Nora envied Grace her red hair and exquisite freckles. “Can you do an Irish accent, too?”