River’s End

well, I’m busy and I’m picky. But when I do, I consider it a natural, sometimes entertaining act that shouldn’t be tied up with a bunch of sticky pretenses. In other words, I approach it like a man.”
    “Yeah, well. Hmmm.”
    “If you’re not interested on that level, no hard feelings.” She finished the wine, set it aside. “And I do recall you mentioning a vow of chastity, so maybe this conversation is moot.”
    “I wouldn’t call it a vow. exactly. More like a ... concept.”
    “Then we both have something to think about. Now I really have to go.”
    “I’ll drive you.”
    “A cab’s fine.”
    “No, I’ll take you. A drive might clear my head. You’re fascinating, Olivia. No wonder you’ve been stuck in my mind for years.” He took her hand again, a habit she was almost getting used to. “Your stuff’s still in the car, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s go, then. Keys?”
    She dug them out of her pocket, handed them over as they walked through the house. “Aren’t you going to set the alarm?”
    “Shit. Right.” Conversation, he thought, after he’d punched in the code and locked up. Fresh conversation because he didn’t think his system could handle any more on the subject they’d just discussed. “So, did you have any trouble finding your way down here?”
    “I had a map. I’m good at reading maps. And this is a great ride,” she added as she settled in the passenger seat. “Handles like a dream.”
    “You open her up?”
    She gave him a wisp of a smile. “Maybe.” Then she laughed, enjoying the rush of wind as the car picked up speed. “It’s a bullet. How many speeding tickets do you collect in the average year?”
    He winced. “I’m a cop’s son. I have great respect for the law.”
    “Okay, how many does your father have fixed for you during the average year?”
    “Family doesn’t keep track of small acts of love. You know he’d like to see you while you’re here. My mother, too.”
    “I don’t know what plans my aunt may have made, if there’ll be time.”
    “I thought you didn’t like pretenses.”
    She picked up the sunglasses she’d left on his dash, slipped them on. “All right. I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing him. I don’t know how I’ll handle being back here, even for a few days. I decided to come to find out.”
    She balled her fists in her lap, then deliberately relaxed them. “I don’t remember Los Angeles. All I really remember is ... Do you know where my mother’s house is? Was?”
    “Yeah.” He was working on the current owners to let him take a tour.
    “Go there. I want to go there.”
    “Liv, you can’t get in.”
    “I don’t need to. I just need to see it.”
    Panic was a whisper inside her head, an icy caress along her skin. But she made herself stand at the gate. The walls surrounding the estate were tall and thick and brilliantly white. Trees and distance screened the house, but she could catch glimpses of it, brilliantly white as well, with the soft red tile of the roof.
    “There are gardens, I’m not sure I knew how many. Elaborate, wonderful gardens. One was tucked away under big, shady trees and had a little pool with goldfish and water lilies. It had a bridge over it. A white bridge, that my mother said was for the fairies.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her biceps and hunching over as if to fight off sudden cold. “There was another with just roses. Dozens and dozens of rosebushes. He bought a white one when I was born and planted it himself. I remember him telling me that. He’d planted it himself because it was special, and when he had to go out of town, or whenever he came back, he’d leave a white rose on my pillow. I wonder if they kept the gardens the way they were.”
    Noah said nothing, simply rubbed a hand over her back and listened.
    “The house was so big. It seemed like a palace to me. Soaring ceilings and huge windows. Room after room after room, every one of them special somehow. I slept in a canopy bed.” She shuddered once, violently. “I can’t stand to have anything overhead while I sleep now. I hadn’t realized why. Someone would tell me a story every night. My mother or him, or if they were going out, Rosa. But Rosa didn’t tell the really good stories. Sometimes they’d have parties, and I could lie in bed and hear the music and people laughing. My mother loved having people around. They’d come all the time. Aunt Jamie, Uncle David. Her agent. Uncle