Fire and Water Read online

  What excuse did she have? To start over and finally chase her dream?

  “Michelle.”

  “What about her?” Maureen asked.

  “We slept together,” Diane said, finishing off her drink and refilling the glass. She took another hearty gulp and sighed, flopping her arms on the rests as the pleasant fuzziness of the champagne filled her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Getting into a relationship, any type of relationship, so quickly after the divorce? I was out of my mind. But she was so…and I thought…”

  “What?”

  Diane shook her head and finished her drink off. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Maureen stared at Diane for a minute, before offering a comforting touch on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she said. “I still think putting yourself out there is a good, healthy step in the right direction for you.”

  Diane narrowed her eyes with a snicker. “Is it really?” she snapped. “Does this look healthy to you?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Maureen asked gently. “Do you want me to condemn it? Say you acted like an idiot? Yell at you and ask why you’d get yourself into something so foolishly—”

  “Yes.” Diane shot from the chair and set the champagne glass on the table. She threw her hands up and crashed them onto her hips, staring at Maureen. “That’s exactly what I want you to say.”

  “Why though?”

  “Because, I—” Diane bit her lip as it quivered, a wave of emotion striking her unexpectedly. Her eyes clouding with tears. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Maureen leaned forward and looked up at Diane, her green eyes wide with concern.

  “And how she told me our time together didn’t mean anything, and it was only fun and nothing serious, and how she left me feeling rejected and hurt, and I screwed everything up, Mo. Honestly, I really did. My book is going to flop and no one is going to publish it, and I neglected everything I needed to do for my reappointment and I’m drowning. I went up to Vermont embarrassed and lonely and overwhelmed, and I returned feeling the exact same way. God, I am so stupid, and I need my best friend to yell at me and tell me I messed up, okay?” Diane bawled. “Can you do that for me? Please? Can you do me that one, simple kindness?”

  Sighing, Maureen pushed herself up and over towards Diane, wrapping her in a tight hug. Diane held her best friend, dropped her cheek on her shoulder and let the emotions get the best of her. She let the tears and the frustrations flow out of her, and Maureen held on, never letting her go.

  “Diane,” Maureen said softly, leaning away and clearing the tears off Diane’s cheek. “Look at me.”

  Diane’s eyes drifted upward cautiously, until she met Maureen’s sympathetic gaze.

  “I’m not going to yell at you,” she said. “And you shouldn’t yell at yourself either.”

  “I feel like I took ten steps backwards.”

  “Maybe it feels that way now,” Maureen said. “But you’ll find your way back. You’ll move on. You’ll pick yourself up again like you always do.”

  Diane closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Maureen again.

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No,” Diane said, the answer coming swift and sure. “No. I don’t. She made me feel confident and intelligent and worthy of happiness. Things I haven’t felt in a long, long time. Things I haven’t felt for another woman perhaps even longer.”

  “Good. I’m happy for that, and I am sorry things didn’t end well between you two,” Maureen said.

  “Me, too.” Diane drew in a long breath and released it.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt. If she doesn’t want you, then she’s crazy. If I wasn’t straight as a nail, I would have snatched you up years ago.”

  Diane pulled away with a laugh and roll of her eyes.

  “Of course, it would never have worked,” Maureen said. “My tastes are too expensive for you.”

  “That’s true.” Diane smiled. “But I thought you were starting to like farmers’ markets?”

  “I’ll always pick Gucci over zucchini, you know that.”

  “All too well,” Diane laughed.

  “You’ll be all right,” Maureen said, wrapping her arm around Diane’s waist. “You bounce back better than anyone I know. Approach it one day at a time, get yourself organized, make a plan and some of those nerdy to-do lists you like,” she said with an amused chuckle. “After a day or two you won’t be so overwhelmed.”

  Diane nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  “You might have changed since the divorce,” Maureen said, “but you’re still my uptight, overthinking, type-A best friend you’ve always been. You can do this.”

  “You’re right,” Diane sighed.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t go well between you and your rebound woman,” Maureen said with a smirk, collecting the empty champagne bottle and glasses. “I had such high hopes.”

  Diane frowned. “She was not a rebound.”

  “Okay, she wasn’t a rebound. Either way though, if I’d known you two were going to end so disastrously, I wouldn’t have put you two together on that project. Although I’m glad I did, it’s going to look spectacular.”

  “I’m glad our collaboration worked out so well for you,” Diane said truthfully. “And to be fair, at that point, I don’t think either one of us realized what we were getting into, until we got into bed together.”

  Pushing the back door open, Maureen led Diane inside. “Out of curiosity, how was she?”

  Diane scowled and closed the door behind them. “Maureen.”

  “What?” Maureen said, tossing her brown hair and a devilish look over her shoulder. “I’m your best friend, who else are you going to share the dirty details with?”

  “No one.” Diane blushed, walking towards the living room sofa. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Come on,” Maureen moaned, setting the bottle and glasses on the dining table and joining Diane in the living room. “Throw me something. A woman with all those tattoos must be wild in the bedroom.”

  Diane shook her head. “Grey’s is about to start,” she said, reaching for the remote. “Can you live vicariously through our favorite fictional doctors instead?”

  “Fine,” Maureen huffed and fell onto the couch.

  Eyeing Maureen, Diane shook her head and settled in comfortably, putting her bare feet up on the coffee table. She turned on the flat screen above the fireplace. “But if you’re going to whine about it,” she relented, “yes, she was good in bed.”

  Maureen slapped Diane’s leg. “I freakin’ knew it.”

  “And in the kitchen,” Diane hummed teasingly while eyeing the ceiling with an innocent expression.

  “Excuse me?” Maureen asked, leaning back and studying Diane with an incredulous expression.

  “And the shower,” Diane whispered, nudging Maureen playfully with her shoulder. “Twice.”

  “Oh, Diane,” Maureen shook her head, mouth gaping open, “you really need to take sabbaticals more often.”

  Diane laughed. “I think one is plenty.”

  “Or maybe I should.”

  “Have my personal failings inspired you to start looking into a career change, now, too?”

  Maureen threw her arms across Diane’s shoulders. “If it comes with those kinds of perks, I sure as hell am.”

  Laughing, Diane leaned her head on Maureen’s shoulder and sighed, “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you more.” Maureen kissed Diane’s head. “Welcome home, babe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The radio played a popular 80s song quietly in the background, and Maureen drummed her fingers on the steering wheel while her Mercedes idled in traffic. The evening was warm. Clear. Nightlife on Anna Maria Island was in full swing: galleries, restaurants and the long stretch of white, sandy beaches were packed with people enjoying the last minutes of golden sunlight sinking on the Gulf.

  Eyeing herself in the visor mirror, Diane ins
pected her subtle pink lipstick, puckering her lips in approval, and relaxed against the leather passenger seat. Her lips looked soft and delicately alluring. Far better than she could say about the rest of her look. The price tag on her dress alone was exaggerated enough, a frivolous gift from Maureen during their trip to Miami a few weeks ago. The designer dress—a lustrous yellow, one shoulder, curve-hugging style with a seductive slit running provocatively up her thigh—was gorgeous, but more extravagant than Diane would ever typically wear. But Maureen ignored her protests. The vivacious look was for tonight: Southern Belle’s grand opening, and Maureen wanted her best friend in something absolutely smashing.

  Admittedly, Diane felt as good as she looked. Beautiful. Confident. Glowing. And after the week she’d had, receiving a devastating reply from the one literary agent she’d heard from, Diane was desperate to feel something other than disappointment.

  Over the last month, without any responses from prospective agents, Diane pushed the fate of her book out of her mind and threw herself towards results she could control—her work. She made every effort to go into her office each day, updating her CV, collecting peer and student reviews, and beginning the first draft of her professional narrative. It took some time, but Diane was finally getting back into the rhythm of things, until she opened her first and only reply back from a potential agent—one she thoroughly liked—and her optimism popped like a balloon.

  “What does ‘R and R’ mean again?” Maureen asked, eyeing Diane from the driver’s seat as she shifted into gear and rolled through the green light. Maureen was dressed to the nines, flaunting a sexy scarlet red dress. How she’d handled driving a stick with four-inch black stilettos, Diane was unsure, but she was thoroughly impressed. “Revise and…”

  “Resubmit,” Diane finished the sentence. Sighing, she clutched her purse and stared out the window, watching the island blur by.

  “That doesn’t sound bad.”

  “Yes, on the surface,” Diane said. “But you didn’t read the multipage document accompanying it, scrutinizing every mistake and error in my manuscript. It was humiliating.”

  “I’m sorry.” Maureen offered Diane a reassuring glance.

  “It was a wrecking ball to my self-esteem, after putting my heart and soul into a book I’m unquestionably proud of, only to have it rejected by the one person who took notice.”

  “I can understand that.” Maureen frowned. “But did this agent say she didn’t like it?”

  “No,” Diane huffed, wiggling in her seat. “She didn’t use those specific words.”

  “Is it a rejection of any kind?”

  “No, but—”

  “Forgetting the parts that need work,” Maureen said, shrugging, “it sounds like what was good about your book grabbed this agent’s attention. Right?”

  “Yes. You’re right. It is.”

  “Then what’s the real issue?”

  “My dilemma is I still have queries I’m waiting to hear back from,” Diane answered. “What if they say it’s good to go and they love it? But I committed myself to this agency, and now I’d have to start from scratch with my manuscript, only to be rejected after I resubmit?”

  “Would it be starting from scratch?” Maureen asked, turning away from the main road, bringing them down the narrow side streets towards the water.

  “No,” Diane admitted with a relenting moan. “But there’s enough revisions in her email, it might as well be the case.”

  “How long do you have to decide?”

  Diane sighed, “Soon. A few days.”

  “Well, soon is not now,” Maureen said, slowing down as they arrived at their destination, the Southern Belle’s parking lot nearly filled to capacity. A proud smile lit up Maureen’s face as she pulled in, searching for a vacant spot. “Now you don’t have to decide. Now all you have to do is come inside, support your friends on this fabulous new restaurant they’ve worked their asses off for, and stuff your face with phenomenal Southern food and drinks.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Diane smiled, thankful for the opportunity to get her mind off herself that evening and celebrate her friends and their accomplishment. Perhaps some good conversation and cocktails would give Diane the clarity she desired.

  “I’m always right.” Maureen parked the car and turned off the engine. She winked at Diane and fetched her purse from the backseat, sliding out of the driver’s seat. “You ready to see our masterpiece?”

  “Yes, I am,” Diane said, stepping out of the car and closing the door. She eyed her attire once more as she met Maureen at the front of the car. “You’re absolutely sure about this dress?” she asked. “I don’t want to walk in to your big night looking like a giant marshmallow Easter candy.”

  “It’s Tuscan gold, and you look fabulous.” Maureen laughed and pulled Diane in for a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll be turning more heads than just mine tonight.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “You never know,” Maureen smirked.

  “After my recent romantic failure, Maureen,” Diane said, lowering her eyes to her dress, “it’s safe to say, inducing anyone’s attention with this dress tonight won’t be intentional.”

  “Either way,” Maureen hooked their arms together and pulled Diane towards the restaurant, “you look amazing. Come on, let’s get a drink in you and you’ll feel better.”

  If the drinks were half as strong and extravagant as the restaurant’s exterior, that wouldn’t be a problem. Diane’s gaze rose up the building. The classic, low-country design was gorgeous, white with a deep overhang and large windows. People filled the wraparound porch, cocktails in hand, enjoying the beautiful, warm night. It took Diane back, staring at the agrestic architecture, memories of her childhood home, nights on the porch swing listening to the droning purr of crickets.

  “I can see you’re already impressed,” Maureen bragged, opening the door for Diane with a wink, “wait until you feast your eyes on the inside. You’re going to drop dead.”

  Diane narrowed her eyes. Always keenly aware of her best friend’s frequent use of lavish hyperbole, Diane scrutinized Maureen’s warning. But she needn’t. In laying her eyes on the interior of the Southern Belle for the first time, dropping dead was exactly what Diane almost did. Right there. Flopping face first into a dead man’s float on the lobby’s posh chevron flooring.

  The restaurant was elegant, open and welcoming with French influences and classic southern charm. Waiting at the podium, Maureen checked in with the host, and Diane’s eyes drifted over every intricate detail. The tasteful wainscoting walls. Romantic oil paintings. Accents of gold and black, and wrought iron lights. Diane smiled. The design screamed Maureen, inside and out. Her strong attention to detail and commitment to perfection was a fitting match for Kelly Ann and her vision. And what a gorgeous vision it was. Diane was beside herself.

  “You ready?” Maureen asked, spinning towards Diane. “We’ve got a few minutes before our table is ready, let’s grab some drinks.”

  “After you.”

  Diane smiled, gesturing for Maureen to lead the way. Rich, savory scents flowed through the restaurant, and Diane’s mouth watered at the delicious prospects waiting for her. Weaving their way through the crowd in the lobby, they entered the main seating area and headed towards the bar, and that’s when Diane saw it.

  Frozen at the edge of the dining room, Diane stared upward. Her heart raced. Head spun. And for several, long, enduring moments, Diane wasn’t breathing at all.

  Spread across the ceiling, tendrils of glass—emerald green and chartreuse and sage—hung from branches of bright, metallic copper, above the dining room. Hundreds of tiny, twinkling specks of light broke through the twisting branches and the thin curls of glass, like a smattering of stars in the night sky. The art was breathtaking. Massive, to say the least. The sculpture spanned from one end of the ceiling to the other, a myriad of green, and coils of glass dangled above the room. Diane was transfixed, teleported back in time to her c
hildhood, staring up at that wide Southern oak in her family’s yard, blanketed by the soft spirals of moss and the comforting sound of her father’s ethereal voice. The memory came back to her, like a lost echo, returning to her after all those years, sweeping her up in a flood of longing and emotion.

  Diane blinked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “Incredible, right? I don’t know how you two pulled it off,” Maureen said, pulling Diane from her dreamlike haze and leading her towards the bar. They settled on the bar stools, and Maureen ordered for the two of them. “It’s a shame things ended the way they did; you and Michelle obviously work well together. You blew me away with this concept.”

  “I didn’t—” Diane shook her head. She dabbed her eyes with a cocktail napkin. “This isn’t what we came up with together. I had nothing to do with this.”

  “What do you mean?” Maureen laughed, checking messages on her phone. “You said you worked together.”

  Diane blinked and wet her wet lips, folding the cocktail napkin neatly in front of her. “We did. I offered my input, and we came up with a statement piece, a decorative chandelier of sorts, but not—this isn’t what we came up with together. At all.”

  But what a design it was. Overwhelming and heartfelt. The smells of sweet hay and smoke came soaring back to her, recalling that evening together. Diane could feel the hot fire and see the shadows dancing upon Michelle’s startling features. Diane frequently revisited that summer night together in her mind. Michelle looked so beautiful, and Diane never felt safer to be open and vulnerable, sharing memories of her past and the hurt she felt now in the present. Everything changed between them that night. The glow from those flames lit the way to something more between them, sparks starting an untamable fire—the heat from which Diane still felt in her heart, no matter how hard she tried to extinguish it.