Dane's Storm(31)

Finally, Audra shrugged, looking up from her plate. “Honestly, I don’t have any time to draw. I thought about turning the building into a gallery like we talked about . . . originally. But”—she paused—“I didn’t feel confident there’d be much immediate income with that plan. So, flowers it was.” She smiled in a way that met her eyes and softened them, bringing to mind melted chocolate—sweet and warm. My heart flipped in that old familiar way, so I looked away from her, both liking the sensation and hating it simultaneously. Audra didn’t seem to notice as she continued. “I love it though. It satisfies the artist in me and brings in enough money that I can feed myself.”

“And pay the rent.”

She shook her head. “I still live in my grandparents’ house.”

“You what?”

Audra must have heard the shock in my tone because her eyes snapped to mine and widened slightly.

“You never moved? Why?” She’d hated that house, hated the way it made her feel trapped, alone. Hated the dismal feel of it, the memories of longing for connection, familial closeness and never getting it. The colorlessness. “You told me you were moving back there temporarily until you sold it. Why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s paid for. I know it’s not easy for someone with the last name Townsend to take into consideration annoying things like mortgages, but unfortunately, I don’t have that privilege.”

“Don’t give me that, Audra. You talk about me like I was a snob, and you know I wasn’t.”

She looked down and color filled her cheeks, but when she looked back at me, her expression was regretful. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You were never a snob. That was unfair of me. Maybe we should have spared each other this little reunion.”

“Maybe this little reunion has been long overdue.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Audra, that maybe we’ve both needed to quiet some old ghosts.”

She shook her head, but something that might have been panic flitted over her expression. “I don’t need to quiet any old ghosts.”

“Are you sure about that? Why do you still live in that house? You could have sold it and bought a new one and still not had a mortgage. Why have you stayed there all these years?” Are you torturing yourself in some way, Audra? Do you even realize it?

She picked up her wine glass and took a last drink. I watched her throat as she swallowed, and despite feeling irritated, unsettled, slightly sad, the movement caused a buzzing in my blood. “I don’t know, okay?” she finally said. “It just felt overwhelming to think of packing that place up, moving, when I was already working myself ragged trying to get my business off the ground.” She huffed out a small breath and I sat back in my chair, watching her. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to move once I have the occasional spare weekend. . .”

Working herself ragged. I hated that. Hated it for her. Yes, that’s what it took to start a business, but it didn’t sit well with me. She should have been soaring by now. She was that talented. I sighed, picking up my fork and taking a bite of my now-cold food. “If you need help—”

“No, of course I don’t need help. But, thank you. Thank you, I appreciate that. What you’re doing, flying to Laurelton to talk to your grandmother in person, that’s more than enough.”

I nodded and some of the tension of the last few minutes seemed to dissipate as the hum of conversation around us made it back to my ears.

“So, you, um, like your job? Running Townsend Robotics makes you happy?” I appreciated her attempt to switch the topic back to me but hated that there was still sadness in her eyes.

“Yeah. I really do. It stimulates my mind, but more than that, I’m good at it. If I do say so myself.”

“I’m sure you are. You’ve lived and breathed robotics since you were a boy. I remember the light in your eyes whenever you talked about Townsend Robotics.” Melancholy moved across her expression, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

“Yeah. We’re designing and manufacturing prosthetic limbs now. It was something I spearheaded, and it’s brought the company to a whole new level. It’s amazing, Audra, especially when we fit a kid for a new leg or a hand when he’s never had one before. To see their whole world change . . .”

Her eyes filled with a sad tenderness and pride. “Your contribution,” she murmured.

I paused again, suddenly eighteen years old, sitting in my car, my backside wet from the rain as I confided in Audra about my dad. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat, trying to shrug off the memory. We’d been so different then. But I still had that burning desire to confide in her, to share things with her I didn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone else. “But even more,” I said softly, “it fulfills me because I couldn’t do anything for my own son, but I can help these kids. I can be part of making them whole.”

Audra’s eyes widened, pain flitting over her expressive face. I wanted to say more, and I was about to, but suddenly, several tables away, people started clapping softly and gasping when a man went down on his knees in front of a woman as she cried, bringing her hands up to her mouth. Ah, Christ. What spectacular luck that I’d chosen this restaurant to bring my ex-wife to so we could witness a marriage proposal. Great.