weeks Fawn felt like
she’d died a sweet death and gone to Heaven. Taury was so accepting of her; it
amazed and thrilled her that anyone could be so gentle and kind and
understanding. He encouraged her to talk about her life; her childhood sorrows
and tribulations, her stolid marriage and hopeless attempts to revive it by
going through numerous in vitro pregnancies and miscarriages.
He honestly listened to her, and gave
her subtle hints about his own miseries, though he never actually came out and
described them. She wondered why, asked him outright. He merely sighed and said
nothing he had experienced could compare to her troubles, and then swiftly changed
the subject.
Taury’s cell phone rang often; mostly
assistants lining up meetings for him in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Meetings
he would reluctantly fly or drive off to, promising to return before dawn,
which he always did. Unlike Richard, Taury never broke a promise to her.
One night he said, “I can’t promise I
won’t leave you, but I can promise that I’ll always come back!”
“You can’t swear to that, either,
darling,” she had reasoned. “Only Fate knows if you will come back. Every time
you go out that door I worry. Connie thought Beau would be hers forever and she
lost him. But she was a strong woman. She could accept a life without him. I’m
not sure I could exist now without you.”
He had swallowed her worries for the
moment in a devouring kiss. Yet the old Fawn still lurked within her,
frightened of unknown horrors and writhing in the throes of threatening
nightmares. But this time when she woke in a fit of despair, clutching at the
covers and crying out, Taury was there to surround her in warmth and certainty,
kissing and coercing the pain away.
She and Taury spent their days
renovating the beach house. It was becoming a beauty again, under their careful
guidance. They replaced water-damaged walls and sanded and re-stained the pine
floors. Then they replaced all the kitchen cabinets with vintage white ones,
quite similar to the ones in her bungalow, and they found antique but working
appliances to match. Taury installed white marble countertops over the kitchen
cabinets, and ripped out the broken tiles in Fawn’s kitchen, and added marble
there as well.
Once that was done, Taury rebuilt a
crumbling fireplace in the beach house living room, and Fawn decorated it with
some original Malibu tiles with white, blue and yellow flowers that they had
found at a flea market.
They had a blast traveling all over
Southern California in his truck, buying up quaint shabby chic furniture as
well as some classier antiques, and filling the house with them. It was a big
place. You entered a giant carved wood front door with an arched top. On the
left there was a guest room, on the right a bath, then another guest room with
its own bath that had been her mother’s room as a child. Down a long, wide
hallway you came to an open living room where the fireplace stood, a small study
full of bookshelves, and the large kitchen. To its right were the laundry and
garage, and to the left of the living room were the main bedroom and its bath.
Fawn loved this room; it had its own little fireplace and sitting area. She
could imagine her grandparents hanging out there on a chilly winter’s night,
curled up by the fire, reading their beloved mystery novels, several of which
Fawn still had, in a narrow bookcase in her own living room. Rebecca was
her favorite; had been Connie’s, too.
Frank and Jimmy De Paolo came over
often, helping them out with design ideas and elbow grease. And the Finches,
George, a retired stage director, and Molly, a seamstress for the studio prop
departments back in the day – who had lived in their own hill-top bungalow for
thirty years – brought trays of cookies and scones as well as offering their
services as cat sitters whenever necessary. The cats seemed to love them as
much as they had Connie and Emmy. Fawn had to admit things
she’d died a sweet death and gone to Heaven. Taury was so accepting of her; it
amazed and thrilled her that anyone could be so gentle and kind and
understanding. He encouraged her to talk about her life; her childhood sorrows
and tribulations, her stolid marriage and hopeless attempts to revive it by
going through numerous in vitro pregnancies and miscarriages.
He honestly listened to her, and gave
her subtle hints about his own miseries, though he never actually came out and
described them. She wondered why, asked him outright. He merely sighed and said
nothing he had experienced could compare to her troubles, and then swiftly changed
the subject.
Taury’s cell phone rang often; mostly
assistants lining up meetings for him in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Meetings
he would reluctantly fly or drive off to, promising to return before dawn,
which he always did. Unlike Richard, Taury never broke a promise to her.
One night he said, “I can’t promise I
won’t leave you, but I can promise that I’ll always come back!”
“You can’t swear to that, either,
darling,” she had reasoned. “Only Fate knows if you will come back. Every time
you go out that door I worry. Connie thought Beau would be hers forever and she
lost him. But she was a strong woman. She could accept a life without him. I’m
not sure I could exist now without you.”
He had swallowed her worries for the
moment in a devouring kiss. Yet the old Fawn still lurked within her,
frightened of unknown horrors and writhing in the throes of threatening
nightmares. But this time when she woke in a fit of despair, clutching at the
covers and crying out, Taury was there to surround her in warmth and certainty,
kissing and coercing the pain away.
She and Taury spent their days
renovating the beach house. It was becoming a beauty again, under their careful
guidance. They replaced water-damaged walls and sanded and re-stained the pine
floors. Then they replaced all the kitchen cabinets with vintage white ones,
quite similar to the ones in her bungalow, and they found antique but working
appliances to match. Taury installed white marble countertops over the kitchen
cabinets, and ripped out the broken tiles in Fawn’s kitchen, and added marble
there as well.
Once that was done, Taury rebuilt a
crumbling fireplace in the beach house living room, and Fawn decorated it with
some original Malibu tiles with white, blue and yellow flowers that they had
found at a flea market.
They had a blast traveling all over
Southern California in his truck, buying up quaint shabby chic furniture as
well as some classier antiques, and filling the house with them. It was a big
place. You entered a giant carved wood front door with an arched top. On the
left there was a guest room, on the right a bath, then another guest room with
its own bath that had been her mother’s room as a child. Down a long, wide
hallway you came to an open living room where the fireplace stood, a small study
full of bookshelves, and the large kitchen. To its right were the laundry and
garage, and to the left of the living room were the main bedroom and its bath.
Fawn loved this room; it had its own little fireplace and sitting area. She
could imagine her grandparents hanging out there on a chilly winter’s night,
curled up by the fire, reading their beloved mystery novels, several of which
Fawn still had, in a narrow bookcase in her own living room. Rebecca was
her favorite; had been Connie’s, too.
Frank and Jimmy De Paolo came over
often, helping them out with design ideas and elbow grease. And the Finches,
George, a retired stage director, and Molly, a seamstress for the studio prop
departments back in the day – who had lived in their own hill-top bungalow for
thirty years – brought trays of cookies and scones as well as offering their
services as cat sitters whenever necessary. The cats seemed to love them as
much as they had Connie and Emmy. Fawn had to admit things
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