Vacant Heart

Chapter Six

"I haven't eaten that much in a very long time," Aidan states, perplexed by the hunger frenzy we experienced over the course of the past hour. Over that time, Aidan indulged me with small details of his life, ones not necessarily news worthy but steps that further my understanding into his very complicated brain. He's given me his daughter's name, Lily, although I already knew it from his files. He showed me a few more rooms in the house—a wine cellar filled to the brim with expensive dated booze, a record room housing every musical disc imaginable, a bathroom that still has all appliances from when this place was first constructed—and somehow we found ourselves in the parlor, one of those expensive brandy bottles opened.

He's seated by the fire, the glass against his thigh. And I, a couple of glasses in, am lying on the Persian rug in the middle of the room, holding the glass against my stomach. At his comment, I laugh, defeated by the effective buzz to my system.

I figured a few snags of liquor would dismiss the underlying nervousness being in a creepy house with a creepy, alluring stranger—and it has.

"My mama is the master at mac and cheese. When I was young, the entire neighborhood would do this huge pot luck and everybody would eat together. Her dish to them was more important than a turkey," I say, pointedly to prove my point. He smiles, softly. I've noticed through the night, despite the fact that he's only had this one glass of brandy, his smile has changed.

Earlier, it was a slim line that only seemed to quiver. And while it's not a true smile I've managed to crack, his mouth has curved enough for his cheeks to indent beneath the dark hair covering his jaw line. I've come to the conclusion that he's probably dauntingly stunning in happiness.

"You'll probably miss that then this Christmas."

Peering over my chin, I watch the dark liquid shine against the light of the flames, wishing I could dismiss the comment and enjoy my old memories. But, it's been a long time since she and I have performed any traditions.

"It's been...five years since I last spent a holiday with her. I was going to try again this year, but hey, this trip has probably saved me from a fight."

"Why so long?"

"A falling out."

"About what?"

I smile, darkly. "Aren't I supposed to be the one interviewing you?"

He doesn't answer me, allowing me to answer on my own terms. I find it easier to speak about it staring into my drink rather than meeting his gaze.

"She hates my line of work, the hours, the dangers. She's old-fashioned. You'd think being a single mother would broaden her views on independence, but she always expected me to want what she wanted."

"And what was that?"

"A husband. A family. A home I could take care of. A cookie-cutter fantasy."

"I see."

"Obviously, I blew her mind when I told her I was going to school, and even further when I went in for my Masters. The day I received the degree, she blew up. So did I. It was...one of the worst days of my life. Little did I know, she'd be diagnosed with Alzheimer's two years later."

With my head tilted back, I nod at his widened expression.

"Yeah, so, I apologized because I knew she needed me and she accepted it because she knew she needed me too. But, my job is one that takes me around the world, sometimes at a moment's notice." I feel like I'm dragging us down considerably. "I'm sorry. The liquor has made it strangely easy to talk."

He ignores that. "If you both apologized, why is the cord still snapped?"

"I met a man a few years ago...Bradley. I even got engaged to him."