Page 75 of Space Oddities

I step forward again, this time not stopping until I’m inches away. “Maybe that’s the problem. I didn’t ask these questionssooner.”

Reaching out, I grip her shoulders, turning her around. She won’t look at me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You don’t want to know.” Her voice is small.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” When she still remains silent, I sigh, my agitation peeking through my outer calm. “Come on. I asked nicely.”

She shakes me off, her brown eyes sparking fire into mine, hands on her hips. “And since the great and mighty Ian Kincaid asked, I justhaveto answer. Is that it?” She scoffs. “Well how ’bout this—Idon’t want to tell you.”

“But why? It makes no sense.” I run my hands through my hair, gripping hard to keep myself from trying to shake sense into this woman.

Frowning, she walks past me toward the house. “I’m sorry, but it’s better this way.”

“How is this better?” I follow her, glad she’s heading inside, rather than to her truck with the trailer already hitched and ready to go.

Yanking open the door, she marches into the kitchen. I have to grab the door to keep it from swinging shut in her wake. “It’s better to say goodbye now than me having to leave later when you’re angry.”

“I could never be mad at you.” I fish my car key out of my pocket and drop it in the dish as if on autopilot.

Trish stalks through the kitchen. “What a bunch of hooey. You know darn well you’re mad right now.”

“Trish—”

“No.” She spins once more, this time holding her hand out as if to warn me away. “It’s better this way. Just remember me all dressed up, looking like everything you ever wanted. Even if it’s the exact opposite of what I am or where I came from, it’s still better than the truth.”

My brows pinch together, confused until I remember what I told her when she came gliding down the stairs in her white dress. “I may have said you’re everything I ever wanted when you were all dressed up that night, but I meant it whether you’re in pjs, a bathing suit, or bare-assnaked by the pool.” At her disbelieving look, I shake my head. “And what’s this talk about where you came from? The only one who seems to have a problem with where you come from is you.”

“That’s why you had photographers take your picture with Brenda?” She blinks, looking as surprised by her snarky comment as I am.

But it’s my fault. Like Dr. Brown said, if I hadn’t been so busy managing things instead of dealing with them, I never would have been at that fundraiser. Trish and I could’ve been sprawled out in front of the TV, another smorgasbord of takeout around us, watching some foreign TV series and cuddling. Letting our relationship grow, building trust. Maybe then she wouldn’t still be keeping things from me.

I grit my teeth, now madder at myself than her. “That wasn’t my idea. I wanted to be seen withyouon my arm.”

“Yes.” She nods, looking wistful. “That’s what you said.” Sighing, she walks over to the bench by the French doors, grabbing her laptop bag by the long strap. She gives me a small smile. A sad smile. “And maybe you believe that, Ian, but it will change. If you know more about me and who I am, it will change.”

“No.” I try to infuse every ounce of conviction I have in my voice. “It won’t.”

“Yes.” Her voice, though softer, sounds just as sure. “It will.”

We stand there, ten feet apart, each of us convinced that we’re right. Neither of us wanting to give in.

“I guess we won’t really know unless you tell me.”

“You think that, but—”

“Just tell me.” My voice cracks across the house, the near empty rooms echoing my anger. My frustration.

She flinches. “Please. Can’t you see that I want you to remember me the way—“

“Tell me.”

She drops her head back, like she’s hoping for divine intervention. When none comes, she straightens. “Fine.” Hiking her bag on her shoulder, she walks toward me, a look on her face I’ve never seen before. “You want to know?”

“Yes. I do.” I reach for her, but she steps out of range. “Trust me, Trish.”

Another sad smile, but this time she holds my eyes. “Let’s start with that. You know me as Trish Garrett. You know my pen name, Audrey Cole. Myrealname is Patricia Anne Garrett LaRue.”

“Why did you change your name?”

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