A Place to Call Home

by Jessica Berg

  Not able to take it anymore, she escaped the attic, baby doll under her arm. Catching her breath and double-checking behind her for any trailing squirrel babies, she got back to work. After several minutes of ripping and pitching, a pile of wood and boards lay in a dusty pile at her feet. With hands on her hips, Grace studied the mess.

  “How’s it going?”

  Grace wiped a filthy hand across her forehead. “Nothing like a little demolition to make my heart sing.”

  Dominick grinned and kicked at the old wood. “That’s good.” He winked. “I like my women dirty.”

  Grace cursed the blush she knew had spread across her face. She bristled at the triumph on his face and refused to glance any lower than his shoulder blades when he walked out. Grace scowled at his retreating form.

  “I saw that.”

  “What? How did … ?”

  Dominick gave an exasperating grin and disappeared around the corner.

  Grace muttered to herself and kicked at a piece of wood. “Moron.”

  After hunting for Phoebe, she found her sitting cross-legged on the floor covered with dust and wallpaper shrapnel. Phoebe made a face.

  Grace settled next to her. “You look like poo. Glad you wore mascara now, huh?”

  “You don’t look any better.” At Phoebe’s comment, Grace glanced down at herself. Dust and dirt clung to her sweaty legs, and she could only assume her face looked the same.

  “Is my face as bad as I think it is?”

  She clucked her tongue as she eyed Grace. “You’re not looking your best today. Haven’t spoken with anyone hot recently, have you?”

  “Well, if you consider Dominick hot—”

  “You’re in big trouble, sister. You’re going to have to do some serious damage control the next couple of days.” Phoebe squinted out of a red eye dripping with mascara runs. “This sucks. It’s hotter than hell in this house, I’ve got mascara dripping everywhere, and my underwear is so wet it feels as if I peed myself.”

  Grace patted her back. “If it makes you feel any better, it is lunchtime.”

  * * *

  Leo took his own lunch break. He never knew how fun this could be. He obviously couldn’t kill them until his fun had run out.

  With newfound vigor, he bit into his sandwich and munched happily to the plan he’d hatched. Like a spider, he reminded himself.

  His grin slipped. His father had done much the same to him. Displayed the instrument of pain for hours, days, before unleashing his rage. He swallowed the sticky memories. They didn’t matter. He was not a teary-eyed, pansy-boy anymore. And just like his father before him, he would reel them in, slowly, invisibly, and strike.

  His grin grew new life again. It was too much to bear. Phoebe telling him he was a cute cowboy. He couldn’t wait to hear what she’d say seconds before he slit her throat like the pig she was.

  Chapter 6

  Grace threw her sandwich baggie into her lunchbox. “I need a walk.”

  “All right. Wake me up when you get back. I’m gonna take a ten-minute nap.”

  Grace trekked to the tree belt bordering the back of the property. On a whim, she investigated the flickering light from the other day, dodging over low branches and wading through weeds to the spot where she’d seen it. Nothing.

  “Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t know what to look for if a herd of elephants tromped through this.” She huffed and hiked back out of the mini-woods.

  A clear pond, only a few feet from the copse of trees, reflected the leaf-laden boughs. It would make for a peaceful little sitting area, maybe with a gazebo. A sanctuary. Some serious landscaping would have to be done first. Her fingers itched to get started, but for now, she needed some downtime, time to think.

  Sitting against an old tree, she rested her head against its gnarly and knotted bark. The distant rumble of farm equipment coaxed her into a trance. Something warm and strong touched her leg. She bolted upright and stared into Dominick’s face. The heat of his hand soaked through her jeans. Her heart pumped, her breathing shallowed, the nightmare faded to a fuzzy memory.

  “You were thrashing in your sleep and crying out. Are you okay?”

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m fine … I was…” She pushed a palm to her beating forehead. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, thank you. I just need a moment.”

  He patted her leg. “Sure thing. Let me know if I can help, okay? I know what nightmares can do to a person.”

  She leaned against the tree and swallowed around the panic in her throat. The same dream she’d had before ripped through her again. Dang it all. She wobbled to her feet and traipsed back to the house.

  “Grace.” Phoebe stepped breathlessly out the back door, jogged to her, and grabbed her upper arms, giving a shake. “I’ve been trying to find you. Let’s run away and never come back. The Bahamas are lovely this time of year.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Phoebe grabbed her arm. “It’s the Wisels. Annie’s okay. She’s quirky, and she brought food. Cookies.” Phoebe’s eyes glassed over.

  “You’re beginning to drool.”

  Phoebe sucked in her excess saliva. “Sorry. I went to my happy place for a bit. Anyhoo, where was I? Oh, yeah. It’s Dickie I can’t stand. He always stares at my boobs.” She glanced at her chest. “They are pretty and all, but I don’t want him checking me out.”

  “Look on the bright side, at least you have boobs worth looking at.” Grace scowled at hers and wished upon the same breast star as she’d done since puberty. Stupid star, it probably didn’t exist anyway.

  “Oh my, girls! You look so…so…terrible.” Annie cringed and took out a handkerchief stuffed securely in her cleavage.

  Grace declined the offer. Phoebe took a step back. Annie shoved the handkerchief back inside her cleavage. “I told Richard we should come and check on you girls. Besides, I wanted to snoop around a bit.”

  Grace glanced at the picnic basket smelling of chocolate chip cookies. “Feel free to snoop wherever you wish.”

  Annie, wearing white peddle-pushers and a fuchsia tank top, waddled off, oohing and ahhing. Richard, in his standard khaki shorts, knee-high socks, and stretched polo shirt, gave a curt nod toward the girls and followed dutifully after his wife.

  Grace jumped toward the basket, tore the red checkered cloth off the top, and nabbed a cookie. “Mmmm. This is heaven.” She handed Phoebe a cookie and grabbed another for herself.

  Phoebe’s eyes rolled in ecstasy. With a mouthful of cookie, Phoebe snatched another and proceeded to stuff the second one in her mouth.

  Grace finished her third cookie and contemplated having a fourth. She pinched at her minuscule love handles. Yup, she had room. With a furtive glance around, she snatched a fourth cookie and shoved it in her mouth.

  “I saw that,” Phoebe mumbled around the mashed cookie. “I hate you.”

  “Whatever.” She held up a finger to stop Phoebe from replying with a middle-school comeback, tucked it back in her fist, and watched the monologue unfold before her.

  Phoebe touched her thumb and forefinger on both hands together, hummed, and stepped away from the basket. “You can do this, Phoebe Wallace. Step away from the basket of goodies. You are the cookie. Be the cookie.” Her rousing speech obviously did nothing for her self-control, as within seconds, she lunged for a cookie. “Ha-ha, my lovely. You are mine. All mine.” She shoved the cookie in her mouth.

  “Excuse me, but can you tell me where I could find Annie and Richard?” A slight southern drawl asked from behind Grace. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Name’s Noah.” Blue eyes twinkled with laughter, and dark eyebrows crinkled in either amusement or disbelief, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She gave a reassuring pat to her still-beating heart. “No worries. My sister’s war on cookies enthralled me and didn’t hear you approach. Name’s Grace.” She gestured to Phoebe, whose face had blossomed to a lovely shade of pink. “And this is my
sister, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe chewed and swallowed. And coughed. And coughed again. “Sorry,” she croaked, “crumbs.” Her gaze darted around the room, and she grabbed the nearest soda bottle.

  “Um, you might not want to drink that—” Noah’s warning came too late.

  Phoebe took a big swig and gagged. “What kind of soda is this?” She spat out the liquid and eyed the bottle as if it were poison.

  Noah reached out, taking it from her grip, and rotating it to reveal cigarette butts floating in the bottle. She gagged.

  “Sick. Gross. Icky.” Phoebe wiped her tongue with her shirt. “That’s it.”

  She stomped off, soda bottle clutched in one hand, leaving Grace and Noah in her wake.

  “You said you were looking for the Wisels?” Grace grinned as Phoebe approached a man who easily had two hundred pounds on her, brandishing the bottle as a weapon, demanding to know if it belonged to him.

  “Yeah.” Noah chuckled as he watched the large man back away from Phoebe. Noah’s blonde hair, spiked into cute tufts, looked oddly out of place with his square face and sharp cheekbones. He grinned. “They’re my parents.”

  Phoebe snorted, marched on down the line of possible suspects. After scaring half the construction crew, Phoebe exited the house.

  Grace hoped she’d leave the men in one piece and offered him a cookie. “I would have never guessed.” And she would have lost that bet. His good looks matched neither of his parents. Maybe he is adopted …

  He declined the offered cookie. “I’m their one and only attempt at increasing the human population.”

  “No annoying siblings? You haven’t lived.”

  Phoebe stalked back into the house, two empty Pepsi bottles in her hand, and halted at Noah’s presence. “Oh, hello. Did you find them?”

  “Later, I wanted to find out the outcome of your little mission.” A dimple winked from his right cheek.

  “Oh, well, needless to say, large balding man with a habit of tossing his cigarette butts into his bottles, will not do that again.”

  A curse word exploded outside, and a large, balding man attempted to clean himself off with water from his water jug.

  “Phoebe, what did you do?” Grace let the curtain fall back into place. The last thing she needed was Dominick’s men quitting.

  “Well, he had it coming. What was he thinking, leaving beverages lying around with icky things floating around in them? Disgusting.”

  Noah cleared his throat, his lips twitching. “Yes, I do agree it is a travesty for a man to leave his pop bottle lying around. What is this world coming to?”

  Phoebe pinned him with her sapphire gaze. “I didn’t get your full name.”

  “Noah. Noah Wisel.” Again the disarming grin.

  Phoebe didn’t stand a chance against those dimples. Phoebe blushed and shook Noah’s outstretched hand. “Sorry. Didn’t think they could … did —”

  “Noah, what do you do?” Grace jumped to her sister’s rescue.

  “I’m the fire inspector and a member of the volunteer fire department. When I’m not doing that, I’m teaching high school math and coaching the football team.” Noah’s forehead scrunched when Phoebe’s jaw dropped. “What? Don’t I look like a teacher, either?”

  Phoebe blushed. “No, it seems like a busy schedule.”

  “It has its moments.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to hunt down my parents, and I’ve got to speak with Dominick quick and head out. It was nice meeting you, Phoebe, Grace, and I hope to repeat the pleasure often.” He shook Grace’s hand, his grip warm and strong.

  Phoebe sighed as he left. Grace handed her a cookie. “What’s this for?”

  “You need an emergency cookie.”

  “Amen to that, sister,” Phoebe mumbled around a bite. “Should we get back to work?”

  Phoebe brushed her hands together. “As long as it doesn’t include other secret children of the Wisel’s, I’m in.”

  Grace eyed the room. They were surrounded by secrets. If only they’d show their faces so she could deal with them, once and for all, and move on.

  * * *

  Dominick lost himself in his work. Occasionally, Grace’s laughter floated down the old hallway. Last night as he’d tucked his little Lilly and her Mr. Bear into bed and switched on her Tinkerbell nightlight, his mind whirled with images of Grace. Her hair, her laugh, her spunk. He knew it was ludicrous. He’d only known her for a few days. Now seeing her today did nothing to ease his conflicted feelings. His heart still ached for Carmen. Her death still stung his heart. She’d never watch their daughter grow up. Never cry at her wedding. He stemmed the tide of torrential thoughts. They did nobody any good. Needing to get to work, he powered on the reciprocating saw, the noise and power of the tool drowning out his guilt and fear.

  Hours later, covered in sawdust and sweat, he stuck his head around the corner of the drawing room. Both Grace and Phoebe were propped against the walls of the future study like Raggedy Ann dolls. His heart lurched. Grace sat in a pile of rubble with dirt smeared on every visible inch of her. A seed of hope he’d never dared to dream landed, kerplunk, in his chest. After the death of his wife, he knew he would never want another woman again. For the first time, that allusion cracked. Could his cold heart of stone love again? He had spent so much time and energy on “never again,” was “again” even possible? Maybe he did have the strength to tuck his wife’s memory into a pocket of his heart, carry her with him, and build the foundations of a new relationship.

  He cleared his throat. “Grace, I’ll go ahead and pick up the paint you wanted and have it here Monday morning. Let me know what you choose for the other rooms as well.” He swiped a hand over his forehead. “Have a good evening, ladies. Oh, and some of us are going to Willy’s Tavern after this if you’d like to swing by.” His heart thudded in his chest. What will I do if she shows up?

  * * *

  Willy’s Tavern was an establishment dedicated to the man himself, although Dominick doubted Willy Nelson ever set foot in it or knew about it for that matter. Pictures of Willy, his assorted cronies, and tacky Western paraphernalia spattered the walls discolored by years of grease. Pinball machines, two pool tables, and karaoke were the only entertainment Willy’s offered, other than watching friends get plastered.

  And currently, Dominick was doing just that. “Bobby, if your mother saw you like this, she’d string you up.”

  Bobby grinned stupidly as he started into his second beer. “Never was able to hold my liquor.”

  “I’m expecting you at 7:00 am sharp tomorrow morning. You’d better quit after this one.”

  Bobby lifted his glass in salute and stumbled to the pool tables. Dominick continued nursing the beer he didn’t want. He didn’t know what he wanted. Ever since that confounded woman entered his life, he’d forgot which way was up. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything. No, he placed the cold beer bottle to his head, that is a lie. He knew the exact time and place he stopped feeling anything at all. Closing his eyes, he relived the nightmare that only took seconds to destroy happiness. If only he’d died in her place. Not wanting to slide into the oily darkness, he clawed his way back out.

  That’s when he heard her. His heart stammered in his chest, and his blood ran faster. Her laugh barked out, followed by Phoebe’s unmistakable snort. He chuckled to himself, spun on his barstool, and couldn’t help but stare. The ponytail he’d become accustomed to had transformed into sleek, shining auburn curls bouncing around her oval face. The usual ripped jeans or running shorts were replaced with khaki capris and a form-fitting green sleeveless top. Silver hoops hung from her ears, and a silver cross hung around her neck. Her green eyes danced with laughter as Phoebe tripped over her own feet.

  He lifted an arm and hailed them from across the bar. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed it. Within seconds he watched as Grace’s eyes changed. The laughter was still there, but the barrier he’d seen there before erected itself again. He
hated whoever or whatever had put that there. He patted the barstools next to him.

  “Ladies.”

  Phoebe giggled as she wriggled on to the barstool. “Why do they make these so high. I mean, people could seriously get hurt.”

  “She gets hurt just walking in her bedroom.” Corrie kept the stool from spinning as Phoebe settled herself.

  “For some reason, that does not surprise me.” He looked at her for several seconds. Aware he’d been staring, he cleared his throat. “Um … do you want a beer?”

  “I’ll take a whiskey diet, please. Oh, and Phoebe has a hankering for some type of foo-foo drink.”

  He saluted and soon returned with their order.

  “Thank you,” Grace murmured, nursing her drink.

  Her delicate throat worked, mesmerizing him. Say something. Anything.

  “Oh, look what I found,” Phoebe exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the karaoke song list binder. “‘I’ve Got You Babe.’ Come sing with me, Grace. You know you want to.”

  Grace chuckled and shook her head.

  Phoebe pounced at Dominick. “You should sing with me. You look like a guy with a great voice.”

  He put his hands up in a silent plea for mercy. “I’m not that good at singing, and besides …”

  Phoebe’s eyes glassed over at the new drink a waitress set before her. “An umbrella.” Phoebe sucked with a vengeance on the matching pink straw. “Is this Kool-Aid? Did you tell the bartender to give me juice?”

  Dominick stared. “Is this your first drink, ever?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. I’ve had …” Phoebe counted her fingers, “One, two, three …”

  “Well, she can count.” Grace absently patted Phoebe’s head. “Trust me. If Phoebe has more than one fruity drink a night, she turns into a pumpkin.” She sipped her drink. “Or at least, she thinks she does. Not a pretty sight.”