A Place to Call Home

by Jessica Berg

  “It’s going to be okay. I have no idea what you need to do to make it right. I wish I did. Be yourself and let time do its thing.”

  Grace stuffed her face in the pillow, mumbled around the material, “I’m such a flippin’ dweeb.”

  “Yes, you are. But that’s why I love you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Phoebe tapped her lip. “I have an idea.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “You say you don’t know Dominick? Well, you can tell a lot about a person from the house they live in. Why don’t we Google his house, find it, and do some innocent creeping?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Phoebe, undeterred, continued, “Oh, yeah. I’ll bake some cookies, and we’ll take it over to his house around seven. No man can resist cookies. This way we gain access to the Hottie’s inner sanctum.” She ignored Grace’s eye roll. “Come on, when else do you foresee yourself in Dominick’s house?”

  Grace’s face heated at the idea of her and Dominick alone in his house. “No.”

  ***

  At seven o’clock sharp, Grace and Phoebe pulled to the curb opposite Dominick’s house. The white stucco house, neat and quaint, nestled in the middle of a white picket fence. Red and yellow roses crawled their way up the fence and the white walls of his house. This little house inspired her more than Kevin’s three elaborate mansions. For a second, she visualized playing with Dominick and Lilly in the front yard, the little girl’s giggles, his laughter, filling the air…

  “Phoebe, this is a stupid idea. If you want to give the man cookies, you can go ring the doorbell yourself.”

  “Oh, come on.” Phoebe wiggled in her seat. “I’ve got to pee.”

  “You always have to pee.”

  “Fine. I’ll hold it.”

  She took pity on her wiggling sister. “Oh, all right. Let’s give the man some cookies.”

  Grace pushed open the fence and walked to the front door. Her stomach rose to her throat. She nearly bolted.

  Phoebe reached around her and pushed the doorbell.

  “I hate you.”

  “Hey, you’re never going to give the man your cookies willingly.” Phoebe nudged her. “I’m simply assisting you.”

  Several seconds passed. Phoebe danced. “Ohhhhh, I’ve got to pee.” She stabbed the doorbell with her finger and continued to wiggle. “Come on. My teeth are beginning to float.” After waiting a couple more seconds, she grabbed the door handle. “That’s it. I’m going in.”

  “You can’t enter someone’s house uninvited.”

  Phoebe ignored her and twisted the door handle experimentally. “Sweet. It’s open. Are you coming?”

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Phoebe.

  “Fine.” Phoebe dashed into his house. “Hey, it smells like freshly-baked pie. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Phoebe hollered, her voice fading farther into the house.

  Grace mumbled, “His mom probably made it.” She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, prickly from all the sightless eyes staring at her on his front porch. The gossip mills would find this situation worthy of the calling tree. Slipping inside the house, she determined to go no further. Tapping her foot, she chewed on her fingernails, and eyed the apple pie sitting on the counter. Curiosity finally got the better of her, and she crept through the kitchen. Chrome appliances sat snugly in the kitchen. A window overlooked the sink, and a pot of herbs perched atop the windowsill. The fridge, covered with crayon drawings, hummed with cooling energy and somewhere under the oven a cricket chirped. She peeked into the refrigerator.

  “Creeper.”

  She jumped and clutched at her chest. “Phoebe, you scared a year off my life.” She eyed her sister. “What took you so long in the bathroom, and why do you smell like Dominick?”

  Phoebe attempted innocence. Failed. Peeked over Grace’s shoulder. “He keeps his little girl fed well. I appreciate that quality in a man. In gratitude, I will drink to his amazing man-ness.” Phoebe snatched a beer, cracked it open, and chugged it.

  “What are you doing?” Grace whispered hoarsely. “You don’t drink beer.”

  Phoebe made a gagging sound and stared suspiciously at the can. “And there is a good reason apparently. This is disgusting stuff. But all this breaking and entering is making me nervous. I needed a drink.”

  “This was your idea. Besides, we didn’t break anything. We just entered.”

  “Starting to regret it, though.”

  Grace growled, shut the fridge door, and started for the front door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving before the two little bears come back and catch the two Goldilocks.”

  “Oh, come on. Let’s take this opportunity to snoop around. Who knows, we might find Dominick’s secret diary where he’s written all his secret fantasies about you.”

  Grace grudgingly assented, and they snuck to the dining room. They tiptoed around the colonial-style table and chairs. On the table, bills and a warm soda sat waiting for the return of their owner. Phoebe snatched the bills off the table and leafed through them.

  “He pays his bills on time. One credit card here, and it seems as if he pays off the balance every month.” Phoebe replaced the bills, and they crept into the living room.

  A leather couch and two matching recliners faced a large, flat-screen plasma television suspended on the wall. Landscape paintings and several pictures of Lilly dotted the earth-tone walls. Wood carvings of various animals were arranged neatly on the two coffee tables. Grace crawled to one of the coffee tables and opened the door at the bottom, revealing photo albums neatly stacked in a row. Unable to resist, she nabbed the first one.

  Leaning against the couch, she flipped through the pages. She assumed the little boy grinning out at her was Dominick. Continuing to flip the pages, she witnessed his first day of school to his first prom date and everything in between. Phoebe commented the same on every single picture: “Ah, cute.”

  “Can’t you think of anything else to say?”

  Phoebe chewed her bottom lip. “Really cute?”

  Grace grunted in exasperation. The next photo album contained his college years. Some of them made Grace blush.

  “Look at those abs,” Phoebe whispered. She traced a finger over them.

  Grace slapped her hand away. “It’s rude to molest people like that.”

  “It’s a picture. I can molest whatever I want to.”

  Grace flipped the page and gasped. Molly and Dominick, locked in an embrace, beamed at the camera.

  “Isn’t that Molly?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yup, and she’s looking pretty cozy with our pal, the carpenter.”

  She picked up the last photo album and stopped. Holding each other were Dominick and a blonde bombshell with ice-blue eyes and clear complexion. A tiny baby swathed entirely in pink nestled in between them. Several pictures of Dominick and who Grace assumed to be his wife exhibited a deep and abiding love. At the pictures of them kissing, hugging, holding their daughter, Grace’s heart cracked open. How could she compete with his dead wife? Why would he want hamburger when he’d already tasted steak? Did he still love his wife like the pictures portrayed? Tired of a memory lane she had no right to drive down, she replaced the picture albums and crawled down the hall and into the first room.

  A computer desk with a swivel chair, a dead house plant, a paper shredder, and a Bowflex machine crammed the room. Crawling over to the computer desk, she pressed the start button. Cursed. The computer needed a password.

  “Untrusting country bumpkin.” She rifled through the loose papers on his desk. Nothing. “Doesn’t this guy have any secrets?”

  “Maybe he hides the dead bodies in the closet?” Phoebe eyed the Bowflex machine. “I wonder if he works out without a shirt on.”

  “Maybe he works out in the nude.”

  “Ohhh, you think so. That is hot.”

  “You’re strange.”

  Phoebe stuck her tongue out.
“Like you don’t think that’s hot.”

  They inspected the bathroom next. The medicine cabinet the first target. Tylenol, a red toothbrush, Crest toothpaste, shaving cream and razor, and a bottle of Dominick’s cologne shared space with a Tinkerbell toothbrush and toothpaste set. She lifted the cologne bottle. XS. She snapped open the cover and whiffed. Mmmmmm. After accidentally spraying some cologne on her shirt, she left the bathroom. Two doors remained on the ground floor. She pushed the door closest to the bathroom open. The smell of Dominick rushed out of the room, her heart answered with a quick staccato.

  Phoebe whispered, “If we are like Goldilocks, we should try out Papa Bear’s bed.”

  “All right, but don’t roll around in it and don’t make out with his pillow.”

  “You first.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Well, you’re the one who wants him. I’m okay with sloppy seconds.”

  This might be the only time she ever found herself in Dominick’s bed. When life hands you an empty bed, make out with the man’s pillows. With a whispered curse, she crawled onto the king-sized bed. The soft sheets invited her to cuddle right in, and the bed smelled of him.

  “Is it hard or soft?”

  Grace yelped in shock as Dominick’s voice addressed her from the doorway. “Run, Phoebe, run like the wind.”

  Phoebe squeaked, jumped to her feet, and smacked into Dominick’s chest, fainting dead at his feet.

  He checked on Phoebe. With an exasperated sigh, he straightened, leaned his long body against the door frame. His dark chocolate eyes melted into hers. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Why are you home?” Grace demanded.

  Dominick chuckled softly. “I live here.”

  Grace sputtered, “But … we … cookies … Phoebe had to pee.”

  Dominick merely cocked an eyebrow.

  “We knocked,” Grace announced. Her fists clenched as Dominick’s other eyebrow reached his shaggy hair. How she wanted to brush his hair out of his eyes. “You are impossible.”

  “You’re the one who broke and entered into my house.”

  She stumbled to her feet. “We didn’t break. We simply entered.”

  His eyes darkened, and he prowled with catlike agility over to his bed and laid her back across it, capturing her body with his. Her body heated at his touch. Startled by her own hunger, she struggled against him and punched him in his right pectoral muscle. “You said you’d leave me alone.”

  “I lied.” He kissed her. His lips, urgent and rough, caressed hers into submission. Her hands, with a mind of their own, wound around his neck and pulled him closer. He moaned. A fire she’d never experienced before combusted inside her. His lips broke free of hers and traveled along her jawline, across her cheeks, and down her neck. His fingers tangled in her hair as he again claimed her mouth.

  He froze. Grace pulled him toward her again. He placed his hands on either side of her head, his gaze breaking through her. His body shook with desire, and in the soft daylight streaming through the bedroom curtains, passion and reason waged war in his eyes. With tenderness, he kissed her forehead.

  “Get out,” he whispered into her hair.

  Grace blinked. “What?”

  Dominick, still holding her hands captive, kissed her wrists and released them. “I hope I didn’t bruise them.”

  She wanted to scream. What is he talking about? “What’s happening here?”

  “Nothing.” He rolled off her and kneeled next to Phoebe. He gently tapped her cheeks. “Phoebe, you need to wake up now and take Grace home.”

  Phoebe grunted and raised her head. Squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted Phoebe off the floor. “I live here.”

  “Right.” Phoebe batted her eyes at him. “I brought cookies.” Phoebe scanned the room. “Grace?”

  Grace sat on the bed and shook her head. “Yeah. I’m right here.”

  Ignoring the helping hand Dominick offered her, she grabbed Phoebe’s elbow and escorted her out of the house, planting her in the passenger seat. Brushing her hands together, she cocked her head and, with as much confidence as her shaky legs could muster, walked around to the driver’s side. “I’ll take myself home,” she muttered to herself as she yanked the door open.

  Chapter 17

  Grace rose with the sun. Slipping on her running clothes and shoes, she started out at a fast walk. Excited for her first run in the countryside, she accelerated into a medium-paced run. Her legs, slamming the gravel to the music of Beyonce, moved her over hills and down into valleys. Momma cows grazing on the dewy morning grass gave her little notice, but their babies, fascinated with her, watched her approach with wide-eyed wonder only to dash away kicking their heels as soon as she got too close.

  Sweat beaded on her body and fell in rivulets. She regulated her breathing and ran on. Memories of the “cookie” debacle spun through her head. Ignoring the pain cramping in her side, she punished herself and ran harder. If anybody deserved to be punished, it was her.

  She blushed at her own stupidity. In fact, non-stupid moments for her were few and far between lately. She hurtled up the last hill. Her side cramped, doubling her over in pain. Breathing deeply, she tried stretching it out. Having no success, she sat on the shoulder of the road with a grunt of pain. Rest, that’s what she needed.

  She rested her head on her bent knees. Gravel dug into her butt, but she didn’t care. She had tipped over the point of caring. She hadn’t run from her problems, she had only succeeded in creating more.

  Hitching herself up, she stretched out her abdominal muscles and started home. The word stuck on her tongue. Phoebe claimed it was a place to hang her hat. Grace knew it was where the heart was. Her heart wasn’t at the old Victorian house. It was walking around, shoved unknowingly in the back pocket of a contractor.

  Her ponytail sagged in the humidity, and the red dust mingled with her leg sweat, creating a paste when she finally reached the driveway. The windows gleamed, and men worked diligently on the new roof. Painters scurried up and down ladders, and with meticulous attention to the small details, transformed the old place into a shining beacon on the prairie. Pride swelled inside her. Yes. She and Phoebe had made an excellent choice.

  The sounds of progress increased the closer she got. Hammers, drills, power saws, and nail guns created a cacophony. It was music to her ears. Pulling out her earbuds, she stretched on the porch. Mrs. Sloucombe sauntered over and rubbed against her legs.

  “Thanks, Mrs. S. Now the red paste on my legs is furry.”

  Mrs. Sloucombe purred and went off in search of trouble.

  “Don’t even think about finding the Chihuahua, Turbo, from down the road. I’ve called his parents.”

  Mrs. Sloucombe swished her tail and sauntered down the steps, stopping to lick at a paw.

  Grace rolled her eyes. “Kids nowadays.”

  Phoebe emerged from the house, wearing short pink running shorts and a bright yellow top. Grace eyed her. “Going to the roller rink after a Cindy Lauper concert?”

  “No. Wish I were, though.” Phoebe sighed and sipped at the glass of orange juice in her hand. “Those were the days, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah, as babies we were such party animals.”

  “I don’t know about yours, but my crib was certainly rocking.”

  Grace chuckled and leaned over to stretch her back. Her fingers swept the floor, and blood rushed to her head. “What did you do this morning besides have a doughnut and some juice?”

  Phoebe brushed away the remnants of powdered sugar off her bright top. “Thought about running. Doesn’t that count?” At Grace’s grunted response, Phoebe asked, “How many miles did you run today?”

  Grace, still bent over, grabbed the pedometer off her shorts and handed it to Phoebe.

  “Did you want to run ten miles, or is this thing broken?”

  Grace swayed back and forth, her ponytail brushing the wooden planks of the porch. “No wonder I hurt
.”

  “You’re crazy, sis. Bona fide crazy.” Phoebe paled. “Mom called while you were out.”

  “Jeeze, she’s called us twice in one month. That’s gotta be a record.”

  “She says she’s doing fine and hopes we will soon grow some brains and come home.”

  “Home? With her? Not a chance. I’d sooner move back in with Kevin.”

  “Mom says when she finally ties the knot with her new ‘lover,’ she hopes we will treat him like a father.”

  “She’s drinking more than normal.” Grace eased up vertebrae by vertebrae. “How old is this ‘boyfriend?’”

  “In his mid-twenties.” Phoebe shuddered. “Am I the only one who thinks that is disgusting?”

  Grace descended again. Her runner’s high faded away, and in its stead grew the tingling sensation of nerves. “Nope. That’s pretty gross. Especially if she expects us to call him ‘Daddy.’” She leaned her body to the right and stretched her hamstring. “Did she give lover boy’s name?”

  “No. Said he wanted to introduce himself to us when the time came.”

  “Figures.” She continued to the left side and stretched the left hamstring. “I hope we never meet him. He’s obviously after one thing. Dad did leave her with a substantial amount of money when he died. Can’t think why.”

  Dominick’s voice intruded from behind Grace. “Are you wearing something you can get dirty in?”

  Grace yelped and straightened. She glanced at Phoebe, who mouthed the word “yes!” Grace glared at her.

  Dominick, dressed in his usual faded Levi’s and T-shirt, leaned against the supporting post, his eyes, normally playful and amused, serious and sober. She wondered how long he had been staring at her derriere and remembered she’d sat in dirt. Fighting the urge to wipe off her butt, she swallowed her embarrassment. Yesterday, now this. At this rate, she could soon run for mayor of Loserville.

  “Why?”

  “I need to fix a small water leak. The problem is it is under this porch. None of my men are small enough to shimmy their way under the porch. I need you to get under there, and I’ll tell you what you need to do.”