Loving Shade

by Shayne Ford

  I check the drawers. They’re empty.

  Have they moved my office somewhere else?

  I power on the computer, and as I wait for the screen to come to life, a light across the hallway snags my eye.

  I glance at Claire’s office. The blinds are pulled open, the bright morning light filling the room. My boss sits at her old desk.

  Her secretary is back in her old place as well.

  A beeping pierces my ears.

  My eyes shift to the computer screen.

  What?

  The system asks me for my password. I punch it in. I get an error message. Password not recognized. My stomach shrinks into a ball.

  I repeat the operation rendering the same result when a silhouette looms in the doorway.

  “Don’t bother, Tara.”

  I lift my gaze and meet Claire’s cold eyes.

  “It’s been a long time coming, and we both know why it took so long...” she mutters, her lips curling into a disgusted rictus.

  “But now that he’s no longer here––”

  “What do you mean?” I say, bolting out of my chair.

  She’s already spinning around to leave.

  My chair scrapes against the floor as I rush after her. I grip her arm. Startled, she turns around and shoots a glance at my hand.

  “Please don’t make a spectacle out of this,” she says, tugging her hand out of my grasp.

  “What is going on Claire?”

  “You’re fired, Tara. That’s what’s going on.”

  “I’m not talking about me. Where is he?” I ask, losing my breath.

  A smirk creases her lips.

  “I’m hardly the person who knows Shade Hennessy’s whereabouts. Regretfully, I don’t have the answer to your question. Had he wanted you to know, he would’ve probably communicated to you this bit of information.”

  Her gaze shifts to the corridor as two security guards approach my cubicle.

  “They’ll escort you out.”

  She throws me one last glance before she dashes out.

  Without a word, I collect my bag and storm outside.

  Minutes later, I dart out of the elevator and rush across the lobby, my heart pounding in my throat.

  I slip out of the building and hail a cab.

  Moments later, I’m on my way home. I call him and get a recorded message saying that his phone is no longer in service.

  A half hour later, I enter my apartment. For a few moments, I stare blankly at the wall, trying to figure out what happened.

  Something horrible must have happened.

  Minutes pass by.

  I don’t even know who to call and ask about him. I finally snap out of my paralysis and rushed, I make a beeline for my walk-in closet where I change my clothes.

  Twenty minutes later, I walk out of the building, jump into my car and drive to his place.

  The security guard greets me the moment I enter the lobby. A second one approaches us, and without much explanation, I’m escorted out.

  I keep asking questions, but they refuse to answer them. I don’t even know if he is in the building or not.

  Frantic, I try to remember what time his plane was supposed to land.

  Tormented and without answers, I head back home.

  15

  SHADE

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hennessy. You no longer have access to the premises. We were instructed to escort you out of the building,” the security guard says to me.

  I look at him as if he’s suffering from amnesia.

  “Excuse me? I live there,” I say curtly.

  “Not according to the owner.”

  “I’m the owner.”

  “I apologize Sir. I understand that this is a misfortunate situation, but I am referring to the documented owners. Elia and Roger Hennessy.”

  I stall for a moment, pondering. I can’t say I’m surprised. Not at all. In fact, I’ve been preparing for this moment for some time. It’s just that I didn’t think it would happen so soon.

  I knew this day would come, one way or another.

  Still, I hoped that I was wrong. I never thought that she’d pull it off and more so, I never counted on the fact that she’d bring Roger on board.

  I turn around and head for the underground parking.

  “Sir?”

  Footsteps rush behind me, making me stop short.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Your cars have been removed from the parking lot per their owners’ instructions.”

  The security guard looks at me, a glint of regret flashing through his eyes.

  He feels sorry for me.

  “Thank you,” I say politely before I rush out of the building.

  That explains the fact that my phone has been deactivated too.

  I wonder if the limousine is still waiting for me outside. I shift my eyes to the entrance.

  Oh, it’s still there. I assume the driver hasn’t received their instructions yet.

  I walk around the car.

  “Is there a problem, Sir?” the driver says, climbing out.

  “Are you still at my service?”

  He looks at me, surprised.

  “Yes, Sir. Is there something wrong?”

  “No. I was just checking. Take me home.”

  “Okay, Sir.”

  I stride to the back door and slip into the car. I pull open my small travel suitcase, fumble through clothing and fish out a small box.

  Unhurriedly, I unwrap a prepaid, brand new phone.

  Half an hour later, I enter my parents’ home.

  I hear Elia’s muffled voice somewhere in the background.

  I stride across the hallway when a door opens, her heels hitting the marble floor hard, her footsteps heading my way.

  “Shade?”

  I turn right and make a beeline for my room. I push the door open and slam it closed in her face. She swings it open. I dart to the closet, her footsteps tapping closer.

  I merely change into a pair of jeans when I sense her presence.

  “I’m listening,” I say, without turning.

  I keep shoving jeans and T-shirts into my duffel bag.

  She stays silent, and that gets on my nerves fast.

  I spin around and straighten, and her gaze lifts to connect with my eyes.

  “Oh... I’m sorry. Should I stop? Are you going to confiscate my clothing, too?” I say mockingly, and turn my back to her again.

  “Shade?” she says with a softer voice.

  “Don’t you fucking ‘Shade’ me.”

  I pivot to the racks. Sifting through my clothing, I pick anything that is not a suit.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says, touching my shoulder.

  My hand curls up into a fist and goes right through the closet door. Her hand drops from me in an instant.

  She takes a step back.

  “You stay away from me, Elia,” I say, surprisingly calm. “I’m not your fucking puppet. You wanna take away the money? Fine. Take away the fucking money. I don’t give a shit. It wasn’t mine to begin with, and I kept telling you that. And you know why?” I ask, glaring at her over my shoulder.

  She looks at me, livid.

  “I knew that one day it would come to this. That’s why I never wanted to get used to it. And I knew I couldn’t sell my heart and soul for it. Because that’s all I have.”

  I push all my clothing into my bag, and then start filling my backpack.

  “You, on the other hand, always thought that I was addicted to money, and therefore you thought you could do to me whatever the hell you wanted. That’s why you couldn’t stop fucking with my life whichever way you pleased. Well, sweet mother, it all comes to an end,” I say, finishing packing.

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  I drop the backpack to the floor and spin around.

  “You don’t fucking get it, do you?” I ask, searing her with my eyes. “I can’t stand this fucking place. I don’t want to see your face, or hear your voice, or have your cl
aws on my neck. I don’t know how far I need to go. Whatever the hell it will take, I will do. What did you think I would do if you took the money away from me? Get with the program to appease you? Fuck Lola Hemingway for a good ROI? Is that what you had in mind? Have a double life just because that fits your idea of a good living for me? You must be nuts, woman.”

  She holds my gaze, her face pale, her lips trembling.

  “You can have everything back. All you need to do is go back to school or not, but forget about that woman,” she says.

  A slow smile rolls onto my lips as I tilt my head down.

  I grip the back of my neck and start rubbing it gently.

  Still grinning, I flick my gaze up.

  “Let me tell you something... mom. I love that fucking woman, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Try to get used to it. Or not. I don’t give a shit either way. ”

  She searches my eyes for a moment before she speaks again.

  “Well, then... Perhaps this is a good time to test this thing that you strongly believe is love. I wonder how long her love will last when she learns you’re no longer the rich man she fell in love with.”

  “I was never rich.”

  “No, but you were flushed with money, and that helped to woo her quite a bit. And you didn’t seem to mind it either,” she says sarcastically.

  “Let me worry about her feelings. All right?”

  I pull a T-shirt on, and a leather jacket, and then I slip into my boots.

  “And where exactly do you think you’re going?” she asks, amusement coloring her voice.

  Her smile dies out as soon as she gets a glimpse of my glare.

  “You have no money to live off,” she says seriously this time. “Are you still believing that you can be with her?” she asks incredulously.

  Her question remains unanswered as I grab my bag and head straight for the door.

  “She’s unemployed, just so you know,” she throws behind my back.

  “Go fuck yourself, Elia.”

  Almost out of the door, I hear her voice again.

  “Don’t you want to know the test results?”

  I freeze and turn, my hand on the door.

  “I think I already know. Isn’t it self-evident?”

  A mysterious light glimmers in her eyes. And then a triumphal smile.

  “It was actually positive. Roger is your father.”

  The blood draws out of my face.

  I manage to suppress a retort, realizing how useless it is and how it wouldn’t change a damn thing. Without saying another word, I slip out the door and run to the front of the house where a cab is waiting for me.

  TARA

  The doorbell rings.

  I think.

  I struggle between sleep and awareness for a few more moments before I open my eyes and squint around, making out the forms in the room.

  It’s pitch dark except for the faint glow coming from the clock sitting on the nightstand. Two o’clock in the morning? Was I dreaming?

  The doorbell goes off again, my heart spears to my throat, thudding madly. Instant panic flashes through my blood.

  I leap out of bed, run my hands through my hair and sweep the covers with my fingers, searching for my phone.

  A firm, impatient knock on the door echoes in the hallway.

  It can’t be Josh again.

  I rush to the entrance, and before I have the chance to peek through the peephole, I hear his voice.

  “It’s me.”

  Hurriedly, I unlock the door.

  “Shade?”

  His arms open and then, close around me as he kisses my lips, hard and with a tinge of desperation in his touch that makes my heart swell, yet puts more angst into me.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” I say, quivering.

  Tearing away from him, I take him in.

  He looks like an eighteen-year-old runaway. Ripped jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, untied booths. His hair is tousled, his eyes tired, yet brimming with fire. I spot the bag and the backpack.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “What happened?” I mutter.

  “Yeah... Everything’s fine,” he says as I look at him, washed with a bad feeling.

  This doesn’t look okay to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I motion him in.

  He walks in. I show him to the couch, yet he remains standing.

  “I called you,” I say.

  “They’ve disconnected my phone and took my cars. They also blocked my access to my apartment.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Elia and my father.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  His lips curve into a small smile.

  “It’s a long story,” he says, raking his fingers through his hair, his eyes evading mine. “They want me to do what they want,” he says, not a hint of emotion on his face.

  “What exactly is that?”

  He curls his hand around my neck, leans to me and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Does it have something to do with me?”

  He clicks his tongue.

  “No. It doesn’t. There isn’t only one thing.”

  “Why now?”I ask, looking at him, perplexed.

  He shrugs, his gaze slipping away. I have a feeling there’s more to it.

  “We don’t have much time,” he says.

  He locks my eyes again, a secret smile glinting across his lips.

  “I want you to come with me,” he says without the slightest hesitation in his voice.

  Despite his young look, his voice clearly didn’t lose its commanding power.

  “Do you have a passport?” he asks as all sorts of weird scenarios pop into my head.

  Smiling, he slants his gaze to me.

  “I’m not abducting you. We’re coming back.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “South America.”

  “Are you a fugitive or something?” I ask jokingly, yet hoping that it’s not the truth.

  He lets out a small chuckle, his eyes twinkling behind a couple of stray bangs.

  “No, I’m not. We’re going on a trip for a few days,” he says casually. “You need winter clothing,” he adds, and my eyebrows lift with a questioning look.

  “I’ve planned this trip for a while,” he says, holding my gaze, his eyes not revealing much. “I want to show you this place.”

  “Okay. Give me a few minutes,” I say before I spin away.

  He follows me.

  I pull hangers out of the walk-in-closet, lay them on the couch and start sifting through my clothing.

  “I got fired today,” I say calmly.

  “I know. We’ll talk about that...” he says softly while glancing around, scanning my place.

  “What is it?” I ask as I start packing everything I need in a travel bag.

  “I like your place.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen better places than mine.”

  “I have, but it’s not about that. It speaks of you.”

  “It does?”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, smiling.

  “In what way?”

  “It’s very welcoming. It breathes comfort. There are things with sentimental value.”

  Gluing my hands to my hips, I swivel my head, wondering how he has gleaned all that from one look around the room.

  “What do you see of sentimental value?” I ask, testing him.

  “Those books. What is it? Poetry?” He motions to a couple of antique books, sitting on a shelf. ”The picture of your dog,” he continues, without waiting for an answer. “That must’ve been taken a long time ago. You’re the little girl in the picture,” he says and glances at me. “Am I right?”

  “How do you know all that? I wasn’t even looking at the camera... and I was about six years old at the time. My hair looked different as well,” I say glancing at the framed photograph sitting near the books.

  “The old woman in the picture, t
he one who holds the leash… The way she looks at you... She reminds me of my grandmother. The dog was hers, but he was all over you. That’s why you couldn’t stay still. Right?”

  “Yes,” I say with a faint voice, his words bringing back the memory of that day.

  It’s been almost twenty years.

  “We took Toby to the park, precisely to take the pictures. My grandpa took the photos, but none of the snapshots were anywhere close to a decent shot. In fact, this is by far the best one. Toby and I were impossible to control or coach for that matter. He was my first and last dog, and he wasn’t truly mine. I sort of borrowed his affection, and I only saw him when I visited my grandparents.”

  He listens to me in silence as my voice starts to shake, tears welling up in my eyes.

  “They’re all gone,” I say, my voice tinged with sadness. I try to smile. “I never had a dog after that.”

  His eyes meet mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

  “No. That’s fine. I haven’t had the chance to talk to anyone about this in a long time. People don’t usually pay attention to these details when they walk into my apartment,” I say, smiling wryly.

  “What about your parents? I don’t see anything reminding you of them.”

  “It’s only my mom. My dad passed away a few years back. It was before I started college. There’s not much to talk about. He believed in strict discipline, and my mother made sure I was meeting his expectations. I didn’t stray from their ideal of success. I was a shy kid, not confident at all, and it was easy to condition me. They praised me every time I fulfilled their expectations and reprimanded me when I did not, and by the end of high school I couldn’t even dare to think about not following the path they had chosen for me.”

  “The cage.”

  “Yes, the fucking cage. So anyway, that’s my story,” I say turning my back to him before I finish packing.

  16

  TARA

  A private plane takes us to San Carlos de Bariloche. He says it’s a friend’s arrangement and he’s not willing to reveal more details.

  A few long hours later, we arrive at a beautiful house–– a log chalet, perched on the shores of Lake Moreno. It’s winter in Argentina, the change of scenery adding to the extreme changes I’ve been going through for the last forty-eight hours.