A New Foundation

by Rochelle Alers

  “I see my ride across the street,” Sonja said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”

  “Okay. Get home safely.”

  He watched her walk across the street and get into the passenger seat of a late-model sedan. Viola said she wasn’t into dating, but that did not mean the man sitting behind the wheel was someone his sister did not know about. Although he’d found himself attracted to Sonja, Taylor knew nothing would come of it. It was to be business and nothing but business between them. Waiting until the car with Sonja pulled away from the curb, he turned on his heel and walked the three blocks to where he’d parked his SUV.

  What he did not want to admit to himself was that he’d spent a most pleasurable couple of hours with a woman who had unknowingly bewitched him with her beauty, poise and intelligence, and he looked forward to spending countless more hours with her if and when she signed on to the restoration project.

  Chapter Three

  Sonja walked into the kitchen in her aunt and uncle’s apartment to brew a cup of coffee and was surprised to find both sitting at the table. They usually attended early-morning church service followed by brunch at one of their favorite neighborhood restaurants before returning home to watch either a sporting event or movie. In a month, her uncle would join a group of retired police and firefighters for Sunday afternoon baseball games in Central Park.

  The table was littered with travel brochures, and her aunt was busy scrolling through travel sites on her laptop. Her uncle was a recent NYPD retired sergeant, while her aunt had retired the year before as an underwriter for a major insurance company.

  “Have you guys finally decided where you want to go to celebrate your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary?” she asked as she removed a coffee pod from the carousel and popped it into the single-serve coffeemaker.

  Her mother’s brother shifted slightly on his chair, peering at her over a pair of reading glasses. “I still want to go to Alaska, while your titi keeps going on about Hawaii.”

  Opening the refrigerator, Sonja took out a container of creamer. “Why don’t you compromise? You’re going to be on the West Coast. You can spend a couple of weeks in Hawaii, and once you return to the mainland you can take a cruise up to Alaska. That way it’s a win-win for you both.”

  Nelson Rios blew his niece an air kiss, then reached for his wife’s hand. “What do you say, Mama? First Hawaii and then Alaska?”

  Yolanda glared at Nelson. “Now, why didn’t we think of that?”

  Sonja winked at her aunt. She’d just turned sixty yet appeared at least ten years younger. There was just a sprinkling of gray in the neatly braided twists styled in a ponytail, while her nut-brown face was wrinkle-free which she attributed to good genes.

  Sonja always felt Yolanda Clark was the perfect partner for her uncle after he lost his first wife during a hit-and-run, leaving him a grief-stricken widower and single father of an eight-year-old son. Nelson and Yolanda had dated off and on for more than a year before he’d asked her to move in with him. She refused, reminding him it would send the wrong signal to his son. Nelson had confessed to Sonja that marrying Yolanda was one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

  She’d filled the void and had become a wonderful mother for Jaime.

  Her mother and uncle were born with red hair, a recessive hair color they’d inherited from their great-grandmother. Maria and Nelson were referred to respectively as Red and Rusty by neighborhood kids, and the nickname had followed Nelson through adulthood. Many of his colleagues on the police force still called him Rusty although the red strands had faded to a shimmering silver.

  It was Yolanda who had urged Sonja to move into their spare bedroom six years ago after Jaime married his high school sweetheart. Her offer had come at the right time: she’d left her husband, enrolled at the Pratt Institute to concentrate on completing her degree, while commuting between New York and Boston to file and eventually finalize her divorce. Although she’d volunteered a few times to pay them rent for living in the apartment with panoramic views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey Palisades, her aunt and uncle rejected her offer with the recommendation she save her money to eventually purchase a house or condo.

  Their suggestion had made her aware that she’d gone from living with her parents to sharing a dorm room with another college student and then with the man who would become her husband. After she left Hugh, Sonja had moved into her parents’ retirement home, wallowing in a morass of self-pity until she shook off her lethargy with the intent of completing her education. She’d applied and was accepted into the Pratt Institute with the promise she would live in Manhattan with her aunt and uncle until she graduated and secured employment.

  She’d earned her degree and been hired to work in the Madison Avenue art gallery, yet still did not live alone. Sonja told Viola that she envied her because she’d grown up with four brothers, but what she didn’t say to her friend that she was jealous of her independence. Viola had left her parents’ home to attend culinary school, and rather than return to New Jersey she’d rented an apartment in the West Village. Viola’s tenure had been short-lived when working for a few hotels, and then she found her niche at The Cellar. Sonja’s best friend, six years her junior, had unknowingly become her role model for what it meant to be an independent woman.

  She cradled the mug with both hands. The weekend was her time to sleep in. It was only on a rare occasion she got out of bed before noon. And when she did it was to brush her teeth and take a leisurely bath. Sweats were her favored attire, and after preparing something to eat or heating up leftovers, Sonja left the apartment to visit the local nail salon for her weekly mani-pedi. She always called the owner midweek to set up the appointment in order not to sit and wait for her favorite technician.

  “I have to meet someone for a possible commission.”

  Yolanda powered down the laptop. “What kind of commission?”

  “Cataloguing the contents of a New Jersey mansion.”

  “Where in New Jersey?” Nelson questioned.

  “Somewhere in the northern part of the state. I’ll let you know where once I get back.”

  “Are you going to accept it?” Yolanda asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  And Sonja didn’t know. It was not as if she wasn’t employed. The gallery owners paid her well, covered her health insurance and gave her a percentage of the final sale showings. If she did agree to assist Taylor Williamson with his restoration of Bainbridge House, it would have to be financially beneficial for her to leave the gallery.

  “If you do accept it, you know you’ll have to quit your position at the gallery,” Nelson said.

  “Before I make any decision I’ll have to weigh my options.”

  Her options would include travel time, salary and benefits. Taylor had also mentioned he needed a one-and maybe even a two-year commitment from her. Yes, she thought. She had to weigh and examine all her options, because if she did assist in restoring Bainbridge House to its original magnificence, then she could add it to her résumé to secure similar commissions.

  Sonja had to constantly remind herself that she wasn’t married, didn’t have children, and therefore she was free to come and go by her leave. She would celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday in November and decided it was time for her to map out what she wanted for the next decade. Living independently topped the list.

  She finished her coffee, rinsed the mug and placed it on the top rack in the dishwasher. “I’m going to head out now because I have to meet someone at ten.” Sonja estimated it would take her less than fifteen minutes to walk to 207th Street.

  She had taken Taylor’s recommendation to select footwear other than her favored ballet flats, which she wore to work, or running shoes when strolling around Inwood or Washington Heights. What she truly loved about living in Inwood was she could visit The Cloisters, a medieval-style museum devoted to medieval art and cul
ture. She’d spend hours there viewing paintings and tapestries without having to travel to Europe.

  Sonja pushed her sock-covered feet into a pair of well-worn leather boots, tied them and then slipped into a waist-length down-filled jacket. In keeping with the unpredictable fluctuating New York City weather, the unseasonably warm early spring temperatures had been replaced by a chill hovering just above freezing. After picking up her cross-body bag and camera case, she walked out of the apartment.

  Taylor double-parked in front of the restaurant, drumming impatient fingers on the steering wheel while taking furtive glances in the rearview mirror for a passing police cruiser. Sonja had asked him to pick her up outside La Casa Del Mofongo when it probably would’ve been easier to park near her apartment building.

  I’m not trying to hook you up with her—she’s currently not into dating. Viola’s pronouncement came rushing back in vivid clarity. Had she meant Sonja wasn’t dating anyone because she was already in a relationship? And was the man that had picked her up outside The Cellar her boyfriend? Had she wanted to avoid having to explain that she’d shared dinner with another man?

  Although he’d found Sonja attractive he knew nothing would come from it even if she was unencumbered. She was his sister’s friend as well as a possible future employee, and Taylor did not believe in mixing business with pleasure. He’d witnessed firsthand how office romances imploded after a volatile breakup.

  After he’d told his family that he would oversee the restoration project, it had taken Taylor five days to compose his letter of resignation. Viola was right when she’d reminded him that he’d recently been promoted—something he’d wanted for more than two years. Based on the recommendations of several of his college professors, he had been hired by a major Connecticut-based engineering and architectural company, and it had taken a number of large projects and five years before he was rewarded with a promotion and more responsibility.

  He’d planned to stay on until the end of the month, and then reversed his decision. He sent a memo to the director of HR that he was leaving his position at the end of the workday and was utilizing more than three weeks of accrued vacation time to offset the mandated two-week resignation rule.

  Taylor was now free to concentrate solely on his family’s property.

  Patrick had emailed him, requesting estimates for restoring and updating the main house and outbuildings, stables, barn, gardens and orchards, bridle path, golf course, and vineyard. Taylor had emptied one trunk, and it had taken an hour of sorting through personal correspondence, bills of lading and other paperwork before locating revised blueprints and surveys. It was then he discovered that Charles Garland Bainbridge had spent ten million dollars in 1883 to build the castle, and once the property was fully restored it would be worth more than one hundred and fifty million. Taylor had replied to Patrick’s email with a promise to give him tentative numbers before the end of the month.

  Patrick’s email was a reminder that he had to interview and hire employees to begin work on the main house. Time was not of the essence to restore the stables because Tariq had another two years to complete his graduate studies and fulfill his obligation as one of the vets at a Kentucky horse farm. Joaquin also had professional obligations that would not free him up for more than a year. Taylor had decided not to put any pressure on Viola to leave The Cellar to become executive chef for Bainbridge House, or for Patrick to oversee Bainbridge Cellars. If they decided not to come around, then he would hire an experienced chef and vintner.

  It was 9:50 a.m. when Taylor spied Sonja, wearing sunglasses. Jeans, pullover sweater, boots and jacket had replaced the body-hugging ensemble and sexy heels she’d worn the night before. And with her approach he noticed her bare face and hair styled in a ponytail. Yesterday she was the sophisticate, and today she could pass for a college coed. He exited the vehicle and opened the passenger-side door.

  “Good morning.”

  Sonja smiled up at Taylor, who was towering over her. Without her four-inch heels, his height put her at disadvantage. She stood five-four in bare feet, and she estimated he was at least a foot taller.

  “Good morning. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Not too long. I give myself extra time when driving down, anticipating traffic delays on the Thruway.”

  Sonja did not have time to react when Taylor’s hands circled her waist, lifting her effortlessly and settling her on the leather seat of the late-model Infiniti QX80. She peered over her shoulder at the three rows of seating before fastening her seat belt. “Your car is gorgeous.” She pretended interest in the SUV rather than Taylor Williamson. Fortunately for her, he wasn’t able to see her lustful stare behind the lenses of the dark glasses. He was wearing the same cologne, but had exchanged the tailored suit for black jeans, an off-white cotton pullover and well-worn work boots. Dressed up or down, he had the ability to turn heads.

  Taylor smiled as he slipped behind the wheel. “Thank you.”

  “It smells new.”

  “I bought it as a birthday gift to myself.”

  “When was your birthday?”

  “November first.”

  Sonja went completely still. “You’re kidding?”

  Taylor checked his mirrors and then pulled out into traffic. “No. Why?”

  “Because my birthday is November second.”

  Throwing back his head, Taylor laughed loudly. “What are the odds that we would almost share a birthday?”

  She stared out the windshield. “What would be even more weird was if we were born during the same year.”

  “I’ll be thirty-six in November.”

  “You have me by a year,” Sonja admitted. “I’ll be thirty-five.”

  “So, I’m a day and a year older than you.” Taylor paused. “I’m curious to know if we like the same things.”

  “If you believe in astrology then we probably do.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said cryptically.

  Sonja turned to look at Taylor as he stopped for a red light and met his eyes. “How?”

  “There’s a pad and pen in the glove box. I’m going to mention certain categories, and you write down your favorite. Then you can give me your choices, and I’ll let you know if I agree or disagree.”

  If Taylor was curious about her likes and dislikes, then she was equally curious about his. She’d told her aunt and uncle that she had to think about whether she was willing to leave the gallery, but during the walk from the apartment building to the restaurant to meet Taylor she had made her decision to accept his offer. After earning her MFA, she’d worked temporary jobs as a museum docent and a substitute art history teacher for an Upper West Side prep school. And when her tenure ended, she was left looking for future employment. She had discovered her current position when she saw a help-wanted sign in the window. She contacted the owners of the gallery and was hired on the spot when she was able to correctly identify every item on display. Now, after nearly two years, it was time for a change.

  She retrieved the pad and pen. “I’m ready, Taylor.”

  “What genre of music do you like?”

  Sonja jotted down her choice. The list grew with each interest. “Let’s see if we’re alike or polar opposites. We’ll begin with music. I picked hip-hop and R & B.”

  “Cool jazz.”

  She put an X next to her choice. “Sports.”

  “Baseball.”

  “That’s our first match,” Sonja said, smiling. “How about books?”

  “Legal thrillers.”

  “Romance or art,” she countered. “But I have read John Grisham.”

  “Then, that should be a half match,” Taylor argued quietly.

  “Have you ever read a romance novel?”

  “Yes. Viola is addicted to them, and one day I read one to see what the allure is. I must admit I enjoyed the book because
the writer didn’t treat the hero like a jerk. In fact, I really liked him, while I was pissed off that the heroine made him jump through hoops before she admitted she wanted to marry him.”

  “That’s the genre, Taylor. It’s boy meets girl, boy loses girl, and then boy finds girl and they live happily ever after.”

  “But all of the novels are the same.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Sonja countered. “The theme is the same because it’s a genre, but the plots vary and the protagonists are different.”

  Taylor tapped the navigation screen displaying the programmed route. “Like the movies on the Hallmark Channel?”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “For someone who is into legal thrillers, you know an awful lot about romance novels and the Hallmark Channel.”

  “That’s because I’m the only one Viola could convince to sit and watch them with her. My brothers always found something to do whenever she asked them to join her.”

  “So, you’re the good brother,” she drawled.

  Taylor smiled. “No. Currently, I’m the one living closest to her. Two of my brothers live in California and the other one is in Kentucky. Whenever I drive down to see my mother, I try and stop by Viola’s apartment to hang out with her for a few hours, and her television is always tuned to the Hallmark Channel. What I don’t understand is why they show Christmas-themed movies during the summer.”

  Sonja had no intention of getting into an exchange with Taylor about the channel that had become one of her favorites. “They feature them because viewers love Christmas anytime of the year,” she said with a hint of finality.

  “I’d like you to answer one question for me before we go to the next category.”