by Ford, Mia
“Sir?”
I look up. Elizabeth is standing in front of me, a frown on her face, and I distantly wonder how long she’s been trying to get my attention.
“I have the books,” she offers.
“Thank you,” I say automatically, accepting the stack of books and papers that she hands me. “I’ll go away and look at these. We’ll get back to you shortly. Thank you for your hard work.”
She beams at me, pleased at the praise. I feel like I should smile back at her, but I can’t seem to make my lips move. What’s wrong with me all of a sudden?
No one else seems to notice something amiss as I bid them farewell and leave the store. I barely notice the crowds rushing around me and, suddenly, I find myself back at the car, staring down at the door handle as though I can’t remember what it does.
“Back so soon?” Matt asks as I get in the car, putting his phone down. “That was quick.”
I don’t answer. Matt shoots me a quick look in the mirror.
“Everything alright, sir?” he asks, frowning.
I look down at the books. Then I think of the phone call. Loss, I realize. I’m feeling an odd sense of loss, as though forgetting about Rose is like losing her all over again. And I’m angry at myself, unable to believe that I can forget about Rose, the love of my life, so easily, just because a beautiful woman has caught my eye.
But more than that. I’m scared, because I know what this says about the depth of what I feel for Zoe.
I say nothing of any of this to Matt.
“Everything is fine,” I say evenly. “Please take me back to the office. I need to look over these documents as soon as possible.”
Matt frowns, but he doesn’t question me any further. I look unseeingly out the window, trying to calm the emotions that are beginning to stir, clasping my hands, which are trembling slightly, on my lap. I wish I could have an answer to all this.
But, in truth, I honestly don’t know what to do now.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zoe
I experienced an odd sense of déjà vu when Seth returned home tonight, looked away from me, and bid me goodnight, claiming that he was tired.
I frowned at him, feeling bereft; I’ve come to enjoy our conversations, and I don’t understand why tonight is different. One night, Seth came home barely able to keep his eyes open, and we still chatted for fifteen minutes before I almost forced him up the stairs to bed for him to sleep, by himself.
Is it because of what happened this morning? I can’t deny that it was incredibly awkward, especially when Alicia asked me, following Seth’s departure, if she had said something wrong; childish innocence on her face.
Then there’s my reaction to the question. I haven’t considered myself as acting like a mother to Alicia, and now I can’t get the thought out of my head. If I’m Alicia’s mother, that means Seth and I are together in a permanent capacity…
And that idea is very intriguing.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
Seth’s shoulders tense, and he turns to give me a tight smile.
“It’s just me,” he confesses. He pauses. “I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I’m going to be here for work. I’ll let Alicia know in the morning.”
“She’ll probably want to go to the park again,” I joke.
Seth doesn’t smile, and my own amusement fades. Something isn’t right.
“Not this weekend,” he murmurs. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Zoe.”
He says it firmly, not allowing me any argument. I know better than to stay and try, so I nod, trying not to show how confused I am by all this.
“Goodnight,” I offer.
Seth doesn’t go in the kitchen, where I’ve left him dinner. Instead, he heads up the stairs without looking back, leaving me to let myself out.
More bewildered than ever, I leave the house and lock the door behind me. I don’t understand what’s just happened. Frowning, I pull out my phone. There’s a message on it, a smiley face from Katherine in response to a joke I made about Alicia asking me to be her mother.
Is that what’s playing on Seth’s mind? I don’t know how to tell him that it’s not a problem, that I understand that it’s just Alicia being a child. Maybe I’ll sleep on it and find some way to talk to him about it tomorrow.
I nod determinedly. That sounds like a good plan.
* * *
I don’t get a chance to talk to Seth about it.
The moment I arrive in the morning, he curtly tells me that Alicia is in the living room, already dressed and fed, and tells me that we’re not to disturb him for the rest of the day. Then he takes the stairs two at a time and, seconds later, I hear a door snapping shut.
Confused, and a little upset, I head to the living room. Alicia looks up as I answer and she throws herself at me, pouting.
“Daddy’s upset,” she tells me when I catch her, surprised at the action. “Did you see?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Do you know why he’s upset?”
“No,” Alicia says. Her eyes brim with tears. “Do you?”
“Sorry, I don’t,” I say. I sigh. Thanks, Seth, for leaving me with this. “Let’s just be extra quiet today, okay? We can even bake some cookies; that might cheer him up.”
Alicia cheers up straight away.
“With pink icing?” she asks.
“Sounds good,” I say with a smile, releasing her from our hug. “Do you want to go and see what ingredients we have?”
“Yep!” Alicia says cheerfully.
Pleased that I’ve successfully distracted the little girl, I lead her to the kitchen, trying to push Seth out of my mind. Alicia leads me to the cupboard where all the baking ingredients are stored, and she throws it open, beaming.
“Okay, we need flour, butter, sugar…” I say, ticking them off on my fingers as I mentally make a list.
Looking through what we have, I discover that we don’t have icing sugar, and that there isn’t enough milk for more than a cup of coffee or two. Alicia and I frown at each other, disappointed by the discovery.
“We can go down to the store?” I suggest.
“Yeah, we can,” Alicia says, brightening. “I’ll get my shoes on!”
She races out of the room, and I follow at a more leisurely pace. As I find my own shoes, I look up the stairs with a frown. Should I let Seth know that we’re going? He’s only just told me not to disturb him, so I assume that means I can act as though he’s not here. But if he comes down the stairs and finds us gone without telling him, he might be worried.
In the end, I compromise by sending him a text message to inform him of where we’re going. Then I straighten the straps of Alicia’s shoes and give her my hand so that we can leave the house.
“Just to the grocery store down the road?” I ask. “That way we can hurry back quickly.”
“Do they have everything?” Alicia asks doubtfully, likely thinking of the massive chain grocery stores that her father takes her to, as opposed to the tiny greengrocers I’m proposing we visit.
“They’ll definitely have milk and icing sugar, at least,” I laugh. “Which is all we need. Come on, it’s a nice little place.”
The grocery store in question isn’t very large, but the owners of it are friendly, and I enjoy shopping there when I only need bread or milk; I used to stop there on my way home from work all the time. I haven’t been in a while, since they’re closed by the time I finish work with Seth, and I end up just doing a large grocery shop every couple of weeks on Sunday, instead.
When I walk in, Mrs. Brown’s expression lights up from behind the register.
“Zoe!” she exclaims. “Here I was thinking you’d moved!”
“No, I just got a new job,” I laugh. “I’ve been working as a nanny with Seth Gray.”
“Oh, that handsome young man?” Mrs. Brown says with a grin. “And I assume this is Alicia Gray?”
“Yes,” I say, looking down with a smile to see Alicia half-hiding beh
ind my leg. “Alicia, this is Mrs. Brown; she’s one of the owners of this store, and she’s very kind.”
Alicia gives her a wave, but otherwise presses close. It doesn’t surprise me. The way Alicia reacted to all her nannies had already told me that the little girl isn’t great with strangers.
“She’s sweet,” Mrs. Brown says. “What can I get for you, Zoe?”
“We’re just after milk and icing sugar,” I explain. “We’re baking cookies.”
“That sounds fun,” Mrs. Brown beams. “Well, you know where to go.”
I laugh and head further into the store. We find the fridge first and select a small bottle of milk, Alicia’s eyes wide as she looks over the different brands. Then I head to the baking section; it’s small, but it has a moderate selection of flours, sprinkles and food dyes.
“There,” I say, pleased, as I find a pack of icing sugar. “Ready to go, Alicia?”
I turn around. Then pause. The little girl is looking at some cookie cutters. Are there any at her house? I can’t remember seeing any.
“Do you want some shapes?” I offer.
Alicia frowns, considering this, and then selects a couple, all the same shape.
“These ones,” she decides.
I take them from her, and my eyes widen. They’re all shaped like roses.
“Daddy likes roses,” Alicia explains before I can ask. “He’s always watering the roses in the garden! So rose cookies might cheer him up.”
I feel a lump in my throat. Alicia is too young to understand the significance of the roses in the garden, or what she’s offering by making cookies in the shape of roses.
I’m pleased, too, at the show of empathy from the little girl. She’s actively thinking of ways to cheer her father up, which is more than she might have done several weeks ago.
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” I say, ruffling her hair. “All right, we’re going to get these, then.”
We pay for the ingredients and the cookie cutters. Mrs. Brown calls a cheerful farewell after us, telling me to visit more often as we go.
“Now we can make cookies!” Alicia cheers as we leave.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Let’s go back quickly, then.”
Alicia grins at me. Then, without warning, she breaks into a run.
“Hey!” I protest, unable to help laughing as I run after her. “Come on, Alicia, it’s too far to run all the way!”
But we end up running anyway. Alicia, the brat, isn’t out of breath at all as we get back to the house, but I feel like I can barely breathe. Running after Alicia all the time has improved my stamina, but it’s not so great that I can sprint for five minutes straight without feeling the effects.
“Are you okay?” Alicia asks.
“Give me a minute,” I gasp, hands on my knees. “Do you want to take the bag to the kitchen?”
Alicia beams and rushes to the kitchen with the grocery bag. I send a quick text to Seth, to tell him that we’re back, though he’s probably heard us by now. I notice as I do so, that he never replied to my first message, but I just shrug it off. I’m sure it’s fine.
“Hurry up, Zoe!” Alicia yells from the kitchen.
“I’m coming!” I call back, rolling my eyes at her impatience.
I can’t help but look up the stairs as I go past, however, frowning up them. Despite being determined not to worry about it, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in Seth’s mind. I don’t know what happened yesterday; despite his embarrassment, he was cheerful yesterday morning, and now?
I shake my head. Maybe, if he is feeling better later, I can ask him about it then. Right now, I have Alicia to look after and cookies to bake.
I cast one last look at the stairs and then head into the kitchen.
I can worry about Seth later.
* * *
As I close the door to Alicia’s room later that night, having just put her to bed, I hesitate, looking at the closed study door. It’s been firmly closed all day. Seth hasn’t eaten at all; even the tray I decided to leave outside his door at lunch, knocking, without answer, to tell him that it was there, is untouched.
Do I do something about it? Seth didn’t seem happy this morning, and he didn’t answer when I knocked, but I can’t really just leave him like this. He needs to eat, no matter how busy he is. And now that Alicia’s in bed, I can try and drag him out with her witnessing.
Mind made up, I stride to the study door and knock on it firmly.
“Coming in,” I warn.
Then I open the door. The room, to my surprise, is darkened, lit only by a small lamp on the desk, which casts shadows everywhere. Seth is half-lying on the desk. He doesn’t do more than sigh when I come in.
My mind switches gears. Rather than pulling him away from work, it seems I need to snap him out of whatever dark mood has fallen over him.
“Seth?” I ask. “Is everything alright?”
Seth groans and lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is disheveled, as though he has run his hand through it many times.
“No,” he says balefully.
That’s when I notice the smell. It’s rancid, and gets stronger the further I walk into the room. I lay my eyes, incredulous, on the bottle sitting beside Seth’s elbow, and on the glass he’s clutching in one hand.
“Are you drunk?” I gape.
Seth chuckles and raises his glass, some of the amber liquid in it sloshing up the sides of it.
“It’s damn fine whiskey,” he slurs, and then knocks it back.
I stare at him. How long has he been up here, drinking the day away by himself?
And why?
I know I need to tread carefully now. I don’t know what has made him drink like this, but it can’t be anything good. I step forward gingerly until I’m right in front of the desk.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer.
“Talk?” Seth snorts and pours himself another drink. Some of it splashes on the desk. “Not with you.”
I step back a little, hurt.
“Okay, I’m going to say that’s the drink talking,” I say as calmly as I can.
Seth laughs and mutters something under his breath, which I don’t catch. Then he sighs; a great, heaving sound as though a tremendous weight is on his shoulders.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” he demands.
“Sunday?” I venture.
He sneers at me. “It’s the sixth. The sixth, Zoe!”
I shake my head, confused. I don’t know what that means. Seth’s expression suddenly crumples.
“The sixth,” he croaks out. “The day Rose died.”
My stomach drops. Seth slumps on the desk again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
Seth looks at me and suddenly laughs again. It’s harsh and grating.
“Maybe you should be,” he says, and I frown, not understanding. “Because I forgot.”
He forgot? That doesn’t make sense.
“Every year,” Seth continues, almost as though I’m not there anymore. “Every damn year this date has haunted me. And this year I forget?” He suddenly turns his bleary eyes on me. “Because of you?”
“That’s not fair,” I protest, feeling hurt that he would try and blame something like this one me.
“It is!” he insists. “You and your…your…your looks and your mothering…and the sex… It’s all so distracting! And I…and I…” The anger leaves his face and he lets out a dry sob. “I forgot. Oh, Rose…”
I stare at him. There’s a strange ringing in my ears. My heart is pounding in my chest.
What am I supposed to say to this?
“So…so…take some responsibility!” Seth says, glaring again. “You can at least share a drink with me in her honor!”
I can’t imagine Rose would be too impressed with Seth getting this drunk because of the anniversary of her death. But I don’t say this. Instead, I sink into a chair in front of the desk as Seth puts another glass on it and
pours some whiskey in. I’m too stunned by what I just heard to protest as he hands it to me.
“To Rose,” Seth says with a bittersweet smile, raising his glass.
“To Rose,” I whisper, raising my own glass.
Then we drink, and I ignore the voice in the back of my mind telling me what a bad idea this all is.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Seth
This, I decide, is the worst tribute that I could give my departed wife.
But that doesn’t stop me from pouring another glass for both myself and Zoe.
It isn’t like I stayed home just because I wanted to get drunk on alcohol and misery. I actually did work most of the day. As dinner came and went, however, and I listened to the sounds of Zoe and Alicia playing downstairs, I couldn’t quite bear it any longer. So I fished out a bottle of whiskey, telling myself that I’ll only have one or two to quiet the dark thoughts taking over my mind.
Nearly a whole bottle later, with a new one being opened, and I can admit that it didn’t take long for that resolve to break.
To make matters worse, I’ve even dragged Zoe into all this. She’s only had a few glasses, and she’s nowhere near as drunk as I am, but she’s tipsy enough to be wobbling slightly in her seat and giggling at every slurred joke I make.
On some level, though, I’m glad she’s here. Drinking on my own is just miserable. But now that she’s here, I’m feeling a little more light-hearted. I just can’t stop laughing, which is much better than the depression that was falling over me an hour ago.
“You should eat something,” Zoe is insisting. “You’re going to make yourself sick!”
“I’m fine,” I dismiss. “It’s all fine.”
It isn’t, and I know it isn’t, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m still quite drunk, but I have had more than another glass or two since Zoe came in, which has cleared my head a little. Not enough to listen to the voice of reason that’s trying to tell me to stop this foolishness, but enough that the world seems a little brighter.
