Indivisible Line

by Lorenz Font

  “She comes from a long line of proud people. They don’t take to strangers offering help.”

  “I don’t understand. She seems to be a smart girl to me. She’ll find out eventually that you haven’t been upfront with her.” Simon was too damned receptive for his own good.

  “The only way she’ll find out is if you tell her. And you’re not going to do that, right?”

  “Of course not. But I have to warn you, this has failure written all over it. I trust you’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

  End of discussion. He’d dismissed Simon before their conversation could turn into a full-blown confession.

  Greg straightened in his chair and rubbed his back. He’d been working nonstop for hours, while Sarah continued to belt out songs without a care in the world. Sometimes he saw the little girl in her, one who hadn’t had a chance to enjoy childhood before being thrust into a world of adult responsibility. He felt like her guardian almost, keeping vigil and making sure she retained a semblance of innocence.

  “Hey, Greg, do you want your lunch here or in the dining room?” Sarah tapped the door and poked her head in.

  “Doing work at lunch? Heck, no.” He smirked and got up. Stretching his legs, a sudden twitching of his left leg alerted him to an oncoming spasm, and he sat down again to avoid falling.

  Sarah ran to his side and knelt before him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Another spasm.” Greg gritted his teeth and held his calf while he tried to stifle the involuntary shaking.

  Sarah eyed him with mild alarm. “Here, let me help.” She stretched his quaking leg across her thighs and began rubbing his calf, kneading and pressing her knuckles on the pressure point.

  Her warm touch sent electric jolts through his skin, and he fought the urge to moan. Greg ground his molars to keep himself in check while Sarah continued to work her magic.

  After a few minutes, the spasm ebbed, and she looked up at him. “How do you feel now?”

  He gave her a relieved smile, but it was hard hide the fact that he’d enjoyed her touch. Man, he’d be happy to go through the pain again if she’d hold him again like she had just done. “Better. Thanks.” Greg looked away, hoping she wouldn’t notice the desire written all over his face.

  “You’re welcome. Shall we eat?”

  Greg grabbed the cane from the floor before standing up and following her out the door. Once he was seated at the dining room table, Sarah went to the kitchen to grab their plates. Matilda’s mild protest sounded from the kitchen when Sarah came back with two bowls. Greg’s housekeeper hated the fact that Sarah had taken over most of the duties she’d enjoyed doing for him, leaving her with almost nothing else to do.

  Sarah placed one bowl in front of Greg before taking a seat across the table. He hadn’t seen the likes of this dish before. It looked like beef, with a pungent and distinctive aroma.

  “What did Matilda cook this time?” He picked up his fork, ready to dig in.

  Sarah smiled in a sheepish manner. Lord, if this woman kept looking at him like that with those big eyes, he’d soon come undone in front of her.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered some Caribou meat online and made a stew.” She was already spooning some meat from the bowl.

  “Oh.” He glanced down at the plateful of meat and back to her. “Not at all.”

  Greg had no idea what it tasted like or whether he would even like it, but he wasn’t about to disappoint Sarah, especially when she had worked so hard on cooking the odd dish. He dug his fork into the chunky mix and caught one cube-sized piece of meat. Smiling despite his sudden apprehension, he took a bite.

  “Hey, it tastes like beef,” he exclaimed. He picked up the spoon and started digging in with enthusiasm. “It’s good.”

  Sarah grinned, seeming pleased with his approval. Soon enough, their conversation stalled while they both worked on devouring their meal. Greg requested a second helping, which delighted Sarah even further.

  “If you like it that much, I can cook other dishes for you.”

  “Does this mean Matilda’s going to be disappointed because you’re leaving her with nothing to do?” He laughed.

  Sarah nodded. “Yeah, but I will show her how to make them, too, just in case I’m not around.”

  Wasn’t that a buzz kill? Greg’s smile faded, but he hid his emotion. “Sure, show her how to make the dishes.”

  The phone rang, halting any further conversation. Matilda walked into the dining room with an announcement. “A Mr. Jeremy Singer is calling for you, Miss Jones.” Judging from the housekeeper’s tone, she wasn’t happy with the caller.

  “Oh, thank you. Please excuse me.” Sarah wiped her mouth with a napkin before disappearing to take the call on the hallway extension.

  “Jeremy Singer?” Greg raised an eyebrow.

  Matilda shrugged and answered his question with another query. “Why is a man calling her?” She shot him a questioning glance as if he should know the answer. Thanks to Sarah, her maternal instinct had gone into overdrive again. Without waiting for his response, she disappeared into the kitchen and left Greg to ponder the unexpected caller.

  He didn’t want to think about men calling Sarah, but he ended up with the same question: Who the hell is Jeremy Singer? While he waited for Sarah to return, he made a mental note to check the name later.

  A few minutes later, Sarah came back. Instead of sitting down, she hovered over him. It reminded him of how kids acted when they wanted to ask their parents for permission for something, he thought sourly.

  Greg looked up at her. “What’s going on?”

  Sarah fidgeted. He guessed what was coming.

  “Jeremy asked if we can meet to discuss a term paper.”

  “When?” His tone came out flat, and he wasn’t about to apologize for it.

  She seemed oblivious to his cold, detached demeanor. “He wants to pick me up in an hour, but I wanted to ask you first if it’s okay to leave. I don’t know if you need me for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Greg clenched his jaw at the thought of another man picking her up and taking her to an unknown destination. He had forgotten how beautiful she was and that it would be natural for men to want to be with her. No, that was wrong. He hadn’t forgotten. He had just hoped no one else would notice her the way he did.

  “Why don’t I have Simon take you instead?”

  Sarah considered his suggestion and nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell Jeremy. Are you sure you don’t need me to do anything for you?”

  “I’m sure,” he replied, his voice bitter.

  Greg spent the rest of the afternoon feeling disgusted with himself. What in the hell did it matter if Sarah went out to meet a man, or just a male classmate? He shook his head, dispelling the murderous mood washing over him. He’d been staring at the same document for over twenty minutes, and he couldn’t concentrate enough to remember if it needed a signature or if he had to review the shipment details or what.

  The sound of approaching footsteps brought his head up. Matilda tapped on the door before letting herself inside his study, carrying a tray.

  “I’m sure you need this.” She moved a few papers aside before setting the tray down. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee.” He needed a jolt. This damn business with Jeremy had sent him spinning in a vortex of short temper and the wrong frame of mind.

  Matilda poured a cup of coffee in silence.

  “Thanks,” he acknowledged without looking up.

  Matilda was like an open book. He could read her emotional grid well. She didn’t leave but stayed glued to her spot.

  “Where did she go? Is this Mr. Singer trustworthy?”

  He sighed, rested the pen on the desk, and leaned back. “Simon’s with her, so we know she’s safe.”

  “But I don’t want her going out with strange men,” Matilda insisted.

  “I don’t want her going out either, but she’s not a prisoner here. She’s free to come and go as she pleases. She’s an
attractive young woman, and she’s bound to spread her wings. We’re not going to stop her.”

  “No, Greg. I don’t want her going out and doing the same thing Ms. Cassandra did to you.” Matilda’s tone reflected the disgust she always exhibited when Cassandra’s name came up in conversation.

  “She’s neither my girlfriend nor my wife. I can’t stop her from doing what she wants.” His voice rose, and he hated himself for reacting in such a manner. Their years together had given the older woman a unique perspective on how he felt about everything, which left him feeling vulnerable under her observation.

  Matilda snorted and leaned close enough that they could look eye to eye. “You like this girl, don’t you?”

  “Matilda, I’m not having this conversation with you. Go on. I have work to do.”

  The hurt that spread across Matilda’s face made him ache. He hadn’t talked to her in such a manner since Cassandra left him. She turned around and walked to the door.

  “I’m sorry, Matilda,” he called after her in a gentler tone. “I just can’t talk about it.”

  Greg wanted to follow, but it’d be best to leave her be for a while. Besides, what would he tell her? He wasn’t ready to admit to anything yet.

  “Damn it.” He pounded a fist on the desk and then raked his fingers through his hair, feeling sick to his stomach.

  With his mood in a downward spiral and his concentration down to zero, Greg decided to ditch the mounds of paperwork and call it a day. He walked out of his study and headed straight to the wet bar. What else was there to do? He’d pretty much closed himself off from the rest of the world, even from his friends, since he had come back from Alaska. Calling someone this late in the afternoon and asking to hang out sounded pathetic. So, he scratched the idea. He’d rather drink by himself. Taking a bottle of Armagnac and pouring a generous amount in a glass, he took one quick pull, followed by another. Greg wasn’t intending to drink a lot, just enough to loosen his tight muscles and relax his mind.

  Man, he felt old.

  Lying in bed that night, Sarah realized she hadn’t seen Greg at all since her study session with Jeremy. It hadn’t been late when she and Simon made it back—just half past eight—but Greg was nowhere to be found. She would’ve asked Matilda, but one look at the woman made her back off. She’d seemed upset. Had anything happened while Sarah was gone?

  The afternoon meeting with Jeremy had been fun. She hadn’t spent much time out with friends, much less in the company of the opposite sex, except for Greg. Sarah had caught herself several times imagining that it was Greg talking about cancer biology with her instead of Jeremy. She’d imagined Greg’s blue eyes sparkling with animation while he discussed carcinogens and tumor virology. What was the world coming to? In the past weeks, she’d found it difficult to think of anything but Greg: Greg would love this; Greg preferred coffee to tea; Greg this, Greg that. Any more Greg, and she’d be a walking, talking Greg poster.

  She tossed in bed and glared at the clock. Ten o’clock.

  Sure, Jeremy was interesting enough. His wide shoulders rivaled that of a pro football player, and his brown, curly hair gave him a boyish charm, but she preferred mature men. Sarah liked a man who could take charge of situations and was able to say what he wanted and what he meant. She had even caught herself comparing Jeremy to Greg, which had been both unfair and unnecessary.

  First, she wasn’t attracted to either of them, and neither one had shown interest in her at all. Well, that might not be entirely true. She had noticed Jeremy’s subtle movements and occasional attempts to start up conversation about whether she was involved with anyone. Second, she couldn’t be looking for a relationship now, not when her arranged marriage to Trimble still hanging over her head. She’d be better off concentrating on her distant and still-hazy future.

  Then the little voice appeared again. Don’t forget your feelings for Greg.

  She tossed again and again, before she gave up on sleeping. If it wouldn’t come, she couldn’t force it. Maybe some fresh air would help relax her mind. Sarah got up and pulled on the robe at the foot of her bed. She slipped out of the room barefoot, and the darkened and quiet hallway greeted her.

  Knowing her way around the penthouse, she required no lights to get to where she wanted to go. Sarah tiptoed her way through the living room, making sure to avoid causing the slightest noise. She reached the patio, noticed the sliding door open a crack, and found a figure standing outside. Under the glow of the city lights, she recognized Greg’s features illuminated by the radiant surroundings.

  She turned to walk back but paused when she heard a sliver of the one-sided conversation that piqued her curiosity.

  “If you’re sure it’s him you’ve located, I want you to tell me where to find him. I will personally see that he gets what is coming to him. It won’t be pretty, but I won’t be cruel. I don’t think the bastard deserves to live a moment longer.”

  The weight of his threats slammed Sarah with a heavy dose of reality. Greg hadn’t forgotten about the shooting and hadn’t forgiven his friend, and he sounded like hell wouldn’t stop him from getting his revenge. Her mouth gaped open at the burden of his statements, and she refused to listen any longer than she already had. Afraid he’d catch her eavesdropping, she ran back to her room, creating more noise than she’d intended.

  When the door was safely closed and locked, Sarah leaned against the jamb and tried to catch her breath. Damn right, she was scared—scared of what Greg was capable of doing in a fit of rage. She had a vague idea of who he was referring to, and she’d be damned if she would allow him to take matters into his own hands. Was Greg the man he’d said he was? Could she trust the man who’d taken her against her will, or had she been living in a bed of lies all along?

  After she regulated her breathing, Sarah climbed back into bed. All of a sudden, she felt impossibly tired. What could she do? In her confusion, she started reciting the prayers her mother had taught her. Gwich’in words flowed from her mouth like honey as she wished she could do something—anything—before things got out of hand.

  Chapter 10

  Sarah sat in the kitchen, eyeing the coffee maker with impatience, sometimes glancing over to the big picture window overlooking the twinkling skylines. At six o’clock in the morning, the city had yet to rise from its slumber to grace her with another day filled with forced solitude and boredom. Greg had been too distant.

  She was up earlier than usual, just as she had been for the past week. Sleep had been rather evasive for several days now, which she attributed in part to the fact that she hadn’t seen much of Greg, either.

  Ever since she had come back from her study meeting with Jeremy and had overheard his conversation, she had barely seen Greg around the house. He’d refused every single one of her asinine attempts to draw him out, and he’d declined her invitations and subtle efforts with the justification that he was involved in long business conversations and satellite meetings. She had no reason to be in the same room with him under those circumstances, so she ended up moping in her room for lack of anything better to do.

  From what she remembered of their arrangement, she was to help him out if necessary. All signals coming from him were that help from her was not needed. Why did it seem like he was avoiding her? The more disturbing outcome from this whole cat and mouse situation was that she missed him. It felt like she was experiencing withdrawal, and she’d be a hypocrite if she pretended Greg’s absence didn’t bother her.

  She missed their conversations, their relaxed banter, and most of all, his companionship. With nothing else to fill her days, she’d gone out with Jeremy a couple of times, where they’d spent the better part of the day in the library buried in medical books. Sarah didn’t think Greg would mind if she went out. She doubted he even realized she was gone. Simon accompanied her each time, but he would retreat to the sofa at the end of the room when her studying commenced.

  The drip, drip, drip continued, and she tapped her anxious fingers on
the granite counter. She kept the lights in the kitchen off, not wanting to wake up Matilda, who always fussed at her for performing even the simplest chore. The elderly lady often shooed her away, insisting that Sarah concentrate on her school-related work instead of helping around the house. Matilda had been sweet, but it was stifling at times. In a way, she reminded Sarah of her mother.

  The coffee maker chimed at last, cutting off her flow of thoughts. The aroma of coffee wafted around the kitchen while she marched zombie-like to the cupboard. Sarah retrieved a big mug emblazoned with the Wharton School of Business logo. She smirked as she filled the mug to the brim and added a teaspoon of sugar. With the steaming mug in hand, she returned to the counter and sat on the barstool. While she waited for the coffee to cool a bit, she blew the rising steam away from her face, keeping tabs of any movement in the quiet household.

  Greg, no doubt, would still be asleep. Before she’d gone to bed the night before, she had spotted him on the patio, engrossed in another phone conversation as he had been for the past few nights. Sarah thought of the conversation she’d overheard a week ago.

  Several explanations flashed through her mind, and considering the possible outcomes made her cringe. Greg shouldn’t take matters into his own hands; it would only lead to trouble. Sarah hugged her robe tighter around her body. The idea of Greg being involved with a heinous crime gave her chills, but they hadn’t gotten the chance to talk in several days, not that she had any idea how to broach the subject. Still, it scared her to think of what Greg might end up doing. She had to help somehow—encourage him to talk to her. But how?

  You’ll have to engage him in a more meaningful conversation. Try harder, her tiny voice told her.

  “And you think I haven’t been trying?” she grumbled in the darkness.

  “I didn’t know you were in the habit of talking to yourself.” Greg walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  She jumped, startled, and spilled some of her coffee on the countertop. “You scared me!” Hopping off the barstool, she hurried to the roll of paper towels, tore off one, and wiped the surface dry.