Her Surprise Protector

by J. P. Comeau

  I thanked him and headed down the hall toward the door with ‘Devon Liguori, Esquire’ emblazoned on the brass nameplate. Sitting here in this wooden chair with its beige leather upholstery glancing around Devon’s office reminded me of my ex - again. The last time I had visited, Devon had congratulated me on our engagement before we sat down to discuss the prenup.

  Scowling, I poured a cup of coffee. Would anything ever not make me think of my ex?

  Suddenly, excitement flooded through me, and I shot upright, searching wildly for something to write with and a piece of paper. My roving eyes located a legal table and a gold ink pen, and I helped myself to both.

  And that’s when I knew at last.

  The little things, I found, became more profound

  and the larger things faded into the past.

  I stopped writing. My mind went blank. The lightning bolt of inspiration hadn’t gone beyond these three simple lines.

  Sighing, I tore the top sheet off the pad, set it back where I had found it and put the piece of paper in my pocket after a quick glance behind me. Nate and Zeke would have an absolute field day with the bit of knowledge that I wrote poetry in my spare time, and I would go to any – and I meant any – lengths to avoid them finding out. I doubted my lawyer would do the same, but I would still prefer to keep it to myself. Writing poetry didn’t go hand in hand with my career as a CEO of Sunset Security, yachting and working out.

  Poetry was something I had picked up in middle school. I would never forget what my dad had said when I came home one day upset because some kids had teased me about my writing.

  “If they laugh, they don’t deserve to read it,” Dad had told me grinning and patting my back while I sat on a barstool doing homework in our Manhattan penthouse. “You don’t have to hide your poetry. You can choose to show it only to those who will appreciate your thoughts.”

  Those few words had changed the way I thought about my writing. No longer was it an embarrassing habit, something to be hidden from the world. Whether it was bad or good, my poetry was a gem, something I would only show to people who earned a certain level of trust.

  Not even Hallie had ever reached that point. Once, we were visiting a quaint bookstore where an actor from Broadway was reciting selected pieces by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Hallie quickly had made it clear she had no interest in listening to the boring performance. So, I never mentioned I did like to listen to poetry and wrote a few lines myself now and then. In retrospect, that incident was a huge red flag about our lack of compatibility that, unfortunately, I had ignored.

  Where’s that legal aide with my paperwork? Impatiently, I shifted in my seat. I did way too much thinking when left to my own devices for an extended length of time. How long could it possibly take to print a document? The sooner I could slap my signature on the bottom line and get out of here, the better.

  Just when my impatience began to morph into anger, the office door creaked opened. I swiveled my chair slowly to face the door, ready to unload my righteous annoyance for the unnecessary wait.

  Surprise made me forget my anger. The woman who stood in the doorway was dressed in heels, a pencil skirt, and a white blouse… She was the redhead from the beach, the one with the dog. I had to admit; her professional attire was more complementary than the casual shorts and tank top she was wearing that day.

  Or maybe I just liked how the slightly loose neck of her blouse fluttered in the gentle stream of air from the vent above her, showing a smattering of freckles across her collarbone.

  I didn’t like how, for a second time, she had done something to interfere with my carefully-planned days off. “Printer not working?” I remarked snidely, my chest wrenching a little at the sight of the papers in her hand. Apparently, a tiny traitorous part of me still didn’t want to do this.

  “No, um- I apologize,” she said quickly, stumbling over her words. “For the wait. A-and for the dog. He found a hole-”

  “No offense,” I cut her off in a tone that said I really, really didn’t care right now, “but I just want to deal with what I came for and leave. Can I have the papers?”

  “O-oh, yes. Sorry. Again. Um…” She turned away quickly, lifting a hand to her face, and when she turned around the back of her hand was wet. “You’ll need to read through this, initial where indicated and sign at the end. Do you- do you have any questions?”

  I took the papers and glanced over them. They weren’t particularly complicated. Anyone with half a brain could complete them without having to ask for help. “No.”

  “If you ch-change your mind, the front desk can help you. I…” This time I spotted the tears in her eyes before she could swipe them away. “I’m really very sorry.”

  Poetry might not be very manly, but making a woman cry was even less so. Suddenly, when I took a moment to think about someone else besides myself for once, I noticed a few things. First, I had made this particular woman cry twice now. Second, the redhead genuinely appeared apologetic, without even a hint that she felt I was overreacting about the dog or the delay in this office today.

  Lastly – and I had noticed this before, but it bore repeating – she was strikingly beautiful. The kind of woman I would instantly notice in a bar or club because she was exactly my type. Unfortunately, a law office wasn’t really the best place to hit on women. Besides, I had made her cry twice, and she would probably tell me to go to hell.

  Although, I did wonder if there was something else going on with her. I hadn’t brought up the dog incident, she had. And, no, I hadn’t exactly been polite about the wait, but I hadn’t been rude enough to make someone cry, either.

  I reviewed the papers and had them nearly finished by the time Devon walked in. “Good morning, Riker,” he greeted me. “Sorry, I’m late. Had to stop by the courthouse this morning and got held up.”

  “No problem,” I told Devon, feeling my brows knit. I couldn’t be irritated with him, even though he was about thirty minutes late and lateness rubbed me in all the wrong ways. “I’ve already signed the paperwork.” I closed the file folder, slid it across the conference table and cleared my throat, “And, oh, by the way, is your legal assistant alright? I ran into her on the beach the other day.” Since he was looking at me a little oddly, I finished my thought, “She seemed upset then, too, so I was just wondering.”

  “Elena? She’s been going through a rough time lately,” Devon explained as he took the documents and looked over them. “You know that saying. When it rains, it pours.”

  And I had added to everything, pouring hardships on the woman. Great job, Riker. I should have apologized for my behavior on the beach when I had the chance, and I shouldn’t have been so impatient today.

  Oh well. We would never see each other again, and she would forget about it in a few days. I still felt a little guilty, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

  After Devon finished going over the papers, we stood and shook hands. I left him in the office and re-emerged into the lobby, relieved to have this legal visit behind me, finally.

  But, as the automatic glass doors slid open for me, I couldn’t help but send a glance back over my shoulder- no beautiful red hair came into view. I didn’t know why I hoped to see Elena – she probably wanted to avoid me as much as possible. There was just…something about her. Something special. I had a feeling about Elena, and that feeling made it hard to turn my back on the law office without apologizing to her.

  The doors began to shut, and I slipped the rest of the way through them before they could catch my shirttail. Even as I walked to my car, I looked back. Nothing.

  As I drove past the glass entryway on my way out of the parking lot, a flash of red at a second-story window had me tapping the brakes, slowing the car to a crawl while I stared. A vase of fake flowers sat on a table in front of the window panes, but I was almost positive what I caught a glimpse of wasn’t artificial flowers. Not a red that dynamic and eye-catching.

  Maybe, I would see her again. Now that I knew
where she worked. I could come by and apologize… and I wanted to see her again. I wanted to see what a woman that beautiful was like, and I wanted to know what monster other than me had brought tears to her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Elena

  “Bree?”

  No response.

  “Bree!”

  No childish, high-pitched giggle, no “mommy,” and no clatter of toys answered my call.

  I dropped the hand towel in the top rack of the dishwasher and hurried over to the office that doubled as a playroom - no curly mop of sandy red hair. The bathroom door was cracked, so I checked there too - no Bree.

  Trying not to take the corners at an all-out panicked sprint, I checked every single room in the house for my daughter, growing more and more frantic as each opened door showed no sign of a little girl. “Bree! Br-”

  Oh, no, the back door is open. Not the outer screen door, but the heavy wooden inner one. Could she have possibly reached up and opened it with her little hands? She was playing behind me on the kitchen floor just seconds ago. Wouldn’t I hear the door creaking open?

  I threw open the screen door, shading my eyes against the setting sun, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy to match my terrified heart. A thousand horrifying scenarios ripped through my mind, each darker than the last. Sharp rocks, deadly poisonous plants, strangers dressed in black-

  “Bree!” I dashed over the sand toward the beach, leaped over a pair of scraggly bushes and scooped up my adventurous toddler. “Heavens, Bree, you can’t do that to Mommy,” I half-sobbed into her curly hair, hugging her tightly against my chest.

  Her tiny mouth turned down, and her eyes began to pucker. “No, no, Bree, baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s okay. We just can’t go near the ocean, okay?”

  “Why?” Her big round eyes showed her innocence as she asked that question that every two-and-a-half year old used to learn about the world around them.

  “The ocean is bad here, honey,” I explained, feeling Bree’s steady heartbeat calm my own. “I’ll take you to the good ocean sometime. Does that sound fun?” I carried her into the house and set her down next to her toys, careful to shut and lock both doors this time.

  “Yeah.” Her little voice spoke absent-mindedly. I could tell Bree’s attention had already wandered back to her toys.

  I finished the dishes and sat down on my old worn couch with a glass of wine. The TV was on, but I couldn’t look away from my baby girl. If something had happened to her…

  I combed my fingers through my hair, shooting a glance at my phone. I loved this three-bedroom clapboard house with cyan blue siding, wooden shutters, and whitewashed porch and windows. Inside and outside, the place had wonderful character, and it had inspired many of my favorite poems. It had been perfect for a single woman, and I was thrilled the monthly rent was reasonable - perfect for my budget.

  Unfortunately, now that I was a single mother, dangers lurked around my quaint house that I had never thought about before. The house had a decent little grass yard for a child to play on, but no fence. If Bree played outside, I was always right there with her, playing with her or sipping a drink and watching carefully to make sure that this exact incident never happened. The beach along this section of the coast was known to have rough surf, which wouldn’t be a problem for an adult, but a little child could easily get swept off her feet by the breaking waves.

  My eyes left my phone and returned to Bree. I had been considering calling the landlord again and asking if we could work out a deal for fencing in the backyard, but I doubted it would help. He was a fair man, but he had told me before that he felt fencing would ruin the home’s historic appeal. It certainly made no sense for me to shell out that much money myself, not for a rented house, and I didn’t have that kind of money to spare after delving into my savings to replace the tires slashed two weeks ago.

  When I told Payton I wished I had a fence, she had asked me why I didn’t go ahead and look for a new place. The answer was simple. I had just signed a new lease, so I had about another year in this house before I could look for somewhere more kid-friendly. Finding someone to take over my lease might be doable, but I didn’t know if I could find a place that fit my budget that was close enough to work and Bree’s daycare. Moving would add a lot of stress to an already difficult time for me, and I didn’t want to deal with that right now. I would just have to hope that the tires were an isolated incident and keep a very, very close eye on Bree.

  I knew I shouldn’t have anything to worry about this evening, at least. Knowing my lingering discomfort with being alone in my house, Payton had suggested that we have a wine and movie evening this Saturday while the kids played, then she would stay over in the guest room. I had agreed wholeheartedly, and since today was that very Saturday, I could expect to hear tires on my gravel driveway any second now.

  Sure enough, I hardly made it halfway through my glass before gravel crunched outside, and a rumbling engine became silent. I peeked through the window to make sure the vehicle was my friend’s little black truck, then opened the door with a welcoming smile.

  Payton’s son Michael toddled over the gravel to greet me as soon as my best friend lifted him from his car seat and set him on the ground. I hoisted him onto my hip, taking care not to make him drop his sippy cup. “Hey, buddy!”

  Michael didn’t look at me, preferring to glance around from his high vantage point in my arms.

  “New clothes?” I asked Payton, giving Michael’s tiny shirt an affectionate tug.

  “Just a few,” she said, the truck’s door squeaking as she closed it and locked the vehicle. “He’s growing so fast! Most of his other ones are too tight.”

  “You’re getting big and strong!” I exclaimed, accompanying Payton into the house. I set Michael down, and he looked at Bree with big eyes. “That’s Bree, remember? Hi, Bree!” I waved at her, and right on cue, both kids mimicked me and waved at each other. The ice broken, they set down with a toy boat set and a blue towel that could pass for the ocean with a child’s imagination.

  “All right. Time for the adults to figure out some dinner,” I suggested. Payton and I headed into the kitchen, where we made a wonderful gourmet meal that would fill any chef with pride – baked potatoes, salmon and broccoli. Okay, maybe not gourmet, but delicious, nutritious and more than deserving of a second portion.

  After some consideration, we settled on a comedy for our movie night. I hadn’t seen it before – or even heard of it, actually, since I didn’t watch movies all that often – but Payton told me it was a funny one and I trusted her judgment. Besides, it quickly became apparent that not even a movie could silence our friendly chatter.

  “So, you haven’t really told me much about your mini-vacation,” Payton reminded me, topping off our wine glasses and checking the locks on the doors before coming to join me on the couch.

  I took my glass, suddenly intently focused on the opening credits. “Uh…yeah, I know. It was nice, mostly. I spent a lot of time on the beach, played with the dog and read a lot.”

  “You said the dog got out once, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Payton moved her attention from the movie to me. “So, what happened? I know something happened to your car just a couple weeks ago, but you’ve seemed a little off lately. Bree is doing fine, so it has to be work or that housesitting job. Or your ex,” she remarked thoughtfully.

  “I haven’t heard from him in several months,” I told Payton, the familiar sense of betrayal shooting through my chest. Bree’s father, a man who was as handsome as he was manipulative, had wanted less and less to do with Bree or me after he learned I was pregnant Even so, and even though I knew what kind of man Oscar was, I had been so afraid of the prospect of raising a child alone that I had tried to make things work, for a little while.

  Making things work had meant I had to be there for Oscar whenever he wanted me, accept that he would never be there for me. It meant I had to take whatever he offered without asking for any
thing more. It also meant I had to abandon my self-esteem and let a man who didn’t care about me or my daughter dictate my life.

  So, I had given up and distanced myself from Oscar. Finally, I came to my senses with the help of my boss Devon and sued for child support when he refused his responsibility to our daughter and gone on with my life. I had come to the conclusion that Bree might grow up with no father figure. Really, I didn’t want that, but it would be better than raising Bree anywhere near her father. But I still heard from Oscar from time to time, and thankfully his child support check came in the mail.

  The last time he had called, Oscar was…sweet, polite, and even caring. It had been a complete character swap, and I hadn’t trusted a single thing he had to say…even when he said the things I wanted to hear most. Like, he had missed me and Bree… he wanted to come back to the Hamptons and be a good father to his daughter. And most of all, he wanted to give our relationship a second chance.

  Ha! I had told him to go – well, I said something very final and not particularly polite. He had responded with a sudden outburst of rage, a slew of curses and ended the call.

  Whatever. I was still receiving Oscar’s check every month. As long as that continued, he could do whatever he wanted. And as long as what Oscar wanted had nothing to do with me or my child, everything would be okay.

  “It’s not Oscar,” I stated again when Payton raised an eyebrow. “It’s that guy I mentioned; he goes by his last name, Riker. He’s the neighbor of the couple who owns the mansion I was house sitting. Chauncey – the dog – found a hole in the fence and almost knocked him over on the beach. He wasn’t very pleased. In fact, he was really angry about it. And then he came into the office yesterday.” I winced. “He was still mad.”

  “About a dog being a dog?” Payton sipped her wine and shook her head. “Sounds like a rich ass.”

  I chuckled, but I wasn’t so sure. “No doubt, he is rich. He’s a Riker. But the incident on the beach… it really was my fault. And he had something in his hand that Chauncey just about ate.”