Trouble

by Tia Louise

  A large and shiny brass clock sits under a glass dome. A round spinner in the back seems to serve as the battery, and on the side is a plate reading Simon Willard.

  The shelf above holds a glowing purple vase with hobnails all down the sides. The lip curves dramatically and it’s strangely beautiful. On the bottom shelf is a leather notebook, and when I open it, I see it’s actually a ledger. Beside it is a lapis blue cloisonne pen. It’s like a Mont Blanc, but with brass filigree and pale pink and green flowers etched in the sides.

  I know from Daisy’s work this stuff is valuable. Considering what Spencer told me, it’s probably worth several thousand dollars or more.

  Leaning my head to the side, I pick up the pen and turn it in my fingers. I wonder if he’s ever even written with it or if it even works. Taking a step away, I walk along the hall to the stairs leading up to the master suite.

  Climbing slowly, I pass the small sitting area to the left with its balcony facing the river. The enormous, navy king-sized bed is perfectly made. No sign I was ever even here.

  I go to the bedside table that holds a blue and white porcelain lamp covered in Chinese lettering. I slide my finger along the top of the polished mahogany when I realize…

  He doesn’t have a single picture.

  Lifting my chin, I look all around the bedroom, to the dresser, the nightstand on the other side of the bed, not even on the credenza in the sitting room.

  All these old things and not a single framed photo.

  Spencer said his foster dad was like one of those old dragons, and I imagine a thick, reptilian man curled up on a pile of gold coins, protecting them with all his might as his life slips away, as he never knew the little boy in his care.

  Dropping into the oversized leather chair, I pull up my knees, resting my cheek on them. “You don’t have to be this way,” I whisper.

  Sadness presses inside my chest, and I take out my phone. I’m breaking my promise… But I was doing a shitty job keeping it anyway.

  My fingers tap quickly, and I hit send. Then I switch off the sound, lean my head to the side, and close my eyes.

  * * *

  My head pops up, and I can tell it’s late. “Courtney?”

  The house is quiet, and it seems we’re still alone.

  I quickly check my phone, but I don’t have a text. Jogging quickly down the stairs, I hurry to our room. Ollie is still asleep in his bed, and I don’t wake him.

  Fear is tight in my throat as I jog to the living area then into the kitchen. No one is here, I don’t see a note, I don’t see anything. Pulling out my phone again, it’s after four. Courtney should have been here two hours ago.

  At least I know Tom is with her. I can’t imagine Ozzy or anybody being strong enough to overpower Tom. Still, I don’t like it. If she’d decided to go shopping or something, she’d have told me.

  It feels wrong.

  Tapping quickly, I send a text to her. Everything okay?

  I think about what she told me last night. It’s been a long time since she heard from Ozzy—too long. She was worried about us disappearing without a trace, and we both know he won’t let her go without a fight.

  We might be here, Ollie might be homeschooling, but Ozzy still has Courtney’s phone number. He still knows where she works.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper. “Please keep my friend safe.”

  Returning to the bedroom, I contemplate waking Ollie to see if he’ll at least drink something. His little head is tucked in the pillow, and he’s sweaty. I lean down and place my lips lightly against his forehead. He still isn’t feverish, and I take his cup and plate.

  I put Ollie’s things in the sink and wash them quickly. I don’t feel worried about us here. Spencer has state-of-the-art security, and we’re surrounded by metal gates. Still, I can’t relax. I won’t feel better until Courtney checks in with me.

  Walking to the living room, I sit in the window seat, looking out at the perfectly groomed yard. Leaning my head on my hand, I push back against the fear. Tom is with her. Nobody could get past him. I just can’t take much more of this radio silence.

  I’m about to stand and start pacing all over again, when Tom’s black town car swerves into the driveway fast.

  The massive gates close slowly behind him, but he’s already out, racing around the back of the car. The door is open, and he dives in, pulling out Courtney. She’s leaning heavily on him, and I’m on my feet, racing to the front door.

  “What happened?” The words are out of my mouth, and I see a swarm of cars pulling up outside the gate. “What’s going on?”

  I don’t have time to finish my sentence before Tom is past me, putting Courtney on her feet and slamming the door. “Take her to her room. Nobody goes anywhere until further notice.”

  My jaw drops, but Courtney’s head against my shoulder snaps me out of it. I realize she’s been crying, and only one person makes her cry.

  “Are you okay?” I search her face for any sign of injury. “What did he do?”

  She shakes her head, and her eyes are heavy, miserable. “Courtney, tell me what happened.”

  Both her hands cover her face, and her shoulders hunch. A shiver moves through her body, and I give her a hug. “It’s okay,” I soothe, rubbing my hands up and down her back. “Just breathe.”

  We walk slowly to her bedroom, and I guide her to the bed where she sits on the foot. Then I step over to close the door. She’s breathing more normally, and she clears her throat, blinking several times before lifting her chin to meet my worried eyes.

  “Sly… Would you be willing to take Ollie? If something happened to me.” I’m ready to argue, but she grips my forearm. “Would you?”

  I blink back and forth between her dark eyes, placing my hand on top of hers. “What happened?”

  Her lips tighten. “Ozzy won’t bother us anymore.”

  My chest squeezes, and I’m not sure I can inhale.

  I know the answer, but I have to be sure. “Why not?”

  It’s quiet.

  She’s quiet.

  The tears coating her cheeks now are like a release, and when she speaks, it’s calm resolution. “I shot him. He’s dead.”

  “Oh, God.” It’s a soft whisper, and I’m so afraid.

  I’m afraid of her being taken to jail. I’m afraid of Ollie being taken away, even though I promised to take care of him. Can she give him to me? Is that allowed? I don’t know what happens now, and I don’t have anyone to ask.

  Actually, I do. This time when I send the text, it’s for my friend.

  Chapter 28

  Spencer

  “Well, that sure is a nice suit.” The mean old bastard sits across a glass partition from me, and I search his hazel eyes, exactly like mine, for anything I might recognize.

  I find nothing.

  “Yes.” My answer is short, clipped. “It is.”

  His shaggy, dark brows lower. His hair is long and cut in an old mullet style, and his gray beard grows into a point. He reminds me of one of those guys who used to fly drug planes between Houston and South America.

  Only he’s in an orange jumpsuit.

  “I guess that means you’re a rich man.” He slides a pack of Parliament cigarettes out of his pocket. “So what do you want from me?”

  He actually snarls, but I don’t flinch. I’ve never loved this biological contributor to my creation, and I’m not afraid of him now.

  “Last time I saw you, the police were taking me to the hospital.”

  He rocks back in the chair. “What? You want an apology?”

  I almost laugh at the suggestion. “My forgiveness is not available. No, I’m here out of morbid curiosity.”

  He holds out a hand. “What do you want to know?”

  My eyes flicker to the beige Formica counter then to him again. “Were you the same with every woman or was it just with my mother?”

  The vulnerability inherent in my question makes me cringe. I hate that I fucking need to know the answer. The on
ly gift this animal gave me was a deep and abiding mistrust of myself.

  “I met your mother when I was twenty years old.” He lights up, but the glass keeps it on his side. “They let me out of the army after I helped liberate Kuwait, and I went home to find this pretty little lady with a big heart. She wanted to help me. She loved me to the end.”

  “An end you helped her find. She died as a result of the injuries you caused.”

  His eyes narrow, and my body instinctively reacts to the flash of anger in them. That flash was a prelude to one of us being slapped across the room.

  My throat heats, and I’d love to shove these barriers out of the way and let him try it.

  “I guess you boss people around now. Is that right, boy?” He lunges forward, speaking in a low hiss. “You don’t boss me.”

  I lean back in my chair, relaxing into my cool grin. “Be thankful for that glass. Striking me now would be your last mistake. Now answer my question.”

  Our eyes clash and hold. We’re locked in a silent battle for a moment, two… three…

  Until he sits back with a chuckle. “Looks like you got a bit of the old man in you after all. Is that what’s got you worried? Afraid you’ll turn out like me? Don’t want to give up your fancy suit, your cushy lifestyle? Don’t get cocky, boy. Half of you is me.”

  I turn his words over in my mind, thinking about what they mean.

  Perhaps there was a time when this man wasn’t a feral beast. Perhaps if that part of him had been stronger, I might feel a kinship. As it is, my insides are empty as a ghost town, and I have nothing for him but contempt.

  Standing, I slide my palm down the front of my blazer. “I don’t see anything I recognize here.”

  I tap on the door, and a guard appears to open it. Stepping into the hall, I pause when he calls after me. “You’re no better than me.”

  “Actually, I am. I just needed to see it.”

  * * *

  I’m speeding down the Interstate from Providence, turning east and following the highway farther out to the coast.

  After I settled my adopted father’s estate, I swore I’d never return to this strip of land on Aquidneck Island.

  When I was a kid, Drake avoided all activities on the island. He didn’t go to parties or host dinners. His castle-like manor was as silent as a tomb.

  It wasn’t on Bellevue Avenue, where the Gilded Age mansions of the Vanderbilts and the Astors were located. He preferred a remote location farther south, where we were completely isolated.

  Every year, when the America’s Cup would come to town, I’d stand on the roof as the people gathered to watch the sailors race around the coast.

  He would be in his study admiring his latest find, and I would gaze down, longing for the world happening around us.

  I was a lonely church mouse, wandering his cavernous cathedral, caring for my father when he’d had too much to drink or simply fallen asleep in his chair clutching his gold, then reading myself to sleep.

  The day after his lawyer read the will, leaving all of it to me, I got to work. I sold the mansion and almost everything in it. I had a few treasured items he’d allowed me to play with as a child. The rest was gone, and I had enough money to buy the island.

  Turning the car into the cemetery, I follow the path slowly past the historic monuments. A life-sized statue of an angel covered in a green patina sits between two headstones, and I know I’m on the right track.

  Drake had no family, but I found a deed to a plot in this esteemed burial site as I was going through his things. I took his urn and had a marble headstone fashioned for it.

  He didn’t leave an epitaph, so I installed a black granite obelisk with his name and dates engraved on it. When I see it, I park the rental car and step out, walking slowly to the quiet stretch of bright green grass.

  The landscape is perfectly manicured, and seagulls cry in the distance. I stop at the place where I planted his remains and read the marker, How terrible it is to love something death cannot touch.

  It seemed like an appropriate epitaph. In life, he clung to things he could never take with him, and ultimately, he died the way he lived.

  Alone.

  Like me.

  Standing in front of the black stone, I think about what drove me here. Up until this point, I told myself I wasn’t like this man. I did engage in human contact. I had carefully selected friends, I held a job, and when the need arose, I would have a woman in my bed.

  When I kissed Joselyn’s lips and gazed into her eyes that morning, I had a startling realization—I wanted to be the man she believed me to be.

  With that realization, the loneliness of my childhood, the self-preservation instinct that kept me safe from the crushing pain of my mother’s rejection, my father’s dysfunction, and Drake’s narcissism, yawned wide like a black hole. I didn’t know how to be that man.

  In my arrogance, I convinced myself I could accomplish anything, but lying in that bed, I realized my carefully constructed rules were a façade covering the truth. I don’t know how to touch, to care like a normal human.

  “Why couldn’t you have given me that?” My voice is quiet, and I don’t really expect an answer.

  I don’t expect closure here in this quiet field.

  I remember a little boy standing at the entrance of a massive, mahogany-lined office so hopeful. I remember Drake looking up at me with derision, asking if I wanted to play. I remember being ashamed to say yes, like wanting his attention was a weakness.

  Now my stomach burns with anger. It wasn’t wrong to need someone. I had lost everything.

  If only I’d had a sibling or even one extended family member. I had nothing but that shriveled reptile of a human whose heart had dried up long ago.

  Our interactions were reserved for formal walks through his mansion, while he pointed out his possessions and made special note of their value. He wanted to be sure his massive collection lived on after him.

  Then he died, and I was free.

  Only, the joke was on me.

  I’m not free.

  “You taught me to be cold like you, and I was a star pupil.”

  Reading the epitaph again, I realize I wrote the words for me, for when I came here again as I knew I would one day.

  The real lesson I learned from this man is love must be shared with something that can be lost.

  Giving it to possessions only diminishes its value. Love becomes priceless when you have to earn the right to keep it.

  True love takes risk. It takes vulnerability.

  Only then have you found something irreplaceable.

  * * *

  “He does such a good job on repairs.” Heather stands on the other side of her mahogany desk, moving the heavy ring back and forth on the black velvet mat. “You can’t even tell a stone was replaced.”

  “It’s an unusual piece. I can’t say I would’ve picked it out myself.” Lifting the ring, I inspect the baguettes lining the sides for any sign of looseness.

  “True. It’s not the most romantic ring I’ve ever seen.” Heather slides it on her slim finger. “It has a fierce quality, though.”

  “Fierce.” My mind drifts to the last time I saw Joselyn. “It’s a good description.”

  “Just so you know, my middle name is Lynn, which can be a boy or a girl’s name.”

  A smile fidgets at the corner of my mouth, and I shake my head. “You can hold the baby names. I’m not proposing with this.”

  “You’re not!” Her jaw drops, and she’s so disappointed. “Then why are you here? I told you I’d bring it to you.”

  “I had some business to settle in Providence. It was just as easy for me to collect it from you.”

  “What business? Are you stepping out on me, Spence?”

  I hate that diminutive. “It’s not hard to say the R.”

  “Stop changing the subject. What were you doing in Providence?”

  “Wrapping up some family business. I would expect by now you’d know we deal
with Grafton before anyone.”

  A smile breaks across her face. “Being careful is what keeps me on top.”

  “Yes, I know.” I hold out my hand, but she shakes her head in disgust.

  “I’m not giving it to you like this. I have a box and tissue. I’ll wrap it up and make it look nice. Maybe then… if you’re lucky, she’ll accept it.”

  If I’m lucky. She has no idea.

  I’m about to make a comment when my phone buzzes in my pocket. She texted me last night, but she didn’t want an answer.

  Now when I see her words, my shoulders tighten. “Sorry, Heather. I’ve got to go.”

  Sliding the ring into my pocket, I make a quick call to the airport and arrange the private jet. The rest I’ll handle on the flight home.

  Chapter 29

  Joselyn

  “He asked if I would meet him for coffee.” Courtney’s voice is so small in this enormous conference room.

  She sits across a wooden table from a team of lawyers led by an older woman in a St. John suit.

  The day after the incident, we took Ollie to stay with my mom in Fireside. Tom suggested it to get him away from the news and the reporters. Then Courtney and I moved to a penthouse suite in a downtown Westin, supposedly in case there was a backlash. Courtney and I were both confused, since as far as she knows, Ozzy has no family in the States.

  She was taken before a judge for arraignment, and now we’re meeting with Spencer’s team of lawyers in preparation for her preliminary hearing.

  All these things are happening at his direction, but I haven’t seen or heard from him.

  I’ve become an expert at pretending I don’t care.

  The female lawyer glances at a yellow legal pad. “You agreed to meet your ex-husband for coffee knowing he had a history of violence?”

  “It was in a coffee shop. Tom was always with me. I didn’t think—”