I scrunched up my nose. “I hate to tell you this, but you already smell dead.”
“Hey!” She raised each arm and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. “Well, okay, but you stink too.”
“Yep. And it will feel so good to be clean.”
While we waited for the pots and pans to fill, we swept up the broken glass and closed all the curtains. Then we consolidated the collected rain water into one large pot and headed upstairs with it.
The master bathroom was breathtaking. A mahogany vanity with dual sinks rested atop the Tuscan-style tile flooring. In the corner sat a lavish, sunken tub. I ran the tips of my fingers over hand-painted lilies on the backsplash behind the sinks. “I could live here. I wouldn’t even need the whole house. This bathroom is all I need.”
Ashley nodded. “Totally.”
I closed the door behind me, catching a glimpse of the king-sized mahogany sleigh-bed. “Okay I want the bed too.”
Ashley pulled back the shower curtain, revealing the tub’s jets. “Look Libby.”
“Oh my. It’s even a Jacuzzi.”
We stared longingly at the tub.
“I really miss hot water.” Ashley dipped her finger in the pot of rain water and her eyes widened. “I don’t smell that bad.”
I sniffed. “Yes, honey, you do.” I handed her a container of body wash and pointed toward the towels.
Ashley sponged herself clean, complaining a little louder with each dip of the washcloth. I stared at a wide variety of toiletries, longing for comforts that seemed more fantasy than reality. Hot water, indoor plumbing, a safe place to live, three square meals a day. Stuffed in the back of a cupboard I found a new, disposable razor. Having legs that don’t look like they belonged to an orangutan. By this time Ashley’s lips were turning purple so I walked over and helped her to speed up the process.
“Libby?” she asked.
“Hmm?” I dumped more water on her hair and massaged the soap out.
“I know we didn’t talk about it because Connor showed up and all, but I was so scared of that guy at the lake.” Water dribbled down her face and she reached for the towel. “I thought he was gonna kill me.” She dabbed her eyes and wrapped up her hair. “You’re so strong and you’re not afraid of anything. I wish I was more like you.”
I tapped her on the nose. “Ash, that’s not true. I was terrified that something would happen to you. But my life … it’s never been in my control.” I handed her a bottle of lotion. “This stuff smells wonderful. You should use some.”
She sniffed the open cap, dumped a large glob on her hand, and rubbed it in. “What do you mean?”
“I told you, you stink!”
She swatted at me with a dry towel. “Not that, about your life.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you believe in God?”
“Yeah. We went to church.” She handed me the lotion.
“Well, I believe that God is in control. My life—and death—are part of His plan, and no matter what I do, I can’t change what He’s planned for me.
She scrutinized me for a few moments. “So my parents dying … that was part of God’s plan?”
I wondered if it was possible for me to actually swallow my own foot. Ashley was watching me though, waiting for an answer that I didn’t have. So, I decided to be honest with her.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I replied. “All I know is God has no restrictions, is contained by area, and has limitless grace. He sees all things; all beginnings and ends. We only see a small piece of the puzzle, and without His foresight, we can’t even begin to understand the whys of what He does.” It wasn’t a great answer, but it was all I had. In truth, I was angry that He would allow this child’s parents to be taken from her.
Forcing a smile I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “You should go see if Connor has caught the house on fire yet while I clean up.”
She scampered off, leaving me with my dark thoughts. Why did they have to die? Why have so many died? Why do I have to live? Are You still there?
There was no response, so I stripped and began navigating through my scary jungle of leg hair. This isn’t so bad. Razor, shaving cream, a beautiful house to shelter us from this storm. As I consciously choose to focus on the good and not the bad, the soap and razor empowered me, reminding me of things I could do and problem I could fix.
That’s life I guess. You do what you can, and hope it’s enough.
By the time I walked out of the bathroom, I smelled like a bouquet of flowers; jasmine scented lotion, gardenia deodorant, lilac foot rub. I’d forgotten how good it could feel and smell to be a woman. I snatched a bottle of sun block and stuffed it in Ashley’s open pack. The corner of a picture frame caught my eye. I “accidentally” nudged it with the sun block, until it tilted enough that I could make out a wedding photo in the silver frame bordered by roses. Intrigued, I picked it up and stared at the faces of strangers. Must be her parents.
Her mother was stunning; blonde with blue eyes and a perfect button nose. The only feature Ashley shared with her seemed to be her stubborn jaw. Her father’s hair was as dark as Ashley and Connor’s, but his eyes were the blue-green color of the ocean. He was handsome in his own way, but with features that were very different from Connor’s. Very different from Ashley’s. I slid the picture back into her pack, and pondered genetics.
After my messy curls were neatly plaited and out of my face, I strolled downstairs to see what the others were up to. Connor had bowls on the table and was ladling some sort of soup into them.
“Mm.” I leaned over my bowl and breathed in mouth-watering poultry spices. “Chicken noodle soup? Where’d this come from?”
“I found some cans of food in a locked pantry in the garage.”
“Locked?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
Ashley handed us each a spoon.
Connor shrugged. “Whoever broke into the house probably did it early on and wasn’t extremely desperate or smart. There are all sorts of treasures in the garage.”
“Oh? Like what?” I shoved a spoonful of soup into my mouth. “Oh my, this is good. I don’t even remember the last time I had chicken noodle soup.”
Ashley slurped noodles.
Connor swallowed. “I cooked the soup in a pot on the barbeque. The propane tank is about half full.”
“That is quite the find. What else is out there?” I asked.
“Oh you know … garage stuff.”
Curious, I asked, “Like—?”
“Tools and stuff. You probably wouldn’t be interested.”
If the soup didn’t taste so good, I would have been tempted to dump it over his chauvinistic head. But since I was hungry I chose to ignore him and worry about sleeping arrangements.
Ashley had slept between Connor and me ever since we’d made peace. At first she hadn’t been thrilled about his proximity, but the benefit of Connor’s body heat quickly outweighed her indignation. As soon as we finished eating I tugged her upstairs where she and I sunk into the pillow-top, king mattress, claiming it while Connor disappeared into the bathroom.
Within moments her breathing leveled out. I sat up and pushed the loose hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her nose was peeling from a previous sunburn. Glad I found that sun block. It will protect my child. My child.
Ashley was my child now, regardless of blood or DNA. I couldn’t imagine that even an actual maternal bond would cause me to love her more. In Ashley I’d found hope and companionship. She was someone to protect and love. To her, my humanity would be held accountable. Connor was wrong. I would protect her with my life. Each day her presence helped restore my faith in mankind. Just watching her sleep was so peaceful I started to drift off myself. Then I heard the bathroom door open.
Connor stepped into the room and the musky smell of male body wash accompanied him. I mentally reprimanded myself for the little flutter in my chest. Even before the disaster, my love life had been severely lacking. Romantic interests were always neglecte
d for my career, and men were never understanding about such things.
My two sisters had chosen families and houses. I became a business professional and never regretted the decision. My work had been my life. I’d dated rarely, and long-term relationships were well beyond my grasp. So I reasoned that it was my own lonesomeness—and definitely not Connor—which aroused my senses in response to his presence.
He sat uncomfortably close to me on the bed, invading my personal space. The sweats I’d found made me look like a balloon whereas Connor’s black sweats accentuated the muscles in his legs. I was both thankful and disappointed that I couldn’t see the back of him. A black muscle shirt completed his ensemble and it hugged his impressive chest in all the right places. Dressed like this, his proximity made breathing very difficult.
He watched the peaceful face of his sleeping niece for a few moments before addressing me. “I never thanked you for taking her.”
I smiled at Ashley. “And you don’t have to. I didn’t do it for you.”
With the wedding photo fresh in my mind, I studied Ashley’s face, comparing her to both parents. Then I looked at Connor. They shared so many features; nose, eyes, lips, even their eyebrows were the same. “You’re not really just her uncle, are you?” Once again curiosity had taken control of my mouth.
He swallowed, and looked at me like I was crazy. “What? Of course I’m her uncle. What does that mean?”
Somehow I knew he was lying before the words even left his lips. “Oh, please. You’re good, but you’re not that good. I saw the picture of her parents.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know wha—”
“Stop. I held up my hand. You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”
He eyed me and I stared right back, refusing to blink. Finally he gave in and confessed. “Jacob couldn’t have kids. Cathy wanted a child, but Jacob wouldn’t agree unless it was a relative.” He shrugged. “I knew she was desperate when they asked me.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Cathy never liked me.”
“Ashley said her mom was smart.” I smirked.
Connor ignored the jibe. “My brother is … was a good man. Always there for me, and he never asked anything in return. Well, until they wanted a child. I couldn’t say no to him.” He shook his head. “It was my one chance to help Jacob. And Ashley brought them both so much joy. I tried to talk him out of it at first, worried that he’d resent the child, since he couldn’t … since she wouldn’t truthfully be his. But I should have known better. Jacob was the best father. That reminds me, there’s something I have to give her.” He walked over to his pack and pulled a little bronze figurine out. He studied it for a moment, and then stuck it in Ashley’s bag.
“What’s that?” I watched as he walked back toward the bed.
“Oh just something Ash got Jake. I thought she might want it.”
I sat there, dumbfounded. I looked down at the sleeping child. She slept on her side, facing the center of the bed, looking young and frail. “What are you going to do?”
“Do?” He shrugged. “I’ll take care of her like I promised.”
“No. I mean are you going to tell her?”
He glanced at Ashley. “Maybe eventually. I don’t know. If you had a dad like Jacob, wouldn’t you be disappointed to find out that I was actually your father? She’s been through so much. I don’t want to be responsible for any more hard knocks. She’s just a kid.”
I nodded. “I understand.” My hand reached for his in an attempt to comfort him. His skin was still damp and he smelled oh so good.
He looked at my hand, then his eyes traveled up my arm and lingered a little too long on my chest.
I removed my hand and crossed my arms.
He smiled. “You helped us, you know. She hated me so much, but you forced us to talk. She wouldn’t even hear me out until you came along. Thanks.”
I returned his smile; surprised by his gratitude. “You can thank me by being honest with her. She deserves to know.”
“Bu—”
“No. You’re wrong. She’s stronger than you think. And who says you get to decide which truths people hear? I realize that your experience with the truth is lacking, since it can be quite elusive in courtrooms. But truth is not a thing to be twisted or manipulated at your will and for your benefit. It’s the truth, and your daughter has a right to it.”
Connor leaned back like I’d slapped him. Then his intense, dark eyes locked on mine. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Considering that you frequent court rooms and date plastic women, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He smiled. “Touché.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I STARED INTO the empty ice cream container, willing it to refill itself. I didn’t remember eating the whole half-gallon last night, but the details preceding my sugar-induced coma were still a bit sketchy. Eying my furry roommate—the only other possible suspect, I asked, “Did you eat my ice cream, Kiana?”
My dog rolled over and waited for me to scratch her belly, in a surefire admission of guilt.
“Uh-huh.” I scratched her belly with the toe of my slipper. “Someone’s getting chunky.”
My own bulging belly caught my eye. I’d been out of work for months, and last night’s ice cream overindulgence was only the latest of my depression related binges. If I didn’t find a job soon, I’d need a forklift to get me off the sofa.
“That’s it, fatty. Tomorrow we’re going on a diet.” The name “fatty” was universal, referring to my dog as accurately as myself. Kiana closed her eyes and ignored the insult.
Wrapped in my fuzzy, blue bathrobe and slippers, with my curls sticking out in every direction and serious dragon breath, I struggled to understand why no man had scooped me up yet. As I glanced in the mirror hanging above my couch, I noticed that my excessive junk food consumption was also causing a massive pimple invasion.
Depression is not my color. I sunk into my favorite spot on the couch, ripped open the ice cream container and started licking it clean. “Ugh. What am I doing?”
Kiana raised her head and stared at me.
“Okay, that’s it. We start the diet today.”
I could have sworn Kiana rolled her eyes before she went back to playing dead.
The container was tossed into the garbage in an effort to derail the temptation train. I slid back onto the couch and waited for the coffee pot to finish brewing. A tap of the remote control snapped my thirty-six inch television to life.
“Sexual harassment, automobile accidents, wrongful death cases, if you’ve been wronged, we can help.” I groaned at the image of Connor Dunstan promoting his law firm. “That guy is slimy with a capital S,” I told Kiana and changed the channel. Since the cable had been turned off, my options were limited to Daily News on NBS, Sunrise with CBA or Sesame Street on PBP. I’d had about all the disheartening reality I could handle, so I decided to spend my morning with the Muppets in their imaginary world.
The Count was just about to help Oscar the Grouch tally piles of trash when a special bulletin interrupted my morning entertainment. I flipped through the channels to avoid it, but the report monopolized all three stations. Options removed, I decided to see what all the fuss was about.
“And what did you say brought this on?” The female reporter stared into the screen, looking concerned.
The camera switched to a man who the bottom of the screen labeled as “Neil Hovich: Live in Washington D.C.” Background noises of crying, screaming, and confusion drowned out the man’s voice. He wrapped his hands around the mouthpiece, trying to muffle the surrounding chaos and started speaking again. But my eyes and ears had deemed him unimportant. All I could see was the grisly scene behind him, and all I could hear was terror. Riot police and soldiers used firearms and tear gas in an attempt to control the situation. Americans killed Americans in a gas and smoke clouded scene in front of the vague outline of the Capitol building.
More meaning
less words came over my speaker, and then the screen switched to “live footage” in Los Angeles, New York, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Denver, and Atlanta. Death everywhere. Riots. Fires, weapons, smoke. Bodies. I stared; unblinking. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be real. Not my country. Not my people. No.
My television went black. The coffee machine stopped and my kitchen light flicked off.
The horrifying sounds that had been coming from my television were now live in Vancouver, Washington.
The nightmare was real and it was just outside my door …
* * *
When I awoke, I felt raw. My heart and mind kept trying to heal, but each memory ripped the scab off prematurely. Too many nightmares. Too many memories. Sleep had exhausted me, leaving my eyes gooey, and my head pounding. I missed my dog. Memories of her battered the walls of my mind. She had hated baths, but I bathed her once a week so she would smell like expensive dog shampoo. Nothing or no one else that I’d killed had been so innocent. So trusting. Her big, dark eyes stared up at me as I ran the blade—
No. Don’t do this. Do not give in.
I took a deep, steadying breath, pushed back the tears, and stood up, refusing to be sucked into the black hole of despair. Ashley and Connor were not in the room, but I could hear them moving around downstairs.
Get dressed and join them. That’ll help.
It was a great suggestion, and probably would have worked had the top of the dresser not been crowded with pictures. Smiling faces surrounded by a wide variety of frames watched me as I approached. Happiness. My eyes kept drifting to the wedding photo in the center. The bride’s strapless wedding gown hugged her curves, and the tiara she wore made her look like royalty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tan, beautiful. In the picture beside it, her family knelt before a lit-up Christmas tree. Big, toothy grins surrounded by presents. There were other photos: vacations, camping trips, Disneyland keepsakes. My eyes once again sought the bride.
Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 Page 8
