Intensity

by C. C. Koen

  I entered a few minutes later. Linc sat behind his desk, as usual a dominating presence. I plopped down in the chair next to Mr. Miller, crossing my arms and aiming a quirked brow at him.

  “What exactly is your concern?” Linc’s direct and to the point manner, although stated in a respectful and professional way, presented an air of no arguments.

  Mr. Miller’s dressed for success style and CFO status covered the part that got him access to this exclusive place. Yet his shifting shoulders and sweat dripping from his brow showed a lack of confidence in this situation. He pointed at me and declared, “She-she knows my wife.”

  Ha! He should have thought about that before coming here. Not that he knew I worked here, but still. Poor Mrs. Miller. She’d be crushed if she found out how he spent his free time.

  Watchful and silent, I deferred the matter to the boss. No way in hell I’d speak now, because professional, nor respectful, would be in my vocabulary.

  “As my employee she’s bound to confidentiality. You received the invite, therefore, you’re welcome to remain. However, if you choose to leave and not continue with the club’s benefits, I expect the same in return. Do we understand one another?”

  Mr. Miller’s eyes closed tight, and when he reopened them his shoulders slumped, wiping out the last remaining bit of his executive stature and composure. “Yes. I understand, perfectly.” He turned toward me, a noticeable tic in his eyelid. “Do I have your word you won’t tell Nancy?”

  Friggin’ jerk. Not dignifying his question with a verbal response, I dipped my chin in confirmation, while in my mind I sneered and shot him full of daggers.

  He extended a hand across the desk to Linc and left without a second glance at me.

  Bound to erase the troubling encounter by drowning myself in work, I dashed toward the closed door.

  “Serena.” His concerned voice stopped me in my tracks.

  It sucked that the day ended like this. The afternoon had been so wonderful. Linc came up behind me and administered an understanding and deep-penetrating massage across my shoulders, down my arms, to the tops of my hands, and around each finger, weaving his with mine. Cheek to cheek, he pressed his chest with assurance to my back. Lips brushing my temple he whispered, “You okay?” Hands still clutched together, he wrapped his arms across my stomach and consoled me with a gentle sway in sync to the beat playing in the adjoining room.

  Determined to put it out of my mind, I changed the subject. “You did good today.” I tilted my head back, so I could see him better, and clarified, “Sailing was amazing. Anytime you want to make my dreams come true, you have my approval.” My cheeky grin and batting eyelashes punctuated the affirmation.

  His same unfettered and unmasked presence I saw on our trip radiated in grand magnitude from him. The humdinger he delivered proved it. “Told ya—I’m exactly what you need, issues and all.”

  Mrs. Miller didn’t have to speak. My steps faltered at her flushed cheeks, moistened eyes, and catawampus mouth. Eight years working for this family dematerialized in seconds.

  “You have to leave. I tried to call, but you didn’t answer.” Even with the kinked strands sticking out all over her messy bun, the full-guard mode she took at the front door contrasted with her despondent and frazzled persona.

  “Please, can we can talk?” The more reasonable of the two, I hoped she’d at least grant me that.

  She shot a distressed glance backward, and an instant later she stepped down from the brick porch, meeting me at the bottom. “Please, you have to go,” she said with urgency. “I can’t—we—I have to let you go.” She clutched her upper arms. Her sigh and strained send-off lodged a lump in my throat at the finality. “You can’t work here anymore.” She dashed up the stairs and came to a stop at the door. Without turning around, the low and soft farewell reached me in the noiseless, early morning hour. “You’ll be missed, Serena.”

  As she twisted the knob, the door flew open. Mr. Miller, fit to be tied, yelled, “Get in here now!” He snatched her arm and tossed her into the entryway, slamming the door behind her stumbling body. “Don’t make me escort you off our property.” Fury and disgust filled his tainted order. The higher-than-mighty executive on display failed to scorch the crud off his doorstep.

  Pride swallowed, my shaky plea revealed a crushing disappointment. “Mr. Miller…Stan, I love your kids. Please, I’d hate for last n—”

  “Get-out!” Barreling down the stairs, he came nose to nose, even though I scrambled backward, his harsh warning stalked me. “Don’t open your mouth.” The impending death threat clear.

  I turned tail and sprinted the hell away.

  Chains twisted from bottom to top, the swing sprung me in a twirl, compounding the dizziness already unsteadying me. Adult mallards guided ducklings in an effortless, casual glide across the pond. Robins and starlings hopped and flitted about, portraying a picture-perfect, carefree existence. If only my journey through life could be that simple.

  Croton Point Park, a home away from home, had become a mandatory route and preferred place to exercise. Images of Gram’s power-walking and rapid, pumping arms brought a brief smile to my not-so-happy face. The warm and sunny day should have been enjoyable, but my depressed, beat-up condition made it hard to delight in the serene setting.

  Tainted thoughts battered me into a slouchy pulp. Mr. Miller’s high moral ground and irrefutable stance, insinuating my influence could somehow corrupt his kids, made him a hypocrite. Either he thought I would tell his wife, or he thought my job involved—yeah, not going there.

  I kicked my feet on the ground, shoving the swing back and forth. The motion didn’t bring the soothing effect it used to. Instead, my insides twisted more and the gurgle in my stomach said it was time to go. I bent over, stretching my palms flat on the grass and bouncing on the balls of my feet a few times. Arms stretched above my head, I reached toward the sky, wiggling my fingers and rolling my shoulders, relieving a tiny bit of tension. Setting a pace that mimicked Gram’s when she came along during my jogs, I took a detour onto Willow Street. Weeds and grass higher than my last visit, my longing gaze examined every square inch of my childhood home. Gram’s spirit occupying my mind and heart.

  Japanese maples surrounded the lot. Each included wooden bird feeders and houses I’d painted myself. Twenty-one for every birthday and as many as she could buy before her death. I should’ve wrapped them and taken them with me, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the heart to remove them from their special resting place.

  Two fingers sealed to my lips for a kiss, I extended it toward heaven in a wave.

  I remember. Always. Forever.

  Memories of her gentle smile, wheezy-whistling laugh, and sea-green eyes brought happiness to me and everyone she came in contact with. Her selfless acts were treasures she shared with each individual, offering affection and encouragement no matter the situation.

  In a blur, my position changed from a Cape Cod house to a brick apartment building.

  Home, for now.

  Linc jumped up from the sofa, frowning as soon as I entered. “What’s the matter?”

  I shuffled over to him and dropped my head on his broad, supportive shoulder. “The Millers fired me.” Disappointment evident in my mumble against his neck, my arms wound around his ribs for added consolation.

  “Dammit, I’m so sorry,” he murmured against my cheek, scooting me onto his lap and shielding me in a protective embrace. His awesome bear hug soothed the direct hit and gouging remarks remaining from the earlier altercation. “Want me to call Stan?”

  “No.” My quick reply and stiff body must have clued him in to my discomfort. An instant image of Mr. Miller storming after me produced the knee-jerk reaction.

  He shifted me back and examined my face. His narrowed eyes attempted to mind meld the truth out of me. “Did something else happen?” Although a question, his gruff tone and flexing muscles promised retribution. Ha! Second time today. The ominous technique must be taught in boy’s-o
nly classes.

  Reluctant to cause more problems and ready to put it behind me, I told him a little white lie. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I glanced at a photo of Gram and back at him, willing an extreme calm into my voice. “I’m disappointed, that’s all.” Instead of indifferent, my lips trembled, and my overwrought body slumped against him, sure he’d support me and not let me fall.

  Note to self: when depressed—don’t consume Ben & Jerry’s—devour a hunk of Linc. Low fat and does a body good.

  Several minutes later, he dashed down the hall and came back holding a book out to me. “Read. I’ll make you breakfast and we’ll chill.”

  “Uh, don’t you have work to do?”

  He raised my palm and plunked the book in it. On my right side, he propped a couple pillows and swept my feet from the floor, sprawling them on the cushions. The swift out-of-the- blue move had me falling back and inclining flat. “Rest.” He dashed into the kitchen, speedy-fast as Flash Gordon.

  I cupped my hand at my temple and saluted his back. Aye, Aye Captain. No fuss. No muss. No arguing.

  Rather than throwing myself into bookkeeping or chores, I let myself take a mental health day. Not that Linc would let me do otherwise.

  After eating, he raided my bedroom closet and lugged an armful of board games into the living room, swindling me into playing the afternoon away. We razzed, elbowed, and wrestled each other through each wonderful, hilarious game. I watched with rapt attention as the bigger- than-life man sat Indian style and played, which would’ve left any woman with half a heart.

  It was sad. He beat me in Monopoly, Clue, Yahtzee, and Scrabble, rubbing victory dances in my face after each loss. His gyrating, and butt and arm pumping, did me in. Warning labels should be slapped across his fantastic body. When he smiled deep from his soul, the happy-go-lucky appearance devastated me. Throw in his knee slapping, gut-wrenching laugh that radiated through his entire being—he took my breath away. My heart had no chance. I would not survive the devastation—bamboozled, all-out goner, head over heels.

  It would’ve been nice to laugh along with him, but I couldn’t. Not wanting to miss a single second, I sat in still silence with an admiring smile, mesmerized by his silliness.

  And on some subconscious level, I desired to see him—genuinely happy.

  Since the first day I met him, the melancholy he wore on a regular basis and an agonizing sensation called to me. Drew me like a moth to a flame. Not for the light—because of the pain, the burn. Two yearning souls—conversing in silence—unburdening each other’s torment.

  Whether he realized it or not, he had a tell that gave him away. At least I thought he did. Shadows would pass and shutter, causing his blue eyes, day or night, to become cloaked like a ghost. Now though, that look was nowhere to be found.

  A couple hours before the lounge opened, Linc and I remained cuddled on the couch, watching—game shows of all things. Winner’s choice. He had a serious obsession.

  “Serena.” His abrupt call-out had me searching his wrinkle-free face for a clue to the urgent plea. “Thank you. I had fun…kicking your ass.” His beaming grin made his cheeks puff up like a chipmunk’s and little crinkles appear in the corners of his twinkling blue eyes.

  Oh, a lucky day for him indeed. In a great mood, I acted as if the smart-alecky comment didn’t deserve an ass clobbering and nodded, not in agreement, but in confidence. Giving myself a mental pat on the back, I launched a casual, non-affected, chit-chatty comeback: “I let you win.”

  Just as the last syllable left my mouth, his rabid tickling began, causing me to leap to the floor and scramble away to an unnamed home base. Game on! The seven-inch height difference had me at a serious disadvantage. Tackled from behind, we tumbled and rolled like spinning tops, the inertia petering us out, until I lay flat on my back with Linc beside me in the exact same position. The ceiling twirled and our loud, huffing breaths echoed one another. Leftover grilled chicken and perspiration, an aroma that any other day would be a terrible combination, in one breath smelled like heaven.

  He intertwined his sweaty palm with mine, his rhythmic pulse thumping on my wrist. Different than any other time before, but somehow the same, he brought my hand to his moist lips and graced one finger after another with a heartfelt, worshipping kiss.

  From the corner of my eye, a single tear trickled into my ear, conveying in a private whisper a message of love and peace to its twin consoling soul—Linc.

  On the interstate for over two hours, Linc turned the black SUV onto a windy road, each side bordered by towering weeping willows and creamy-white, blush-pink, and pale-blue flowering dogwoods. A breathtaking and picturesque scene provided a major motion picture view. A few miles along, a stone mansion similar to a castle from medieval times appeared. I leaned forward, almost pressing my nose to the windshield in wonder. Photographs and paintings couldn’t come close to reality and the stunning grandeur.

  Quiet the entire trip, he pulled into a parking spot near the front entrance. Anticipation and nervousness had me climbing out and onto the lush green lawn with a rainbow of blooming scents. Botanical gardens dotted the landscape left and right, including the entire foreground.

  He led the way to a small portico made from rough-hewn rock and pushed an intercom button. Mahogany doors at least fifteen feet high with carved, angelic-like centerpieces added to the regal appearance.

  “Yes, how may we help you?” the monotone voice called.

  “Lincoln Jefferson.”

  No matter how many times I heard his name it gave me chills. Either his parents were politicians, or they had a thing for presidents. From head to toe, his tall stature and intense demeanor were well suited. A powerful and formidable man, it fit him very well.

  At the buzz, Linc stood back, letting me enter first. Antique mahogany panels decorated the walls and thirty-foot-high ceilings, and included polished marble floors, the stately appearance enhanced by paintings and statuesque bronzes often seen in museums—fit for a royal family. Unbelievable.

  A short, gray-haired woman with a beaming smile greeted, “Lincoln, it’s wonderful to see you,” extending her hand to him and turning to me with the same gesture.

  “This is Serena,” he relayed in a solemn tone, apprehension evident in his stiff form and fisted hand gnawing my lower back.

  “I’m Mrs. Golden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Pleasant but reserved, she glanced between me and Linc several times throughout the brief introduction.

  “Likewise.” My whispered reply seemed necessary, since the tension rolling off Linc snapped onto me, shattering my vocal cords when I spoke. Suddenly, the unknown reason for this trip and turn-on-a-dime exchange induced a discomfited this is not a happy occasion premonition and life-altering anxiety.

  “We’re going up.” He directed, not wasting any time, herding me in front of him and toward the stairs.

  “Sure, of course, Lincoln. If you need anything let me know.”

  He nodded to her on the way up the grand staircase.

  At the top, plush red carpeting and antique furnishings lined the hallway along with several closed mahogany doors. He stopped in front of the last one on the right, breathing deeply before his somber voice broke the silence. “Serena, thank you for not asking questions and… giving me time.” The last few words trailing off on a hush.

  Scared to death of his constricted face and the other side of that door, I wanted to cry, but couldn’t figure out the reason. Gathering courage, my slight smile came out of nowhere.

  His white-knuckle grip on the knob turned right, and he walked in first, his rigid shoulders in my direct line of sight, blocking the view.

  Elegant furnishings and surroundings continued into a bedroom. My attention drawn, though, to the most stunning young woman I’d ever seen, worthy of gracing any fashion designer’s runway in the world. Except her prone body, motionless in a bed, said my assessment wasn’t quite right. The longer I watched and waited for her to wake up and acknowledge us, the
more I began to notice about her, and determined this was a dismal scene. Colossal lumps clogged my throat while I stood still near the entryway, unable to move any further.

  Linc sat in a cushioned chair near a large picture window, clasping his hand around the sleeping beauty’s pale one. Moisture filled his eyes as he motioned for me to sit in the adjoining seat. “I brought Serena with me today.” His graveled, heartbroken tone caused me to collapse with abrupt finality in the chair. My gaze flitting from him to the woman, a massive hole forming in my stomach and extending up to my chest, both constricted and burning.

  He leaned down and kissed her hand with such love and tenderness, I had to turn away as tears flooded my eyes. “This is my sister, Belinda.” His whispered greeting forced me to face him.

  Oh, Linc. Not able to stop my own cascading tide, I grabbed hold of the armrests and prepared myself for whatever he might say next. He cuddled her fragile hand against his cheek, and as he blinked, one after another of his tears were captured on her fingertips. I wasn’t even sure she could feel them, because she hadn’t moved since we got here.

  Her lean body clothed in an immaculate yellow organza dress appeared ready for a night on the town. Their resemblance uncanny, her midnight-black hair, lengthy frame, and beauty matched her brother’s. Uncertain what to say, he must have sensed my reluctance and explained, “She’s been here…almost ten years.” He paused and on an exhale murmured, “She was in a coma, but now—PVS.” His voice so faint, had I not been inches away I wouldn’t have heard.

  God, no. After experiencing Gram’s sickness and seeing her body deteriorate, I understood the helplessness. But this, year after year willing a stagnant form—to wake—to live. Gut-wrenching pain consumed me, along with a deep affection for him and the never-ending agony her condition sentenced him to.

  I brushed the wetness from my eyes and pulled a portion of his devoted strength inward before speaking. Even so my voice wobbled from the noticeable suffering. “What happened?”