by R. S. Lively
"I don't understand, though, why did he come to you?"
"He explained that they were only casually hooking up at first, but after a few weeks of seeing each other, Amy told him she was pregnant. He wasn't thrilled about it, but he felt a strong sense of responsibility and wanted to do what was right, so he committed himself to her and his future child. He convinced himself to try and fall in love with her. For his kid."
"That might be one of the saddest things I've ever heard."
"Keep listening." She nods. "He had been trying to figure out how he was going to tell me about all this. He said that I needed to know because, in his entire life, I was the only person who loved him back as much as he loved them." Esme draws in a shuddering breath. "But, he decided he was going to wait until he knew more and would be able to tell me concrete details like when she was due. About two weeks after Amy told him, she had a doctor's appointment – and told him she didn't need him to go."
"Uh-oh. That's a red flag right there. When a pregnant woman says, 'I don't need you to come to the doctor', you know something is wrong."
"Yes. And I think he knew that, on some level. As much as Cade didn’t want to admit it, there was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him something wasn't right."
"Probably your voice."
"Maybe. Either way, he decided he was going to be there for her. He convinced himself that Amy was just unsure of the whole situation and didn't know what to do or think because they weren't really a couple. They both knew they never had any intention of building a future together. He thought Amy didn't want to force him to be a part of it, or that maybe she was protecting herself by keeping him at arm's length so when he inevitably jumped ship, she'd be prepared for it. So, he decided he was going to surprise her by bringing her flowers to the appointment. Which just so happened to be earlier that day."
"That does not sound at all like the man I just met. He doesn't look, or talk, like the type of man who has ever seen a flower before, much less purposely brought one to somebody."
"I know," I say, glancing at the window, peering inside the house in a futile attempt to locate wherever Cade is inside. "He’s changed since then. I think this was what started it."
"What happened when he got to the doctor?" she asks.
The excitement has vanished from her voice, now replaced by a tone that is almost nervous, as though she isn’t quite sure she actually wants to hear the rest of the story, but can’t resist.
"Amy was still in the waiting room when he got there, so she didn't have a choice but let him go back with her if she didn’t want to cause a scene. There were other pregnant patients there, and fathers, doctors, nurses… a lot of people who would wonder why Amy wouldn't want the father of her child to be there when she talked to her doctor. So, they went back, and she got her examination and everything. The doctor talked to her about her last period, estimated her due date, and everything seemed fine. Then the doctor said they could do an ultrasound to see if they could catch a glimpse of the heartbeat. Doc wasn't terribly optimistic because the pregnancy was so early, chances were they wouldn't be able to really see anything, but she told them it was worth a shot anyway. Well, they saw a little something, alright. As soon as that screen turned on, there was a little peanut, heartbeat pounding away for all it was worth."
Esme gasps. "Amy lied about her period! That bitch!"
I nod.
"The doctor, of course, immediately asked her about it, pointing out that she was at least a month farther along than Amy led her to believe. It didn't take long for Cade to do the mental math and realize he wasn’t the father of the baby."
"Which brought him to you."
"After what I imagine was an extended heated conversation and a few hours of him roaming around trying to wrap his head around everything, yes, it brought him to me."
"So, he found out his girlfriend was carrying someone else's baby and had tried to pawn it off as his."
"Right."
"And the two of you didn't decide right then to be together? That wasn't enough?"
I shake my head.
"After he told me the whole story, he was so drained. He fell asleep on the couch, and I curled up beside him for the night. The next morning, I made him breakfast, and we talked like nothing had happened. It was like telling me everything that happened, and just having me there to comfort him, made it all go away. He didn't even seem like the same person he was the night before. We talked about the rest of my school year, and what I was planning to do after graduation. I told him I was waiting to hear back from the colleges I had applied to for early decision, and that I wanted to triple major."
"Damn."
"I know. I was so ambitious back then. I thought the whole world was waiting for me, and everything was going to work out exactly as I wanted it to. There was never a question in my mind that things would change and I wouldn’t follow the plan I had envisioned ahead of me."
"Fuck, growing up sucks."
"I hear you."
"What did he say when you told him that?"
My heart flutters as my mind brings me back to that moment. I see Cade's vibrant green eyes gazing into mine as he tucked his hands around my face and ran his thumbs over my cheekbones. I can see his mouth moving as I describe each of his movements to Esme.
“He told me, ‘You don't have to put yourself through that. I can take care of you’."
I feel a faint tingle on my lips as I remember how it felt when he dipped his face down to kiss me goodbye.
The memory fading away, I turn to look at Esme. She stares back at me, stunned into silence.
"That did not happen," she finally says.
"It did."
"And why aren't you married with six children, and a dog, and like… a horse?"
"Because he left. Right after that, he walked out of the house, and I didn't hear from him again for three months."
"I hate you and all of your heartbreaking, romantic stories."
"You're the one who asked to hear the tale of epic disaster. This is all your fault."
"Wait… you said you didn't hear from him again for three months. That's not the end? That's not why you stopped talking to him?"
"I wish it was that simple."
Esme starts to say something, but her phone rings. Grumbling under her breath, she reaches into her pocket.
"What?" she snaps.
Ever the lady.
Her face drops.
"I didn't forget… No, I didn't… I have it on my calendar… Eleven o'clock on the thirtieth… No, it's not… No, it's not… No, it's not…." She pulls the phone away from her face and looks down at the screen. "Shit. Yes, it is. What time do you close today?... I'll be there."
She ends the call and looks at me with fear in her eyes.
"I can't listen to the rest of your story right now," she says, her voice tense and slightly teary.
"Is something wrong?" I ask.
"How strong is the police presence out here? Are there cars, or is this a sheriff and his posse situation?"
Half an hour later...
Cade walks in the front door as I'm coming down the stairs from the third time I've gone up to do something for Grammie since Esme left. He put a shirt on, and I try to ignore the flicker of disappointment at no longer being able to see his powerful muscles and intricate tattoos.
"Where did your friend go?" he asks.
"She had to leave. She was going to stay longer, but she remembered the date, and she said she couldn't afford to get caught riding dirty while reenacting Tokyo Drift."
"I have no idea what any of that meant."
"It means she forgot to get her car inspected and it expired yesterday, so she doesn't want to drive thirty miles over the speed limit with the wrong month on her windshield."
"Ah. Of course."
"What were you doing out there?" I ask.
"Looking around. I know there's a lot to do inside, but there are some things outside that need my attent
ion, too. That porch, especially."
Things on that porch needed your attention a long time ago, I think to myself, but hold back. That's not a conversation we need to have right now. I barely got out of the talk with Esme with my emotional stability intact. The last thing I need is to delve into it headlong with Cade.
Above me, I hear Grammie calling me.
"She's already running me around like she can't exist without me."
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
I walk around Cade toward the dryer, which has started screaming in what I hope is the end-of-cycle alarm and not a signal of impending disaster. I'm fighting the great battle of static electricity resistance between two towels and a pair of nylon underwear when I hear someone knocking on the front door. Thinking it may be Esme, either suddenly willing to be a traffic law rebel and flaunt her expired inspection or deciding to live a life on the run before her appointment tomorrow, I drop the laundry into my basket and head toward the front door. As I turn around the corner, however, I see Cade open the door, and a stranger walk into the house. He shakes Cade's hand and glances around, his eyes showing that he is evaluating what's around him.
"Hello," I say, hoping the lilt in my voice expresses the discomfort I feel at seeing yet another uninvited person walk into the house.
Both men look at me, and Cade gestures toward the shorter blond beside him.
"Fiona, this is Jace. I hired him to help with some of the work around the house." He gestures at me. "Jace, this is Fiona. Her grandmother owns this house."
"Nice to meet you, Fiona," Jace says.
I nod at him.
"Cade, can I talk to you for a second?"
Cade looks at me, a strange expression on his face, but nods.
"Yeah, sure thing. Jace, I'll be right back."
He follows me into the parlor, and I turn to glare at him.
"You invited someone to the house without asking me?"
"This isn't a slumber party, Fiona. I didn't invite him over to listen to mixtapes and eat popcorn."
"I don't think that's what I said you did, but it's interesting that's where your brain went."
Cade rolls his eyes.
"I hired him. There's a lot that needs to be done around here, and I'm not really interested in putting the rest of my life on hold for months to do it all by myself. Jace was available, so I hired him."
"Grammie said you were the only person she trusts to work on the house," I point out. "She could have hired someone else by herself, but she didn't. She specifically called you and asked you to come here to do it for her."
"And I'm here," he says. "I'm here for her. But if I can get it done for her faster and more efficiently with help, why shouldn't I? What's the point in letting the house continue to fall apart, and leave Grammie in danger, just so I'm the only one working on it?"
I suddenly feel defensive about the house even though I've been noting every ding, dent, dust bunny, and dingy wall since arriving. My eyes narrow at him.
"This is her home," I say. "This is my home. Show some respect."
The softness the memories I shared with Esme brought back is swiftly fading.
"This was my home, too, Fiona."
Cade's voice is even and calm, and something about it makes me want to take a step back from him. His eyes meet mine for an intense second, then he turns and stomps away. A few seconds pass until I recover enough from the glare to make my way back toward the laundry I abandoned, my heart and mind racing.
7
Cade
"Is everything alright?" Jace asks as I walk back into the entryway.
I nod at him.
"It's fine," I say. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."
"Absolutely. I appreciate the work. To be honest, it hasn't been easy getting my business off the ground around here. So many people either do the work themselves or have people they've always known doing it for them. I know there's a big company people say got started by a man who used to live here. I can't quite remember the name, but it gives me some hope."
I nod, giving him a tight smile. As soon as I caught a glimpse of some of the work that needed to be done around here last night, I knew I needed help. Most of the projects I could handle on my own, even if it meant taking time to come here on weekends after returning home. Some of the projects, however, are definitely a two-man job. I could have called up one of my construction crews from Endeavor, but I decided that wasn’t a good idea. I don't want to mix my professional and personal life. Not out here, where I cherish it the most. Besides, Grammie still has a vision of my company as being a scrappy little venture, and I don't want her to realize the true nature of the company. I far prefer her to see me the way she always has. Grammie and Gramps were always able to see the real me. They could look past the bullshit and see the person I was. And Fiona. Always Fiona. She really did know me better than I knew myself.
I don't know what she sees in me anymore. When our eyes meet, there’s no tenderness behind her gaze, and I wonder what she's thinking. I know Fiona has no clue about my wealth or success, but something tells me she doesn't see the Cade she knew when she looks at me, either.
The plans I have for the house are extensive, but I'm more than capable of taking on most of it by myself. Jace is here for grunt work and to help me when I need an extra set of hands. If he has even the most basic of skills, the work should get done the way I expect it. Then I’ll feel confident giving out recommendations for his company. If he's good enough, I might absorb his business into Endeavor. For now, all I care about is that he's punctual, doesn't run his mouth while we work, and isn't incompetent while wielding tools. He can be a blithering idiot in all other facets of life. As long as he keeps his shit together while working with me, I could care less.
"Do you want a cup of coffee before we get started?" I ask.
"No, I'm good, thanks."
"Great. You've probably already noticed a few obvious things that need to be addressed, but let's establish something from the beginning. This isn't just a house. This isn't just a project to me. And the woman who lives here isn't some elderly, feeble-minded invalid who's waiting for the house to fall to dust around her. The house has seen better days, but Rose deserves nothing but the utmost of respect, and the highest quality of work, and to make sure that happens, I'm in charge. There's no question or negotiation about that. I know what's getting done around here, how it's getting done, and its priority in comparison to the rest of the projects. I'll let you know what needs to be done. You don't go off on your own or try something your way. I'm not hard to work with as long as you understand that."
Some of the enthusiasm on Jace's face has disappeared after my little speech, but I don't care. I didn't hire him to make a new friend. It doesn't matter to me if he likes me or enjoys the work I have him do. He'll get paid a rate far higher than anything he'd get taking on this type of work himself, and I'll accomplish what needs to get done around here. That's all that matters.
"Understood," he mutters.
"Good," I say. "So, let's get started. I'll show you around the house, and we'll talk about some of the projects I have in mind. Most of the work is inside, but there are some external issues that require our attention too. Things are going to be wet outside today, so we should focus on getting the lay of the land, making supply lists, and organizing. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be better, and we can dive in head first."
"Sounds like a plan," Jace says.
"Perfect."
I gesture outside, and we head out into the sunlight that finally started shining down a few minutes ago. I hope the hot temperature the forecast calls for today will dry up the soggy ground. That would make it much easier to handle the work outside. I'll put in a call for a trash container we can use to haul away the debris the projects are going to create. I make a mental note to look around the property to see how much of Gramps' equipment and tools are still available and functioning. I know they're old and outdated in the eyes of many constru
ction workers, but to me, they're almost like old friends. These are the tools I learned my trade on. There are definitely more modern tools and pieces of equipment that can make projects easier, but there's something to be said about returning to a simpler time.
I'm looking forward to being here and reconnecting to the roots Grammie has never let me forget, even with the wealth and resources I’ve accumulated over the years. That's not to say I don't intend to call in some equipment and spend a significant amount of time at the local hardware store – but if I happen to stumble upon the old paint-splattered hammer Gramps carried in his belt, it won't be leaving my toolbelt. That was the hammer he always used to work on this house. It’s only right that I use it now. It feels like the respectful thing to do.
The notes in my phone are filled with lists of the equipment and supplies I'll need to handle the outside renovations when I hear the back door slam shut. The sound is unmistakable. It's an old-fashioned storm door that was dated even when we were young. It’s one of my favorite features of the house and one of the many reminders that it has existed for far longer than my mere thirty years of life. Though the house is showing its years, there's still a sense of quiet dignity about it. I take comfort in the glimpses into the past the house offers. I figure if this house can make it through, and still be standing proud, I can, too.
Except for the coffeemaker. There is nothing redeeming about that coffeemaker.
I walk around the side of the house toward the sound of the door and see Fiona holding a nearly overflowing laundry basket on her hip as she crosses the yard toward the old retractable clothesline.
And the washer and dryer. Those should probably go.
"What are you doing?" I ask as Fiona grabs onto the hook on one pole and starts fighting to get the line out.
She doesn't even bother to look in my direction.
"I'm thinking about becoming a tightrope walker," she replies flatly. "I just have so much free time, I might as well pick up a new hobby. Do you think this is strong enough to hold me?"
