Frozen for a few moments, I walk down the stairs and turn on the lights. The basement seems quiet.
I walk under the stairs, my heart beating so loud I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, but all I find is a bunch of old boxes filled with clothes.
Something scurries across the floor, and I spin around, looking for the culprit.
Nothing.
I’m starting to freak out a bit. My senses are on high alert, and I’ve always been one to trust my gut. And right now, it’s screaming at me.
“You’re getting close,” someone whispers in my ear.
Startled, I whip my head around, but I’m still alone.
“Getting close to what?” I ask to the person-less whisper.
My brain hurts from this game, so I sit down on the floor to think.
Think, Ann.
What do I need to find in here? I’m missing something, I have to be.
And where the hell is Dad?
I know this basement like the back of my hand. There aren’t very many things in here that would look out of place. My eyes search the floor. Nope, everything is as it should be.
I’m a bit desperate at this point, so I do something that seems a bit odd. I lean forward to get on my hands and knees and crawl around the room, looking for some sort of answer.
Nothing comes up in the living room or the bar.
Feeling like an idiot, I get back to my feet and walk to Dad’s office. Shaking my head at myself along the way. “You’re an idiot, Ann,” I say to myself before opening the door to the room. A hint of Dad’s cigar wafts through the cracked door.
Every Friday, he’d reward himself for a hard week of work with a cigar. He’d wedge open the little window and sit there for hours.
His desk is in order, like it always is. I plop myself into his desk chair and wiggle the mouse to his computer—it’s on. Lucky for me, I know all of the passwords he used.
Logging in, the screen looks ordinary. I click through his files, and, again, nothing seems to be out of place.
I’m sensing a pattern here…
There are several question mark icons, all housing different information from his business, ranging from the client lists to invoices. I click on the one red question mark icon, and a security screen pops up.
The program requires a password, so I begin typing all of his usual ones. Nothing registers. After many failed attempts, I give up and sulk in frustration. Rubbing my eyes, I try to figure out what to do next. My gut is telling me I need to find out what’s in that red program.
But, how?
“Honey, just think about all the questions you’re asking yourself. You’ll find the answers.”
I look up to find Dad casually leaning on the wall in the office.
“I’m so confused, Dad. Just tell me what I need to know.” My tone begs him to help.
Let me in on the secret.
Dad pushes himself off the wall and walks to me. He bends on his knees, and places his hands on the top of my legs. “It doesn’t work like that, sweet pea. You’ll figure it out.” He kisses my forehead and vanishes.
My eyes flutter open, and I feel a warm body lying next to me. I look and Duane has returned and is reading the book he started last night. I shift to my side to face him.
He takes off his glasses and sets the book down. “Morning, gorgeous. Sleep well?”
I stretch my kinked limbs from sleeping in one position and hug his side. “Yeah, perfect when you were here, but I woke up earlier this morning after you left. I went back to sleep pretty easily, but I had an odd dream.”
“An odd dream? What do you mean? Want to talk about it?” He asks with uneasiness.
I shake my head and snuggle closer to him. He huffs a breath, seeming concerned, but doesn’t question me. He just kisses my head and holds me tight, which is what I really need.
“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go have breakfast with Jason.” He leans back to look down at me.
I agree and shoot off of the bed into the bathroom.
Stepping into the warm shower is enough to calm my jittery muscles. I stand under the hot stream longer than necessary—much longer than I realize. The water suddenly turns cold, and I have to frantically finish my shower.
I walk out of the bathroom with only a towel covering my still-wet skin, and Duane bites his knuckle. He drops the book on the ground, and closes the space between us, wrapping his arms around me.
“My self-control is about to jump out of that window.” Duane points to the large, glass frame that fills most of the wall. “Put some clothes on, sexy.” He pushes me away jokingly and slaps my ass. Leaving the room, he mumbles something under his breath and sneaks one more glance before closing the door behind him.
I’m pretty sure he said something about me needing to wear clothes in the shower when he’s around. I bite my nail and giggle to myself, heading to the closet.
I have no idea what this day will bring. Scanning my options, I decide on a pair of skinny jeans, a flower tunic and black flats. I dry my hair only to find it doesn’t want to play nice today, so I tie it in a messy bun on the top of my head. Adding a headscarf, I throw on some makeup and head downstairs.
Jason and Duane are sitting at the island in the kitchen, watching the news, when I walk in. Jason makes a big gesture with his hands, probably telling a joke and both men crack up at the punch line. The floor creaks underneath my feet, and Jason turns to me, his laughter stopping. Duane doesn’t hear me at first, but he follows Jason’s eyes. Slowly, he gulps and his eyes go wide.
I look down at myself, hoping I didn’t forget something painstakingly obvious like, oh, a shirt, for example. But, nope, definitely have one of those.
His chair scratches across the wood floors and he walks to me with a hungry glint in his eye. “These clothes aren’t helping my self-control, either.” He licks his lips.
Blush spreads across my face.
Knowing he must be listening, I look to Jason. He has an eyebrow quirked and a smile plastered on his face. He winks and gets up to open the refrigerator, waving at me to continue our business.
I look into Duane’s eyes, and grin in response. “I could say the same for you. You’re looking scrumptious today.”
Duane looks down at his black t-shirt and dark wash jeans that are tight in all the right places. His brown, worn cowboy boots peek out of the bottom of his jeans, making him look downright edible.
He tugs at the bottom of his shirt. “This old thing?” He asks sarcastically, repeating my words from yesterday.
His eyes sparkle with life at his own wit, and I smack his chest.
Jason clears his throat behind us. “What about me? I’m feeling very left out over here.”
Duane and I turn. With his arms still wrapped around me, we look to Jason.
He looks great, as always. He’s styled in a pair of khaki shorts with a light blue polo. His feet are bare, but that’s only because he’s inside the house. He is one of those people who refuses to wear shoes inside. His hair is slightly disheveled, and it’s sticking up in places.
“You look great too,” I encourage with silliness.
Duane nods in agreement. “Oh sure.” He pauses. “Simply…yummy,” he mocks.
Jason clutches his heart. “I’m touched, really.” He then proceeds to crack up at his own joke.
Typical.
We eat breakfast together and in no time at all, Duane and I are loading ourselves in his car, heading to my Dad’s house.
We pull out of the driveway, and Duane places his hand on my leg. He slides his aviators off and looks at me. “It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. If it’s too much, we’ll leave. Alright?”
I grab his hand. “Okay, but I’m nervous. I haven’t been there since…well, since that day.”
Duane nods with a sad look and turns back to the road.
As we exit the freeway, I begin to see the landscape of my childhood
.
The grocery store that Mom and I would shop at every Saturday morning sits three miles from my home. The family-owned diner Dad would take me to for breakfast on my birthday every year sits two miles closer. I can map out how close we’re getting just by using my memory. I know exactly how long until we arrive.
Duane grabs my hand and I interlace our fingers.
As we pass the last stop sign, I laugh to myself.
“What’s so funny, Red?”
“I was learning how to drive,” I point ahead, “see that stop sign?”
“Uh huh.” He nods.
“I hit that sign the first time Dad took me out driving. I misjudged the turn and plowed straight through.”
I purse my lips together, remembering what he had said to me. So understanding and calm, he didn’t have an angry moment that day.
He had laughed when he saw my mortified expression. “Ann, maybe next time, you wanna go around the sign? I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to Mom as it is,” he’d said to me.
We had joked at my many driving mistakes on the way home, making me feel like I had accomplished something good, as opposed to completely failing. He never insisted on driving, and not once did he tell me he didn’t feel safe; he just simply let me be.
“I felt like such an asshole for hitting the sign,” I stare at it as we drive by, “but knowing Dad wasn’t angry made it not so bad.” I explain to Duane. “He always had a way of taking the awkward or scary situations and turning them into something lighthearted.”
“He sounds like a great guy,” Duane says when I point him to my house.
We step out and Duane leans over the roof to give me a moment. He also didn’t scold me for accidentally opening the door on my own.
The trees in front of the house move and sing as they sway in the wind. The tire swing Dad and I built together hangs on a high, thick limb. The wooden front porch swing still dangles in the entryway, weathered, but it’s still sturdy and holding on for life.
Beginning to stroll across the yard, Duane immediately falls in line with my footsteps. I open the gate to the courtyard, and crunch my shoes on the same welcome mat that was there when I left. It’s all exactly the same. I’ve stepped back in a time warp. It’s kind of eerie.
Duane is quiet behind me, as I approach the door to the house. I turn to look at him and I’m met with an encouraging smile. I bend down to grab the key from under the mat, and then put it in the lock.
The front door creaks open, and the smell of dust instantly terrorizes my nose. I sneeze and cough.
“Bless you, baby,” Duane says.
I turn and wink, gesturing my thanks, still unable to breathe correctly.
Walking through the large living room, everything is exactly as I remember. We walk past Dad’s chair and couch. The pillow I made him in my home economics class still sits at the end of the couch. The coasters I made a few years later litter the coffee table.
Mom hadn’t lived here for years. They divorced my senior year of high school, and she never looked back, not that I blame her. He might have been a great dad, but he was a piss-poor excuse for a husband. He cared more about his business, stocks and the work that needed to be done on the outside of the house.
For a man who had way too much money, he never once hired a landscaper to maintain our property. He pruned and watered every tree, bush and shrub on our ten-acre property. He fed every animal, except Skip—that was my responsibility. He cleaned every stall, and plowed the arena for me when I needed.
And—he cared too much for me. Well, that’s what Mom said. I was his number one girl. I couldn’t help it, of course, but I think it made her feel invisible. I got in the way of their love. She never explicitly resented me, but she always looked down on me in a way, like I was a burden rather than an innocent child looking for love from her mother.
There isn’t a smidgen of Mom left in the house. She took everything that was hers and moved into an apartment in Portland. It makes me sad to think she’s no longer in my life, that she doesn’t care to take my calls, or answer an email, but she does what she wants. I shelved that battle a long time ago.
“Is this your mom?” Duane points to the only picture of the three of us on our summer vacation in Boulder, Colorado when I was sixteen. We actually look happy.
“Yeah, that’s her.” With her red hair and blue eyes, I resemble her the most.
“She’s very beautiful. You look a lot like her,” Duane replies.
I study the picture. I do look like a younger version of her. Same smile, same eyes, same posture, hell, we are even the same height. The only thing that differs is the light that sparkles in my eyes—it’s non-existent in hers. Where I look bright and happy, Mom looks tired and worn out. She’s smiling, but it’s fake.
Why have I never noticed that?
“That’s what everyone says. You know,” I say coyly, “they say if you want to know what a woman will look like when she’s older, look at her mother.”
Duane grabs me from behind and spins me around. “Well, I must be incredibly lucky. Though, I do hope you look happier than she does.”
He kisses me before my mouth can hit the floor.
“You see it too?” I say in between small kisses.
“See what?” He murmurs against my skin.
I point to Mom. “That she looks unhappy.”
“Uhh hmmm.” He nuzzles my neck with his nose. I can’t help it, my eyes involuntarily shut, and a little moan slips out of my mouth.
“She----uhh…” My train of thought has gone straight out the front door, so I give up talking.
Duane kisses up and down my neck, from the tip of my ear to my collarbone, then up the side of my cheek, to the corners of my mouth. He travels from my mouth to the tip of my nose, then to my eyes before finishing with a sweet peck on my forehead. He closes his eyes, and breathes in while kissing me one last time.
“There’s a different between us and them, though,” he promises. “I’m going to make you happy, Red. I promise. You’ll never have that look in your eyes. As long as you’re mine, I’ll try my hardest to make your bright light shine through.”
I’m stunned. Flabbergasted. Taken aback. How did I find someone like him after finding Kyle? How is it possible I’m blessed enough to find two men on this Earth who are unbelievably perfect for me, in every way?
I even sound like a cornball in my head.
I smile at him. “Right back at you, sweet boy. I can be stubborn, though, so be prepared.”
With that, I pinch his ass and head for the basement, while Duane cackles behind me.
The long, wide hall seems narrow as I make my way closer and closer to the door. I feel like I’m in that scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when the closer they get to the door the harder it is to reach it because the hallway starts to shrink. By the time I’m standing in front of it, I can’t seem to make my brain tell my hands to turn the doorknob.
I’m standing here, powerless to move.
Duane places his hand on my shoulder, and my body melts. Internally screaming at my body to listen to me, I reach for the knob.
You can do this, Ann. You need to find some peace.
Find peace, find peace.
My mantra. I repeat it over and over while slowly stepping down the stairs.
When I reach the floor, my eyes shoot straight to the piece of carpet in his office that has been cut out because…I’m sure you can figure out where I found Dad. I divert my eyes.
Pictures of question marks adorn the walls. I head toward them with urgency and begin to look behind each one.
“What are you doing?” Duane asks.
I lift up another picture. “You know the dreams I’ve been having? Dad keeps telling me that the answers are in the questions. I think maybe it has something to do with all of the question marks he has down here.”
Duane quirks an eyebrow and looks around. “It does seem a tad obsessive. Do you think it has anything to do w
ith what Brent heard his dad say?”
I bite the inside of my lip. “Maybe. I just have no idea what I’m really looking for.”
I count the pictures. Fourteen. He has fourteen question mark pictures hanging on the walls. There are also two sitting on the bar, and a couple figurines on the coffee table in front of the flat screen. Obsessive might be an understatement.
“I didn’t think it was odd when I was living here, but being away, and seeing them for the first time in a long while, it does seem bizarre,” Admitting it, I’m hoping it does actually mean my search will produce something.
“Why question marks?” Duane asks.
I shrug a shoulder. “It was his company logo. Another reason why it never seemed odd.”
I lift up the second to last frame on the wall, and find what I’m looking for. A safe.
I try the first numbers that come to mind. No luck.
Figures.
I try my birthday, Dad’s birthday and then Mom’s, but nothing works. I try random numbers he used at the company, and I’m still met with the annoying beep of the incorrect code.
“Maybe he wrote it down somewhere,” Duane offers.
It’s pulling at straws, but I’m desperate, so I walk around the room, looking for any sort of clues.
A stack of papers on the bar prove to be a dead end and the notebook sitting on the coffee table doesn’t have anything written in it at all. The blank pages mock me.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t look at the notebook anymore. I slam it shut.
The white board on the wall has stained marker all over it, but it’s all too smudged to read. I pound my fist on the wall.
“Hey,” Duane touches my shoulder, “sit down, we’ll figure it out.”
Sitting myself down on the couch, a plume of dust puffs through the air and I rub my forehead. “I don’t know if I can figure out the combination, Duane. Maybe we should just go,” I profess, defeated.
Duane sits next to me and throws his arm over my shoulder. “We aren’t giving up. You just need to think. Is there any possible way you’re forgetting something?”
Dad had two safes at the office, both of which I knew the combinations. He had one at the house in Colorado but I never had a reason to open that one. Then there’s this one behind the damn picture—I didn’t even know he had it. I tried every possible number I knew that was connected to those safes.
Unable to Resist Page 18
