Accidental Deception

by Tina Martin

  “So, you ready?” Carter asked after watching her stand, breaking in her new boots.

  “I guess so.” Shayla was a little hesitant about leaving with him, a stranger, but this was better than going to an overcrowded homeless shelter filled with strangers. Besides, Carter had stayed with her for a few days in the hospital, so she knew a little about him. Just the fact that he was by her side gave her a level of comfort and assurance that he was a good person, that he wouldn’t harm her in any way.

  Carter took her by the hand and they stepped out into the hallway together.

  For Shayla, this was a new beginning, a new chapter in her life to have witnessed the death of someone she loved and had overcome a near-death experience of her own. Surely she would need some time to heal, mentally and physically and with the help of Carter, her kindhearted and breathtakingly attractive ‘guardian’, her betterment would not be that far off.

  “Let me go and get you a wheelchair.” Carter scanned the hallway for one.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need a wheelchair.”

  “It’s quite the walk to get to the area where I parked.”

  “Okay, then I’ll walk. I don’t want people staring at me in a wheelchair.”

  “It would be advantageous for you to accept the wheelchair, Shayla. Ain’t that right doc?” he asked so the doctor could help him drive his point home and sure enough he cosigned, even had the nurse call for a wheelchair.

  “Hope everything goes well Ms. Kline,” the doctor said. “Looks like you’re in good hands.” He glanced at Carter. So did Shayla.

  Carter gave her a quick, reassuring wink.

  A woman from transport came rolling a wheelchair their way about five minutes later.

  Carter turned to Shayla and said, “I’ma go pull the car up by patient pick-up. Meet you down there, okay?”

  With trepidation, Shayla watched distressfully as Carter backed away from her. Her heart sank with the fear he might not be there, that this was his out and he was about to take it.

  Carter could see the worry in her eyes, the unspoken fear present within them that he wasn’t coming back for her. He walked toward her again, took her hands into his. “Shay, look at me.”

  She looked up at him as he’d asked.

  “I’m gonna be right outside waiting for you, okay?”

  Shayla nodded.

  “I promise,” he added. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, let’s get you in this wheelchair,” he said, assisting her as she sat, folding down the footrests. He jogged down the hall for the elevator with his bag, the flowers and balloons.

  “You ready, Ms. Kline?” a young African American woman asked, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a burgundy vest with a white shirt underneath.

  “Yeah. I’m ready.” Shayla gripped the armrests of the wheelchair.

  The woman wheeled her to the elevator, taking it a few floors down to the ground level. Once there, they traveled a long hallway with odd paintings on the walls, passed a small coffee shop until they were finally near the entrance – patient pick-up, waiting for Carter.

  A few beats later, he drove up in a black, four-door Lexus. He jumped out, sprinted around to open the passenger door then lifted Shayla from the wheelchair (as if that was really necessary) and safely lowered her to the passenger seat.

  “Sorry I didn’t bring you a coat, sweetheart. I completely forgot.”

  “That’s okay. I’m fine in this sweater,” Shayla said as she shivered. The cold air shifting back and forth between the openings of the parking structure only added to the bone chilling temperature hovering around thirty-one degrees.

  Carter made sure she was in the car, comfortable and secure before closing the door. He walked around the front of the car, opened his door and got in, strapping on his seatbelt, instructing Shayla to so the same. He watched her tug at the seatbelt, pulling it with all the strength she had around her upper body and torso.

  After hearing the secure click, he asked, “You ready?”

  Shayla sighed, a little fidgety and shivering from the cold temperature. “Yeah.”

  Carter turned the heat on in the car, adjusted it to the highest setting. “If it gets too warm, let me know.” He glanced at her when she didn’t respond. She sat quietly, probably absorbing all that was happening.

  Shayla said nothing more on the drive to his home. She stared out the window at the trees, the houses and businesses, a few people in sweats walking their dogs, women jogging, a city bus at a pick-up terminal.

  “You good?” Carter asked, turning to her, then back to the road again.

  Shayla nodded.

  “We’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

  Shayla, still quiet, stared out at what was apparently his neighborhood, admiring the huge houses. Some were more like mansions, old fancy houses with rich architecture, nice brick, large bay windows, double garages, large landscaped yards and luxury vehicles. It looked ritzy and upscale – like you have to belong to a certain class of society to pull off home ownership in this neck of the woods – doctors, lawyers, small business owners and apparently, bank executives.

  “Where are we?” Shayla asked him like they’d been riding forever, when in actuality, he’d only been driving for five minutes.

  Carter slowed to a stop sign and glanced at her. “This is the Dilworth Neighborhood. Are you familiar?”

  “No…well, yeah. I’ve passed through here a few times with…with Jacob.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Un huh. We ate at Dilworth Neighborhood Grill once.”

  “Okay. You know a lil’ something about this area. I live on Lafayette Avenue. It’s a pretty quiet community. A lot of professionals that work in Uptown live in this area.”

  Carter proceeded past the stop sign and made another turn onto Lafayette, Shayla noticed. On Lafayette, he made a right turn onto a cobblestone driveway – his home.

  Shayla’s eyes grew big. The two-story, beige brick house made up with black shingles was elegant and stylish with long, almost floor-to-ceiling windows. She should not have expected anything less from a man of his caliber.

  “So, this is it,” Carter said, shifting the car in park, shutting off the engine after he’d parked behind a cream-colored Cadillac Escalade.

  “This is your house?”

  “Yep. This is the place.”

  “You live here by yourself?”

  “Yeah,” Carter chuckled. “Why?”

  Shayla didn’t respond. She was thinking about all the homeless people scattered about in this city, holding up cardboard will-work-for-food signs and in the meantime, people like Carter Williams lived in mansions – houses built for big families but being occupied by one measly person.

  “Shay?”

  “What?” Shayla responded, then remembered what they were talking about. Carter wanted to know why she asked if he lived alone. So she responded, “Oh, no reason. I saw that truck in the driveway so I—”

  “That’s my truck.”

  “Oh.” Shayla pulled the door handle to get out of the car but Carter reached over, gripped her left forearm with his strong hand and said, “You know, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Shayla looked at him, a bit startled that he clenched her so tightly. “Okay.”

  Carter frowned, sensing her sudden fear of him. He wanted to tell her who he was, that he was Jacob’s brother. It would do them both some good to get this out of the way now. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m…I…um…I don’t quite know how to say this.”

  “What is it?” Shayla asked, staring at him. It was the first time she’d seen him unsure about anything.

  Carter stared back at her, thinking about her possible reactions to this news. Maybe she would haul off and slap him – though he wasn’t fearful of being struck by her – especially since he knew he would deserve a slap. He was more worried that she would freak out, take off and run away, back into the stre
ets, never to be found again. How would he fulfill his brother’s last wish to take care of her if he couldn’t find her? That was the problem he had the first time around. It couldn’t happen again.

  “Never mind.” He opened his door, stepped out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her.

  “And just so you know, I bought this house eight years ago,” he said as he opened the door for her. He took his bag from the trunk and Shayla followed him towards the front door. He unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open.

  “Home sweet home.” He dropped the bag on the floor in the foyer. “I’m gonna go grab the rest of the stuff out of the car. You get comfortable, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Shayla stood there in awe of the place, taking it all in. This was perhaps the most elegant house she’d ever seen, yet it was hip and eccentric, the aroma of apple-cinnamon potpourri or Glade plug-ins pleasing her sense of smell. The foyer was amazing, tiled in black and white. A huge black-trimmed mirror was placed dead center of the left wall, an antique oak desk below it, the countertop decorated with a weird-shaped bamboo plant. A medium-sized rock was being used for a paper weight, resting comfortably on a newspaper and Redplum.com flyer. A mail sorter was filled with white, blue and orange envelopes – mail that had yet to be opened.

  Carter walked in again, balloons and flowers in hand, talking about how cold it was outside. After setting the balloons and the vase on the oak desk in the foyer, he looked at Shayla and said, “You haven’t moved.”

  “I don’t know where to go.”

  “The house is big, but it ain’t that big,” he chuckled. He could’ve bought a much bigger house, but a two-story, white brick house with four bedrooms, a living room, bonus room and kitchen with two and a half baths was all he needed. Probably more than what he needed.

  Shayla still didn’t move a step.

  “Okay, well let me show you where everything is, ‘kay, and where you’ll be sleeping.” Carter proceeded to walk straight back into an entry way that was visible from the foyer. He turned around and saw her standing stationary in the same spot. “You coming?” he asked with raised brows.

  Shayla didn’t say a word. She was quiet and reserved. With a stranger. Uncomfortable.

  Carter walked her way again and took her hand. “I know you don’t know me but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just helping you get back on your feet, okay?”

  She nodded then walked with him this time.

  “This is the living room,” he said. “And look straight across and there’s the kitchen…it’s an open floor plan…one of the major selling points for me when I bought this place. I have work functions over here at least once a year. It’s good for entertaining…enough space for everyone to move around without having to rub elbows.”

  Shayla studied the kitchen, the butternut wood cabinetry, appliances all stainless steel. Carter followed her as she walked through the living room. Shayla checked out the brown, elegant couches, an interesting coffee table that appeared to be hand carved, intricately designed, or made in nature that way and now cured and painted with a slab of glass on top.

  Carter showed her where the laundry room was, the den (that looked more like a home theater) and a bathroom downstairs.

  She followed him upstairs. He pointed out where all the bedrooms were, showed her the one she would be sleeping in – the one furthest down the hall from his room. He thought she’d be more comfortable with that choice.

  “So that’s the house, which is now your home, so make yourself comfortable and feel free to use anything you want, okay. Don’t ask me for nothing…just go ahead and get it.”

  Shayla glanced at him to see if he’s serious, that it was actually okay for her to use anything in his crib like she was entitled somehow.

  “Okay?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

  Shayla nodded.

  “Listen…I gotta run and pick up your prescriptions, so you get settled and I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ah’ight. Be right back,” Carter said, walking away and down the stairs. The front door shut a few seconds later.

  Shayla explored her room, after giving it a sweeping glance again. A neutral cream color paint were on the walls with some strange, abstract paintings hanging above her headboard, a mirror above the dresser. She opened the closet door, found it full of clothes – sweaters, jeans and dresses – all neatly hung and very well organized. Scanning the tags, the sweaters and shirts were all mediums. The pants were all size eight. All new. So were the six pairs of shoes that were neatly placed in two rows in the closet – two pairs of Nikes, some black and brown pumps, a pair of brown fuzzy snow boots and bedroom shoes.

  She walked over to the bed to give it a test drive. She sat and bounced up and down for a moment, liking the feel of it. It felt like the kind of bed you’d sleep in at a five-star resort hotel. She strummed her fingers across the comforter. It was plush and soft as well, looked brand new, but then again, so did everything else in his house.

  She held onto the railings as she traveled downstairs now, one step at a time, careful not to misstep. She walked in the den, played with the TV remote for a while. The flat screen was mounted on the center of the wall, a nice size for group movie viewing or watching football with the guys.

  Bored with the remote now, she headed to the kitchen and checked the fridge, curious to see what kind of food Carter ate. Yogurt, celery, carrots, grapes, cottage cheese, eggs, sodas and bottled water – those are just a few items she saw upon opening the right door. The left side, the freezer, contained a few packs of meat and frozen vegetables.

  She pushed the door shut and scanned the kitchen, noticing several boxes of Grape Nuts cereal, one on the island, two on the countertop next to a black toaster. His favorite soda was diet Sun Drop. There were five bottles of it in the fridge, another five on the floor next to it. It didn’t appear he cooked a lot, and being married to his job and all, when would he have time to cook? His time was probably spent whipping up emails and sugar-coating spreadsheets, and when he wanted dinner, he probably ordered Chinese, or better yet, met up with some random chick and dined at a snazzy Uptown joint like Lavecchia’s, Greek Isles or Chima Brazilian Steakhouse.

  The laundry room was linen white. The washer and dryer black. His dirty clothes were neatly stored in wicker hampers. A bottle of Tide laundry detergent, Suavitel fabric softener with matching dryer sheets were properly stowed on a shelf above the washer and dryer. Shayla wondered if he washed his own clothes or if he had someone do it for him. Do men really know how to wash their own clothes?

  Shayla walked out of the laundry room, back in the kitchen now. She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. Then she turned around, her back toward the sink, looking out into the kitchen as she drank the water. She set the glass on the countertop and walked over to the dinette, admiring the crystal vase of fresh lilies that decorated the table. Fresh flowers. Since when does a man buy fresh flowers for his dinette?

  Heading back upstairs now, Shayla tried to calculate how long Carter had been gone, thinking that if he was only running to the store to pick up medication, he should’ve been back by now. When she reached the top step, she heard a phone ringing. She rushed into Carter’s room, since from the sound of it, the ringing was emanating from his bedroom. She was right. There it sat on his night stand, a black cordless phone begging to be answered. She was leery to pick it up. There was something wrong about answering another person’s phone, so she let it ring. But what if it was Carter? Then again, what if it was one of his women?

  The call went to his answering machine, “Shayla, pick up if you hear me?” she heard him say.

  Shayla sat on his bed, nervous about answering, even after knowing it was him.

  “Shaaay-laaaa,” Carter said, grinning a little afterwards.

  Shayla reached for the receiver, brought it to her left ear and said, “Hi.”

  “There
you are,” Carter said, sounding relieved she answered. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Shayla said exhausted and feeling especially lonely in a house that large – well large to her because she’d only lived in apartments and condos her entire life.

  “You sure?” he asked thoughtfully, looking up noticing a couple of women checking him out as he stood near the pharmacy pick-up window. He turned his back to them, keeping his attention on the call with Shayla and said, “You don’t sound okay.”

  “I’m just a little tired.”

  “Well, take it easy, and I don’t want you going up and down the stairs…that’s too much for you right now. Which room are you in anyway? My bedroom or the kitchen?” Carter asked, since those were the only two rooms in the house with phones in them.

  “Um…your room.” Shayla looked around briefly at Carter’s room, rubbing her hand across his silk comforter.

  “Okay, good. I’m still at the pharmacy. They screwed up one of the prescriptions so I have to wait a little while longer.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing, and they’re the ones that screwed up…not you.” Carter glanced back at the pharmacy pick up window. “Hey, is there anything I can pick up for you before I leave? I’m at the Rite Aid down the street.”

  “Ah…” Shayla said, racking her brain trying to think of something she wanted after being free from the bondage of the streets. “No, I don’t want anything.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure,” she said melancholy. She remembered having similar conversations with Jacob. When he would ask if she needed anything, she would always ask for a Snickers bar.

  “Ah’ight. I’ll be there in a few then, ‘kay.”

  “Okay. Bye,” Shayla said, wishing now she’d told him to bring Snickers. She had a craving for one, an extension of her desire to hold Jacob, to kiss him. She arrowed up on the caller ID to find Carter’s cell number and dialed him back.

  He answered the phone laughing and said, “It feels weird seeing my own number on the caller ID. You think of something you want, hun?”