"Well, then, maybe you should answer it."
Anxiety twists painfully in my stomach as I walk down the hallway and back onto the stairs. I hadn't turned on any lights on the bottom floor of the house, and the storm raging outside has made the sky so dark, barely any daylight is coming through the windows. The entire effect is just a little bit too much Clue: The Movie for me. I'm at the bottom step when I hear another knock. When I was younger, there was a doorbell that resonated throughout the entire house and sounded like Lurch should come out from the hall closet and answer it. Mercifully, it broke when I was around 12. If I was hearing that creepy doorbell now, there's no way in hell I would be going anywhere near the door. As it is, I find myself wishing I had some sort of weaponry with me. Even an old baseball bat would make me feel more confident.
Giving myself a pep talk and simultaneously repeating that I'm being completely ridiculous, I sneak up to the door. The arched window at the top is too high for me to be able to look through it and identify our mystery visitor, so I press myself against the wood and turn my mouth toward it.
"Who's there?" I ask.
A muffled response comes back toward me.
"What? I can't understand you," I say.
There's another muffled response that sounds something like 'open the door'.
"I'm not opening the door," I yell against another rumble of thunder. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Fiona, open the fucking door!"
Did they say my name? What the…
There's another crash of thunder just as I'm shouting to the voice again, but when they respond, the storm has gone quiet, and I hear him clearly. This doesn't inspire me to open the door. In fact, it makes me wish there were about four more locks, so I could engage them all and run upstairs.
"Fiona! Open the door! I’m soaked!"
I stare at the door, not wanting to open it. Ever. This is exactly why I didn't want to come back here. I never wanted to think about that voice, much less have only a couple of inches of wooden door separating me from its owner. I know I can't just walk away, though. As much as I'd like to, it's not an option. My hand shakes as I turn the lock and reach for the doorknob. Opening the door in one fast motion, I look out at the porch and the man standing against the stormy backdrop beyond.
It's been so many years. Such a long time has passed since the last time I stood on this porch with this man in front of me. Those years have changed him. The last time I saw him, as he walked away and left me alone on the porch, he was still so much of a boy. Barely out of his teenage years, he was gangly, his body slim, and his face still slightly soft. All of that is gone. His bright green eyes are the same, but the years have hardened the rest of him. His face is strong and angular now, his jaw tense and square. His shoulders are broad and powerful, the chiseled muscles of his chest obvious even through the button-up shirt casually untucked from jeans that cover long, muscular legs. An involuntary shiver rolls through me.
"Cade."
I feel like his name tumble through my lips without it ever registering in my brain. Saying his name out loud burns my chest as it cuts through years of scar tissue.
"Are you going to let me in, Fiona?"
It's a perfectly innocent question. One that makes perfect sense considering the wind has picked up and sheets of rain are hitting him every few seconds. But, he has no right to be here. I hold the door tighter and glare out at him.
"Why should I?" I ask.
"Because Grammie wants me here."
"Don't call her that."
"What?"
"Don't call her that. Don't call her Grammie."
Cade scoffs. "What should I call her then?"
"Rose. Or Mrs. Helms."
"You've got to be kidding. I've always called her Grammie."
"Well, she's not your grandmother!" I hiss.
Wow, Fiona, wasn’t that petty as fuck.
Cade scoffs. Apparently over the pretense of acting polite, he pushes past me into the house.
"Don't be like this, Fiona. Your grandmother asked me to come and help her. She never mentioned you would be here. But even if she had, it wouldn't have stopped me from coming. We're adults."
I feel my face burn, and my hands tighten by my sides.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means it's been ten years. There's no need for you to act this way toward me, especially when I'm not here to see you in the first place."
I’m surprised at how much his words sting. There is a seriousness and confidence radiating off Cade that was never there before. When we were younger, he was softer, more playful. It seems he grew out of the bright smile and boundless energy he once had into the man standing in front of me – hard and controlling.
"Fine," I manage to choke out through the tension in my jaw.
"How is Grammie?" he asks.
"She doesn't look good," I say. "I think this really took a toll on her."
I see the unconvinced look on his face, and immediately feel defensive.
"I'm sure you're overreacting," he says.
"And why would you say that?"
"This is Grammie you're talking about. I know she's getting older and she misses Gramps. Being without him has been hard on her, but it hasn't changed who she is. She is still the eccentric, independent woman she always has been. She’s probably doing just fine here by herself."
"Apparently, she isn't," I argue.
"This is the woman who was kicked out of a casino for reasons I don't know and likely never want to find out, and has more friends now than you and I have had in our entire lives, combined. She's fine."
"You haven't seen her. You don't know anything about her now."
"Of course, I've seen her. Not since she's gotten hurt, but I just saw her a couple of weeks ago."
That stops me.
"What?"
"We have lunch every once in a while."
With that, Cade walks past me through the entryway and starts up the stairs.
"You do what?" I finally croak, starting after him.
By the time I get to the top of the steps, Cade has already gone into Grammie's room. When I step in, I notice she looks distinctly less pale and drawn. A pouch sits on the table beside her bed, the zipper slightly open and a few of her favorite cosmetic products poking out.
Grammie put on fucking makeup while I answered the door. She knew he was coming.
I walk up to the side of the bed, not caring that they are in the middle of a conversation.
"Grammie, why didn't you tell me Cade was coming?" I ask.
She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.
"He's here for me," she says. "I didn't think I needed to tell you."
"You didn't think you needed…." I pause and draw in a breath, letting it out slowly. This is an elderly, injured woman. This is an elderly, injured woman. "Why is he here?"
"He's here to make some repairs around the house," she says. "I told you there are some problems, and they caused my fall."
"Yeah," I say, pointing out the bedroom door toward the rest of the house. "I noticed how bad of a condition the house is in. How have you been living here for the past few months?"
"A few months?" Cade asks, eyeing Grammie, a surprised look on his face.
"W – well –" Grammie stutters, wearing the sheepish expression of someone caught in a lie.
"You didn't move out here?" I ask, my voice creeping higher. "You told me you moved out here a few months ago because you've been missing Gramps so much."
Grammie holds up a finger to stop me.
"Wait. Wait a minute. To be fair, I told you I decided to move out here for good a few months ago because I am missing your Gramps so much. That's true. I did decide a few months ago. I just didn't get around to making the actual move until about a week ago."
I hang my head in defeat and cover my eyes with my right hand.
"And then you fell."
"Yes.”
"So, you called me to co
me take care of you, and Cade to repair the house."
"Yes. Cade is the only person I trust. He knows this house, and I know him. I don't want a stranger poking around in my belongings and seeing me in this delicate condition."
Says the woman I'm fairly certain is wearing fake eyelashes right now. How in the hell did she do that so fast? I couldn’t apply them that well with half an hour, a magnifying glass, and a team of prayer warriors surrounding me.
"Why are you getting all these repairs done around the house when you're hurt? Don't you need to recover?"
"I planned on talking to Cade about doing the repairs before I had my accident," Grammie says. "It just so happens the house got the upper hand before I had a chance to. You wouldn't want me to keep living in such dangerous surroundings, would you?"
She gestures at the Robo-Boot again for good measure.
I let out an exasperated sigh.
"No," I say. "Of course, I don't. I came all the way out here to take care of you, didn't I? I even braved creepy Old Man Driver to get here."
"Who? Oh. That's Leslie. His grandson owns the Harrison farm."
"He's just delightful. I'll have to remember to invite him over for afternoon tea and croquet."
Grammie looks at me strangely.
"We don't have a croquet court."
"Damn. Well, I bet Cade here can whip one right up for you. It will give me enough time to bake up some petit fours and personalize a helmet for the next road trip I have with Leslie."
"That's enough of your sass. He was very kind to go all the way out to that airport to pick you up," she says, settling back into her pillows. "Speaking of which, I'm starting to get hungry. What did you plan for lunch this afternoon?
"I didn't have anything planned for lunch today," I say. "I just got here, and it's storming like hell outside."
"I'm really hungry," she insists. "The sweet nurse who helped settle me in when I got hurt made sure I had some snacks near me, but I'm afraid I’ve run out."
I sigh again.
"Alright, Grammie. I'll find you something."
"You might want to see a doctor about your lungs," she says as I start out of the room. "It sounds like you’re having some trouble breathing."
I pause just outside the bedroom to drop my forehead against the wall. This is not what I had in mind when I decided I needed a change in my life.
"So, what are you going to do?"
I turn to look at Cade, who has stepped up behind me.
"What do you mean what am I going to do?"
"Obviously you have an issue with this. I think we're both adult enough to talk about what's going to happen next."
I start down the steps.
"I'm going to make my grandmother something to eat because she's hungry and she needs me." I get to the bottom of the steps and turn toward the kitchen. "That's why I'm here."
"Well, I'm here to do repairs for your grandmother, and that's what I'm going to do."
"She should have hired a professional. Just because you spent some time with Gramps learning to do a few things doesn't qualify you to make the house safe for her. And it definitely doesn't necessitate you being in the house when you aren't doing something, so I suggest you go ahead and head out. This storm is going to make it hard to get to your the hotel."
"I spent seven summers learning woodworking, construction, contracting, plumbing, and electrical work, which is how I started my own business – making me more than qualified to handle the repairs. Staying here will make the projects more efficient. It doesn't make sense to stay anywhere else."
"I don't care if you started a business doing underwater basket weaving and interpretive dance. You're not staying here. There's a hotel right in town. Go."
"No, there isn't."
"Of course, there is. It's where we stayed…"
My voice trails off. I don't want to say, 'It's where we stayed the night after prom.'
"There used to be a hotel," Cade says. "Not that you know since you haven't been around in years, but it closed a while back."
I choose to ignore the dig.
"This town feels the need for two bowling alleys, a business center, three antique shops, and a formal boutique, but it doesn't think a hotel is important enough to keep open?"
"The town historian decided to do some research and try to have it declared a historic landmark. But all he uncovered was the hotel's sordid history as a brothel."
"That doesn't shock me too much. It happened a lot."
"The owner wasn't pleased about it, especially since in the article the historian wrote for the newspaper he also revealed some of the ladies of the evening could still be… lingering."
I pause with my hand still in the bag of white bread I found sitting on the counter.
"Ghosts?" I ask. "He thinks there are ghosts in the hotel?"
"Only because their bones were dug up from the basement."
"Are you telling me the town's oldest establishment is no longer there because someone thinks a bunch of dead prostitutes are pissed that someone buried them in the basement?"
"I'm not sure if it was the burying or the unburying part."
I turn back to the bread and pull out two pieces, dropping them down into the toaster and pushing down the lever.
"That sounds like something Grammie would have told me."
"Maybe she thought you didn't care."
"I don't need you making passive aggressive commentary about my relationship with my grandmother, or how long I've been away from here. It's been far too long for that. I bet there's a nice, generic hotel chain not too far from here that isn't full of skeletons or ghost hookers, and you can come in the morning, do your work, and go back before dinner. I think it would be best for all of us."
I snatch the pieces of toast from the toaster and start to carry them upstairs to Grammie.
Cade laughs. "Seriously, Fiona? You're giving her dry toast? Without a plate?”
I glare at him and grab a plate out of the cabinet. Rinsing it for good measure, I put the toast on the plate and slather it with butter before pouring a can of soup into a bowl and microwaving it.
"Is this acceptable?" I ask sarcastically.
"It's not exactly healthy."
I let out an exasperated growl and start toward Grammie's room, food in hand. Cade follows close behind me, and I curse the butterflies in my belly for daring to take flight.
Chapter Four
Cade
I can't believe I'm watching Fiona walk up the steps right now. It's been so many years, I was convinced I would never see her again, much less share the same space with her. Fiona has changed a lot since I last saw her but in the best possible ways. The awkwardness of her teenage years is gone, replaced by the confident, natural sexiness of a woman. Her hair is longer than it used to be, and her round face has matured into one with high cheekbones that accentuate her beautiful eyes and pouty lips. Even when she's raging at me, her lips look sweet enough to suck into my mouth.
"Why are you following me?" Fiona snaps, glaring at me over her shoulder.
"I'm not following you. I'm going to talk to Grammie."
"Which you know I'm doing, too."
"Am I supposed to wait in line? Is this some sort of deli counter situation? I have to take a number and wait for my turn to talk?"
Maybe the years haven't changed her in all the best ways.
She lets out a frustrated sound, and I can't help but imagine the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks popping out with her anger like they did when she was younger. I remember the first time I saw them do that. It was the first summer I spent with Grammie and Gramps, and Fiona and I were just getting used to each other. She was about as receptive to me in those first days as she is today, and I didn't know how to handle the surge of new feelings rushing through my thirteen-year-old body and brain in response to her. One afternoon she was helping Grammie hang laundry out on the line, and I grabbed a handful of her pantie
s, taunting her by swinging them in front of her face when Grammie wasn't looking. Fiona's eyes were squinted shut, fists clenched at her sides, and that cinnamon-sprinkling of freckles across her face reddened in fury, as she screamed at me.
Now that she’s all grown-up, I can't help but wonder what she's wearing under those tight little pants.
She turns back around and continues to stomp up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.
"Here, Grammie," she says, settling the plate and bowl in her lap.
Grammie looks back and forth between us.
"You two don't look very happy."
"We're just trying to figure all this out," Fiona says.
Grammie looks at her quizzically.
"What do you mean 'figure it all out'?"
"Cade insists on staying here while he does the repairs to the house," Fiona says.
She steps back from the bed and crosses her arms over her chest like a sullen child.
"And I tried to explain to her that it makes the most sense for me to stay here during the renovations because it will give me the easiest proximity to the home."
"Oh, they're renovations now? I thought they were just a few repairs."
"I don't know, yet, because I haven't had the opportunity to evaluate the house. It seems like you’re insisting on me leaving because you're not adult enough to deal with the situation."
"Fiona… Cade…" Grammie says, but neither of us looks at her.
"Don't flatter yourself, Cade. I'm here for one reason and one reason only, and that is because Grammie hurt herself. She needs me here to help her while she recovers, and this is where I spent my entire childhood, so I’m staying."
She says it in a way that suggests I don't have that same right.
"Fiona… Cade…"
"That sounds like at least two reasons."
"Why does it matter so much to you what I think about you being here, anyway? It's not like you've cared where I've been for the last ten years. You didn't have a problem leaving and not having anything else to do with us."
"Fiona…"
"Oh, wait," Fiona says with a mirthless laugh. "You do stay in touch with someone. You apparently have lunch with my grandmother, and neither of you thought that might be something worth mentioning to me."
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