Promised Box Set

by James Kipling

  Located in Monta Vista, the Dunmore home was a two-story French-style house with a stone wall setting. It was different from the other homes in the neighborhood, which were mostly hacienda style. The previous owner had built it in the hopes of residing there with his family but changed his mind before it was completed. Steve bought the house in the finishing stages, so the Dunmores were its first and only occupants.

  The interior was exquisite with hardwood on the ground floor, a winding staircase, and spacious rooms. The huge French windows allowed in a lot of light and overlooked vast gardens surrounding the house, as well as the swimming pool beyond the patio.

  Zoe left the boxes on the front porch awaiting Richard’s assistance in bringing them in. She opened the large mahogany double doors leading into the foyer. Nothing had changed. In the four years she had been away, her father left everything the way it was. As a matter of fact, the house was almost exactly the way it had been fifteen years ago when her mother passed away.

  “Mom, I’m home,” she whispered as she slowly walked into the drawing room. Looking around the familiar surroundings, Zoe began to truly relax for the first time that day. Gone was her earlier tension and in its place was a sense of belonging. Yet, she wished her mother were there to see her, guide her, and tell her she was doing the right thing.

  Her eyes rested on the grand painting of a beautiful redheaded woman in her thirties. Refusing to feel sad, Zoe allowed her mind to wander into the past when her mother was alive and with her. Free-spirited and bubbly, there was never a dull day spent around her mom. She remembered playing tag and hide-and-go-seek together. Mom always knew her secret hiding places but pretended she didn’t. Here she was a grown woman and still she yearned to play with her mother.

  Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see Richard approaching. Richard had been with the Dunmores since Steve purchased the house more than twenty years prior. Tall and wiry, he was the epitome of a proper Englishman. His silver-grey hair was fading and there were creases around his pale, grey eyes and lips. His skin had taken on a deep California tan after so many years living there. The older man was warm and treated Zoe like a princess. She always felt safe with Richard around. The man had covered for her on more than one occasion when she got herself into trouble.

  As soon as she turned and saw him, she ran into his arms, “Richard! I missed you,” Zoe exclaimed.

  “Miss Zoe. Welcome home,” his calm voice soothed her.

  “Where’s Lizzie?” She asked as she pulled away. Lizzie was the housekeeper and Richard’s wife.

  He had come to America in his youth and never left. Zoe liked to tease him about how Lizzie was the reason he stayed all those years. They had no children but Lizzie had nearby nieces and nephews who, she said, filled any gaps quite nicely.

  “She’s in the kitchen.” Before Richard could explain further, Zoe ran to the kitchen and flung open the door. The woman was peeling potatoes. There was a second someone stirring a pot but Zoe was focused on the woman who had sometimes rocked her to sleep as a child, the one who was like a mother or grandmother to her now. Her dark, wispy hair was messy, much as Zoe remembered. There were beads of sweat on her forehead from the heat of the kitchen and her apron had grease stains.

  “Lizzie!” The surprise on Lizzie’s face turned to delight at the sight of Zoe. The two hugged for a long time before Zoe noticed a pair of dark eyes concentrating on her.

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s my niece,” Lizzie answered. “She’ll be helping me out around the house for the summer.”

  The brown eyes of the girl bore into Zoe as the girl stood staring. “Where are your manners?” Lizzie asked the girl. “She’s a bit shy,” she added, apologizing to Zoe.

  “Hi,” the girl said softly. She was about seventeen years old and pretty. Her black hair glistened as she turned to stir the soup bubbling on the stove.

  “What’s your name?” Zoe asked moving towards the stove.

  “Emily.”

  “What’re you making?” Before Emily could answer, Zoe looked inside the pot and inhaled deeply. “Oh, lentil soup. My favorite!”

  Emily let out the breath she’d been holding. Her aunt had told her a lot about Zoe and Emily was a bit intimidated by her. Meeting her was not what she’d been expecting. Emily had been waiting to meet someone arrogant, a spoiled rich-kid type. Lizzie had known the girl from childhood and Emily thought her opinion might be biased, despite her aunt’s assurances to the contrary. It was surprising to watch Zoe treat Lizzie like a mother and she began to relax. Maybe working at the Dunmore house wouldn’t be the worst way to spend the summer after all.

  “You and I are gonna be the best of friends, Emily!” Zoe said, placing an arm around Emily’s shoulders. Lizzie smiled for she was worried Emily had been feeling lonely not having anyone her own age to talk to. Now she was confident Emily and Zoe would get along just fine.

  Richard had pulled out the collapsible trolley and moved the file boxes to Zoe’s study. Her father had created a study just for her across the hall from his. It used to be a rather large storage room. He thought his daughter would need somewhere other than her bedroom to work or relax during those few hours she spent at home. The new study was much smaller than his but it had all the elements of a home office.

  Zoe left the kitchen and found the way to her new study. Steve had told her about it over the phone the week before but this was her first time seeing it in person. As she looked around the room she took in the wall-to-wall bookshelves, the mahogany desk and small sofa; she knew she would be comfortable spending a lot of time there. She was already in love with the room, which was painted a light shade of yellow.

  She slowly entered, soaking in her father’s carefully chosen details. The boxes were placed in three stacks on the desk. Each box was labeled with the name of the department it came from. Gingerly she opened the box marked Production and took out the file for the last quarter. She wasn’t quite ready to go through it in detail so she only scanned its contents. From what she saw, production had increased by twenty percent in the last quarter, which led her to open the box marked Sales.

  Like she did with the Production box, Zoe retrieved the thick file for the last quarter. She moved to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Sales had increased by forty-five percent, which meant that business was good. She was now anxious to see how much the company actually made in that last quarter, so she quickly opened the box from Accounts and removed the ledger for the last quarter. At first everything seemed fine, but whether from instinct or curiosity, she got the file for the second-to-last quarter and scanned through that one as well. She wasn’t sure what it was precisely, but the figures seemed low given the margin of increase in Sales.

  Wanting to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, Zoe decided to get some sleep and ensure her mind was fresh when she went through the books later. Dropping the file to the floor next to her perch on the sofa, she turned, lay down, and fell asleep within two minutes of resting her head on the cushion.

  Two hours later her father looked in on her. Her red hair was splayed on the cushion and her long lashes brushed her cheeks. He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his daughter had become. Steve saw the file lying at the foot of the sofa and picked it up. It was the profit and loss account for the previous quarter. A smile played on his lips at this sign of his daughter’s dedication.

  As if sensing someone was in the room, Zoe opened her eyes and found her father smiling to himself. “Daddy?”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “Not yet. I’m hungry,” Zoe replied, getting to her feet.

  Together they walked to the terrace where they sat at the round glass-topped table. It was close to 5:30 and the sun was setting. The sky was slightly overcast and it appeared there would be some showers later
that evening. Though it was summer, Lizzie had prepared Zoe’s favorite lentil soup along with a side salad.

  Both father and daughter enjoyed their meal while rehashing what they had each missed in the past year she’d been at school. He brought her up to speed about the running of the household and informed her that Lizzie’s health was not one hundred percent, hence the decision to bring her niece in to assist her, at least for the summer.

  “How old is she?” Zoe found herself asking about Emily. “She looks too young to be in college.”

  “She graduated high school early and applied to go to college in the fall but her family’s having money issues because of a sick relative on…whichever side it is that isn’t related to Lizzie – I can’t remember if Emily is Lizzie’s brother’s daughter or her sister’s daughter.”

  “Why didn’t you pay for her to go to college?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that and I know they would never think to ask. I was told she was saving for tuition so I make sure to pay her well,” Steve told his daughter. “You’ve been going through the books?”

  Zoe had been thinking about the accounts and what she thought she’d seen earlier. She didn’t want to alarm her father by telling him she thought there might be mistakes – and some pretty big ones at that. Instead, she thought of a way to have the books checked by an independent accounting firm in order to put her mind at ease.

  She answered her father by nodding in assent. “Daddy, can I invite someone to stay for a couple of weeks? Just a friend of mine from school,” she added facetiously.

  “Sure. Is she a good friend?” he asked.

  “It’s a guy. Don’t worry, he’s just a friend, Daddy,” she quickly added as she saw his surprised expression. She noted the way he gulped down some water and struggled to avoid openly choking on his meal.

  Mason had just completed his Master of Accountancy and was doing everything he could to drag his feet and avoid going home. As far as she knew he was still in New York trying to decide what to do about his future. His father owned a digitally-based stock brokerage firm in Virginia but Mason had no desire to work there. He wanted to be independent but his old man was adamant he return, head their Accounts department, and marry some carefully chosen girl Mason had never met.

  Unlike Zoe, Mason and his father never saw eye to eye. According to him, they weren’t close and hardly ever spoke. Mason’s mother had died of cancer when he was twelve and he had been left to mature on his own while his father hid from his grief by burying himself in long hours of work. At age fourteen, his father came home with a new woman proclaiming she was his wife. Their relationship took a turn for the worse in the years after that.

  Zoe considered herself lucky her father had not remarried. She had no idea how she would have reacted to a new mother showing up on the scene. She didn’t want to get between father and son in Mason’s case, but she needed someone to help her better understand the figures. She knew Mason would appreciate the excuse to put several thousand miles between himself and his father. She decided to give him a call later that evening.

  “Is everything okay between you and Lucas?” Her father was an observant man, though his powers of observation were hardly challenged by the afternoon’s sub-conversational interactions.

  She nodded again. “Dad.”

  “Hmm.” He raised his head and looked at his daughter.

  “I’m not going to marry Lucas.”

  “I know,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “You know? I thought you and Uncle David were set on us getting married.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you. Any man who stands up my daughter does not deserve to be my son-in-law,” he replied. He had forgotten his knowledge of the embarrassing event was supposed to be kept a secret.

  “You knew about that?” Zoe was taken by surprise. Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

  He reached over and covered her hand with his. “I know everything you get up to. You’re my daughter and I worry.”

  “You know you’re freaking me out, right?”

  “I don’t mean to freak you out, dear. I want you to be free to make your own mistakes, so long as you’re safe while you make them.”

  “Daddy, did you have someone follow us to Vegas?” The guilt on his face was her answer. Her face was growing red again but this time with suppressed outrage; she hated anyone invading her privacy, even her beloved though admittedly imperfect father. “Daddy, promise me you won’t do anything like that again.”

  “Okay, I promise,” he replied with some hesitation but Zoe wasn’t sure she believed him.

  They left the dinner table and walked inside, parting ways in the hall. It was past 7:30 when Steve shut himself in his study to enjoy a cognac and cigar. Steve wasn’t a man inclined to alcohol but he occasionally had a glass to celebrate. He’d been given the pack of Cuban cigars as a present but didn’t smoke so he would just gnaw on the end of it, unlit, between sips of his drink.

  Zoe retired to her room for a much-desired bath. The warm, bubbly water soothed both her mind and body. She hadn’t enjoyed a bath in such a long time. There was no time for such luxuries at the university (nor the facilities to accommodate such desires) and she often went without a shower during her long hours of study. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of lavender, allowing it to penetrate her mind.

  As she began to relax she imagined meeting Mr. Right. She knew Lucas wanted her back but she was hesitant to return to him. She could see herself possibly going out with Lucas to quell her loneliness, that was all, nothing more; the romance ship had sailed and violently run aground. But Mr. Right would have the most beautiful, toned body, like the Asian guy she once saw in a film, what was his name? Song Seon something. He would be romantic, attentive, and most of all brave -- unlike Lucas the wimp. She tried to picture her ideal man’s face but her thoughts were interrupted when penetrating blue eyes crept unbidden onto the face she was conjuring.

  What the…? She was beyond annoyed. How dare he enter her fantasy like that? She remembered his captivating eyes, a beautiful color, as far as she was concerned, and maybe that’s why they had suddenly appeared to her. She did like blue-eyed men. Yes, that must be it; she was attracted to the eyes themselves, not the man behind them. She closed her eyes once more and tried to relax but Aiden’s lips suddenly appeared before her. With a start, she opened her eyes and cursed under her breath.

  “So he had pretty eyes and kissable lips, so what?” she said aloud, her voice echoing in the bathroom.

  The water suddenly felt chilled, so she exited the tub and wrapped herself in a toweling robe. Cursing under her breath, she vigorously brushed her teeth, and went to call Mason. His phone went straight to voicemail so she left a message apologizing for having forgotten the time difference.

  The bath hadn’t been as relaxing as it was intended. Her earlier nap seemed to have overcorrected her jetlag and now, despite the increasingly late hour, she wasn’t just awake, she was alert and anxious to do something.

  Without thinking, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a tank top, slipped into a pair of flats and headed out the door to take a drive. It was when she was in her car that she became aware of the spreading dampness on her back where her dripping hair was soaking through her tank top. She put the windows down and let the warm evening air seep into the car.

  She drove around for a while luxuriating in the breeze whipping through the car and drying her hair. She hadn’t climbed in the car and driven with no destination in mind since high school with her girlfriends. It felt a little odd to be doing it alone but she needed the time alone with her thoughts; she needed it as desperately as she needed movement at the moment. As she left the higher speeds of the freeways and returned to residential streets, she found her steering wheel turning down the roads of unfamiliar neighborhoods.

  Dropping below the speed limit, Zoe gave into the impulse to peek at what was happening on the other side of the lighted wind
ows. Some families were seated for dinner; there were innumerable televisions flashing; one person (she couldn’t tell if a he or a she) was twisted in a display of yoga that had Zoe’s muscles tightening in sympathy.

  Only a few blocks from her own house, flashing lights caught her attention. They were not the flashing of channel surfing. The red and blue pulses indicated some sort of emergency was taking place.

  Curious, she stopped to see what was going on. An ambulance was just parking in a driveway. As the medics jumped out of the vehicle the front door opened and a man appeared. He was wearing a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His forearms were strong and Zoe could tell he worked out. She could not see his face but he was obviously related to whoever was ill because his body language showed how worried he was. The medics rushed inside with a stretcher as the man wearily leaned against the column on the front porch. She noticed how long his legs were in his slacks and had to peel her eyes away from his attractive physique.

  Zoe’s heart softened at the sight. Though a toughie, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for whatever was happening at this address and wanted to help. She was not the only person standing at a distance. Neighbors shook their heads and hugged themselves as though against a chill.

  As Zoe looked around the yard she noticed the lawn needed cutting badly and the paint on the house was peeling. Gingerly, she stepped onto the driveway. She wasn’t sure what she would say but an expression of sympathy seemed appropriate. She was a few feet away when the man raised his head and turned towards her. The porch light framed his face and she gasped at the sight.

  “Oh, God. It’s you,” she whispered. Not sure how to react, she started to retrace her steps, hoping he hadn’t recognized her but she wasn’t so lucky.

  He called out to her. “Hello there.” She pretended not to hear and kept walking. “Hey, you. BMW lady!”

  Embarrassed, she stopped and turned. He had left the porch and jogged towards her. She couldn’t hear his footsteps because of the long grass. As she turned, she noticed the top buttons on his shirt were undone and he was wearing no shoes. Upon closer inspection, she saw his shirt was untucked.