by Girard, Dara
Someone knocked on the door. “Gotta go.”
“JD, wait—”
“You can handle this. I trained you for this moment.”
“I know but—”
“I’ve really gotta go.” JD looked through the peephole and swore. Stacy. He’d forgotten to tell the front-desk security he wasn’t seeing her anymore. “What’s wrong?”
“Trouble’s just arrived. Take care of things. You’ll be fine.” He hung up then tapped his mobile phone against his chin, considering his options. He didn’t have to answer, but she knew he was home and he’d have to face her eventually. He swore again, this time fiercely, hating the fact that he was trapped. He hid his travel bag in the closet and opened the door.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said. And hoped I never would again, he silently added as he opened the door wider for her to enter. She sauntered past, her spiked high heels clicking against his tiled floor and her devastating figure encased in a tight black dress. The sight left him cold.
“I have only one thing to say to you, you heartless bastard!” She lifted up a knife she’d kept hidden and lunged at him.
JD shot up from his bed—the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears, his breathing uneven. It was a dream. No. A nightmare, and it had been real. He rubbed his eyes then tried to adjust to his surroundings while a pale morning sun spilled onto the floor. He quickly assessed that he wasn’t in his New York apartment with wraparound windows and its view of the city, but rather his grandmother’s cozy farmhouse with its rustic furniture. He liked his room, except for the picture with an image of a musician; he wished his grandmother had left that one out. He glanced at his watch—5:30 a.m. He’d gone to bed at twelve, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He fell back against the headboard and wiped the gleam of sweat from his forehead as his nightmare dissipated. Things had ended badly, but he had no regrets.
Stacy had called him heartless, but he doubted she even knew what a heart was used for. His tactic had been a bit ruthless, but he hadn’t gotten as far as he had in life by being a nice guy. She was like all the rest: after him only for his money and position. But Stacy had wanted more—to have him save her father’s company, which was admirable if her father hadn’t been a criminal. She thought that being in his bed would blind him to what her father was up to, or tie him to her in some special way. She’d been wrong. She wasn’t the first women in his life with a hidden agenda. Women always wanted something from him. Except Monica. At least for now.
No, Monica was different. She didn’t care about his money or what he could do for her. She didn’t even want him around. The thought made him smile. What kind of man would interest her? he wondered absently, stroking the wound she had rebandaged for him.
JD got out of bed, glanced at Baxter over in the corner fast asleep in his doggie bed. The first week with the puppy had been hard… He and Monica decided that they should set up Baxter’s doggie bed in the kitchen, so that he could be around them most of the day. That was a disaster. Not only did he not like sleeping in the bed, every sound or noise sent him hurling himself under the large sofa in the family room, where he would remain for hours, forgoing water and food. They then decided to put his bed in the family room, but for some odd reason, he always ended up somehow getting into JD’s bedroom and sleeping under his bed, so JD decided to let him stay. He didn’t mind the company.
JD opened the window and inhaled the fresh country air and let the breeze sweep over him. He could breathe again. Yes, he’d made the right choice to leave the city without notice. He pictured his executive assistant, Pattie Brantford, scrambling to reschedule his appointments and calm the nerves of clients and associates, but she was good at that and he knew he’d left everything in capable hands. He needed to get away from it all and regroup. Maybe he could start feeling human again. He’d been living rote for the past few years and it was wearing on him. Especially after Stacy. He should have been wary of how aggressively she’d sought him out. He’d thought it was part of her charm at the time. As someone who went after what he wanted, he admired that trait in others. That had been a big error in judgment.
He watched the sun cascade over the lush grass and paint the top of trees a pale gold. He turned to Baxter, who looked at him with a curious expression. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Minutes later, he walked through the early morning dew-soaked grass. Baxter was a little hesitant at first, not liking to get his paws wet, but JD gave him no choice. He wouldn’t wander toward the woods and would be more prepared this time. JD looked at the old chicken coop that now stood empty, remembering when he’d helped collect eggs as a boy. And the last walk he’d had with his dying father.
“I’m leaving you the man of the house now,” his father said. “Look after your mother and your brother.”
He fought back tears and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”
His father rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I’ve lived a good life. I wish I could stick around longer, but I guess God has other things for me to do.” He smiled, and JD knew his father wanted him to smile too, but he refused. His father was everything to him and he hated the thought of losing him.
“I’ll be looking down on you, you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to promise me three things. You hear me?”
He nodded.
“You make sure your brother stays on the right path. Don’t let him break your mother’s heart. He’s a wild one and will get into trouble if he’s not watched carefully. You understand?”
JD nodded again. He knew what his father meant. His younger brother, Donnie, was a little too much like their uncle Billy, who’d spent three years in jail for fraud.
“Second, I want you to use that brain of yours to help people. There are enough selfish bastards in the world. I want you to leave a legacy of integrity. You have my name and I want you to use it well.” His father turned away and stared up at the sky and sighed, his energy waning. His shirt hung on his thin frame, and although the weather was nearing eighty degrees, his father wore a long-sleeve shirt and worn wool sweater because he was always cold now. JD moved closer in case his father needed to lean on him.
His father cocked his ear. “Hear that? That’s the sound of the gray catbird. It was named for its catlike call, but it can also mimic the sound of other birds and even some mechanical sounds. It likes to hide when it sings, too. Always reminds me that things aren’t always as they seem.” He looked at JD. “Whenever you hear it, think of me. And remember that things aren’t always what they seem.”
JD shifted from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly restless. “What’s the third thing you want me to promise?”
His father knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll fight for happiness over anything else.” He cupped his son’s chin. “I worry about you. You’re too focused, solemn and…” He sighed with frustration. “There are so many things I could show you about what life is. How you should live. I want you to smile at least twice a day, laugh at least five, whistle, listen to music.” He tightened his hold, his voice urgent. “Live. For. Me.”
It was too much. JD looked into his father’s face and kind eyes and saw how pale the cancer had made him and how his skin stretched over his bones. He thought about staring at an empty place at the dinner table, a vacant seat in the church pew, of never walking with his father again. It was a promise he couldn’t make. He’d never laugh or smile again. He shook his head and stepped away. “No.”
His father reached for him. “JD—”
“No!” He yanked himself free. “I won’t laugh. I won’t smile. I won’t whistle and you can’t make me ’cause it’s not fair. It’s not fair!” He turned and ran. He knew his father couldn’t catch him. He didn’t want him to. He ran into the nearby woods and stomped on broken branches and kicked a nearby tree then fell to his knees and wept. “I’ll never be happy again,” he whispered, feeling his heart harden
. He never wanted to love if it meant losing that person and feeling the terrible pain he felt now.
His father found him nearly twenty minutes later. His face was lined with worry and his voice tinged with fear. “Don’t ever run away from me again.”
JD kept his gaze on the ground. “Yes, sir.”
His father gathered him into his arms and JD felt tears filling his eyes, but this time he didn’t pull away. He hugged him back, wishing he could keep his father alive forever.
“Be strong for me, son,” his father said, his voice cracking with anguish. “Be strong for all of us.”
“I will,” JD said, knowing that was a promise he could keep. He would always be strong.
They left the woods and neither spoke about that conversation again. His father died a month later and as promised, JD looked after his brother, who continued to get into scrapes (nearly got shot for sleeping with a married woman, and was on his fourth job in two years) but nothing too serious.
His brother was now working as a building manager at one of JD’s properties, and their mother was happy. As promised, he had also used his brain to help others by helping companies grow and, when needed, protecting them from corporate takeovers. He was established and successful and had never sullied his father’s name.
But he knew he wasn’t the man his father was. His father was life embodied. He could sparkle and laugh. JD couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that carefree, but that didn’t bother him. He’d never been lighthearted. It wasn’t his nature and it wasn’t what had gotten him this far.
However, he did like to make other people happy. Tonight he’d take his grandmother out and treat her to a movie. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out to eat that wasn’t a business meeting. Even when he dined out with Stacy, those meetings always turned to business—her father’s business. But with his grandmother, he knew it would be different. Being with her always lifted his spirits. She was a vibrant woman who, like his father, could find joy in simple things: a sunrise, a spring breeze. She’d urged her husband to buy the farmhouse as a refuge from her job as a professor of mathematics.
“Whenever you hear the gray catbird, think of me.” He remembered his father’s words and the sound of his voice. They seemed to echo in the silence, and for a moment he was a child again looking up at his father’s face. But just as quickly, the image changed and he found himself staring up at a canopy of leaves. He didn’t listen for the sound of the catbird because he didn’t want to think about his father. Instead, he turned and walked back home.
Chapter 5
He was a man of his word; she had to give him that. Monica watched JD’s car leave. He was on his way to take his grandmother to dinner and a movie. He’d offered to take her along, but Monica had politely refused. She’d stayed out of his presence as much as she could. After their first day together he’d busied himself with training Baxter, talking to his grandmother and roaming the property. Although she cooked dinner for two, they didn’t eat together. She ate in her studio and he ate in the breakfast nook.
It would work, Monica thought with a satisfied sigh as she turned from the window. He hadn’t asked to see her studio again, and she hoped he’d forgotten about it. A light tapping on the window caught her attention, and she saw that a light drizzle had started to fall. She opened the window and inhaled the scent of crisp, damp air and wet grass. She loved rainfall. She’d been born during the first rain after a two-month drought. Her parents believed she’d brought them luck, and she did.
From a little child, her beauty garnered attention. Her mother gave credit to her Native American heritage for her height and good skin. Her father claimed her African-American ancestors had given her her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. But neither tried to take credit for her most unique feature—extraordinary hazel eyes that could at any given time be either emerald or gold. The women on both sides of her family had thick long hair, but hers cascaded down her back like an onyx river.
It was her grandmother who first saw her potential to make money and urged her mother to put her in modeling. Money was tight so her mother readily agreed. Monica didn’t even need to audition. Her mother took a snapshot and sent it to a few agents. Within days they had offers and within a week she was working. At six her childhood freedom came to an abrupt halt. Soon she was supporting the family with her work in print ads and commercials. She’d never been allowed to do what other kids did. She was kept indoors like a china doll. She was allowed to swim to keep toned but she could not climb trees, ride a bicycle or go skating. Nothing that could lead to scraped knees or elbows. Her skin had to be perfect.
Her mother and grandmother hovered over her like two protective hens, and she knew her importance to them and the family budget. She was the light while her younger sister, Nikki, was almost a shadow. Her sister didn’t seem to mind, because she was free to be a regular child. She could go to the park and the playground. She even went to the local school while Monica was given lessons at home. Nikki would leave the house and come back with tales of her adventures at the jungle gym or school, and Monica eagerly listened to a life that couldn’t be hers.
It had been over a year since she’d last seen her sister, at Delong’s funeral. Nikki had been cordial to Delong. She found him fascinating but never really liked him. He’d discovered Monica at fifteen. He was a wealthy artist who first mentored her then became her lover and finally her husband. He exposed her to a world beyond her Oklahoma and New Jersey childhood. He made her more than a model. Through his guidance and brilliance he made her an icon. She was featured in music videos, movies and art exhibitions. She developed a clothing line and had enterprises in perfume and cosmetics. Together they owned several cars and five homes.
“But none of them are you,” Nikki once said when she came to visit Monica’s New Jersey residence.
“But I love them. Especially this one,” Monica said, wanting to convince her sister of her happiness.
“It’s not a true home,” she said, casting a glance at the stained glass and arched windows. “Your spirit and personality aren’t anywhere in this house. You’re just part of the collection.”
“I’m his wife, not his possession.”
“You think he knows the difference?”
“You just don’t understand him.” She knew Nikki couldn’t. Few people could. Delong was larger than life—a bold and passionate man. Their marriage wasn’t normal, because Delong wasn’t a normal man. She knew there were other women but it wasn’t often, and she was his wife and that’s what mattered. When he strayed, he always came back to her with gusto. Besides, she needed him kept occupied because she had her own career and busy schedule, which at times could be exhausting. She knew there would never be any children. Taking care of Delong and his sometimes volatile moods was enough for her. Her sister was wrong. Delong loved her. He was a genius whose life was just as much his art as his work. She didn’t care what color he painted the walls or what furniture he bought. He took good care of her and life was perfect.
“Just let me decorate one room for you,” Nikki said.
“All right,” Monica replied, knowing that her sister, a top interior designer, wanted to do something special for her. Delong was in Venezuela, so Nikki could make changes without interference.
Monica allowed her sister to redecorate a small room near the back of the house in sweeping colors. Monica loved it. Delong didn’t. He never said so, but his silence was eloquent enough. Within a week of his return, Delong found a better use for the room. He used it to store his sculptures. And he didn’t stop until every hint of Nikki’s original design was gone.
“That bastard,” Nikki said when she saw the room later that year. “Your one little corner in this mausoleum and he took it.”
“It wasn’t deliberate,” Monica said with a tired sigh, not understanding her sister’s anger. It was just a room. She had plenty of others.
“Yes, it was. He has to be the center of everything
.”
“I don’t know why you don’t like him.”
Nikki turned away. “And I don’t know why you do.”
Her sister had left angry that day, and at the funeral their meeting had been strained. Nikki tried but couldn’t hide her relief that he was gone, and that hurt Monica. She’d wanted someone to share his memory with, but her parents were dead. They’d had the two of them later in life and had passed away in their late seventies. They’d lived long enough to see Monica married and her career take off. They were proud and happy for her. Nikki wasn’t, and that sore spot hadn’t healed.
Monica looked around her bedroom with its simple decor. Delong would think that it was ugly and plain, and he’d think the same of the disguise she now wore. But it felt right. For a moment she wondered what Nikki would do to the room and what creative magic she would work in this small space. She missed her. It had taken time, but she now understood why her sister had so fiercely wanted her to have her own room. But she’d been so used to being an extension of someone else it had never crossed her mind to have something of her own. Now she wanted that and couldn’t.
The farmhouse wasn’t her home. Would any place ever be truly hers? She closed the window, as if doing so also shut out her past, and for the next hour and a half Monica worked in her studio. She stopped when she heard a car drive up.
She looked out her window and saw JD get out of the car. Her curiosity grew. What was he doing home already? She glanced at her watch and frowned. There was no way he could have done dinner and a movie in that short amount of time. What had happened? She turned from the window and shook her head. It was none of her business. What he did in his spare time didn’t matter to her. But although she tried to focus on her work, her curiosity about his unexpected return wouldn’t disappear. Resigned, Monica went downstairs just in time to see JD refilling Baxter’s water bowl.
