The Line That Binds Series Box Set

by J. M. Miller

  No movement came from Pop’s room so I started a pot of coffee for him and blended my morning protein shake, realizing that tomorrow I’d finally have my wire removed and I’d be able to chew greasy burgers again soon. I leaned against the counter, staring through the window above the sink as I took a long pull of breakfast through a straw. The main house was all dark, shadowed by the rising sun as it climbed the roof above the house’s southern wall. LJ’s windows reflected the pale morning sky and I wondered if she was awake somewhere behind them. Our official introduction yesterday wasn’t exactly the way I’d planned. Who was I kidding? I hadn’t really planned on an introduction at all. My plan was to ignore that family for as long as I could, but Pop changed all that.

  LJ surprised me, though. I was ready for her to scream at me for showing up like some wacko in her bathroom while she sat naked in a tub full of bubbles. But she didn’t. That’s why I stayed. Her behavior hit me with enough curiosity to keep me from walking out. My accidental intrusion did rattle her, though, and her fierce green eyes searched me more than they had at Janine’s will reading, yet she seemed as curious as I was. When she got testy, I tested back. It was a risk I was willing to take because honestly I wasn’t sure what else to do.

  The only thing I was sure of was Stockton Estate. This was home, and that was my main concern. So, I would try to be her friend, as Pop instructed, but on my own terms. Protecting her from some curse and finding the reason Janine brought them here would take backseats to ensuring none of the employees got canned for any evil reason a haughty new owner could come up with. I’d be damned if I’d let her inherit this place and rip our family apart in order to fill her closets with more designer clothes.

  Pop was still MIA when I finished my liquid breakfast so I walked outside to check the grounds. Technically, I was usually off on weekends, though living here meant Pop and I were constantly on call. I never minded because I didn’t have much else going on. And the extra pay never hurt.

  The sun crested the eastern tree line when I stepped outside. Its rays were growing stronger, penetrating the fog that hovered over the damp grass. I pressed my fingers into the wet soil between the multi-colored lilies in the side garden. I was confident yesterday’s PVC repair worked even though I wouldn’t be positive until the ground dried from last night’s rain.

  I walked around to the front of the event house as Simone’s black sedan turned into the main driveway and around to the employee parking lot. A minute later, Simone turned the corner of the building with her leather satchel tucked under an arm. The pinstripe pants she wore this morning hid the stilt-like platform heels she normally sported in order to fake an average height. Without them, she was less than five feet. Her height and thin build, combined with her choppy brown hair, caused her to be mistaken for a little boy the year she started as manager. Another employee came up from behind her and didn’t recognize her in casual clothes. He accused her “little punk ass” of trespassing. When she turned around, he transformed into a blathering mess and crumbled under the assault from her domineering mouth.

  I was there, and made the mistake of laughing.

  She threatened to end my paid chores and slapped me with an extra critical evaluation of my work. I spent the next three days perfecting my mowing skills. At ten years old, I felt her critical eye was too harsh. So the following week, I mowed the shape of a middle finger outside of her office window, which Pop ordered me to fix the next day. Since then we’d shared an unspoken truce: I mowed without patterns and she left me alone. I think Janine might’ve had something to do with Simone’s side of it. Simone also skipped wearing casual clothes around Stockton Estate, and had been strutting heels every workday for the last seven years.

  “What are you doing here this early, on a Sunday?” I asked.

  She passed beside me with her heels clacking their annoying urgent-work beat, continuing her pace as she stepped under the stone archway attached to the front entrance. “Early wedding. The wedding planner wanted to meet with me personally after having some communication issues with Emily about flowers.” She unlocked the event house’s antique oak doors and pushed her limited weight against one. It didn’t budge.

  I stiff-armed the door after she failed another attempt, jarring its old hinges. They surrendered with a protesting creak. “You’re welcome,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t bother uttering any appreciation. Her tough façade hardly ever showed cracks of humility to her employees.

  She rolled her eyes and responded, “Fix it,” as she stepped inside.

  The morning spilled into the entryway, waking the event house with gentle light, readying it for another day full of people traipsing on its tired foundation. The interior was restored and refinished years ago, the same time the other houses had been, long before I’d arrived. But the bare bones were still the support, enduring year after year of wedding party abuse.

  I followed her up the stairs and down the hallway with the half-paneled walls. Fresh flowers stood on slim tables outside the multiple bedrooms that had been converted into dressing areas for the bride, groom, and their wedding party. Most faced the back of the property, overlooking the trellis and lily pond in the courtyard.

  “What time’s the wedding?”

  She turned into the last room at the front of the mansion, now the main office. “It’s at ten. This wedding planner isn’t local so it’s been a headache trying to set the ground rules with her,” she replied, flipping her satchel open on the desk and digging through papers.

  “Flower problem, huh?” I teased. She acted the same during any crisis, whether wedding parties broke contractual rules, like setting a fire inside the gazebo, or an employee arrived one minute late for their shift. She was high strung, but she got the job done.

  “What else is new?” She waved a hand in the air like she was swatting a bee. “This new planner really didn’t read the contract, or she’s fighting to be an exception.” She chuckled condescendingly at her last words and eyed more paperwork as she sat in her chair.

  “I’ll take care of the grass tomorrow then since there really isn’t time to clean up before the wedding,” I said, standing against the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait, Ben.” She held her hand up as she finished reading something. Her hands shuffled the papers into a messy stack before she finally looked up. “Emily seems a little distracted lately. She almost let this planner get away with these asinine requests without consulting me first. She’s lucky she thought twice because it could have meant her job. Do you know if something is going on with her?”

  It wasn’t a one-dimensional question. She was digging for more than the obvious. Simone had stayed late one night prior to my jaw fracture and caught Emily and me making out in the courtyard. It was off-duty hours so she didn’t reprimand us, even though she might have wanted to. She was actually lucky that session was G-rated. Things would’ve gotten ugly if she’d walked in on one of our indecent meetings in the supply closet, out in the storage barn, or that one time in the groom’s dressing room. None of that meant we were involved, however. Emily and I were mutually unattached. She had better, more preppy relationships to chase and I … Well, I wasn’t emotionally balanced enough to give a crap.

  “How should I know?” I responded with almost a hiss through my teeth. I was a bit ticked off by the question the more it sank in.

  “I thought you might have some idea since you’re coworkers, and you’re both seniors …” She dropped the sentence and actually looked uncomfortable. Her mouth twitched like it wanted to recapture the words. Uneasiness was a new look for her, but it wasn’t flattering, and it validated that she was digging for more than the obvious.

  “We’re not close like that,” I replied shortly. “So, if that’s it, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “One more thing,” she called out. Her wide eyes darted around the room, searching.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know that the Waydes have arrived, right? I’d appreciate
it if you’d keep the interactions with them civil. I’m not sure how all of this is going to work out for all of us. Mr. Wayde wanted a job here, but I already have to honor a job for LJ. I’m not about to hire him, too.”

  I grunted. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.” I didn’t think I could get more pissed by the conversation, but apparently I could. The Wayde topic just added more fire.

  “I’m counting on it since LJ will be working beside you.”

  “What? Are you joking?”

  “No,” she said plainly.

  “What the hell, Simone? Can’t she follow someone else, like Emily, Pop, or Randall?” I knew there would be no chance of talking to her at school and I was fine with that. I was planning on that limited amount of interaction around the property, simply to find out her intentions for Stockton Estate. Nothing more.

  This was way more.

  “I don’t want her working in the offices with me and Emily because she should learn the grounds first. I’ll bring her in the office to teach her when I see fit, but right now it’s best for her to stay away from me until she settles in and gets used to the way things run. And Randall and your grandfather are a little too old to babysit some snotty teen who probably doesn’t even know how to pull a weed. So that leaves you.” She folded her hands on the desk in front of her and her thin eyebrows rose as if to dismiss any further arguments.

  Nope. I wasn’t giving in that quickly. “It’s okay for me to babysit some snotty teen, though? That’s probably not a good idea, Simone. What happens if she irritates me and I lose it? That’s the same thing you’re afraid of doing, right? Ripping into her like you do with everyone else? I’ll piss her off just as easily and she’ll can all of us as soon as she turns eighteen and scribbles her name on the deed.”

  “That’s not for several months. Besides, I know for a fact you’ll bite your tongue off before you jeopardize this place. That small slice of property behind the barn will be yours in a few short weeks. This will continue to be your home no matter what happens, even if you’re fired. Keep that in mind when you think about the rest of us who care about this place as much as you.” Her eyes fell briefly and she shook her head as if to shake off the worry.

  Her sincerity caught me by surprise. I already knew she cared for Stockton Estate. It was her job. And I knew she’d cared for Janine, too. But caring for everyone else that she had to yell at day in and day out was something she’d never expressed.

  “Fine,” I conceded with an irritated shrug. “But don’t be surprised if I end up losing my shit.”

  Simone’s face looked pained as it gave in to an actual smile. Her eyes lightened, her lips parted, and I could see her teeth, which was something that usually only occurred when she schmoosed a wedding party or a soon-to-be client. She shook her head again, this time shaking off the smile and regaining her business composure. “I know they’ve had some financial issues and that’s why they chose to move here, though I am in the dark about their future plans. I have, however, started a tentative business plan of my own. I’ve discussed some things with your grandfather and I might make LJ an offer when she officially takes over the property. I have several things to do before then, the biggest being procuring a loan.”

  “Nice, boss.” I sighed some on the inside, knowing that she was making plans. If her plans were as solid her work ethic, she’d be signing papers within days of LJ’s eighteenth birthday.

  Simone cleared her throat with a dainty cough. “This information doesn’t leave this room, Ben. I’m not sure what that family is even like, much less what they are planning on doing with this place, so it’s best that we keep this to ourselves. If you find out anything from LJ, keep me posted. We’ll go from there.” She dropped her face again to her paperwork and started moving papers around.

  I took that as my cue to leave. At least I had one day of peace left before I had to babysit. “I’ll be around if you need me, probably in the barn working on my bike.”

  Simone’s desk phone rang and she grabbed the cordless receiver, holding a finger up for me to wait. “Stockton Mansion, Simone Platt speaking, can you hold for one minute?” She pressed a button on the phone. “Remember there’s a wedding so I expect silence. I don’t want to hear the engine noise from the barn or the woods.”

  “Sure, no problem,” I replied seriously. I always respected the rules during events, and noise pollution was at the top of the list. I’m sure most grooms wouldn’t mind listening to the wild hum of a dirt bike engine while they professed their love and simultaneously said goodbye to their social freedom and independence. The brides wouldn’t be as happy, though. They pay to have their weddings here, isolated by the surrounding state park, away from the normal sights and sounds of everyday life. This property was sought out for its privacy and its charm, and we needed that to survive.

  “And whenever he comes back here, have your friend, Sebastian, park his ugly truck out of view from now on, either behind your place or beside the barn. He parked it in the lot last week and a client was visibly scared by its horrendous condition. That hunk of scrap metal already looks like it belongs in the junkyard and now he has a deer rack mounted to the hood? I don’t suppose you could talk him into removing it?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. He hit a deer last month and thought the truck deserved a trophy because it survived the accident.”

  “Forget I asked,” she said with a pinched face. “Ben,” she called after I’d already walked into the hallway. “Thanks.”

  I grabbed my chest in shock, mocking her kindness, and she narrowed her brows in response. “No problem,” I replied and turned back into the hall. “But, you owe me!” I shouted as best as I could through my teeth.

  It was a good thing I owned a week’s worth of yoga pants and a couple of baggy sweatshirts because this ancient house held a dampness that had officially taken over my body and shook me until I layered up. I’d never felt this kind of cold before. And the thought of my first east-coast winter made my body shake more. Sure, the desert got cold enough. Temperatures there dropped in the twenties sometimes. But the humidity was nonexistent. Apparently, it made a bigger difference than I’d ever imagined.

  The cold wasn’t the only reason I was grateful to have lounge attire. Over the last couple of weeks I’d said goodbye to the diet I’d been on since I turned fourteen and my body was thanking me by filling out in all the appropriate places. I was officially squishy. I stood in front of the door-length mirror on the closet door and grabbed my butt cheeks and my boobs, giggling their excess with neither shame nor hate. It was the same squishy that my friends and I had made fun of every day on the bodies of any number of girls at my old school. It didn’t look bad. I knew the reason we made fun of those girls was to get that temporary high of superiority.

  And because of fear.

  I was afraid I’d lose my place, my narrow rung on our temperamental popularity ladder. I didn’t have the courage to stick up for myself or anyone else. The fear of being ostracized within our group of country club friends sadly outweighed the payout for being a nice person.

  I looked at the boxes of clothes that I left out yesterday. Even if I wanted to keep all of my trendy couture, I’d only be able to admire the pieces while they permanently decorated the closet. Every piece was growing smaller, and I was sure that should’ve made me depressed, like any other time a waistline started to threaten me with a muffin top, but I was oddly okay with it. It was the least of my troubles after what we’d been through.

  I was upset that Dad lost his job, but more so that he’d hid it from us for several months. I understood his reluctance, though. Why tell us when he could land something else in the meantime? It would only worry us and feed into the neighborhood gossip. Assuming something would turn up was a natural response, even during a less-than-desirable economy, because he worked in Las Vegas. Vegas thrived regardless of the country’s average economic crisis. That’s why it was difficult to believe that not a single casino was willing to take him
on as lead entertainment manager, co-manager, or lowly assistant. Most of the over-paid saps in those positions had also been laid off. Their inferiors had taken over, working for cheaper and longer, filling five titles for the price of one. The men upstairs pulled the rug on the rest, and watched them topple with no remorse. Vegas wasn’t as strong as it once was.

  Dad was stuck. Rock bottom came when he drained the last of the funds from the checking and savings then turned to the college accounts only to discover Mom had drained them without our knowledge months before. Not too long after, the cars were repossessed and the bank took the house. Dad ignored it all for too long and filed for bankruptcy too late.

  At many points along the way, I boiled on the inside. I harbored it there and forced myself to remain calm. I knew I had to keep it together during the toughest times for Gavin: when Dad’s anger pushed him to chuck household items at the walls of the house we could no longer call home, when our friends gradually stopped returning our calls, when everything turned to shit and no one cared. I had to be the support while the rest of our world collapsed at our feet, threatening to rip our lives apart before swallowing us whole. Gavin may never understand or acknowledge my help, but that’s all okay with me as long as he’s safe.

  We were no longer wealthy. That truth will inevitably affect him, though he’d shown little care so far. He got to keep most of his stuff and he still had his best friend, Nick, to talk to on his game. That’s why his face remained attached to the screen. But I knew the bomb would drop tomorrow when we were forced into our new life like chum wrapped around a bait stick. I was a senior in high school. I knew how it all worked. I’d been a shark too often to ignore something so definite. Even though Gavin was in middle school, he should know the drill, too. Anyone new always faced the shark tank, rich or poor. Sometimes the bigger the fish, the worse off it was because no one wanted to surrender their top spot to a new student whose reputation was bigger than their own. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to worry about that here. Today’s agenda would help.