by Leanne Davis
She pressed her lips together. He was serious. “But you don’t like it?”
“I don’t dislike it. Not at all.”
“But you don’t need it?”
“No, you do. That’s reason enough for it.” His knee started jiggling. “But in all honestly? I don’t like other people to touch me unexpectedly. Unless I know them and why they are. My mom likes to be hugged when she hasn’t seen me in a while, so I know that and expect that, so it’s okay. But you? You’re very spontaneous and free with your affections. I know this, and expect this, so I usually don’t mind with you.”
“Because you wanted to have sex with me?”
A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. “Well, yeah. I know touching is all part of that. But because it’s something I know you like and need and because it’s important to you, it’s important to me with you.”
“Okay.” She squeezed his hand. “This is all a lot… I don’t know yet… I need some time.”
“Okay.” But it wasn’t okay. She could see his apprehension, something he didn’t often reveal.
“Look, this was something they diagnosed a dozen years ago. I wasn’t then and I’m still not convinced it’s a thing. I’m not being medicated for anything. Maybe if I were evaluated now, or by a different team, I wouldn’t receive the same diagnosis. I use normal language and have a high level of intelligence and all that. Maybe I’m normal and just socially awkward. I mean, I get that. I’m not quite to the point of whatever you are.”
“No. That’s not accurate at all. You are to whatever “point” I am. I mean, I had no idea of this. I had inklings maybe where you puzzled or startled me, but not to where I thought anything was wrong with you. I’ve never and will never think that of you. In fact with all my crazy behavior of late, including my seemingly uncontrollable emotions, I’ve often wondered what you could find appealing about me.”
“I just like you. Your friendliness. You smile a lot. Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing it from others.”
“But I’m not like that anymore. Not since Ebony’s murder was discovered.”
“No, you’re not. You act different. You react stronger than you used to.” He glanced at her with the barest of smile and then looked away. “But I’m getting used to that now.”
She blew out a breath. “So you just accept me as me. Even now? You don’t want to change anything?”
“No.”
“Do you notice every single thing about me and just accept it? You don’t think about it or try to analyze… it just is?”
“Well, yeah. Why? Isn’t that what you do?”
“Probably not. I mean, a few times I didn’t fully understand your reaction. I said something on those occasions and pretty clearly. So I guess I was not accepting things as is, at face value. But if you are as literal as you say, I could see the ability to accept others might be part of that gift.”
“Not really a gift.”
“I don’t know. I see some huge positives in what I’ve experienced in my time with you. I have a lot more questions. But grieving, I’m still all clouded up. And at least this explains so much I couldn’t begin to understand.” She fell quiet, staring straight ahead as her brain tried to process everything without combusting. So much was stacked onto her plate, she really didn’t know how to deal with it all. “Is that why your mom was so upset with me? She hinted at things, and I wondered why she was so angry. I think she is worried about my position as your employer, both of you, I mean.”
“She probably believed you were grieving over your sister, and she remembers that feeling. So she thinks that whatever you’re doing with me can’t be real or lasting.”
“Do you think I’m doing that?”
He lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t care. You needed me and I was able to provide what you needed right then.”
“Because you experienced it too?”
“Maybe that’s why. I don’t know really.”
“You just know it is.”
“Yes.”
“I think I should go home.”
He seemed startled, but nodded. “Because of this?”
“No, actually, I think you’re exactly right. I did need you to get through this, especially since my parents and I… well, as you know, it’s done nothing but tear us apart. I needed you desperately and that was different and special and unusual for me. But I have made it through work this week and I intend to continue that. I have to find some semblance of my former routine and life. I can’t keep living here.”
“Or being with me?”
“Actually, that’s the one thing that could be real out of all of this. But it isn’t real to me if I keep living with you. I have to go home and we should at least try this only as a more normal couple, with some reasonable boundaries and some normalcy. I’ve never done anything like this so fast, and although I needed it, and you were spot on in detecting that, I now have to know what’s real. Does that make any sense?”
His head nodded. “Of course.”
She touched his shoulder. “You really don’t have any problem working for me, do you? Because you do your job and I do mine and you believe they don’t affect each other.”
“They don’t.” So simple. Straightforward. Easy. She smiled softly. There was no fragile ego in Chet. No feeling less because she, the woman, made more money than he did and she could tell him what to do at work. He thought it perfectly fine and ordinary and within the scope of her job. He did whatever the scope of his entailed. She tilted her head. She liked that part. “So you don’t worry or care if people think it’s odd that you work for me?”
“No. Do you? You’ve been the owner for a long time. And employed a lot people, so why would this be any different?”
“Thank you, Chet.”
He glanced at her, his confusion obvious, even if he didn’t say so. He didn’t really know what he’d done. “I guess you’re welcome.”
She smiled. “I think tomorrow I’ll go home and then I’d like to start fresh.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe dating. We could go on some dates. You come over to my house, and I’ll go to yours and then you can go home. We both can live our lives but spend our time together. More traditionally. I think I’m ready for that. And honestly? It’s only because of the time we spent together. I think it soothed my ragged soul and started the healing process on something that would have stayed forever broken.”
“I thought you’d be done with me if you found out.”
“About you?”
“I don’t know. Yeah. See me as less somehow. Less of a man. Less capable. Less worth it.”
“Worth what, Chet?”
“Figuring out. I know, or I’ve been told I can be hard to read, and understand and communicate with. And that isn’t an easy thing to take on willingly.”
“I am willing to take on whatever’s been going on so far. If you are willing to with me. Don’t you think we all come to relationships with our faults and limitations? Everyone has baggage. I mean, look at mine. So recent, it’s still packed in the suitcase. So this is yours, huh? Well, I have mine too and only time will tell if it works for both of us. But Chet, I do feel things for you too. I just don’t know as clear-cut as you do. Not… not yet. Can you live with that?”
He nodded, but stared straight ahead, seeming confused over what to do next.
She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m still with you, Chet.”
He smiled as she pulled him closer, his body leaning on hers as she smiled under his mouth. His full weight rested on top of her. It was an incredible and shocking confession he made. Chloe didn’t know what it meant right now for her and their future. It was pretty big. She sensed that. But how big? Deal-breaker big? She knew he and Dok believed it could be. She wasn’t so sure of that. Not yet anyway. He’d been the only one to get through to her, and actually help her during the most emoti
onally volatile and violent event of her entire life. He faced it head-on. Right there with her. If he could manage that, how could ordinary, calmer life be too hard to deal with? Sure, he was a little odd, but so was she. So was everyone. He might have just been a little more obvious, but whatever! Letting his weight fall on her, Chloe didn’t have to know today why he, this man, could make her feel understood, heard, and cared about when no one else could. And that was worth the quest of finding out more about it.
Chapter Twelve
CHLOE WALKED INTO HER house and set down her duffel bag and the suitcase holding all of her miscellaneous items. She sucked in a breath for courage and tried to ward off the immediate sense of loneliness. It was evening, after work, and the month of October, so night descended quickly. She came alone to her place for the first time in many weeks. Sighing out loud, the silence inside the house assaulted her. She let her stuff fall to the floor and walked through the house. She felt like a new potential buyer, checking it out for the first time. That’s how strange it seemed. For the last few weeks, she rushed in and out, scrabbling to grab stuff, purposely dreading the moment when she had to face living in her home again. Taking a quiet moment of reflection, Chloe was grateful for the ability to feel anything. She hated the numbness brought on by the sleeping pills. There was no getting around her sister’s mysterious absence and death. Neither the shock nor the knowledge, which she had to start processing, that she would never see Ebony again could conspire to incapacitate her any longer.
She was still here. The remaining sister. There was nothing else for her to do but start putting one step in front of the next. She would run her café and fill her days, one day at a time. What else did she have? What else could she do? This house was a huge part of it. She walked around, noticing it was still neat and tidy, although a little dusty since Chet’s last cleaning. It felt foreign now, like a new place to her, when it was the same one she’d lived in for several years.
Glancing up, she frowned at an empty spot on the wall that caught her eye and walked forward, reaching out to touch it. What the heck? The picture on the wall was missing! She was sure of that. It was where she hung the headshot of Ebony and her, which they took when the café first opened. They wanted to put it on the backs of the menus. The professional shot still gleamed on the menus, along with a short blurb about how Chloe’s Corner Café originally came into existence. She had balked at first in using only her name on the café, but Ebony had liked the singsong sound of all the matching Cs. It had been Ebony’s marketing analysis that this was a warm, friendly, downhome country name that would appeal to people. That was the only reason it was strictly her name on their business. But the headshot was gone. There was nothing hanging on the wall there. Not even the nail. She touched the wall and felt the nail hole. An icy shiver ran down her spine. Had someone removed it during the funeral proceedings? Wracking her brain, she didn’t remember giving anyone permission to. But she remembered the headshot in the slide show of Ebony at the memorial. Since there were numerous copies, why would hers have been taken off the wall?
She shook her head. Confused, but definitely noting the absence. She decided to ask Ryder. He’d explain what happened. Who else would have taken it?
Temporarily ignoring her concern, she grabbed all of her stuff and started to unpack. She realized that she’d taken out a lot of clothes during her stay with Chet. But not once did Chet object or grow weary. Chloe felt sure that most men would have been confused or apprehensive so soon after hooking up with a woman if she started bringing over all of her stuff. Meanwhile, she usually sat around his place alternating between staring catatonically and crying inconsolably. Lazily, she wandered up and down the beach. But Chet didn’t seem to mind or care. In fact, he continued encouraging her to stay as long as she liked. Her presence there seemed to please him no matter what condition she was in. Something to consider.
After a week without any further incidences, Chloe asked Ryder about the photograph and he told her he didn’t know where it was. Neither did her mom. They both said the funeral picture was taken from the back of the restaurant menu, and not from her wall. Or it could have been from her mom’s photo album. Ryder and her mom both believed Chloe must have just misplaced the picture and forgotten where. But Chloe knew she would have remembered removing that picture. That picture was her favorite of Ebony. It’s not like a daily newspaper that she forgot about reading. It was a treasured photo of her murdered sister. The thought made her shiver again. Damn. It never failed to give her a fresh shock and chill.
A few days later, a knock interrupted her from tossing some light salad greens for dinner, which she paired with a small pouch of brown rice. She hadn’t had much of an appetite of late. She heard one sharp knock, and then another one. Wiping her hands, she crossed the room and glanced out the window. Nothing there. She sighed, feeling a little uneasy but not enough to stop her from eating dinner.
Again. Five minutes later, another knock. She quickly crossed and looked out and again, but saw nothing. Peering hard at all the bushes around, she saw no one. Eerily, she kept watch. The traffic past her house was always slow and spotty. It was a neighborhood off the main road so they rarely had much traffic. There was no one out walking, and no kids were out playing. She swallowed, ignoring her apprehension. Not so unusual. Not at all. It was a quiet street.
That’s why the knocking spooked her. It had to be kids. Most likely. Duh.
Except someone murdered her sister and dumped her body and must have known something about her. Well, at least enough to empty her bank accounts and send her husband a Dear John letter.
Totally uneasy now, Chloe quickly grabbed her salad bowl and sat on the couch, staring right at her front door. Nothing. An hour passed, then two and the autumn night started to fall. She closed the blinds and quickly turned on every light in the place, including all her outdoor illumination. Peering out through the shades, she stood in her garage for a long while, silent, trying to hear anything or anyone outside. Nothing.
She let it go and decided not to call Ryder. Staying up half the night and waiting for another knock, her heart hammered. She kept vacillating and wondering what to do as she imagined someone knocking again in middle of the night. But nothing happened. Sleepless and exhausted, she still gave herself kudos for not calling Ryder for help.
Four days later, she was at home and brushing her teeth when there was another disturbance. She paused, staring into the mirror and poised to spit when she swore she heard a thump. Her heart twisted and jerked, instantly pumping harder. It was dark outside. She checked all the doors and set the alarm system she’d had installed in her absence. Actually, that was at Ryder’s suggestion, and he was also the person who installed it. But she was relieved now that he did. She spat quietly and scurried out to her living room. Thump!
Her breathing escalated and she nearly screamed, clenching her teeth to keep quiet. She could not freak out. Screaming would instantly reveal her location in the house. What was it? Maybe… probably just a neighbor’s dog or something.
Thumping against her back sliding door? That would have been impossible.
She grabbed her cell phone and crept into the kitchen, hunting for a big knife. Gasping for courage, she gripped the knife and carefully slid the drapes over the slider back just a crack. She felt a little silly to be sneaking around her darkened home, clutching a carving knife, but that quickly vanished. The previous calm and quiet exploded when she jumped back and screamed bloody murder.
A face. A fucking, masked face was smashed right up against the window. Right there. Right when she opened the drapes. A face wearing a zombie Halloween mask was only separated from her by less than an inch of glass. She scrambled back, still screaming, and already crying. Fumbling in her panic, she dialed the police. Shaking and crying, she kept trying to explain her fear to the operator who answered. She sounded incoherent to the calming voice of the operator who kept calling out, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” Eventually, she managed to ut
ter some frantic words that she strongly believed someone was prowling around her house, but her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, she couldn’t say for sure. Clutching her weapon and the phone, she again retreated to the bathroom and locked it while she prepared to wait.
It wasn’t long before a knock on her door and the yell of “Police!” drew her out. She cautiously opened the door, carefully setting down her weapon first. Mustering her composure, Chloe explained to the two officers what happened although she was far calmer and more rational than she had been with Ryder.
After a thorough search around her house, the officers came back in with only a tennis ball. An innocent, small, innocuous, common tennis ball. They suggested that might have been the thumping she heard. Shivers froze her entire body. That meant whoever or whatever it was wanted to draw her outside. To notice him. And discover him. It made her stomach drop to the floor. She thanked the men, having already called Chet and the police waited until he got there before they left. After a short recital of common safety suggestions, all of which she was already doing, they tried to appease her, but Chloe was not reassured. Chloe doubted they could do any good. Chet stayed back and out of the way until she finished up with the officers and they eventually left. So what if she’d done the officially right thing to do? She did not feel even a smidgeon better.
Retreating into Chet’s arms, she trembled and shivered as she relived her shock at seeing the mask right there when she opened the drape slightly. “There were only a few thumps. Nothing continuous. It didn’t sound like someone was knocking, so I thought it could have been an animal… I don’t know, maybe a bird or something continuously flying into the window. So I only wanted to sneak a peek and when I did, there it was.”
Chet held her to his chest and rubbed her back. She choked on her tears. She was so tired of crying. It was time for action. Anything but tears. “Someone spent the evening a few days ago knocking on the front door and running away. It was easier to handle then because it was daylight. But they are fucking with me now. They were in here. They took the picture of Ebony and me right off the wall, along with the nail it hung on. They do subtle things, Chet. Until now. See that vase there? It’s been moved. Just a few inches. See this?” she said as she let go of him and gestured for him to follow her. “This was over on my dresser, not on my nightstand.” She pointed to a notepad. “I said that to the cops and they suggested I must have forgotten or misplaced it, or they tell me I’m nitpicking. They told me the first night this all started, it was purely random. But it’s not. I don’t misplace my stuff. I always know within an inch of its location where everything is. I don’t forget, even now, despite all my tears and how I seem spacey. I’m not wrong about this. He’s been here. Inside my house. Touching my things.”
