by Lucy Lambert
But then Ellie’s words intruded into my thoughts, asking where I was heading to.
She’d asked the wrong question, of course. It wasn’t a question of where I was headed.
It was a question of what I meant to leave behind.
I made my way back to the kitchen. My cheek throbbed hotly where Bobby’s fist had crashed into it.
She’s pretty though, isn’t she? I thought as I sat down and picked the freezer pack up again. Especially in that shirt.
There weren’t many things sexier than a woman wearing your shirt.
It had been quite a while since I’d had thoughts like that, and they surprised me. I thought I’d left all that behind when I’d hopped on that motorbike and ridden away from it all.
But there was something about this place, something about that girl, that kept bringing things out in me.
I wondered if they had a TV where she worked. I wondered if that TV might play my story, and whether Ellie might come back here knowing who I was. Or who I used to be, at least.
I pressed the freezer pack, still wrapped in its tea towel, to the hot spot on my face. I winced at the sudden cold, then sighed with the relief it brought.
Seven Months Earlier, New York City
“Sir? Mr. Beaumont?” Stacy said, her legs pumping to keep up with my long stride as we made our way down the nicely air-conditioned hall.
The usual office noises buzzed around us. The buzz of conversation and tapping of keys along with the near-silent whir of copiers. The sounds of orderly business that were such music to my ears.
“What is it?” I asked, lifting my eyes from my iPhone for a few seconds.
Stacy thrust a file folder at me. It was one of many she cradled in her arm. We stopped in front of the bank of elevators, where she pushed the button to call one so we could go up to my office.
She was a pretty strawberry blonde, and sometimes I caught myself admiring the way her grey skirts hugged her ample hips. I never let it get any further than an admiring glance, because I knew the trouble an office affair could bring.
There were constantly stories in the news about that sort of thing, and I couldn’t afford to bring that sort of press onto the company I’d worked so hard to build.
Besides, Stacy was a good secretary. And the old cliché was true: good help was hard to find.
“Those are the quarterly projections you need to sign off on. The CFO is also flying in today, and needs to see you in person. And then you have that meeting with the board after lunch. Have you decided where you’d like to have lunch yet, sir?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. I kept it cropped short, presenting the image of a clean-cut businessman.
The elevator door slid open in front of us. A man in a suit started stepping off. Then he looked up and saw me. Recognition and panic widened his eyes.
“Excuse me,” he said, stepping aside so that I could step past him. I had that sort of effect on people.
A few years ago I wouldn’t have liked it. Now I came to expect it. Why choose between fear and respect when you could have both?
Stacy and I stepped into the elevator, and she pushed the button for the top floor where my office waited for us.
In that small space, I caught the somewhat fruity scent of her perfume. I studied her from the corner of my eye.
She always flushed a little when we were this close. I knew that she was open to an affair. That she probably even fantasized about it.
“There’s one other thing,” she said, glancing at me then down to her files. She seemed hesitant.
“Yes?” I said, wondering what flavor her lip gloss was.
“Your mother called again earlier. I told her you were very busy and that you’d get back to her when you could.”
The elevator chimed softly each time we passed a floor.
“Did you?” I muttered, my arousal dissolving. “Good.”
Stacy swallowed and glanced at me again, then her eyes went back to the floor indicator.
“Yes, what is it?” I said, irritation prickling in my chest.
“It’s just… I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, Mr. Beaumont, but when are you planning on returning her calls? I could check your schedule, if you like…?”
“Don’t concern yourself with her,” I said, a little more harshly than I meant to.
She almost said something, then decided against it. Like I said, she was a good secretary. She knew when to keep her mouth shut even when something like curiosity burned inside of her.
I hadn’t spoken to my mother in almost five years, and for some reason in the last few weeks she’d begun trying to contact me.
Thinking about her made me remember how she used to drag the two of us across the country, never staying in one place more than a couple of years. I could almost smell the dust of the road just thinking about those times. Times I’d done my damndest to forget.
Those memories seemed like someone else’s. Like a movie I’d seen long ago and only half-remembered.
We reached the top floor and made our way to my office. It was a corner unit, the walls floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an incredible view of the New York skyline.
I spent much of the rest of that day with thoughts of that old life in the back of my mind. They were dusty, cobwebbed corridors that beckoned.
“Sir? Mr. Beaumont?” Stacy said, dragging me from a memory of an open road rolling along, cutting between flat fields on either side. A feeling accompanied that memory. Openness, possibility. As though my life and the world itself both lay open before me.
“Yes?” I said, shaking my head. I looked down at a report on my desk that I didn’t remember opening. There were graphs and projections on it.
Is this my life now? It was a strange thought that I didn’t immediately recognize as my own. It seemed to come from far away. Or perhaps from long ago.
“I’m going home now, unless there’s something else you’d like me to do first?”
“Home?” I repeated. I glanced out the windows and saw the Empire State Building lit up against the night sky.
The whole day had passed, and I hadn’t noticed.
“Anything at all, sir,” Stacy said, her voice low and suggestive. She put a hand on my desk.
I took notice of her, then. The way her tongue licked nervously at her glossy lips. The way she trembled ever so slightly. How her eyes couldn’t quite dare meet mine.
I took notice, but didn’t care.
My focus changed and I caught my reflection in one of the plate glass panes. A broad-shouldered man in a tailored suit. Severe and cold. Lifeless, even.
It was as though my mind had finally caught up with my life. My perfect half-Windsor knot seemed to tighten around my throat. I reached up and tugged it loose.
“Sir?” Stacy said.
“You can go home,” I said.
“Oh… of course,” she said. Disappointment tinged her voice, but I was unmoved.
She turned and started for the door.
“There is one thing,” I said.
“Yes?” She said, spinning to face me so quickly her hair whipped at her cheek. Sudden hope gleamed in her eyes.
“Get me the number my mother’s been calling from.”
“That?” she said, her shoulders slumping, “Right away, sir.”
She fetched it for me, lingered momentarily, and then left. I looked down at the little note scratched out on the paper.
What do I even say? I wondered. I reached for the sleek, modern-chic handset of my office phone. My hand hovered above it, fingers clenching and unclenching in uncharacteristic hesitance.
I steeled myself and grabbed up the receiver. I punched in the numbers, my heart beating a little faster, a little harder, with each additional digit.
“Yes?” A man’s voice answered on the other end.
I swallowed against sudden drying in my mouth and throat.
“Hello? I can hear you breathing,” the man said again.
“Yes, hello. This is Dash Beaumont calling… Calling for my mother. Her name is Emily. Emily Beaumont.”
“One moment,” the man said. There was a slight click when he set the receiver down.
Who is this? Why would my mother not answer? I wondered.
Another click. Someone had picked up the receiver on the other end. My heart lurched while I waited to hear my mother’s voice.
“Mr. Beaumont?” Another man. A different man.
“Yes?” I said.
“My name is Dr. Hartmann. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…”
I’d left New York City that night, appalled at what I’d become.
I took the cash stashed in a safe in my office. It was enough to pick up some riding gear, the old bike parked out in Ellie’s driveway, and, if rationed, keep me from starving. So long as I didn’t mind spending more than a few nights with only the stars as my ceiling.
And it hadn’t been so bad. It was good to be on the road, in the fresh air. Breathing again. Living somewhere without a crush of people smothering my every move, my every thought. Easier this way. Easier to be unattached. No expectations.
But now, there was Ellie.
I went into the living room and turned on Ellie’s TV set. It was a boxy old thing with faux-wood panels and knobs. A bent set of rabbit ears sat on top.
They picked up the local Fox affiliate just fine, though.
I sat on the faded couch, its old springs complaining beneath me. A small coffee table sat between me and the set. The only thing on the table was an old, dusty ashtray that probably hadn’t been used in years.
I watched the broadcast for a while, wondering, waiting. Until finally the pretty newscaster with the fake smile mentioned me.
“And in other news,” she said, her teeth so white they hurt to look at, “We’re approaching the eight month mark since billionaire CEO Dashiell Beaumont disappeared from his office. Investigators with the FBI have not yet been able to rule out kidnapping. Beaumont’s disappearance has sparked a nationwide search that has captured widespread social media attention…”
She kept going, but I stopped listening.
My picture appeared over her left shoulder. It looked like one of the lot taken for an article they'd done on me for Forbes. My hair had grown out a lot since then. My skin had tanned from the sun.
Is it enough, though? I’d just have to hope that Ellie or any of the local yokels wouldn’t know me from Adam.
I just needed to wait for Ellie to get back from her shift, then I would go, no matter what she said.
It’s just a shirt. I can leave it and leave here… so why don’t I?
I shifted on the couch, wondering why my good sense seemed to have left me overnight. Why didn’t I just leave? Why couldn’t I forget about Ellie?
I mean, sure, I’d lived here. But it wasn’t like I grew up here. It wasn’t even an entire school year that we stayed.
There was something different about this town. Something that set it apart from any of the others.
I just couldn’t quite figure it out yet.
Was I any closer to the answers I wanted so badly?
For that matter, did I even know the right questions to ask?
Chapter 6
ELLIE
Dash’s shirt kept coming untucked every time I sat or stood up. Pushing it back down into the waist of my jeans became an unconscious motion by the end of the day.
“Looks a bit loose on you, hon,” Jennie said while I bussed a table. Leaning forward like that pulled the shirt out of the back of my pants.
The plates clattered together while I gathered them up. They were smeared with ketchup, and a couple of lonely fries clung to each.
Working at Josie’s Diner wasn’t the most glamorous job I had ever imagined for myself, but it kept the bills paid. And the hours were pretty steady, so when I wanted to take some college credit classes there was never an issue.
“Yeah, problems with laundry this week,” I said to Jennie’s back.
“Shift’s over, isn’t it?” Jennie said back, putting her tray of dishes down on the counter.
“It is,” I replied. A sudden knot tied itself in my stomach. Will he still be there?
“Something the matter?” Jennie asked. Usually I came to work and left without much fuss.
Then again, I also usually came wearing my usual outfit and not what was obviously a much-too-large man’s shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans.
It really piqued Jennie’s interest. And I didn’t want to answer any the questions that might come up as a result.
The radio started playing that ad about the missing billionaire again. I had long since tuned it out, but Jennie always listened. She stopped wiping the counter and watched the old Philco radio like it was a TV set.
“Why do you think he did it?” She asked. She always asked that.
“Not sure. Maybe he couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe someone kidnapped him. Who knows?” I said.
I could call home and see if Dash is still there, I thought, not really paying any attention to what I was saying. By this point it was all by rote anyway. The phone, an old bright red thing that looked like it should belong in either a fireball or the president’s bedroom, sat on the corner of the counter.
But no, that would be stupid. I should be hoping that he’s gone. Just a trail of dust down that highway to nowhere he’s taking.
I caught his smell again from that shirt of his. He must have worn it once before packing it into the saddlebag on that old bike of his.
It was a clean smell, masculine and fresh, and I knew that if my mystery man was in fact gone I’d still have this shirt. How long will the smell last?
“You know what I think?” Jennie asked. She always asked that, too. Of course, her follow up had been slowly changing since the whole debacle started.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking off my little block name tag with the white block letters on it. I wanted to get home.
I needed to get home.
“I’m thinking now he’s just ran off by himself. That he’s ran away from his whole life for some reason. He can’t have been kidnapped; kidnappers ask for ransom. Who’s asked for ransom for him? No one, that’s who. So why’s he done it?” Jennie tapped a pen on her cheek thoughtfully.
“I don’t know the answer to that, and neither do you. Why are you so interested in him, anyway?” I asked, happy to be talking about something other than Dash’s shirt.
Jennie scoffed. “It’s not just me, Ellie, it’s everyone. Everyone with a pulse and a set of eyes that like looking at something nice. It just doesn’t make any sense…”
“Plenty of things don’t make sense,” I replied. I walked over to Jennie and gave her a quick hug. As the manager, she could have sent me home for not wearing the right clothes. But she hadn’t. She knew how screwed I’d be missing out on a shift. And it was mean of me to be so dismissive of her. “Thanks for letting me stay. You keep thinking on it. Hey, if you solve it, I hear his company or the FBI or some such will give you a half million dollars.”
Another scoff as she returned the hug. “As if I could solve it. Though I have a thing or two in mind of what I’d do if he showed up on my doorstep. If you are getting me.”
“I think I do, but now I really do have to get going. If that’s okay?” I said.
“Yeah, yeah. Get going. Get your uniform back. Some seltzer’ll get rid of any stain!”
I cringed a little. At the start of my shift, when Jennie noticed my unusual attire, I told her the first thing that came into my head.
The form of that little fib had been that I’d spilled a bunch of black coffee all over my blouse and skirt. And that that was why I was a few minutes late, too.
The follow up had actually been something close to the truth: that my other uniforms were still in the laundry.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said while I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the lot. The bells above the door tinkled. Th
e sound muffled when the door closed.
Soon I sat in the Ranger’s cab. The old engine gave a throaty growl when I turned it over. I gave it a couple pumps of gas to set the growl into a purr and started home.
I clutched hard at the wheel, my knuckles white. My mouth dried out.
I should have called to see if he’s still there. But I knew that even if I had called, he might not have answered. How many strangers answer another person’s phone?
I don't know. How many strangers will jump into a fight with you and then give you a shirt afterward so that you don’t have to go to work in your laundry day clothes?
With any luck when I pulled into my driveway his bike would be gone and him along with it. I knew myself well enough to know that the sort of men who interested me weren’t the sort of men I should be with. I’ll cite Bobby as an example of my faulty reasoning.
I turned down my street and my heart nearly jumped straight out of my throat and onto the dashboard.
The bike’s still there!
It was a gleaming, shiny thing. The sun poked some rays out through the clouds and they caught on the chrome of the machine, which shone despite however many miles Dash had ridden down the highway with it.
I pulled in behind it and just sat behind the wheel for a bit before killing the engine.
I got out of the truck and noticed how I’d managed to pull the shirt tails out of my jeans again. Before thinking about it, I pushed them all back in.
Anything for a few more moments before going back inside.
Each step I mounted sent my heart up another notch, increased my wonder and curiosity by that much more.
“You’re back,” he said, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He still wore that motorcycle outfit like a suit of armor. His hair hung in dark waves around his shoulders.
His eyes arrested me. They were so intense. So scrutinizing. And somehow… sad? Yes, they were sad eyes, too. Eyes that had missed something important and now regretted it deeply.
One of those eyes, and the accompanying sculpted cheek beneath it, was dark and puffy. Compliments of Bobby’s fist.
