I gathered my nerves and headed toward the house, entering through the garage like Mom said. All I had to do was make it to the secret basement door and disappear in the laundry room.
I quietly stepped in the mudroom. Muffled voices came from the kitchen. I cracked the door open and peeked around the corner.
Tyler’s stunning mother walked my way, clutching a cup of coffee. She glanced up.
“Oh. You startled me,” she said, and then she looked at her coffee as though I’d interrupted their quiet time together.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Is that Elizabeth?” A long, drawn-out accent resonated from the depths of the kitchen.
I stepped around the corner. The elder Mrs. Vaughn narrowed her eyes, staring me down.
Dark auburn hair, full of layers around her face. Her hands were folded together at her waist, as she waited for me to approach.
I glanced at the floor, then back at her. Floor. Mrs. Vaughn. Floor.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.” My voice trembled. “Please, call me Elsie.”
“I prefer Elizabeth,” she stated.
I bristled. Mom’s words rang through my head, “Be polite.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did Claire tell you the duties of the house?” She raised her brows and stared down her nose. “I hope you’re capable of the same excellence she provides.”
“Yes. She gave me a schedule and a list.”
Footsteps echoed through the foyer. I held my breath. Please don’t be Tyler, please...
My heart skipped. A man who looked like a preview of Tyler in twenty years walked our way. He stood over six feet, dark, feathery hair, with the same gentle eyes as his son. He stepped beside the old woman and offered his hand to me. I accepted, returning his firm shake.
“Hello, I’m Gregory. You can call me Greg.” He glanced at his mother with pursed lips. “You’re Elsie, correct?”
I smiled at his subtle jab at his mother. “Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s my pleasure. Katherine and I are leaving for Memphis soon, but I’m glad I had a chance to say hello—”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Vaughn interjected. “Katherine is my daughter-in-law. This is my son, Gregory. You may or may not see Tyler, my grandson. He’s in and out all day. Where is Tyler?”
“He’s out for a run,” Greg answered, walking away.
“I reckon he needs to train,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “Okay, good enough. You should tend to your duties. I’m sure your mother instructed you well enough for you to figure it out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, stepping around her to go to the foyer.
Before I’d made it out of the kitchen, she piped up again.
“Oh, Elizabeth!” she practically sang my name. “Don’t forget, the linens need to be stripped off the beds and pressed before y’all leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hurried to the basement and grabbed a laundry basket, then hustled back upstairs to gather the sheets. Starting in the guest room, I tugged and pulled as fast as I could, throwing the pillows back on the bare mattress. I wanted to run down the hallway, but instead, I clutched the basket tight, and quickly walked to Mrs. Vaughn’s bedroom. After stripping her bed, Tyler’s room was next.
I glanced inside. His room was almost as big as Mrs. Vaughn’s. Soft gray walls, a king-sized bed nestled under a line of windows spilling warm sunlight throughout the space. I slowly stepped in. To the left were French doors leading out to a balcony. Built-in walnut bookshelves filled the wall to my right. On the other side of the room, a door stood open to a bathroom.
Next to his bed were a stack of books. The top one was titled Shiloh, by Shelby Foote. On the floor next to them, a textbook lay open to a page full of math equations. I looked closer. Calculus III. Wincing, I stepped back. Way too many numbers for a girl who loved art.
Turning to his bed, I yanked the navy comforter back. A hint of his woody scent blew through the air. I wanted to dive face first into his pillows, but knew I was crazy to even consider it. So, I quickly finished, and shoved the sheets in the basket.
As I pivoted to leave, I spotted a brown leather journal on the nightstand. It would be so wrong to look. Maybe it was another history book. I bit my lip. Just a peek wouldn’t hurt. Glancing out the door, no one was in the hallway. I took two steps backwards, angling myself to see the doorway and the book. I reached out my shaking hand and pulled back a chunk of pages. Words written in precise blue print filled the page.
I used to go out to Shiloh to get away. To feel the history, not just study it. I wanted to be a part of the scene as I recounted the war strategies, but Elsie has changed everything. When she leaves, I feel haunted by her presence, not just the ghosts from the past. I’ve forgotten why I love the place. I only want to be there with her.
Smack! I slammed the book shut, heart pounding, I hurried out of the room.
Oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have read that. Haunted by her presence... I only want to be there with her... she’s changed everything. I rushed down the stairs, lost in my thoughts. When I stepped on the main floor, Greg walked out of the kitchen.
“Elsie,” he said. “I want to apologize for my mother. She’s, well... She thinks she’s the only one with manners when all along she’s the rudest person in the room. Thank you for filling in for your mother. Life is much smoother around here if we don’t rock Mom’s boat.” He took a sip from his coffee cup. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, by the way. I hope he gets well soon.”
I stood there in awe of how much he reminded me of Tyler – the gentle look in his dark eyes, his subtle nod of compassion.
“Thank you, Mr. Vaughn. It’s okay.”
“Please, call me Greg. Mr. Vaughn was my dad’s name.” He smiled. “Relax. The old bird will leave you alone. She’s too busy getting her hair and nails redone to notice anything else.” He chuckled and stepped away. “Have a good day.”
“Same to you,” I said, walking to the basement door.
When I pushed on the panel, it wouldn’t open. I tried again. It still didn’t budge. Katherine exited the kitchen. I pushed again. Nothing. She moved to my side and smacked the upper corner with her palm.
Click. It opened.
“It sticks,” she said, and then she turned and walked away like nothing had happened.
Okay... that was weird.
“Thank you,” I called out.
I made my way to the laundry room and stayed there all day. The workstation was organized with every need right at my fingertips. I was content and comfortable. No one came down to talk or check on me – it was as if I wasn’t even there. After a few hours, I found a routine, dancing around the room, folding clothes as I sang.
Around one-thirty, the laundry was folded and ready to go. I started up the basement stairs and peered into the foyer. All looked clear. Dashing out, I trotted up the staircase and slipped in the guest room. I made the bed, then scurried down the hall toward Mrs. Vaughn’s room. Her huge mattress took twice as long to make. I pulled the sheet tight on one side, crossed to the other, and pulled again. I moved to the end and yanked. Back and forth, I tugged and jerked until the sheets were smooth. Panting, I glanced at the clock. Two-eleven! I was supposed to leave at two, but all I had left to do was make Tyler’s bed.
This time, when I got to his door, it was shut. I froze. I had to knock. What if he answered? I lifted my trembling hand.
Tap. Tap. Tap. No answer. Tap. Nothing. I quietly pushed it open and stepped inside. Water was running, but I couldn’t place where it was coming from. I crossed the room to the French doors and stepped out on the balcony. Water spilled over an obelisk fountain at the center of the patio. Inhaling the spicy air from the mimosa trees, I walked back inside.
His journal caught my eye again. Guilt stabbed me for invading his privacy. Who does something like that? Mom’s first rule was to keep my nose out of other people’s business. She never snooped, and if she did see something personal, she
’d take it to her grave. I began tucking the fitted sheet at each corner of the bed, moving from side to side to smooth out the fabric.
A door clicked. I glanced up. The bedroom door stood open but no one was in the hall.
The bathroom. I gasped and spun around.
Tyler stepped out, wearing only a white towel wrapped low around his waist, face partially covered as he dried his hair with another towel. He had no idea I was standing there.
I pressed my hand to my mouth. I was a complete idiot! The water was from the shower.
He looked up. Shock erupted all over his face, and he took a step back.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” he said with a big smile when he recovered.
“Oh, my gosh,” my words muffled behind my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
His smooth skin and muscular chest led to cut abs that rippled down to defined hipbones, hinting at other unknown places. Golden from head to toe, the only tan line was on his left wrist where he wore his watch. His bicep bulged, as he held the towel to his hair with an amused grin.
I darted toward the door, and hurried down the hallway.
“Hey, you haven’t finished making my bed,” he called out.
I turned around and gave him a joking glare. If anyone else had said that to me, I would’ve screamed, “Bite my ass.” But he was so adorably sexy, leaning out the door, all I could do was laugh.
He blew me a kiss. My face burned with embarrassment, and I bolted down the stairs.
Minutes later, I flopped against the washing machine, covering my ridiculous smile with my hands. He was flawless. Lean and muscular, not an ounce of fat on him. My body ached just remembering. Seriously, it should be illegal to be that fine.
After a few minutes, I realized I was giggling to myself in an empty room. I had to get out of the house before Tyler came downstairs. I’d explain everything to him later. Tiptoeing back upstairs, I checked the foyer again. All was clear, so I headed through the kitchen, into the mudroom, then let out a long sigh of relief as I stepped into the garage.
“I knew you’d try to sneak out,” Tyler said from across the room.
I gasped. “Tyler, you keep scaring the crap out of me!”
He was leaning against the hood of his car, barefooted, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt with white writing that read, Running takes balls. Other sports just play with them.
“Me?” his voice cracked. “You’re damn lucky I had a towel on.”
I laughed, blood rushing to my cheeks as I walked toward him. Arms crossed, he looked at me. I could tell by the heaviness in his eyes that he was upset with me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were working here today?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was hoping you wouldn’t see me.”
“You’re the one that got the eyeful.” He chuckled. “That’ll teach you.”
I attempted to sound prissy. “I’m working. Mom insisted I be professional and keep my mouth shut. I’ve achieved my goals.” I bowed with a curtsy. He lightened up and smiled. “I met your parents. Well, kind of. Your dad’s really nice. All your mom said to me was that I startled her, and ‘It sticks.’”
“What sticks?”
“The basement door.”
“Oh, yeah, it does stick,” he said. “Dad told me Nana was rude to you.”
“You knew I was here?”
“Yeah. I saw the truck when I pulled in the driveway, that pretty much gave you away. But when I came inside, Dad told me Claire’s daughter was here, and that Nana was in one of her moods when she talked to you. Just ignore her. She’s a pompous ass. She’ll come rolling in here soon, insisting I eat her diet food for dinner. You can’t imagine how painful the evenings are. Every year Dad says, ‘This is the last summer, son,’” Tyler mocked. “I don’t know. I’ll turn twenty in April. It’s just a matter of time, I guess.”
“Your dad even made a comment about how no one wants to rock her boat.”
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. We just try to keep her happy.”
“Why? Because of the money?”
“No... Dad has his own money. It’s because she’ll make his life hell. He’s the baby of the bunch. Mom and I have to endure the ride.”
“I can understand that, she is his mom. You said you’ll turn twenty in April. April what?”
“Twenty-fifth. I’m so fuckin’ ready to move on. So, what did you think of Dad?”
“I think you’re his clone.”
He smiled. “Yeah, maybe. He’s pretty cool. It irritates me that he insists I come here, but he has my back for the most part.”
“He has kind eyes like yours.”
Tyler bashfully looked me over. Pushing off the car, he grabbed my waist and pressed our bodies close.
“You even make cleaning house look good,” he said, leaning in to kiss me.
Just as his lips touched mine, the motor to the garage door hummed to life. I jumped back.
“Damn it,” he said, stepping away.
“I have to go.” I hurried to the side door, then I heard, “Bye... ” as I slipped outside.
I pressed my body against the bricks. Mrs. Vaughn’s car drove off and the garage door hummed to life again. I waited. The humming stopped. Hurrying across the side yard, I climbed into the truck and backed out.
On the way home, I relaxed for the first time all day. Tyler seemed irritated with his grandmother more than with me. Maybe I had pissed him off. I couldn’t be sure. He’d given me so many mixed signals. Something weighed on him... something he wouldn’t admit. Hopefully, he wasn’t mad. It’d be my luck to screw everything up because of my stupid pride.
As I drove around the curve to our house, my phone rang in my pocket.
I flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Mom said. “How did it go today?”
“Um, I think okay.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, it was fine.” I pulled into the driveway and parked. “I spent most of the day in the basement doing laundry. I had to wash all the sheets. How’s Dad?”
“He’s having a pretty good day. How did Mildred treat you?”
“Mildred?” I repeated. “That’s her first name? Oh, it’s so awful, it fits perfectly!”
“Did you behave?”
“Of course. It really wasn’t that bad. She was cold and a little rude. Insisted on calling me ‘Elizabeth.’ I met Ty—Greg and Katherine. He was nice. She’s beautiful but a little odd.”
“Greg seems pleasant. I haven’t met his wife, though. Did you get the laundry all done? What’s this about sheets?”
“She wanted them stripped and washed. I did the upstairs bedrooms.”
“Really?” Mom scoffed. “Okay.”
“What?” Then I mocked Mrs. Vaughn’s drawn-out accent. “She told me not to forget.”
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t know squat. I did that before I left. She’s just messing with you. It’s only for the week, sweetie. We should be home by Saturday.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll all be here when you get back. Mildred and her empire.”
We talked for a little longer, then said I love you and hung up.
When I stepped inside the house, I heard Mark rustling around in his room, cussing to himself. His door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud smack. He stomped out and looked at me, red-faced and fuming, and then he headed down the hall.
What the hell now?
The bathroom door slammed, reverberating through the house.
Cardinal rule: No busting in on someone in the bathroom.
“What’s going on?” I demanded from the hallway.
“I can’t find my damn Social Security card,” Mark shouted. “I need it for an interview.”
“You’re mad over a Social Security card?” I crossed my arms. “I’m not buying it.”
Mark was well known for his tantrums. They usually weren’t directed at anyone in particular. They were meant for the invisible force tha
t tried to ruin his life by sabotaging everything he went after. He’d curse the sky, flailing his fists while stomping his feet. From afar, the spectacle was quite entertaining, but when too close, he looked like a madman arguing with imaginary friends. He tried to explain it to me once, claiming he felt like every path he chose wound to a dead end. I somewhat understood what he meant, but his underlying pain was the red thread woven through his tapestry of life. The rebellion, the alcohol, the drugs, his response to Dad’s illness – it all stemmed back to his inability to control his emotions.
“What the hell happened, Mark? I know you’re not mad about your card.”
“Have you talked to Mom?”
“Yeah, I just got off the phone with her.”
“Did she tell you about Dad?”
“She’ll know more on Wednesday, she said. Will you open the door?” I wiggled the knob. It twisted, but I didn’t push it open. “Come out here, for crying out loud. What’s going on?”
Mark jerked the door open. His eyes were red and swollen.
“There’s nothing else that can be done. They’re sending Dad home to die.”
I winced. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She’s probably afraid you’ll fucking run.”
“Would you freaking drop it, already?” I snapped back, and then fear struck me like a blast of cold air. “How are we going to take care of him?”
“Hell if I know. I feel like an asshole for being pissed about it, but I thought we were going to take him back to Illinois.”
“Why? That’s the last place he wants to be.”
“How else are we going to do it? We’re broke, and the crops are going to rot in the field. We’ll never get them harvested.”
“We can at least try. Jeez, Mark, it isn’t brain surgery.” I cringed. “Excuse the pun. But seriously, all we have to do is start picking.”
I needed his help. If he’d just walk the fields with me, we could save the crops.
He let out a long sigh. “I guess. God... I hate working crops in this shitty red dirt. I swear I’ll never eat another pepper again in my life.”
Life Happens on the Stairs Page 11
