Forbidden: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  I can hear some kids running around inside and it brings a smile to my face because I’d like to think that if I had a normal childhood, that could have been me and my brothers.

  I raise my fist again, but before I have the chance to knock, the door opens and one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life smiles so brightly at me, that I’m worried I’ll be blinded if I don’t look away.

  “Meryska?” she asks curiously.

  I nod and extend a hand which she takes firmly, initiating a shake and I can feel myself blush. It’s not because of how pretty she is, it’s because of how nice she’s being to someone she doesn’t know.

  I’m not used to that.

  “I’m Calista Gastrell; it’s a pleasure to meet you. Come on in, once I get the children wrangled, I’ll grab my husband and we can sit down and have a chat, okay?”

  I nod again as I step into their home and immediately feel like the piece of trash that I know I am. The ceilings are high, the foyer is as big as the main room in the shelter, and there are blatantly expensive paintings hanging along the walls as far as the eye can see. I want to tell her that there’s been a mistake and that I can’t take the job after all, but pride stops me.

  I may be nothing more than trash to most including myself, but I know I can be better and I’m damn determined now.

  Mrs. Gastrell ushers me into the living room, which is bigger than the foyer if that’s possible, and tells me to take a seat while she gets her house in order. It almost sounds like something someone says when they know they’re going to die, but I brush it off and perch myself on the very edge of one of the opulent couches. I blow out a breath as my leg begins to shake nervously and I try to convince myself that this is the break I need to get things going on the right path for a change.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m ready to give up and sneak out of the fancy house on Fancy Lane, when I hear Mrs. Gastrell’s heels echoing down the hall again. I clear my throat and clasp my hands on my lap. If I look like a scared little girl, that’s exactly how I’ll be treated and I know that I’m not.

  Intimidated and scared are two completely different things.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting!” she says as she walks into the room. I turn my eyes toward her and smile, taking her in again. Mrs. G. is about five foot six, has pretty sandalwood colored hair, and big brown eyes. She’s very striking with her severe chin and sharp nose, and when she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkle.

  But when my eyes wander over to the man that enters behind her, I immediately have to fight the urge to start chewing the inside of my mouth again. My heart begins to beat erratically in my ears and I can almost just make out the sound of the blood rushing to my face.

  If Mrs. G. is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, then the man I’m assuming is Mr. G. has got to be the most stunning man in the entire world. He’s taller than her; about six foot one, has sackcloth-colored black hair that sits messily and neatly all at the same time on top of his head, and his eyes—they’re sleepy, hazel blue, and seductive even when as dormant as they are.

  Holy shit.

  I do my best not to stare, because not only is it unbecoming, but because he isn’t mine.

  “Meryska, this is my husband, Everett. Honey, this is Meryska—she’s here for the babysitting job,” she explains after introducing us to each other. He nods at me with a tired look on his face as he sits down next to his wife opposite me, and I clear my throat again. Hopefully, I’ll find a way to break through the iceberg that’s sitting between us and shake something loose.

  Scared is when you’re worried about things known and unknown—intimidated is sitting across from a couple that looks like the Gastrell’s in their fancy fucking house.

  “We’re going to ask you some questions, and you answer them as honestly as you can, okay?” Mrs. G. begins as she sits back against the cushions and rests a hand on her husband’s leg. “There’s no right or wrong answer.”

  “Shoot,” I say as enthusiastically as I can, fully aware of the way her husband’s stare is holding me down in place like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She seems impervious to it, though. Must be years of practice, I think dryly as I do my best to avoid his eyes.

  “How old are you?” she asks, the smile never faltering.

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “And have you babysat before?”

  “Officially? No, but I do have younger brothers that my mom would leave me to watch when we were younger. And if I can keep those two in line, I’m sure I can deal with anything,” I say with an eye roll.

  Mrs. G. chuckles.

  Mr. G. sits in stony silence.

  “Our children are ten and eight—the oldest is our daughter, Anna Leigh, and our son’s name is Maynard,” she says as she leans forward. I raise an eyebrow at her son’s name and she rolls her eyes, “Family name.”

  I chuckle and her smile widens into a friendly grin.

  I cut my eyes quickly toward Mr. G. who’s still staring at me like he’s trying to see right through me to the center of my soul and I decide it’s best to shrug off my jacket to help. If he thinks I’m hiding something from them, showing them who I really am, bare skin and all, should help the matter some.

  “Oh my!” Mrs. G. exclaims when she sees all of the designs that almost completely cover my arms. I never did get a chance to get my sleeves finished cause the guys moved and I never knew where to find them next. Besides, I’ve grown up since then and I don’t know if they’d still trade me some diddling for ink.

  “Hope these won’t be a problem,” I say nervously.

  “Not at all!” she exclaims quickly, “I’m just a little shocked that you’re only seventeen with all of that work already. Do they have any meaning?”

  Just that I need a place to sleep.

  “Not really,” I lie with a shrug as I look down at my arms. “I guess you could chalk it up to being a bored kid.”

  Mr. G. clears his throat and I look up at him expectantly, but he just continues to stare at me with his damn Medusa eyes and offers nothing in the way of words.

  “Everett doesn’t talk much if you can’t tell,” Mrs. G. offers dryly.

  I smile at her because it’s obvious that she’s trying her best to not let his silence unnerve me.

  “Well, do you have any references? One is fine if that’s all you have,” she says getting to her feet. I nod as I reach for my jacket and pull Miss Jean’s phone number out of my pocket. I hand it to her and notice how clean and manicured her nails are as opposed to my dirty chipped ones. She doesn’t seem to notice and if she does, she doesn’t show it.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promises with a warm smile.

  Great. Left in silence with someone who obviously doesn’t want me around.

  I let out a sigh as I sit back on the couch and cross a leg over my lap, trying to make the best out of an awkward situation.

  Chapter Three

  Mr. G. keeps staring at me.

  When I look up and meet his eyes, though, he turns his face away—almost as if he’s trying to decide if this entire facade is a waste of his time.

  It’s nothing at all like when Mrs. G. was in the room and I can’t help but wonder if there’s something he wants to say to me. He looks a little bored with the entire thing, but I know better than to ask prodding questions—Miss Jean prepped me for this interview by giving me the dos and don’ts.

  Do speak when spoken to, don’t ask intrusive questions.

  Those are the two that I repeated to myself on the bus ride over and the ones that I’m trying to hold on to because I feel that they’re the most respectful. Plus, I didn’t really listen to much else of what she said.

  I hear Mrs. G.’s laughter ringing somewhere in the house and it makes me smile. It also makes me wonder how two obviously opposite personalities attracted to the point of marriage, but honestly, by now I’m willing to bet that it has to do with how beautiful they both are.
r />   Some strange unwritten law of nature where beauty begets beauty.

  “Your name is Meryska?”

  I startle.

  I was convinced up to this point that Mr. G. couldn’t speak, though it seems now that he just chose not to.

  “Yup!” I confirm as brightly as I can.

  “Hm.”

  “What?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

  “Huh? Oh. Nothing, I’ve never heard it before today is all,” he responds reasonably. Right, I think with an internal eye roll as I nod and push my hair behind my ears. Just to be able to break the gaze he has on me, I look down at my nails wondering when I’ll be able to talk Miss Jean into helping me fix them up. They never bothered me before, but after seeing Mrs. G.’s I feel kind of inadequate.

  “Oh,” I mumble distractedly.

  God, I really need to clean these damn things.

  “Don’t do that,” he says sharply.

  I look up at him in confusion waiting for him to elaborate but before he has the chance, the woman of the house walks back into the room with two little kids in tow.

  “Anna Leigh, Maynard, this is Meryska and she’s going to be your new babysitter.”

  The bus ride back was much faster than getting to Fancy House, and I felt like I could have flown the whole way back. I guess the saying is true; going back home is always faster than leaving it—or something like that, anyway.

  Miss Jean waves at me from the shelter entrance way and I break into a sprint. We hug each other as I let out a squeal of excitement and she pats my back proudly.

  “I knew you’d be just fine,” she states with a huge grin on her face. “When do you start?”

  “I can start on Saturday,” I reply happily. “I’ll be raking in the dough in no time!”

  “I guess we’ll have to get a special supper prepared so we can all celebrate with you,” she states with a wink and I groan inwardly, the grin still on my face. Miss Jean fusses over every little accomplishment we make and always makes sure that we’re all happy for each other regardless of how small said accomplishment may be.

  “It’s okay,” I reply with the wave of a hand, “that’s not necessary.”

  But she smiles, shakes her head, and insists until I finally give in.

  I walk away from her office feeling like a million dollars. I’m sure that the Gastrells won’t pay me that much, but at this point, anything is better than nothing.

  After I make it to the common room, I glance down at my hands. I bring my nails eye level and sigh. I know I won’t be able to enjoy whatever special supper we get tonight with such dirty fingernails.

  Maybe once they’re clean, I can have Miss Jean help me paint them the same pretty red color Mrs. G. has.

  Chapter Four

  I feel better about things.

  After we ate a really hearty meal of garlic and butter mashed potatoes, pork shoulder, and biscuits, Miss Jean took me out to buy a small bottle of dark red nail polish.

  I’m pretty sure this is the same color that Mrs. G. uses, and after she helped me with my first couple, I was able to do the rest myself. Now I’m just sitting by one of the windows in the common room, blowing on my fingernails every so often, while enjoying the cool breeze that wafts in from time to time.

  Thoughts of Everett Gastrell seem to follow the breeze in, invading my mind and reminding me of his stoic demeanor.

  I wonder what it would take to make a man like him smile, or feel any kind of emotion. Considering they have two children, I have to believe that he’s not completely dead inside.

  Maybe something happened that made him the way he is now, or maybe having those kids sucked whatever life he had out of his body.

  I clear my throat as another breeze comes in and tickles the flesh of my arm. The small hairs stand up as goosebumps become visible and I can feel my lips curving into a smile.

  It seems that Everett is thinking about me too and this is a sign. I’m what’s supposed to make him feel alive again and I won’t let him down.

  Today is going to be an exciting day. I made the rest of the week go by faster by keeping busy so that the time would pass by quicker than if I just sat around and did nothing.

  It worked and Saturday came a lot faster than I had hoped for.

  Miss Jean helped me pick out my outfit for today. It’s a nice, fitted graphic t-shirt with a happy face on the front. Not the generic bullshit one, but one made of sparkles and happy thoughts—all of the things I know I can never be. She gave me a brand-new pair of blue jeans shorts to wear too, and I spent last night cleaning up my checkered canvas shoes.

  I have my hair slicked back into a neat, tight ponytail and my dark red nails look clean and proper.

  The Gastrells don’t know where I live and I’d like to keep it that way by doing my best to be as presentable as their fancy house on Fancy Lane.

  I know that I’ll never truly fit in with anyone outside of the walls of the shelter, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put some kind of effort into it.

  I watch the world go by outside the bus windows again wondering if maybe I’ll finally make a lasting impression on someone besides Miss Jean.

  I never cared about fitting in—I just want to be remembered.

  I sigh as the bus stops and allows for passengers to get off and on, glancing at the time on the clock that sits above a bank entrance. I have thirty minutes to get there which is plenty of time. Actually, I think if the bus stays on schedule, I may get there fifteen minutes early.

  Miss Jean told me that it’s better to be early than late. Even though I’ve already made my first impression on the Gastrells, the first day on the job will be the one that lasts.

  Chapter Five

  “Hi!”

  Anna Leigh pulls the door open after I knocked a couple of times and smiles up at me brightly and with excited eyes.

  I grin down at her as I run a hand back over my hair to make sure that the short walk from the bus stop didn’t knock anything out of place.

  “Hey, Anna Leigh,” I greet her cheerfully.

  “Mama!” she hollers at the top of her lungs, “Meryska is here!”

  My face reddens slightly at her enthusiasm. This is the first time in a long time that anyone has been this excited to see me and I can only hope that once I step inside the doors, that her mood will catch.

  Mrs. G. makes her way toward the door and smiles when she sees me. She gently puts a hand on Anna Leigh’s hair and tells her to let me in.

  Once inside, I take a steadying breath and force the grin to stay on my face. If I want to keep this job and have any hope of ever leaving the shelter, I’ll have to do my best to stay on everyone’s good side.

  “Hey, Mrs. Gastrell,” I say shyly as I shrug off my jacket.

  “Calista is fine,” she replies holding up a hand before she reaches for my jacket. “You’re almost an adult and that earns you some respect.”

  The tone of her voice is pleasant but I can’t help that I feel a little mocked. Still, I fight against my lips wanting to falter and maintain the smile on my face.

  “Everett is in his office. He’s working from home today so it would be a good idea to keep these two as quiet as you can,” she says as she leads the way to their opulent living room where Anna Leigh and Maynard are playing a board game. “I’ll be gone for most of the day, but I’ll call to check in from time to time. If you can answer the phone on the first couple of rings, that would be ideal. I hate to sound like a drill sergeant on your first day, but the fewer interruptions Everett has to deal with, the more amiable he can become,” she finishes with an eye roll.

  I bite my lower lip to stop myself from asking her why her husband seems to be such a miserable fuck. It’s not my place to ask anything that isn’t volunteered—Miss Jean hammered that one home again before I left this morning.

  “There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator,” she continues as she motions for me to follow her into the kitchen.

  My eyes dart around the room
as soon as we enter because it’s so big that it could be another house unto itself. It’s at this moment that I regret taking this job. It makes me feel so inadequate to be in the fancy house on Fancy Lane, but I need the money so I know I just have to swallow my pride and get the job done to the best of my ability.

  I place a hand on my stomach when she pulls the refrigerator door open. Everything inside is neatly placed but it still looks so overstocked that I know they’ve never known what it feels like to be hungry.

  Miss Jean and the shelter provides for us as best as they can, most of what they can do for us comes in from community donations, but sometimes I wonder if the community forgets about us because I’ve gone to bed hungry more often than not.

  That’s part of the reason I didn’t want that celebratory spread—because I know it would run through most of the food supplies we have for the rest of the month.

  “The kids can have a light snack between lunch and dinner,” she says, glancing at me with a warm smile. “And you feel free to help yourself to anything you’d like.”

  My stomach lets out a low growl of appreciation and I turn my face away, but Mrs. G. smiles, reaches into the fridge and pulls out an apple for me. I take it with a small nod and blink back the tears that are threatening to spill over my cheeks.

  I never have breakfast, especially not after a couple of new single moms moved in with their small children. I can go without so they don’t have to feel the hunger pains I feel sometimes.

  I take a bite of the apple, wiping away the juice that runs down my chin, and nod.

  Be grateful.

  Take direction.

  Service with a smile.

  As I follow Mrs. G. back into the living room where she retrieves her purse, kisses each of her children on their heads, then gives me a pat on the shoulder.

  “You’ll do just fine, Meryska. If you need anything, you can knock on Everett’s door. Anna Leigh can show you where his office is if the need arises.”