by C. C. Piper
No one knew better than me that life would never be so effortless.
As I wandered my way throughout the expansive rooms, I caught a glimpse of movement. I twisted to see one of those animated digital frames sitting on his fireplace mantle, something I’d missed in my initial walk-through. As I studied it, a selection of scenes faded in and out of sequence.
There were pictures of the Nevada desert in bloom and various shots of barstools, tables, plates of food, and fancy drinks—likely from James’ restaurants. The next several pics were of people.
James cutting a big blue ribbon at the entrance to what appeared to be a casino. James dressed in the white attire of a professional cook, complete with chef’s hat. James standing between two other men, all three of them raising their glasses at the camera as if making a toast.
And then there was one of an older gray-haired couple with big smiles on their faces. The man had James’ mouth and eyes while the woman had his nose and coloring. Or really, he had their features rather than the other way around. They had the same gentleness about them that he did, even there in that still photograph. These must be his parents.
At that thought, a stabbing sensation cut through my chest.
I didn’t allow myself to think about my own parents often. I didn’t have time for one thing. But also, thinking about that time in my life hurt. It’d been six years ago since that part of my world had imploded. It’d been the last thing I’d ever expected.
Growing up, I’d always been the wild child, the party girl and troublemaker. I’d gotten involved in boys and good times early—losing my virginity at the ripe old age of fourteen—and it’d driven my parents up the wall. I’d found school boring and dabbled around with recreational drugs and underage drinking, not calming down at all until after my high school graduation. Luckily, my grades were still good enough to get into college.
Evan, on the other hand, had been the quiet, diligent, and well-behaved one. My brother had struggled with dyslexia and had to work hard for every A he received. And because he was so dedicated, he received a lot of them.
At least until that damned car accident.
I’d been nineteen when it happened. I’d received the call while in one of my art classes and hadn’t even looked at the screen. It wasn’t until my cell vibrated twice more that I finally pulled it from the front pocket of my hoodie.
Seeing the name Henderson Police Department had stunned me. Back in my younger days, I’d been arrested once for being drunk in public, but that had been years before. When I stepped from the classroom and into the hall, I was stymied as to why they’d contact me. Surely, after all this time, that one arrest wasn’t coming back to haunt me?
But, it had nothing to do with my old arrest at all.
I listened as the three messages from the state trooper asked me to call them back immediately. I did and discovered the horrible truth. A pronghorn antelope had darted out into my parents’ path as they were driving back home from their twenty-fifth anniversary dinner. All evidence indicated that my father had never seen it because he’d hit the one-hundred-pound plus animal head-on.
The effect had been catastrophic on their older-modeled Ford Taurus. The impact had been sudden and brutal. My dad suffered a broken neck, dying on his way to the hospital. My mother hadn’t had her seatbelt on and had been thrown through the windshield. She had restless leg syndrome and had probably slipped out of the belt for long enough to try to rub her legs into submission. She’d been dead before the paramedics even arrived.
I’d been shocked and devastated at the news, but I’d had to get my shit together quickly for Evan’s sake. At sixteen, he was too young to live without adult supervision, so I hired a lawyer and petitioned to become his legal guardian. I was granted custody, but that did nothing to allay the grief we both felt. My parents had little money and no wills, so the house we grew up in, even though it wasn’t much, went back to the bank.
We moved into a crappy two-bedroom apartment, one I had to work three part time jobs to afford. I’d switched from community college to an online program I barely had the energy for. And as bad as all that was, the worst came in the form of Evan shutting down.
He did not handle the loss of our parents well. Despite encouraging him to speak to his school counselor, he refused. Instead, he began to do drugs—not the low-risk pot most teenagers smoked, either, but the heavier stuff. Then, after barely graduating, he began to make bets.
He won some money at first, but then, he started to lose. Big time.
Unfortunately, by then, he was hooked, not only on drugs but on gambling, too. For the past six years, I worked my ass off to support my brother and help him out of the dark abyss he’d buried himself in. I thought I’d succeeded a few times, but he kept going back to it.
The only bright spot was when I received my online degree in graphic design and started to freelance. I’d been able to build a small client following, but it was still barely enough to keep us going—especially when my brother kept getting involved with bookies and loan sharks.
I’d have to continue to peek in on him throughout this month, just to make sure he kept his nose clean.
After moseying around the villa for a while, I went back to the little office right next to the room I’d be staying in. This space, unlike the others, gave off the tang of fresh paint, and I decide to inspect it more closely.
It really was quite charming with its subtle aquamarine accents and collection of seashells lain about its surfaces. There were sand dollars, starfish, anemones, and conch shells along the edge of the computer desk.
I was sure I’d be able to get lots of work done while here. I glanced over at the louvered whitewashed wood doors on one wall. Was it a closet?
Never being one to ignore my curiosity, I opened them, then gasped. This wasn’t a closet at all but doors which led out onto a curved balcony. I stepped out into the dry southwest air and filled my lungs. The view was spectacular from this side of the house. The landscape seemed to stretch for miles into the distance.
It was like being out on a desert trail with only nature and my thoughts to keep me company. It was such a contrast to what I was used to. Living in an apartment complex meant Evan and I were surrounded by people on all sides. Here, everything felt tranquil, as if I were in a world all my own.
I wondered fleetingly if James found it as peaceful as I did.
For a moment I indulged in the concept of what it might be like to reside in a place like this long term. To wake up in that quiet bedroom, make myself some coffee, and then step out on this balcony to greet the day every morning.
I held the image that created in my mind, then let it go.
Such a thing would only ever be a pipe dream for me. This was James’ place, not mine. I’d never live in such luxurious digs and I knew better than to think that way. James was part of the top one percent, and I wasn’t. I felt happy that he’d found success, but even in my craziness imaginings I knew this sort of life was for the lucky. I’d never been that.
Sighing, I started up my laptop, thrilled to discover that James had left a note on the desk sharing his Wi-Fi password.
Well, wasn’t that thoughtful of him?
I typed in the password, connected to the internet, and got busy on my next project.
11
James
Even though my vendor meeting went for way more of the day than I’d care to admit, I’d watched Emma’s comings and goings. She’d hadn’t snooped into anything. Not once. Thank Christ.
At one point, she’d gone into the office area I’d made ready for her and had rarely come out since. She’d been in there for hours working. I kept checking the surveillance feed, noting the intense scrutiny she exhibited as she made calls and labored on her laptop.
By the time I arrived home, the sun had already set. The sky was dark but with the usual light pollution from the city, I could only see the stars if I stood at the back of my house and faced the opposite direction.
I stood there for a moment, hearing the gritty sound of sand and gravel under my feet as I settled in the perfect spot.
I took it all in. The constellations, the moon, the barest hint of the Milky Way looming overhead. These things had always calmed me. Soothed me.
And they soothed me again now.
I stayed out there, content to feel the temperature drop. During the day the heat rose to extreme levels, often over the century mark, keeping things uncomfortable outside unless you chose to jump into the pool. But at night, the haze that created optical illusions and mirages dissipated into something much cooler. You could sit outside and just… be. I did that often. I’d grab one of my outdoor lounge chairs, set it on the patio, and stare up into the heavens.
Once I went inside, I checked my app to see what Emma was doing. She was still working away in her office. I considered popping in on her to let her know I was home but decided against it at the last minute. My meeting today—well, the meeting and eyeing Emma like some creepy Peeping Tom—had taken up the time I usually reserved for other business tasks, so I figured I’d better spend the rest of my evening more wisely.
I ascended the stairs until I was on the third level, bypassing Emma on the second floor without pausing. I’d planned to get right to work once I stepped foot in my own office, but instead, I found myself pulling Emma’s image up on my desktop computer.
The bigger screen enabled me to see more. I stared at her, this time getting engrossed in those tattoos that ran along her left arm. Because she was wearing a tank top with spaghetti straps, I could see more of it than ever before.
The tattoos were in a swirling design that reminded me of vines wrapping around her upper arm. It disappeared underneath the fabric on her back, and I wondered just how far down that tattoo went.
Before, I’d only been able to see the black swirls of her ink, but now on the top of her shoulder I made out another shape, something with rounded off edges that contained both a bright white and an orangish-red.
What was it? An animal? A symbol?
I was dying to know.
And it wasn’t just her tattoos that held my interest, but her devoted worth ethic.
I’d never seen Emma in such a professional mindset and I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off her. She sat there working ceaselessly, thumbing her mousepad, typing, and taking phone calls. It made me happy to be able to have another few descriptors for her that I hadn’t previously. Focused. Hard-working. On task. Industrious.
Fucking alluring.
Oh, well, I had that one already on my list.
With this much more sizable image, I could make out another detail. She was biting her lower lip, worrying it with her teeth.
And now I was hard.
Goddammit.
What was it that was so captivating about her as she sat there staring keenly at her computer screen? I’d been around tons of women who’d centered all their attention on their work, but it’d never distracted or turned me on.
Yet Emma had that effect on me. She had from the moment I first saw her.
I spent the better portion of an hour observing my new houseguest before feeling guilty for it. When the hell had I become such a voyeur? If she ever caught me doing this, she’d think I was a total perv.
Deliberately closing the app on my phone, I shut down the image from my computer as well. Then, I did my damnedest to work as diligently as Emma was.
At last, I managed to complete the to-do list I’d written for myself. By the time I was finished, I felt utterly beat. Two hours had gone by without me so much as glancing at Emma. I almost patted myself on the back for my awesome show of restraint.
Wow. Was I pathetic or what?
I went ahead and gave in to temptation, noticing that Emma had left her office. After scanning the various rooms, I was surprised to find her near my dining set, her arms laden with plates full of food. Where had she gotten it? Had she called something in? But then I saw pots and pans on the stove and countertop.
Had she been cooking dinner herself?
Usually, I was a smidge OCD about my kitchen. I didn’t let anyone use it but me. Yet, I didn’t feel upset at Emma. Instead, I felt… How did I feel?
Surprised. Even delighted.
I hurried to descend to the ground level.
As I approached, she grinned over at me, making me stop midstride. She didn’t often smile at me as candidly as she was now. It took my breath away.
“Hi,” she said, setting down a platter I used for things like turkey or ham on Thanksgiving.
She returned to the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water for herself and handing me a bottle of one of the craft beers I kept in my fridge. She’d already pried off the lid. I took a swig.
“What’s all this?”
“A thank you.”
“A thank you. For what?” I asked.
“For the office upstairs next to the bedroom you’re letting me borrow. You went to a lot of effort to make it lovely and workable, and I appreciate it. I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t expecting all that.”
I waved the notion of effort away. Besides, I was more than pleased to do it. “It was nothing.”
“No,” she disagreed, her features deadly serious. “It wasn’t. You didn’t have to, especially not since I’ll only be here temporarily.”
I really didn’t mind, though. “No biggie. Just wanted to be certain I didn’t interrupt your freelancing schedule or anything. I want you to enjoy your time here. I want you to feel at home.”
“It’s the nicest office I’ve ever worked out of.”
I blinked. It was just a simple little room with a desk inside. I’d had one twice that size as a teenager. Her gratitude took me somewhat aback.
“I made spaghetti and meatballs for you,” she said, gesturing to the food. “It’s hardly the gourmet fare you’re used to, but hopefully you’ll still like it.”
“It smells divinely yummy,” I told her, promptly sitting and taking a bite. “And it tastes even better. Seems you might be trying to give me a run for my money.”
She laughed, the sound resonant and clear. Joyful, even. I loved hearing it. “Is ‘divinely yummy’ a thing?”
“It is now.”
“Well, I’m not exactly trained in the highest auspices of the culinary arts like some people,” she said, lifting her brows sardonically. “But I can mix a few ingredients together in a pinch.”
She sat down across from me so she could dig in herself. Neither of us spoke for a while as we chowed down. Maybe she was as famished as I was.
I glanced over at her tattooed shoulder. “It’s a flower,” I exclaimed, and her gaze jerked to mine as if startled.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your ink,” I admitted, feeling more like a pervert than ever. “I’d never… uh, noticed that part of it before.”
“It’s a hibiscus,” she explained, the tautness of her muscles relaxing. “My mother’s favorite flower. My father used to buy her a new plant every year on their anniversary. The whole house exterior and interior were inundated by them.”
“Bet that was quite a garden,” I said, imagining it. My own mother loved gardening, too.
“It was.”
“Was? She doesn’t garden anymore?”
“She and my father were killed in a car accident six years ago.”
Shit. “I’m so sorry.” I did the math in my head and felt a bubble of horror rise in my chest. “You must’ve been really young when it happened.”
“Nineteen.”
Jesus. That explained a lot about her. It explained a lot about her situation in general.
Emma looked away from me and into her plate. She spent an inordinate amount of time twirling pasta onto her fork, but she didn’t pick her bite up to eat it.
“Have you and your brother been…” I trailed off, not knowing how to ask this. I couldn’t remember if she’d said how old her brother was. “Have you two been okay?”
“We’re surviving.”
Still no eye contact or eating, though. I wanted to offer her comfort but wasn’t sure of the protocol. What would be appropriate under these circumstances? I had no idea.
Thankfully, she went on. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been six years, you know? These years have been the longest, hardest time of my life, but then I remember something, and it’s like it all happened yesterday.” She paused, then cast me a fleeting glance. “That must sound insane to you.”
“No, I—” What did I say to that? I couldn’t imagine losing my folks and I was thirty. They lived a few hours away so I didn’t see them as often as I had when I was younger, but we stayed in contact all the time over calls, texts, and emails. The three of us had always been pretty damn close-knit. “It must be tremendously difficult.”
She huffed out a chuckle, but it was devoid of humor. “It hasn’t been a picnic. I’ve had to make some choices that were less than desirable.”
My heart seemed to freeze in my chest. I knew she must be referencing the fifty thousand. Abruptly, any resentment or anger I might’ve been holding on to since her theft disintegrated. How could I begrudge her that money now? Granted, she’d mentioned that her brother had been in some sort of trouble right out the gate, but knowing that her parents had died? That she’d basically had no one to go to for advice or solace?
Had she been going it alone with no help?
It didn’t excuse what she’d done, but I couldn’t feel offended about it anymore.
So, I stopped.
I forgave her. I let any negative feelings I had about it go.
I stood up from the table, catching the napkin she’d so carefully folded before it could fall on the floor, then laid it next to my plate. I crossed to her side of the table and knelt in front of her chair.
I took her hand in mine. This time when her gaze met mine, I could detect the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Emma always came across as a force to be reckoned with. Someone so strong and unbreakable. So to see her like this tore me in two.
