by P. J. Burgy
“If it’s that important to you, stay until she can find your replacement. I’m patient.”
“I’m just… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.
“Need a day to think it over?”
“Yes, please. I’m sorry.”
He hummed on the other line. “Why are you sorry?”
“It’s just that I don’t want to let them down,” she replied, licking her lips. “Not that I want to let you down either, Martin. It’s just a lot to think about.”
“Understood. Why not call me back when you’ve made a decision, hm? I’d never want to make you feel uncomfortable, my dear. You make the right choice for you. Don’t worry about me.” He trailed off, voice quieting. “Or them, for that matter.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Splendid. I shan’t rush you then. Sorry if I sounded impatient,” he said. “Call me when you’re ready. And I do hope that Tommy cools down. A temperament like that seems very unhealthy. Not good for one’s vitals.”
“He’ll be fine,” Lizzie said. “I’ll call you. Goodbye, Martin.”
“Goodbye, Lizzie.”
She hung up first and let out a low exhalation.
Chapter 7
She put a mental placeholder in her brain for Friday: talk to Kate and tell her about Martin’s offer. They’d have their fifteen minutes or so of overlap in the bookstore and that would be plenty of time to mention it and see what she had to say. Lizzie fretted over it, imagining Kate’s concerned expression as she realized she’d need to hire someone else. When Lizzie had applied, Kate had been short a second person for months; no one seemed that interested in such few hours for such low pay.
Kate had admitted that she’d considered one of the Miller kids, but the school year had been in session and their availability wouldn’t have meshed well with her hours. In retrospect, hiring Helena or Teddy would have been a disaster. They were infamous for all the wrong reasons.
Down in the basement, Lizzie listened to music and worked on a new piece. She accidentally dunked her brush into her glass of cold tea and muttered a curse. Rather than tromping upstairs to dump it out, she sighed and continued to use it as another water cup until the contents had grown opaque.
A visit to the kitchen yielded another glass of tea and allowed her to freshen her water cup. She practiced her conversation with Kate aloud as she stood at the sink. “Ah, yes, so, Kate, as it turns out, Martin has asked me to work for him… full time.”
She imagined Kate staring at her. ‘Oh? Leaving me?’
Lizzie nodded. “I’m sorry. You know I’m grateful but…”
Imaginary Kate smiled. ‘Lizzie, you gotta do what you gotta do. I’m happy for you. But who in the Hell am I going to replace you with?’
“Teddy mentioned he needed a job…”
‘Oh, please.’
“If Tommy gets fired from the hardware store…”
‘You’re hilarious.’
Lizzie chuckled to herself, closing the basement door behind her with a careful hand to avoid spilling her glasses. “Sorry, that was a bad joke, wasn’t it?” She walked down the steps, smiling widely, and returned to her work at the easel.
When her phone rang at ten in the morning, Lizzie paused her painting, saw Kate’s name on the ID, and answered. “Hey, Kate.”
“Lizzie? Hey,” she said. “So, got some bad news…”
Lizzie dunked her paintbrush into the water cup on the TV tray beside her easel. “What?”
“There was an accident last night at the store. A bad one. I can’t reopen, Lizzie. It’s all gone. Gone.” Kate’s voice trailed off and she coughed. “Damnit.”
“What do you mean an accident? What happened?” She sat bolt upright, shoulders tensing.
“Must’ve… must’ve left the damn gas on, Lizzie. When I boiled some water for tea last night. Did it once before, long ago, but I caught it before I left. Not this time.” Kate coughed again, grief hidden in the sound.
“Wait, the store…”
“Fire started in the middle of the night, they think. It’s all gone. All gone…”
Lizzie licked her lips, face warm. “Oh God, Kate, I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”
“I had insurance on the place, so I guess I’ll receive a payout. I need to leave town for a week, Lizzie. I can’t deal with it. Not right now,” Kate said.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No, it’s okay. Damn, just… I can’t believe it.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“Don’t worry about me, Lizzie. You worry about yourself right now, okay? I can try to throw some money your way as soon as I can while you look for another job, but I can’t really keep you on the payroll anymore, can I?” Kate forced a laugh. “Damn.”
Lizzie blinked, a sour taste rising in the back of her throat. She thought of Martin and his offer. Better not to mention it, as suspicious as the timing seemed to be. “Ah, no need. Just take care of yourself, please. I’ll be okay.”
“Let me send you something to tide you over. Please. I know it’s been difficult and with Tommy working so few hours at the hardware store…”
“I have money,” Lizzie said. “Look, just… do what you have to do and take some time, Kate. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”
“I’m headed south to my sister’s. When I get back, maybe you’d like to help me clean up and salvage what we can. It’ll have all dried up by then, I’m sure. I just can’t look right now.”
“Absolutely. I will help you.”
“I can’t believe I did that. Some of those books were older than me, you know. Your paintings… Oh, Lizzie. I’m so sorry.”
“Kate…”
“I’m going to call my sister. I’ll let you know when I’m back in town. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay. You too.”
Kate hung up first and Lizzie stared at her painting. A knot formed in her guts, and she stood, walking over to the drying easel. ‘Aftermath’ had dried and sat propped in the corner, the newest piece having taken its place. The paint was dry enough and she touched the red and orange surface. On the canvas, a set of bony, ashen hands held a roaring fire, cupped lovingly close. The title was ‘A Gift of Fire’.
Lizzie left a message for Martin, making the call outside in her small backyard. She noticed a few poorly hidden cigarette butts in the snowy brown grass by the fence and frowned. Tommy had quit two years ago and had blamed the recent stink on his clothes on Bill Hanson when she’d caught a whiff a few weeks back.
If he wanted to smoke, he could smoke. She didn’t care. It was his idea to quit, and she’d supported him. Lying was another matter entirely. Although, he did lock the backdoor, if only to hide his crime. She shrugged it off before coming back inside.
The backdoor led into the kitchen. She wiped her shoes on the mat first before stepping inside. Locking the door behind her, Lizzie leaned against it briefly, looking at the pile of dishes next to the sink. Tommy had left napkins between the plates. They’d be stuck to the ceramic by now.
He screamed at his game from the living room.
Holding herself, she joined him, standing beside the futon. “Tommy, Kate’s store burned down last night.”
“Huh?” His eyes remained focused on his game. “What?”
“I said Kate’s store burned down last night.”
He tapped a button on the controller and force-quit the game, returning to the main screen. “Whoa, what?”
Lizzie sat down beside him. “She just called me. The bookstore is gone.”
“Shit.” He rubbed his face.
“I know, it’s horrible.”
“Where else is hiring? We can’t afford to lean on me.” The controller landed on the coffee table, his hand shaking.
She tensed. “We have money, and I have the art gig. We’ll be fine. That’s not the point… I feel bad for Kate.”
“So do I, but we need to worry about us.”
“I don’t trust that guy, Lizzie.”
She frowned. “I know you don’t. Trust me, he’s nice. He isn’t a creep. He said he’d pay me well. I believe him.”
“Will it be enough to cover your half of the bills?”
“Yes.”
“As long as you remind him he’s just a client. I don’t want you going over there alone, Lizzie. No wine dates. No sneaking around behind my back…”
“Dammit, Tommy, it wasn’t like that.”
“Fine.” He reluctantly picked up his controller. “If you’re sure this is a good idea…”
“I am.”
“Do you need me to stay home tonight? Because I can.”
She shook her head. “No, please, go to work.”
He nodded and returned to his game, gaze wary at first.
Lizzie left the room, her throat dry.
Her eyes snapped open in the dark bedroom. Lizzie stared at the ceiling, confused, her heart pounding in her chest. If she’d woken from a nightmare, she couldn’t remember the details of it, and she swallowed thickly. Her fingers curled around her blanket.
The bed beside her was empty. Leaning over, she grabbed for her phone and saw the time: almost midnight. Tommy would be on his way home soon. No missed calls. No emails. Nothing. She rubbed at her eyes.
A knock at the door downstairs startled her.
Squinting, she stood and went to the window, parting the blinds. Down on the street where the Honda usually sat parked, she saw a different car. A big, black, sleek beast. Martin’s Lamborghini. She stumbled backward.
She rushed down the steps, flicked on the foyer light, and unlocked the front door. The hinges squeaked as she opened it a few inches. Her hair had to be a mess. No makeup. Wearing only her pajamas. Immediately, she flushed.
He stood on her porch looking especially well put together, wearing all black and smiling his charming little smile. Martin grinned the moment he saw her. “Lizzie!”
“Hello, Martin. What are you, ah… doing… here? How…?” she fumbled over her words, shocked.
“Pardon the late call. I got your message.” He bent at the waist. “May I come in?”
“How did you find my house?” Her brows knit.
“Ah, well,” he replied, smiling sheepishly. “As it turns out, you’re… listed.”
She blinked. “Oh. Am I?”
“Yes. I looked you up. I’m sorry if that was rude of me.”
“Not rude. Just, ah, unexpected. Can we talk tomorrow?” She gripped the edge of the door, frowning deeply as she stared at him. A sense of unease had seeped into her stomach.
He neared the door, face close to the gap, close to her. “I won’t take too much of your time. May I come in?”
“Ah…”
A set of headlights appeared at the end of the block and the little red Honda drove into view. Tommy parked behind Martin’s car, slamming on the brakes with such ferocity that the entire car wrenched forward then back. He turned off the engine before diving out and stalking along the sidewalk toward the house. His shadow shuddered in the dim streetlights as they flickered.
“What in the hell?” Tommy hissed, shoulders hunched
“Tommy,” Lizzie said. “Ah, this is… Martin.”
“I kind of figured,” Tommy said. He came to stand on the porch next to Martin and sized him up. “What is he doing here?”
“Tommy. Nice to meet you.” Martin set his sights on the other man, head tilting, and offered his hand. His smile never faltered.
Tommy puffed up like a cornered tom cat, fists at his sides. “Don’t think it’s a good first impression, man. What are you doing on my doorstep at midnight?”
Martin had a few inches on Tommy, his frame broader, his build stronger. He had no need to posture. He smirked, his offer of a handshake rescinded. He gestured toward the open door. “Lizzie shared the bad news about the bookstore with me earlier and I wanted to drop by and give my condolences.”
“At midnight?”
Lizzie grew afraid. That unease had turned cold in her belly, and she stared at Tommy, suddenly scared for his safety. As if sharing her fear, Tommy skirted around Martin and pushed the door open, Lizzie letting him through.
Martin stayed there watching, trying to catch Tommy’s eye as he leaned into the light coming from the foyer. “May I come in?”
“No, you sure as hell may not,” Tommy spat, turning his back to the other man.
Lizzie glanced at Tommy and returned her attention to Martin outside. Her stomach seized at the sight of him staring at Tommy, something strange about his eyes. The usual blue had darkened, turning black. It must have been a trick of the light though. When he looked at her, his irises were the same color she remembered. A stunning blue.
“How awkward,” Martin said.
“Yeah, this is very awkward.” Tommy kept his back to the door, his head down. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Martin, but Lizzie is my girlfriend, okay? She’s MINE. No man shows up at midnight at a girl’s place looking to talk business – not actual, work related business. I’ve tolerated this bullshit for too long. Get off my property or I’ll call the police.”
“I believe the property belongs to Elizabeth Clay, does it not? You can’t answer for it.” Martin set his gaze on Lizzie again, his expression shifting from apathetic to vexed and then back again. “I shan’t ask again.”
She thought, just for a moment, that she saw his eyes darken a second time. Lizzie swallowed, shivering from the cold sweeping in through the open door. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Martin, okay?”
“Oh no. No, no, no!” Tommy whirled, pointing at the man standing on his porch. “Never again.”
She attempted to reach Tommy again, shaking her head. “This is a misunderstanding. Martin has a late schedule, you see, and he-”
“Cancel your work for him. I don’t give a shit about the money. We’ll figure it out. I don’t want this creep coming around anymore. I know what you’re doing, man. Trying to fuck my girlfriend. I see what you’re up to, and I’m telling you to get the hell off my property now. Don’t come here ever again. Don’t call her. Don’t email her. Don’t even think about her, you got it?” Flecks of spit gathered at the corners of his mouth as Tommy hollered, his cheeks bright red.
Martin smiled. “It was good meeting you, Tommy.”
The way he bared his perfect teeth gave Lizzie a start. That was not a friendly smile. It lacked any trace of warmth, his top lip raising with a subtle curl. Acidic.
“You think because you’re rich you can treat people however you want, huh?” Tommy yelled. “Think you can ask for ‘art’ and then go after my girlfriend? Lizzie doesn’t need your charity and we don’t need your money.”
Martin blinked once. “Goodness.”
“Get the fuck off my porch!” Tommy shouted.
“Lizzie,” Martin said, glaring her way. “I’ll go. This is not what I intended to happen.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ll call…”
“You will not,” Tommy hissed. “Close the door. We’re going to bed.” With that, he stomped up the stairs.
She lingered in the cracked doorway, shaking almost violently. It wasn’t from the cold. Martin leaned in again.
He whispered to her, teeth bared. “You don’t deserve to be burdened so. He is an anchor.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry.” Lizzie closed the door, locked it, and pressed her forehead against the smooth, cold wood. She heaved, tears threatening.
An engine roared. He drove away.
She began to cry.
Tommy got a shower and dressed for bed. He wouldn’t engage with Lizzie, muttering to himself and ignoring her when she tried to talk to him. He slept on the futon that night.
She had strange dreams, but none lingered into the waking world long enough to remember for more than a few seconds as her eye
s opened at the sound of her phone alarm. One last trace remained before fading from her memory – Martin standing outside her house, on the sidewalk, staring with seething black eyes at her front door. The streetlights hummed behind him. He’d tilted his head, alert, and regarded her like he had that very first time at the art gallery – eyes curious but distant. ‘Lizzie?’
The waking world returned, and she silenced her phone.
Had she dreamt about Martin? Her lips felt so dry. She got dressed but didn’t go for her morning run. Kate had been pretty adamant about it, after all.
Instead, she went downstairs, sneaking to avoid waking Tommy, and rushed to her laptop.
It seemed like a good idea to do some job hunting considering what had just happened. Finding an email from Martin, Lizzie sat up in her chair.
‘Lizzie, are you safe? I’m sorry I caused such a commotion. – Martin’
She frowned.
A quick reply, she thought. Something to let him know she was all right.
‘Martin,
I’m fine. I hope you are too. I’m also sorry. That was crazy. Are we still good for the paintings? I don’t plan on dropping our contract because of what happened last night. In fact, I’d like to take you up on your offer. I’ll work for you. There are just some things at home I need to straighten out first if that’s okay.
Lizzie’
She sent her message, doubting he’d reply any time soon. He seemed to favor the night life. Ironic, considering she’d heard him tell Margo that he was a day trader.
After doing some writing, she sent her latest chapter to Martin as well. She imagined him opening the document excitedly and wanting to meet to discuss the event. Lizzie had killed off that annoying second-in-command in the last few paragraphs. He’d had it coming, being such a brute to the main character for so long. The first book had established him as a necessary thorn in her side, but he’d outlived his usefulness. Lizzie had felt a flush of pride at his death – his own doing really – when he’d made a foolish choice and blown himself up. Of course, her main character would be sad. For a short time.
