Shelter in Place: Quarantine Romance Collection Includes New Novella

by Jamie Knight

  Chapter Fourteen - Dean

  I had forgotten I even knew how to play that song. I had loved Ludvig Von when I was a kid and not just because of his connection to A Clockwork Orange, though that was a large part of it.

  I was pretty edgy as a kid. Though never to the point of actual violence, “ultra” or otherwise. Though me and my Droogies did twock the inter-webs real horror-show. Similar to almighty Alex The Large, it took being caught to quell the beast within.

  I didn't go to prison, but I was basically under house arrest, unable to even go to the corner shop without a member of my extended family, who were nearly as bad as my actual family, coming with me. If I didn't, I would be sent back to America and go to prison.

  My only chance for escape would be to somehow get the ferry over to Amsterdam and hide there the rest of my lift. It could probably have been done. Most Dutch people spoke English as a second language at that point, and the government was hands-off, to say the least. They didn't have barriers for the canals running along the bike paths. Figuring that if you get wet, you're doing it wrong. The police were so lax, you basically had to be posing a direct physical threat to someone before they would intervene. Something that did not include smoking pot in your apartment or conducting target practice in your own back yard as long as everyone was there by choice, and you didn't hurt anyone. I could have been really happy there.

  Sadly, I didn't have a car and couldn't make heads or tails of the subway maps. Thus, my dreams of freedom were quashed, and I spent eight of the next eleven years under the threat of the U.S. government until my ban was lifted.

  On the upside, I had lots of time to plot my revenge. The court order had banned me from going on the internet, but that really only applied, or at least, was enforceable in the states. My relatives had said they would uphold it but hadn't counted on my levels of ingenuity. Mainly when doing something, I was told I wasn't allowed to do.

  Using all my charm and stealth, I convinced the clerk at the local corner shop to get me a smartphone with a by the month British plan on it. I paid him double what the phone was worth and only used his store for top-ups. Technically I wasn't supposed to have any money. It wasn't part of the court order. It had been my family's own punishment for besmirching their name. Simone fought for me, because of course, she had, but our mother was intractable. They would send the London relations enough to cover my expenses so I wouldn't die but nothing else.

  What they didn't know was I had been saving thirty percent of my allowance since I was about ten. Considering the amount of my allowance and the roughly twelve years of saving, I could hardly lift the suitcase in which I had put it, putting a thin sheet of metal over the cash bundles so they wouldn't be picked up by the x-ray machine.

  However, none of my brilliance was as good as Becky’s cooking skills.

  The sandwich was excellent. I really felt like an asshole for so cruelly rejecting the first one without even looking at it. Despite my initial acrimony, I was slowly beginning to realize I had grossly misjudged her. The nanny was great with Jessica and really understanding. Not to mention really patient with my bullshit and a great bedmate.

  There was a time, not that long ago, when I would have said I really didn't like her, but I was reconsidering really fucking fast. Love might be going a bit far, but I did know that I really liked having Becky around — and not just because of the childcare, impressive cooking skills, and energetic fuck sessions.

  I really couldn't hide anymore. If I was too scared to feel, I was too scared to live fully.

  The sandwich disappeared a lot faster than I thought it would. I decided to take a risk and see if there could be any more on the offing.

  On a whim, I checked on little Jessica, who was still fast asleep, looking like a little angel. I felt a sharp pang that felt ever so slightly like a stab in my chest, and kept on going, quietly closing the door behind me.

  I found Becky in the dining room, finishing off her own version of the sandwich she made me. Feeling very much like a modern-day version of Oliver Twist, rich in money but poor in spirit, I went over, empty plate in hand.

  “Would you like some more?” She had no malice or schadenfreude detectable in her tone. Spite didn't really seem to be Becky’s thing. And I should know. I was a practiced master of it.

  “Yes, please,” I said sheepishly.

  “Come on,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen.

  I obeyed, unable to keep my eyes off her lovely ass, looking awesome in her yoga pants, which I had come to honesty appreciate.

  “Look but don't touch, okay? I still have work to do.”

  “Okay,” I said, happy she would even entertain such a notion.

  I sat down on the chair that had been put in for the former cook to take a rest between courses and watched as Becky made the sandwiches. Moving with the light efficiency of a trained dancer, getting the sandwiches done in record time, before hustling back out into the dining room, me following close behind.

  “I miss her, too, you know.”

  “Huh?” I asked, looking up quizzically.

  “Simone. She was my friend, you know.”

  “I-I didn't, she never mentioned you.”

  “We met a few years ago.”

  I had never even considered that Simone had a life after I left. Of course, she had. She married Rick, who died in Afghanistan, had Jess, ran a really thriving art studio. The idea that she didn't have a friend or two I didn't know about was just silly.

  “How did you meet her?”

  “She was a professor at my school, teaching a class by invitation of the Art Department. I knew her mostly by reputation before that. I was on my way to the dance studio when I passed the soundproof rooms that the musicians and artists could book to practice and work, and there she was. I was lost watching her paint. It was like the brush was an extension of her hand.”

  “Did she notice you?”

  “Yup. Your sister invited me right in and let me watch as she worked her magic.”

  “It was, wasn't it, like magic, I mean.”

  “Absolutely! Anyhoo, we were fast friends after that, even though I was just a kid.”

  “Simone always believed in treating everyone with respect. Goes a long way to explaining why Jessica is how she is.”

  “Amazing?”

  “Exactly.”

  I knew that I wasn't the only one who was grieving the loss of Simone, but I never really thought about it. Not deeply. I really hadn't thought that Jessica would understand, but of course, she did. I had also never imagined that Simone would mean anything to Becky. How wrong could one person be?

  “It still hurts even now,” Becky said.

  “There's no timeline on grieving,” I said, trying to be helpful.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Everything dies,” I said.

  “Peter Steele?”

  “Yeah, you like Type O Negative?”

  “I'm more of an opera girl, but yeah, of course. My dad had all their records. Was something of a Goth in his youth apparently.”

  I realized then just how little I knew about Becky. The real her, not just the persona she portrayed. Not in a bad way, I was actually having a lot of fun discovering new things about her. Particularly things we had in common.

  “You need to be there for Jessica, it is what Simone would have wanted.”

  “You're right.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  Her smile wasn't one of victory over a thwarted enemy. It has more the feeling of 'of course silly.' And I had been. Very silly indeed.

  Chapter Fifteen - Dean

  I was never really the kind to take holidays, generally of the opinion that holidays were for people who didn't like their work and I was one of those happy few who had managed to find and embrace their true vocation. Even when I would go somewhere, usually hot or snowy, on family vacations, I would take a computer with me and spend maybe two or three days, swimming or snowboarding or whatever fun act
ivity we were supposed to do before I was back designing video-games from scratch on my laptop.

  Even then, Simone would cover for me. She would try to coax me out to the slopes or into the pool, actually helping me to enjoy myself as much as it was possible to do and averting our parents' wrath for not going with the program. Though to be fair, Mom was by far the more authoritarian of the two, Dad mostly preferring to sip scotch at poolside — probably to try and quell the stress headache Mom had given him on the way there.

  Old habits die hard, but they will eventually stop moving of you hit them hard enough.

  I had promised myself that I would dedicate every weekend to Jessica, starting on Friday afternoon. I had asked what she wanted to do, and she had said she wanted to learn how to cook. I didn't ask but guessed that it may have had something to do with Becky's influence.

  “I don't know how to cook, not well anyway,” I had pointed out to her, knowing full well that the quarantine wouldn’t allow a teacher to be brought in.

  “There's a daddy-daughter master chef lesson online.”

  “Now, you’re talkin'!”

  With my laptop on the counter and Jessica standing on a stool, we had both gotten a crash course in the culinary arts, my little genius of a niece out-pacing me once again. I made a mental note to see about getting her art and music lessons when the quarantine was over.

  On the upside, the activity helped shake me even further out of the funk caused by my break down. It was a few days later, and I was already starting to feel better.

  I hadn't really thought about Becky most of the day that Friday. I was so excited about spending time with Jessica I had sort of rushed through work, trying to get it done. And because we didn't need her for nanny duties, she had spent most of the day in the parlor on her own.

  “What should we make today?” I asked, tying Jessica's little apron around her.

  “Chocolate chip pancakes, they're Becky’s favorite.”

  “They are?”

  “Yup.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, putting on my own apron.

  “Oh, she told me. Becky tells me lots of things. We talk all the time at our tea parties.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, not having even thought about that.

  The little redhead looked up at me. “Becky's really nice. She even talks to Mr. Otter, Bunny Bun, and the others. They all like her too.”

  “Is Becky your friend?” I asked, curious.

  “My best friend!” Jessica said, with the conviction of all six-year-olds.

  “What else do you and Becky talk about?”

  “Oh, lots of stuff. Did you know she went to school for math and ballet?”

  “I knew about ballet.”

  “She did math too! She's super-duper smart!”

  “I've noticed.”

  “And really, really pretty!”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “Do you think I'll be pretty like her?”

  “No, I mean, you'll be pretty, but you probably won't look like Becky?”

  “Who will I look like?”

  “Well, I would guess your mommy.”

  “Oh, good! Mommy was really pretty too!”

  I couldn't honestly say I had particularly noticed. I never really thought about Simone that way, but in retrospect, I couldn't deny that she really had been a knockout. As beautiful on the outside as she had been on the inside.

  I was struck by another pang and thought for a moment that I might cry again. I breathed deep, trying to keep myself together. For Jessica's sake if nothing else. At least I was able to look at my niece without feeling a deep, agonizing pain.

  Becky had been right, about everything, but especially the part about Jessica being a part of Simone and that being there for Jess is what Simone would have waned. She didn't add that Simone would have probably wanted me to be there for Becky, too, but I guessed that was the case.

  It was just how my big sister was. She couldn't stand to see anyone in pain.

  “Are you okay, Uncle Dean?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine, sweetheart.”

  “Are you sad about mommy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Me too. Having tea parties helps, though.”

  “It does?”

  “A little bit. It is nice to have something else to think about.”

  Apparently, my little niece was using the same coping mechanisms I was — aside from the rum — and was adjusting better than me. She really was a small wonder. I had a funny feeling that Jess might well help me as much as I could help her.

  I leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” my niece giggled, sounding uncannily like her mother.

  “Because I love you, little one,” I said, finally able to say the words.

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “I love you too, Uncle Dean,” she said, getting on her tiptoes and kissing me on the cheek too.

  I felt the tears coming once again, but this time, they were tears so of joy. I had finally found a place where I could be myself, where I could be loved.

  “Do you think Beck will stay with us?”

  “What do you mean, honey?” I asked.

  “That's what mommy called me.”

  “Is it okay if I call you that too?”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you mean, will Becky stay with us after we can leave the house?”

  “No, well yeah, but I also mean after that. Way, way after that. Do you think Becky will stay forever?”

  “I really don't know, honey,” I said, never actually considering the question myself. “I hope she does. I want Becky to stay forever.”

  Once again, my little niece was a genius, seeing what I was blind too, and I found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with her.

  Chapter Sixteen - Becky

  It is odd how the best-laid plans can have unexpected consequences. I was honestly happy that Dean and Jessica were starting to connect and believed that it was what Simone would have wanted. My friend was such a sweet, giving person. She wouldn't want either of them to feel alone, which was probably why she had given Dean legal guardianship. Not that his family paid much attention to that. To be fair, he was on another continent at the time.

  Though thanks to efforts by the local authority — based on an anonymous phone call that just so happened to come from my number — the uniforms swooped in, Dean was contacted and was back in New York the next day.

  Once I heard that Simone's other request that I help with Jessica as the nanny was bound to come into effect, I saw no reason to not go gung-ho. I guess I had a bit of an entitlement at first. I had known Jess for a few years, after all. I didn't quite get that Dean might want a say too or that he might be hurting. My justification at the time was that he hadn't bothered to be around for over a decade — I was blissfully unaware that he was basically on exile. Something that gave him an almost tragic element.

  While they were spending time together, I looked for something to do, most of the fun stuff seeming to be stockpiled in the parlor. I would have gone to my room, but it just seemed too sad to sit in my room alone. I might as well try and do something with my day off, even if I couldn’t leave the house. I finally had some time to myself and was determined to enjoy it if it killed me.

  I saw the spirit board, leftover from our first gaming session before everything went wonky-bonkers, finally settling down into a sort of joyful calm. On a whim, I got it out. I knew it needed more players but figured what the hell. They didn't really work anyway.

  Don't be so sure.

  “Fuck!”

  Language, hon. You don't talk like that around Jessica, do you?

  “I – no.”

  Good to know. I would hate to have to come down there and haunt you.

  “And what the f-fudge do you call this?”

  A friendly visit.

  “You can do that?”

  Not really, but I never rea
lly was one for rules. Something I tried to teach Dean.

  “Good job.”

  Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.

  “Really?”

  Of course. I've always trusted your judgment, Becky. You're really wise for your age.

  “So is Jessica.”

  Thank you. She really does love you, you know.

  “Yeah, I mean, I try to be there for her, but I – I mean, I'm not you. She needs her family.”

  Do you remember what she used to call you?

  “Auntie Becky. But that was —”

  A wise judgment call on her part. Take care of them for me, darling.

  “Them?”

  Silence.

  Just me in a big room, in a bigger house with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. I didn't want to interrupt Dean and Jess’s together time, my presence only being a distraction. I had to give them space to figure it out. Which, as a result, left me pretty much cut off. At least to real-life contact.

  Struck by inspiration, I ran to my room and brought my computer down to the parlor, every room in the house had wifi, Dean had seen to that, and started to look for something to join. I was pretty open, but cults, racist groups, and multi-level marketing schemes being a hard no.

  After a bit more searching, I found an online yoga group with a session starting in twenty minutes. Confused as to how they would have a yoga class online but curious enough to give it a try, I signed up and watched the countdown clock with high expectations while listening to Vivaldi to try and get into the right mind space.

  The group was pretty straight forward. The members all logged into a group chat and did a yoga session with the group's leader, who was a professional yogi — a word which always reminded me of the picnic-basket pinching bear.

  What I didn't know was that this was the advanced session, meant for people who had been doing yoga seriously for years. The kind of folks who could see past the crass commercialism and empty social status and did it as part of a serious lifestyle. Fortunately, my mom was one such person and had me doing basic poses before I hit puberty. It helped me to limber up before gymnastics and later ballet.