The Price of Inertia

by Lily Zante

  “When I said I was going to lose it.” His voice is gruff, and he’s wearing the same clothes he wore earlier. “I didn’t mean I was going to lose it, my temper. I meant I was going to lose the plot I had in my head.”

  I blink. He looks rough, and even though his beard is shorter and trimmed, his face looks rough.

  His words don’t make sense, because I’m so scared. How did he know I’d be in here? Is he following me around? Are there hidden cameras in this place? I shiver. My stomach empties. I stand up slowly, acutely aware that I’m the only one here with him. This man has many moods, and personalities, and he scares the hell out of me. “Did you come looking for me?” I ask, my voice shaky, and sounding like a child’s.

  As if he can sense my trepidation, he takes a step back. “I came to use the gym.”

  But do I believe him?

  “Have you finished?” he asks, not getting on any of the machines yet. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to leave.

  I take a few calming breaths and start to level my breathing. He wants to use the gym. He didn’t come here to spy on me. I remind myself that he’s been cooped up in the study all day and that he hadn’t eaten lunch. “Have you been writing all day?”

  He nods.

  “You didn’t eat your lunch.”

  “Lunch?” he asks, as if it’s an alien concept. We’re standing a foot or two apart, his gaze falls to my stomach. He moves towards the treadmill but doesn’t get on it.

  “You must have been so into your story that you forgot to eat.”

  “It happens.” The upturned lips look like a weak attempt at a smile. I feel slightly better.

  “I didn’t mean to snap,” he says again, and this time I understand, because my mind is functioning fine now that I’m not scared out of my skin. “You don’t have to be so rude,” I say, emboldened by his attempt to apologize. “I was only trying to help.”

  “You interrupted my thoughts.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to be in the study.”

  “I told you, I had something I had to get down.”

  “I’m your housekeeper,” I say, the anger rising inside me. “I’m only doing as I was told.”

  I was in a state of calm until he showed up. Now I’m all riled up again. “That’s some apology,” I say as I turn away. I can’t figure this guy out. The air between us flexes and tenses like a muscle. I’m done in here. He can have the gym to himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WARD

  * * *

  After a knock on my door, Mari sticks her head in. “Sorry to disturb you but the new trainer’s here.”

  “I’m coming.” But she’s already closed the door and disappeared. Something strange is going on between us. I didn’t mean to startle her the other day when I went to use the gym. I also didn’t expect her to be in the gym lying on the floor the way she was. I apologized, and I meant it, but we ended up in another disagreement.

  I don’t understand it at all.

  I quickly put my papers to one side and stack my pens and pencils neatly in place. It’s time to meet this new trainer and see what he’s like.

  As I walk down the hallway, I hear the sound of conversation and laughter. A tall and well-built man is talking to Mari. She sees me first and turns silent. Abruptly, the man turns around.

  “Mr. Maddox.” He seems self-assured, striding towards me with a grin and an outstretched arm. “I’m Jamie Hurst, your new personal trainer.”

  “Jamie.” I shake his hand harder than I intended, so much so that he almost winces, but he continues smoothly, and goes on to tell me how much he loves my books, and how he’s been such a huge fan. How much he loved The Attic. I listen but say nothing. I don’t need to. He does all the talking, and he’s clearly enthused and even in awe of me. Mari never was. I like that about her. I steal a glance at her, but she’s looking at the new guy.

  She’s avoided looking at me, I’ve noticed. I can’t pinpoint what it is, or why, but things have definitely been strange between us. It keeps me on edge, this up and down rollercoaster of me and the housekeeper. My environment is supposed to be calm and peaceful, conducive to creativity, but ever since I’ve met this woman it has been anything but.

  Meanwhile her friend continues to jabber like a chattering monkey. “What do you think, Mr. Maddox?” he asks finally. It’s only when I turn to him, I realize I haven’t listened to a word he’s said.

  “Call me ‘sir’,” I say, more to deflect the fact that I don’t have a clue what he’s asked me. Mari appears shocked by my request and it gives me a silent chuckle.

  “Uh… well. Uh….sir. Are you ready to start?” The trainer seems awkward and I’m pleased with myself for wiping that smugness off his face.

  “I’m joking,” I tell him.

  “About?” Jamie asks.

  “About you calling me sir.” Mari looks visibly relieved and the trainer’s expression eases. “Call me Ward.”

  “Ward, then.”

  “No, just Ward.”

  This elicits a laugh from him.

  “Let’s get this over and done with.” I lead the way to the gym.

  * * *

  MARI

  * * *

  I almost choked when Ward asked Jamie to call him ‘sir’. And then I chuckled when he made another attempt at a joke. Both within seconds of one another. Is it possible that Ward Maddox has a sense of humor hidden beneath that hair growth on his face?

  Anything is possible with him. He’s like a chameleon. Ever-changing. I never know what to expect from him one moment to the next.

  I finish vacuuming one of the downstairs rooms and then set about making a list of grocery items. Rob said I could order online, but it takes just as long to get online and order things, and I prefer to have a reason to get out of the house. I’ll go shopping with Jamie once he’s finished because I’m interested in finding out how the first session went. It will be safer to do a post-workout catch-up with Jamie out of the house.

  I prepare Ward’s lunch; a healthy sandwich and a smoothie. He actually asked me for it. He’d left a printed-off smoothie recipe on the island this morning.

  My back is turned when I hear a knock on the kitchen door.

  I turn around and see Jamie. “Good?” I ask him. He nods and doesn’t say anything because I’ve warned him not to.

  “I need to get some groceries. Shall we get a coffee?”

  “I need to shower,” he says, taking a big slug from his water bottle.

  “I can put up with your stinky smell for an hour.” I’m desperate to escape this house. “Come on.” I scribble a note for Ward in case he wonders where I’ve gone. “I don’t have long.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in a coffee shop and I’ve got my favorite iced cup of coffee. I giggle. “How was your first encounter with ‘sir’?”

  “I almost had a heart attack,” says Jamie, opening his bottle of coconut water.

  “He’s not usually so ...” I wave my hand in the air because I’m at a loss for how to describe him. “Funny, shall we say.”

  “You think he’s funny?”

  “Compared to what I’ve seen of him, yes, that was funny.” Though, the more I think about it, Ward is changing, or maybe I’m getting to know more about him. “How was the session? Did he do everything you asked?”

  “He’s out of shape, but not too much. He’s got a pot belly, but it’s not too bad. I was expecting him to be in worse shape given what you’d told me.”

  “He sits at his desk all day, and probably all night too.” I say. “He’s like a vampire. I’ve never seen him leave the house.”

  “It shows. He’s sluggish. He says he wants to tone up and lose weight. Says he wants a six-pack.”

  “He said that?” I try to imagine Ward with a six-pack but my imagination doesn’t stretch that far.

  Jamie nods. “He’s not going to get a six-pack, but he can definitely lose the belly and tone up. It’s not going to be that difficul
t. He used to work out, he’s had a setback, that’s all.”

  “Hmmmm.” I try not to dwell on the image of a toned-up Ward.

  “He was more talkative than I expected.”

  This surprises me. “He was?”

  “He was nothing like how you made him out to be.”

  This really surprises me. “What did he talk about?”

  “Me, and how I lost my job, and what I did before.”

  “You sucking up to him about his books probably helped.”

  “I didn’t suck up. I was being truthful,” Jamie says. “His books are brilliant. You should try and read one.”

  “I can’t stand horror.”

  “He’s brilliant. You’ll be amazed,” Jamie insists. Him suddenly becoming Ward’s biggest fan irritates the hell out of me.

  “I’m not going to read horror. Ever.”

  “Do you ever get a chance to see his current work in progress?”

  “It’s on his desk. Along with his special pen.”

  Jamie sniggers, yet I can’t help but think about Ward and his split personality. He leaves a mess in most places, yet his desk, in the middle is neat and tidy. There are splinters in his outward persona. I think about the joke he made when he asked Jamie to call him ‘sir’. Is that a chink in his armor?

  “Most writers have a ritual,” Jamie states matter-of-factly.

  “How do you know?”

  “I read about it somewhere.”

  “You’re always full of trivia.”

  He leans forward across the table and grins wickedly. “I’m more than just muscle, baby.” Then, “Lunch?” he asks.

  “You said you needed to shower.” And I was supposed to be quick. I have yet to go and buy groceries.

  “I’m here now. We’re here now. Come on, Mari. It will be like in the good old days.” I recall the good old days when he and I would have lunch in my office. Take-out from the hotel restaurant on some days, and other days we would go out and get something. Go for a walk. Complain and whine about our jobs. I had reached the highest position I could have in that place and had been thinking about changing jobs. I hadn’t expected my next career move to be this.

  “How’s the job search going?” he asks.

  “I haven’t found anything. I’ve been looking on and off, but I haven’t had a chance to look properly.”

  “What do you do all day stuck in that big house?”

  “I spend all day cleaning. It’s insane, but I find I quite like it.” Or maybe I’m just bored.

  “What’s there to clean? How does that place get dirty?”

  “He likes it clean.” And what else is there for me to do but clean, in the morning, then have his lunch ready, then I have a few hours before I prepare dinner. Then I’ll hit the gym, though ever since that day when Ward was standing over me, I haven’t been. “I keep myself busy. It’s the only way I get through the day. I’m done by six o’clock and then the day is mine.”

  “He doesn’t summon you during the night to make him a sandwich?”

  I find that an odd question, even if it’s a boyish attempt at a joke. “No.” I get up. “I need to go. He’ll be wondering where I am.”

  “He has tabs on you?”

  “I don’t usually go out in the middle of the weekday.”

  “You make it sound like you’re in a prison, Mari.”

  Sometimes it seems like one. I blow him a kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

  “What happened to lunch?” I hear him say as I head towards the door. I didn’t mean to stay so long. It’s irrational, this sense of dread I have about it.

  I rush off to buy the groceries I need. A short while later, I’m back at the house and I walk in with the grocery bags in my arms. Ward’s sitting at the kitchen island with an empty plate and a notebook by his side. It’s almost as if he was waiting for me to return.

  “I was wondering where you were.” He closes his notebook.

  “I had to get some chicken. You said you wanted chicken salad tonight for dinner.”

  He gets up from the stool, displeasure darkening his features. “I went to get chicken,” I insist. I can’t tell what he’s pissed off about. “Did you need me for something? Because I made your lunch.”

  “I’m not incapable of finding my lunch, or making it myself.” He starts to walk away, leaving his lunch plate and glass on the kitchen island. Normally it wouldn’t annoy me as much as it does right now.

  Then why does he look so disgruntled?

  “At least have the decency to face me when I’m talking to you!” I swipe a hand across my chest. Have I really just hollered at him like that?

  He turns around and stares at me with an expression so cool—and the opposite of what I expect from him—that I’m temporarily floored.

  I put the grocery bags down and wish I hadn’t because now I’ve got nothing to do with my hands.

  Don’t say something you’ll regret.

  Don’t.

  You need this job.

  “Can you tell me why you’re so annoyed?” I ask, a little more softly.

  A muscle tenses along his jaw and the tiny twitch in his skin alerts me to his unease. He says nothing, which only increases my frustration.

  “I’m sorry if you’re upset,” I say. I hate kowtowing down to anyone, least of all him. It’s not in my nature, but I don’t want to run the risk of him telling me I’m fired.

  I want to scream at him. Say something.

  But he’s so cool. So unaffected. So aloof.

  I quell the desire to throw something at him but he walks away without saying a word.

  This isn’t me at all, a meek and subservient woman bowing down to the lord of the manor. That’s what this caveman makes me feel like, and I hate it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MARI

  * * *

  I’m not going to be a meek woman and act as if I’m in the wrong. So, the next morning, I make no attempt at polite conversation. In fact, I purposely avoid Ward.

  I hate walking around as if I’m skating on thin ice, worried that it will crack and I will fall in and die. I hate feeling weak. It gets me wondering if my recent interactions with men have always been broken. Even with Dale, this wasn’t the first time he cheated on me. He’d done it before but I forgave him.

  Why?

  Because I needed him? Or because I thought he would change? We had it all, great chemistry, great sex. He was great in bed, an amazing kisser and an awesome lover. He was thoughtful and he understood me, or so I thought. He was a good listener, and not all men are. He was the man I thought I could have a future with. I was foolish enough to believe he was husband material, because in a sea of boyfriends where most were losers, Dale stood out. What does this say about me, except that I fall for the wrong guys every time?

  Imprisoned in this huge mansion with nothing much to do in my evenings, I nitpick the knotty fabric of our past in an attempt to unravel it. I look for moments and conversations where he might have left a clue, I try to find the exact point in our relationship where he started to look elsewhere because I was not enough. And at the same time, I want to believe that his cheating was a glitch. I want to pretend it never happened. But it did happen. He got someone pregnant and he’s with her now.

  Ruminating over the carcass of my past, I find nothing but hollow bones and promises.

  Now I have plunged into another crazy situation. Ward is complicated. He’s my boss, and he’s changeable and strange. Sometimes I feel as if I understand him, and then he’ll go and do or say something to prove that I have no idea about him at all.

  Is the fault with me?

  For the next few days, I get up at an ungodly hour to tidy his room, knowing he came down early that day because he had his plot twist in his head. I’d rather not run into him like that again.

  Purposefully staying out of Ward’s way means that the only person I see is Jamie.

  There’s a note for me one morning when I enter the kitchen. It’s from Wa
rd, of course, and it’s the first time he’s written me a note. I marvel at the neat handwriting he has for a man.

  More salad, please. Quiche is good.

  No quinoa.

  I throw it away, but going forward, if he leaves me notes, that’s what I’ll prepare for his meals. Prior to this I’d been guessing and he would eat whatever I made, so this is a first, him dictating to me what he prefers.

  “Let’s go out tomorrow,” Jamie says one Friday. I raise an eyebrow. “You look like you need to get out of this prison.”

  I catch sight of Ward walking past the kitchen door. “A prison,” I hoot with pretend laughter, loud enough that I hope he hears. “That sounds about right.” I want to twist that knife right where it hurts.

  “You up for it?” Jamie sounds surprised that I’ve accepted right away.

  “I’m definitely up for it.” I’m in the mood for having some fun. It’s better than staying in this miserable place.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asks.

  I’m too busy staring at the doorway, waiting to see if Ward is hovering around, eavesdropping.

  “Mari,” Jamie touches my hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t mind. You pick a place, and then pick me up.”

  I visit my mom the next morning. She seems fine and alert, and she recognizes me, which is always a big bonus.

  I brush her hair, and slip on the new cardigan I’ve bought her. She used to always feel cold, especially in recent years, and she doesn’t tell me anymore, but I worry that she’s cold. Would she even think to tell me? I put the new cardigan on her before we go for a walk in the grounds.

  She seems a little bit more frail than last time. I don’t have a plan, but a wish, and that is to have her come back home. One day when I get a place of my own. Even as I imagine this, the logical part of my brain knows she will be here until the end of her life and I’ll never have my mom back at my place.