Necessary Evil

by Killarney Traynor

  “Your aunt wants you to call,” Che Che told me when I came back from my lunch break. “She’s says she’s worried about Vincent, that he’s off his feed. Did you get a new horse? Do you need to schedule an appointment?”

  I surprised her by sighing and rolling my eyes. “Vincent isn’t a horse, he’s a man,” I said and her eyes lit up with interest.

  “Oh?”

  Che Che Randazzo is a petite woman with a quick mind, bright lipstick, and a motherly interest in my personal affairs. Her daughter, Melanie, was part of Joe’s class that conducted the dig on the farm all those years ago, but I didn’t really become acquainted with either woman until I started working at the vet’s office. Che Che is a fixture in the place, having worked as a receptionist there for thirty years, and she had an intimate knowledge of every family, puppy, horse, and goldfish in a twenty-mile radius.

  We’ve worked together for four years now, and despite my attempts to maintain a professional distance, she knows me almost as well as Aunt Susanna. I found myself confiding things to her that I couldn’t say to my aunt. She knew, for instance, that I had been having lunch with Joe Tremonti today, so her next assumption was a natural one.

  “Is this fellow your aunt’s beau?”

  “No!” I objected with such force that she was startled. I took a breath, shook my head, and sat down in my chair. “No, he’s a houseguest.”

  When she arched her eyebrow at me, I said, “A paying houseguest. Of sorts. He’s writing a book about, um, farms, and he wanted to get some real life experience.”

  The explanation sounded lame to me – so flimsy as to be unable to withstand the typical first round of Che Che’s questions. I braced myself, but to my surprise, my coworker sat up straight and gasped in excitement.

  “Really? Your place is going to be in a book? That is so exciting! What good advertising for your place! I read all the time – I wonder if I’ve read any of his books. What’s his name? What kind of books does he write? Are you going to be in it? Leah, did you hear?” she asked, as one of the technicians came in with an armload of files and a tablet. “Maddie’s farm is going to be in a book!”

  “Cool.” Leah was too busy to be very impressed. She thumped the stack of files on my desk, and frowned at the tablet as she made a note on it. “What kind of book?”

  “A novel!” Che Che said. “The writer is living there right now, getting the feel for it. Isn’t that exciting? It’s like one of those TV movies.”

  “Who’s the writer?” Leah asked. “She local?”

  “It’s a man,” Che Che said, and that made Leah look up and grin at me.

  “Does Joe know?” she asked, and I blushed up to my roots.

  As a matter of fact, Joe did know. He’d found out that day over lunch, and his reaction had been a little less enthusiastic than my co-workers.

  Lunch with Joe was a last minute thing. He’d sent me a text that morning, telling me he was working in Portsmouth and was dying for a decent lobster roll and intelligent conversation. Couldn’t I take a little extra time for lunch and come meet him? Naturally, I was as incapable of saying no as the romantic-minded Che Che was of refusing me the extra time.

  We had lunch at a ramshackle-looking restaurant on Hampton Beach that served what was possibly the best haddock I’d ever tasted. But although he’d said that he was starving, Joe didn’t eat much. He’d been worrying about our situation ever since he learned of Lindsay’s accident. Convinced that I was next to have an accident, he spent a good deal of the meal arguing with me, again, about closing down the trails. I was more flattered than annoyed by his interference.

  Because of the circumstances, I didn’t want to tell him about Randall and would have avoided the subject altogether if I could. But in trying to convince Joe that there was nothing to worry about, I lied and told him that the hole-digging had ceased. Then he started hinting that he’d like to come up and ride the trails, something he couldn’t do and keep ignorant of Randall’s presence. Not inviting Joe seemed impossible – the very idea of riding along with him on one of the trails was too deliciously romantic to refuse.

  Even so, I wouldn’t have told him about our guest if Joe hadn’t asked what my plans were now that Lindsay was no longer able to work.

  “Will you be able to afford to hire someone?” he asked.

  Had anyone else asked me that question, I would have been offended by the suggestion that I couldn’t handle my own affairs; but the concern etched on his handsome face looked so heartfelt, so genuine, that I softened and wished that I could tell him everything. Something in the way he spoke, the way he looked at me, made me feel as though we were alone in that restaurant, despite the noon-day crowds.

  Nevertheless, I was convinced that it was better he didn’t know all yet.

  “I’m not worried,” I said, as lightly as I was able. “Someone, uh, recommended a boy to us. He seems to be working out well.”

  It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one and I flushed and looked at my plate rather than at him. After a moment, Joe reached out and covered my hand, squeezing it a little. My heart sped up and I found myself locking eyes with him, losing myself in their shifting depths.

  How easy it would be just to stay here, I thought.

  Falling in love with Joe would be too easy. As it was, our relationship was growing so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. His divorce had gone through quietly and easily and was finalized in March, and even though we’d been seeing each other on a fairly regular basis, there was no move on his part to take things beyond the friend zone, something that I was happy to report to Aunt Susanna even while I was privately growing impatient with the delay. Lunches were nice – but I wanted more. It was moments like this, when I was falling into his deep, dark hazel eyes, that I lived for.

  “Maddie,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. Is it getting too much for you? The lessons and the job and the stable work – how can you possibly do it all?”

  I would have regretted telling him about having to double up on the lessons since Lindsay’s accident, only he looked so worried, so concerned, so involved, that I felt cared for. But warm as this feeling made me, I knew he was about to offer to help, something I couldn’t accept. So I told him a novelist Darlene knew was looking to gain some experience on a horse farm and offered to help out for free at the stables in return for room, board, and research.

  Joe was surprised.

  “That’s generous,” he said. “What does he write?”

  I shrugged and very nearly spoiled my story with the grin I found hard to suppress. “Romance novels,” I said.

  Joe immediately began asking me all kinds of questions about Randall’s character, capabilities, and motives before finally letting it go.

  “If he looks at you funny, you let me know,” he said, and I had to stop myself from throwing my arms around him. “I don’t want you or Susanna uncomfortable. He does anything and I’ll be over like a shot.”

  Thinking about that made me grin again as I told Che Che and Leah that Randall was on the farm to write a romance novel. This stunned them for a moment, then Leah started to laugh and Che Che frowned. She’d read romances by the dozen and in all varieties, from the staple bodice rippers to the more modern paranormal romances. I could tell that, in the wake of this new knowledge, her suggestion that I was a character in the book was making her uncomfortable.

  “What’s his name?” she asked. “I’ve probably read something of his.”

  “Oh, probably,” I said. “His name is Gregory Vincent.”

  “Oh?” She looked doubtful.

  “He writes under a few pennames, I think.”

  “Oh!” She nodded.

  “What kind of romances does he write?” Leah asked.

  I shrugged. “He’s written dozens in all genres, but I think he does the American dream-type romances now. You know, single mom meets broken, brooding Navy Seal-type and her ex doesn’t like it.”

  “Ohhh!”
breathed Che Che, looking dreamy. “Those are my favorites.”

  Leah was still grinning. “Are you going to be a character in the book?”

  “God forbid!” I said. “Um, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread this news around. Vincent’s on a tight schedule, and we can’t afford to have too much attention drawn to him.”

  Leah, a practical woman who hardly ever let herself get carried away on the waves of fad or fashions, shrugged and promised easily. Che Che, however, had a wide circle of friends, including five sisters that she regularly played cards with, and I could tell that she relished the idea of having this juicy piece of information to tell them. In the end, her affection for me won out and she nodded acquiescence, but not without a request.

  “Do you think you could get me an autographed copy of his book? Maybe a couple, for my sisters and me? We just love Vincent’s books.”

  She looked so enthused that my guilt flared up. I promised anyway. There was nothing else to do at that point and, as it happened, I could actually get autographed copies of Randall’s books, only it would be The Dunstable Connection, rather than Dunstable’s Dark Desires or whatever they title those books now.

  Thankfully the phone started ringing, forcing us all to get back to work.

  I finally had time to call Aunt Susanna an hour later. She was out with Darlene and couldn’t talk more than to whisper: “I’m so worried, Maddie. He just paces and frowns and he won’t eat much. I keep bringing him things and offering to help, but he seems so – so intense.”

  “Just leave him alone,” I advised. “He’s probably just upset with his editor.”

  “But he’s so thin – he should eat something. And I’ve got nothing better to do, I was thinking I could help, but he just won’t…”

  “I don’t think Ran-Vincent is the type to neglect himself for very long,” I said, earning a raised eye brow from Che Che at the desk next to mine. “Don’t worry about him, Aunt Susanna.”

  “Well…” She seemed reluctant. “All right. I guess. If you think so.”

  “I do,” I said, then after a moment’s hesitation, continued. “I told the girls at the office about Vincent.”

  I emphasized the name, and she sounded surprised when she said, “You did? What did you say?”

  “I told them about his research for his new romance book. I like that he’s going in a new direction with this series – not as trashy as the others, more story, less torn shirt.”

  It was all I could do not to start giggling, especially when Che Che threw me a startled look. But on the other end of the line was dead silence.

  Then, finally, “You told them he was a romance novelist?”

  “Yeah. I figured it was better to come clean. They will keep it to themselves, though. I told them we didn’t want too much publicity. Uh, until the book comes out, of course.” I nodded at my co-worker.

  There was more silence, then an unmistakable giggle.

  “Oh my,” Aunt Susanna said. “Oh my goodness. Oh, Maddie! Randall is not going to like that! Not at all!”

  And then she was laughing, a hearty and full sound that rolled through the phone’s speaker, filling my ear and making me laugh as well. It was so genuine, so unaffected that my eyes stung with sudden tears. She laughed so infrequently now – even with Darlene she only ever seemed to chuckle. To hear it now warmed me, and I quickly dashed the gathering moisture from my eyes. This was no time to indulge in emotional outbursts.

  When the laughter slowed – too quickly in my opinion – Aunt Susanna said, “No, he is not going to like that one bit.”

  “I know! I can’t wait to tell him.”

  “I’ll let you do it – He’s going to be livid.”

  “I don’t see why he should be,” I protested. “It’d give his reputation a much needed boost, don’t you think?”

  “Sounds more like false advertising to me,” she retorted. “Poor Leah and Che Che are going to be expecting some broad-chested, rugged man with a torn shirt, instead of a fussy sort of - Ooops, he’s coming. Talk to you later.”

  She rung off and I hung up, chuckling. When Che Che looked at me oddly, I had to come up with something to explain to her, so I said, stumbling with the name a bit, “Vincent just asked my Aunt to be a character in his book.”

  Her wide-eyed response set me off again.

  Chapter 16:

  I managed to avoid Randall most of that first week. He was busy with his revisions and my lessons ran late into the evening - and even when they didn’t, I found reasons to hang out in the barn or in the stables. Aunt Susanna either didn’t realize what I was doing or didn’t notice, for she never commented on my absence, except to send me texts about dinner. She was growing restless, but there was little I or anyone else could do about that.

  Jacob worked a few mornings and a couple of afternoons during this week and for all appearances was a model employee. He did his chores to Aunt Susanna’s satisfaction and my own, filled in his time sheets properly, and only tracked manure into the kitchen once that I noticed. As he was careless with small details, I suspected that Aunt Susanna was cleaning up after him, but it didn’t matter. The stalls were getting cleaned out, the supplies stacked properly, and he even volunteered to clean up the indoor ring on Saturday.

  “I told him I had to talk to you first,” Aunt Susanna told me on Thursday night. She was at the kitchen counter, hunched over some sheets of paper and beaten text books. We were talking and moving softly, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of the late hour or if it was out of respect for Professor Randall, who was in the next room, working on his book.

  It was half-past nine and I had only just come in from the stables. My eyes were heavy and I tripped over my own feet twice while putting together my dinner; but despite my exhaustion, I was feeling jubilant. Joe had called and asked me out to dinner on Saturday. Saying yes was easy – rescheduling the three afternoon lessons required a deft bit of tact, but I managed it and I was already planning my outfit.

  “Jacob is coming on Saturday?” I asked. I was surprised, then remembered that asking him for his availability was among the many things I had forgotten to do. I would have to rectify that the next time I saw him, which would probably be Saturday, if my workload stayed the same.

  Aunt Susanna rifled through her volumes, nodding distractedly. “Yes, he can work for a half-day then, but he can’t work tomorrow. I asked him to give me his available schedule so that we could work out some consistency.” She looked up at me and blinked through her glasses. “I thought that would make things easier for you.”

  “Yeah, that does, thanks,” I said. “But Jacob’s never allowed to use that tractor unless I’m here.”

  “Yes, I know. I told him as much.”

  I should have known she would. The microwave pinged, letting me know my dinner was ready, and I was happy to attend to it. “Thanks,” I said. “How’s he getting along with the riders?”

  “He hasn’t met many, but they seem to like him. I know Lindsay will.”

  “Lindsay?”

  She turned then, her eyes shining. “She called today, Maddie, sounding so much better. She was hoping to talk to you, but you were out in the barn, so she said she’d text. She’s coming out here for a visit soon.”

  “She must be doing much better then,” I smiled. The idea that Lindsay was up and well enough to come around made my throat tighten with unexpressed emotion.

  Aunt Susanna said, “She’s not allowed to ride for a while yet, but she said she’s getting bored. She’s missing the horses and her girls and you, of course. Her parents are worried about her driving, so maybe Darlene and I will go and pick her up.” She clasped her hands and beamed at me. “It’ll be so good seeing her up and about again.”

  I had to agree. Even if she wasn’t completely healed yet, seeing Lindsay without her bandages was sure to do my aunt – and me - some good. I felt as guilty about the accident as if I had dug the hole myself; but I was angry as well. I wanted find the
people responsible for the digging, though what I would do when I met them, I didn’t know.

  “If she needs a ride, I might be able to pick her up, too,” I said.

  “When would you have time for that?” Aunt Susanna asked. She was over her papers again, her pencil scratching furiously. She had always had a talent for drawing and art, but I hadn’t seen her working at a picture in a long time. I wondered what she was working on.

  “You barely have time to eat your dinner at night,” she continued, oblivious to my curiosity. “I doubt you’ll have time to pick her up and bring her back. Besides, Darlene will enjoy the drive.”

  Of course, it would have to be Darlene who did the driving, she of the many speeding violations. Aunt Susanna’s surgery wouldn’t have affected her driving if she drove an automatic, but her car was a stick shift and she claimed it was too difficult to operate with a cane. Neither Darlene nor I bought the excuse, but we didn’t see the point in disputing with her.

  “I wonder what she’ll think about Jacob,” Aunt Susanna said.

  I recognized the matchmaking glint in her eyes – she had that same look before, like that time a young man stopped by the farm to ask about lessons and pricing. He’d been tall, good looking, friendly, and my age. It took all of ten minutes to scrap Aunt Susanna’s daydream. He was a struggling actor looking to improve his profile, which meant our rates were too steep for his budget, and he was engaged to a nice young fellow from Portsmouth.

  I chuckled and got up to take care of my dishes. “Jacob. Nice, muscular, and available? I don’t think there’s much doubt about what she’ll think. I’m more curious as to what she’ll think of the great professor when she meets him – he’s much more of a character.”

  I nodded in the direction of the office and was surprised to see the brief expression of concern etch across my aunt’s face.

  “Oh, I don’t think they’ll have much to do with each other,” she said. “He’s been so busy, he’s hardly had time to do anything more than pace and eat sandwiches when he comes out.”