by Alie Garnett
Agatha slammed her car door, happy to be home and done with work until Friday, when she had another gig with Harper. Until then, she was free, except from three to five every day when she was busy with Violet.
She headed toward her house until she heard a terrible, loud crash coming from the house Chris was destroying. Turning quickly, she hurried over there with phone in hand in case she had to call an ambulance. Pushing through the door, she couldn’t see past the dust cloud that engulfed the entire entrance.
“Chris, are you okay in there?” she called, not wanting to venture inside until the dust settled.
“I’m okay,” came from the stairway, or at least where she remembered the stairway being.
The dust started to settle, and Agatha took a deep breath and headed into the house to make sure Chris wasn’t dying. The house did have it out for him, but with good reason. She looked around upstairs until she saw movement in one of the bedrooms, the one that was probably above the living room downstairs.
He was completely covered in white powder, from head to. The floor was covered in small and large pieces of plaster.
She couldn’t stifle the laugh that erupted from her at the sight of perfect Chris Lowell covered in plaster and dust. He was busy shaking his body and using his hands to get the bigger pieces off him.
“Not funny, Agatha,” he said from his spot in the middle of the room.
“Very funny, actually. The living room is destroyed.” She leaned against the doorframe to watch.
He stomped his foot. “Shit. Again? That’s what happened to the dining room.”
“Did you do something to make the walls came down on you?” She laughed again at the image. He was probably big enough to make it happen.
“No, smartypants. I was taking down these wood pieces. They look weird.” He kicked one that was on the ground.
“You mean the ceiling supports? I can see how those wouldn’t seem important.” She continued to laugh as she turned to leave. He was alive, so her job was done.
“You’re going to just leave me?” he called after her.
“Yep. I don’t want to be here when this thing just falls in on you.” She headed for the stairs because she didn’t need to tempt herself by being near him.
“Ag,” he called again, stopping her in her tracks. Nobody called her that unless they were related to her. Not even the husbands were allowed to call her that, ever.
Spinning on her heels, she hissed, “Do not call me that. You are not allowed to call me nicknames.”
He was following her and stopped at her words, his smile gone. “Sorry, Agatha. I won’t call you that again.”
“Just don’t do it again.” She turned to leave again.
“Agatha, wait.”
Stopping, she turned back to him. “What?”
“I’m really sorry I called you that. I should have asked first.” His words hit their mark, as if he knew it was him that made her hate when people called her anything but her given name. Him and his Chrissy, and her trying to be someone else, someone that in the end, she didn’t want to be.
“It’s okay, Chris. Maybe I’m a little oversensitive about it.” She ran her hands over her face to keep him from seeing too much. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“Sorry I woke you,” he apologized.
She shrugged. “You didn’t. I was just getting home from work.”
“Is there any way I could take a shower at your place? Mine are out of commission, and I can’t really go get a hotel room like this.” He almost leaned against the banister but shifted away from it quickly.
“Sure, you can stay in the same room if you want,” she relented. He was right—he couldn’t go into a hotel looking like he did. And if she locked herself in her room, she wouldn’t even notice he was there. Or she hoped she wouldn’t notice. She turned away from him, walking down the stairs without touching any of the rails as she went.
Calling after her, he asked, “Will the house be full when I wake up?”
“No,” she yelled back. “Just me tomorrow.”
Out the door and across the street, she didn’t stop until she was in her bedroom and had the door shut. Leaning against it, she forced herself to stop thinking. He was her past and should stay there. He had destroyed her at eighteen, and he didn’t even know who she was today. Wasn’t that enough reason for her to stay away from him?
Right now, she should be letting him die in the house that he was not so slowly killing. There was no reason that she should let him stay with her. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be near her at all.
But there was something about him that always made her feel protective of him. Though he was always bigger and stronger than her, she always felt there was something soft about him. It was part of his attraction.
Before she moved away from her bedroom door, she heard her guest shower turn on. Now she knew he was naked in her house again. Still, she wanted to join him, but she forced herself to shower in her own bathroom so that she could wash her awful thoughts away.
By the time she had washed him and her day off her body, the house was silent. Not wanting to stay up all night like she did the last time he stayed over, she forced herself into bed. Though she was not overly tired, she couldn’t let herself leave her room that night. Even though he had hurt her time and time again, she would crawl into his bed and let him hurt her all over again. Because she craved him too much not to.
Chapter Fourteen
Bright sun was shining through the window when Chris woke up and rolled onto his back. Once again, he was back in Agatha’s house because he was a moron. It had been almost two weeks since he started to flip his house, but so far, he had done nothing but destroy it. Agatha was probably right; he needed to hire professionals to fix it. He had no idea what he was doing.
Rolling out of bed, he was happy to find that the battle with the ceiling hadn’t had any effect on his knee. Chris pulled on the clean pants he had brought and his blue Basten shirt. He really liked the shirt and wore it more than he liked to admit. Everyone asked him what it meant. Sometimes, he just made something up.
In the hallway, he looked into the open door of Agatha’s room and saw that it was empty and the bed was made. He found her downstairs, sitting at the table with papers strewn around her. She was in blue jeans as usual and a gray t-shirt.
“Morning, Agatha,” he said to the back of her head.
She turned at his greeting and said, “Morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Mabel has a nice bed.” He pointed to the coffee pot, she nodded, and he filled himself a cup.
“Maby always got all the nice stuff around here,” Agatha complained with a smile as he sat down in the chair near her.
“Maybe?”
“Mabel’s nickname is Maby. Only to the family, though. Everyone else calls her Mabel or Mabel Lucie. She goes by both.” She gathered up her papers and put them into a pile. Her shirt said, “Grand Cannon.”
“Lucy, the one who can’t spell?” Taking a sip of the bitter drink, he remembered her telling him Lucy was the one who made all the shirts. He remembered everything Agatha had ever told him.
“You remember her name?” Her brown eyes were looking at him, then she shook her head. “No, Mabel Lucie and Lucy Maud are twins.”
“That’s not confusing at all.” He chuckled a little at the overly twin names.
“They’re identical, so gets even more confusing.”
“Do you have a twin?” he asked.
“No, just me.” Agatha pushed the papers away from him.
“It’s just you, but there’s seating for over a dozen in here.” He looked around the room. She was back to acting prickly. Looking back, he couldn’t pinpoint what he had said to change her mood.
“I have six sisters, and four are married. Then there’s Mom and Harrison. Lucy has twin babies now, and Buzz and Mom are both pregnant.” She listed off enough people to fill the room beyond capacity.
&nb
sp; “Your mom is pregnant?” He looked at her closely, wondering how old she was. Maybe she was younger than he had thought. He couldn’t imagine his parents having any more kids, even before his dad had died.
Chuckling, she got up, taking the papers with her. “Stepmom. She was young when she married my dad.”
“You call your dad Harrison?” he questioned.
“No, Harrison is Sera’s second husband. My dad took off with another woman when I was in junior high. Sera raised us.” She leaned against the counter across the room from him.
“My parents split my senior year of high school. It was rough,” he admitted, turning his chair to look at her, he liked to learn about her.
Rough wasn’t even half of how bad it had been. Mostly because his mom had shielded him and his siblings from the worst of their father’s bad qualities. From sleeping around to ignoring his family until the divorce, Chris hadn’t seen it. Then his mom stopped covering for him, and it was suddenly all there for Chris to see. And then he couldn’t unsee it.
“It usually is.” She didn’t elaborate.
“The little girl is Sera’s then?” he asked, wanting her to say more.
“Yes.” Her eyes lit up as she smiled. “Violet is Sera all over again, but she looks just like Harrison.”
“I thought she was your daughter when I first saw you,” he admitted.
Agatha toyed with her coffee cup. “No, I’m not mother material, never have been. I’m just good with some kids.”
“You’re more than good with her. She loves coming over here. I can tell.” Every time he saw them together, it was clear Agatha was devoted to the little girl.
“She has to. Emma doesn’t want to watch her, and I have nothing else going on. I’ve been watching her since she was a baby. She’s about to get tired of me.” Running her hand through her hair, she got up to fill her coffee cup again.
“She seems to like you a lot still.” He got up from his chair and pushed it in.
He wanted to go over to her and hug her to take her pain away, but he knew she would never let him do it. All he wanted to do was make her realize that she was perfect, and her sisters knew that. That Emma was just going through a stage and would one day realize she needed her sister again.
“She’s nine. By the time she’s twelve, she’ll think I’m lame.” She picked up her coffee and took a drink, her eyes on the cup and not him.
“You are not lame, Agatha. Even your clothes are interesting.” He pointed at her shirt.
“Lucy made it, not me.” She shrugged and set down her coffee cup. “You can let yourself out.”
Before he knew what was happening, Agatha had left the room, leaving him alone in her kitchen. While taking his coffee cup to the dishwasher, he dumped hers and put it inside also. Once again, he looked around the kitchen. It was so quiet that morning, so different than the last time he had been there.
Chris didn’t see Agatha when he left the house. She must have gone upstairs or maybe even outside. Whichever it was, she wasn’t anywhere around for him to thank her for letting him stay with her again. Maybe he would be able to see her when she waited for Violet today. He couldn’t wait.
Chapter Fifteen
The opening strains of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” rang through the house, announcing it was 2:55 p.m. The song meant it was Wednesday, but Agatha hadn’t found a good Wednesday song yet, so this one would have to do. Setting down her mulberry purple pencil, she headed downstairs to meet Violet, singing as she went.
Agatha loved this song and remembered when her family would belt out the lyrics every time it came on the radio. Nobody tried to restrain themselves as they sang along together.
Feeling content, Agatha set out the cookies she had taken from the freezer that morning before Chris had woken up, she was happy Lucy was still providing baked goods even with the babies in the house. Agatha didn’t bake. Ever. But then again, two of her sisters were chefs, so she didn’t have to.
Grabbing her pop from the fridge as the second chorus rolled around, she sang and headed for the door to wait for Violet. Movement in front of her made her scream and drop her unopened can on the floor.
Chris was leaning against the open front doorframe, watching her. Yelling to make the music stop, she stood staring at him as he chuckled.
“Keep singing, Agatha. I always wondered how you managed to walk outside at the same time every day. You have a timer.”
“Shut up, Chris.” Agatha blushed with embarrassment. She had enjoyed singing to the radio as loud as she liked now that she lived alone. Except now she would forever think that Chris was watching her and acted like it was a joke. “What are you doing here?”
“The mailman dropped off a box at my place by mistake, so I brought it over.” He held up the box. “Miss Lovely.”
Stiffening, Agatha wondered if he would make the connection now that he knew her last name, that everything would suddenly fall into place for him. He seemed to remember everyone’s name but hers. That alone should show her that he was not worth her time.
“Thank you.” She stomped up to him and took the box from his hands. She knew what it was and didn’t want Violet to see it. Not yet.
Opening the closet by the front door, she tucked the box in there. The little girl wouldn’t look in there. Agatha would look at it after Violet had gone home.
“Is it a secret?” He nodded at the door.
“No, just not something Violet has to see.”
“Adult stuff?” He winked.
“My stuff,” she stated before going outside to wait for Violet on the step, pushing past Chris’s warm hard body as she went.
“Touché.” He followed her out of the house.
“It’s just my business, okay? I don’t go snooping around your falling-down house, do I?” She sat down, not bothering to get the mail today and leaving her pop still on the floor in the living room, unopened.
“Sorry I said anything. You’re in a bad mood today,” he said but didn’t leave.
“Really? You came into my house, Chris. You laughed at me,” she said the words more to herself as she hugged her knees to her chest. He didn’t care about laughing at people. Nobody ever laughed at him.
He sat down next to her on the front step and put his arm around her. “I just thought that you were cute, Agatha. So cute and sparkly that Violet was coming over. I’m sorry I laughed at you. I should have just sung along because girls do just want to have fun.”
Sighing, she let him hold her against his big body. She could have sworn that he kissed her hair, but she wasn’t going to go there. It was bad enough that she liked being in his arms again, being close to him, smelling him. The longer they sat, the more her body wanted from him, even if it was just a touch.
Looking down the street, she saw Violet skipping their way. She was chatting to herself or her imaginary friend. Today in Chris’s arms, she saw him, their baby. His blond curls were in contrast to Violet’s dark hair. Pushing out of his arms, she rushed into the house away from Chris and the images of their son, a son he never knew about or wouldn’t even care about.
Even though she didn’t even get to see him, he was so much a part of her life. She thought about him often, and that he and Violet would have been the same age didn’t help.
She tried to pull herself together; Violet needed her strong. For two hours, she needed to be strong for Violet. Then she had all night to fall apart. After washing her face in the bathroom, she came out to see Chris and Violet at the kitchen island.
“There she is. I told you she was here.” Chris pointed at her with half a cookie.
“I’m here. Sorry, Violet,” Agatha apologized.
Violet shrugged. “It’s okay. I was telling him that sometimes you aren’t on the step but in the house somewhere.”
Running a hand over her hair, Agatha was mad at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. This was her Violet time, and nothing got in the way of that. Not even Christopher Lowell.
“Not often,” Agatha stated. She took her job seriously.
“Sometimes you’re sleeping. Then I get to wake you up, like Buzzy does.” The kid grinned wide.
“How does Buzzy wake her?” Chris asked the little girl.
“With a bucket of water. Cold water.” She giggled.
“Sounds mean,” Chris said.
“I started it, so I guess it’s my fault,” Agatha admitted. Sometimes having four sisters wasn’t easy.
“Didn’t think that one through?” Chris popped the last of his cookie in his mouth.
“I didn’t think everyone would still be living here as they approached their thirties.” She shrugged. They actually had more fun together after they were all out of their teens than during them. There had been way less taking things seriously once they turned twenty.
Chris turned from them and went to the fridge, then grabbed out a pop and set it down in front of Agatha. Agatha looked at it as if it might bite. The action was so unexpected of him, and she didn’t want to think of him as that thoughtful. Instead of dwelling on it, she sat on the stool nearby and opened it.
Chris looked around. “Must have been crazy in here with five grown women.”
“Six, counting Mom and Emma and Violet here. It was a madhouse sometimes, but it’s quiet now.” She looked around the room, too, recalling the fights and make-ups that followed.
“What is your favorite memory of living here, Violet?” he asked the little girl.
She scrunched up her brow and thought. “When Mom started the food fight, and everyone joined in and there were potatoes everywhere.”
“That took hours to clean, and I still find odd foods around the house.” She loved her sisters, and they loved food until it all turned to hate, and it started to fly.