At the mailbox, Alexa extracted bills, junk mail, and a small package postmarked Arizona when she heard a tummy-dropping thud followed with an ungodly howl. “Owww, owww, owww, hjælp mig.”
Hannah shot out from Zelda’s apartment as Alexa jumped over the scattered foam noodles and scrambled up the steps. At the top she found Gretel face down, blood gushing from her mouth. Her lip had an ugly gash. One front tooth was missing. Scouring the walkway, she found it lying near the mysterious neighbor’s front door. She picked it up and handed it to Hannah. “Put this in a plastic bag with ice. Maybe they can reattach it.”
“Min tand, min tand,” Gretel wailed, tears mixing with her blood.
“It’s okay,” said Greg. “You’re fine.”
“Hold kaeft, hold kaeft, leaf me alone.”
Hannah handed Gretel a towel filled with ice for her wounded mouth.
“Wow,” said Zelda. “She looks like a Red Hot. I used to love those things.”
“What should I do?” asked Alexa.
“Get her to the clinic. I smell a lawsuit.”
Bryan Frost had been an attorney before becoming president of Comet Communications. He still had his license and might be able to take her case pro bono. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. They walked into the apartment with Gretel keening like a wounded animal.
Alexa said, “Come, we’re going to the clinic.”
While Alexa rummaged through the pile of clothing on the floor for something she could wear, Creeper Greg stood in the doorway. Gretel untied her bra top sitting bare-breasted as drops of blood dotted the coffee table looking like red M&Ms.
“Hannah, are you coming?”
“Fucking A.”
Two hours and three stitches later, the patient was discharged with a prescription for antibiotics and a bill for $525.79.
Alexa handed the invoice back to the cashier in a white collared shirt. “She’s not my daughter, just an overnight guest. I’m not responsible for this.”
The clerk, a serious young black man with a Jamaican accent, said firmly: “We take cash and credit cards. But the bill must be settled now.”
She could leave without paying, but the scenario would replay at the pharmacy and the dentist on Saturday. Gretel’s little misstep would be very costly.
From the time they arrived home and throughout the night, Gretel alternately wailed in pain and called anyone who’d listen, speaking in rapid-fire Danish. All nerves were raw as they entered Dr. Singh’s office on Saturday for an emergency appointment. The pretty, petite Indian-born dentist took a mold of Gretel’s mouth, and affixed a temporary crown. On the way home, Gretel complained that she didn’t like a “foreigner” touching her and Hannah reminded her that she was a “foreigner” too.
Alexa sat at the computer watching the girls glued to MTV and dug into the lives of Sinclair Falcone, Felicity and Hope Gold, and troublemaker Drexel Moss. A smile played across her lips. This was more fun than she’d had in a long time. Now all she needed were some tips on basketball and a way to invite Luke to the Heat game without looking needy or apologetic, and a place to park Gretel—permanently, if possible.
CHAPTER 40
MONDAY MORNING was overcast with ninety-percent chance of rain. But it didn’t matter. Despite the forecast, the sun was glowing, a magnificent fireball in the firmament. Not only had she broken out of her shell, Alexa realized how many single, good-looking guys were available. If things didn’t work out with Luke, she had limitless romantic options, plenty of opportunities to score with someone who loved her unconditionally and without an agenda.
Squeezing gel onto her palms, she scrunched her hair into submission and ran over the plan one more time, as eager as a five-star general to execute it.
“Hurry up you toxic tadpole,” Hannah shouted from the bedroom. “I can’t be late again.”
“I’m a sexy salamander,” lisped Gretel, pulling on black skinny jeans and a powder blue Ariana Grande T-shirt.
After the usual morning theatrics, they pulled up to Pelican Middle where Hannah jumped out, yanking open the front door as the late bell rang. Alexa made an illegal U-turn, tires screeching, and headed northeast to Dixie Highway with Gretel in the backseat. They arrived at Dr. Singh’s office thirty minutes early and sat in the car, neither talking, each engrossed with her respective phone.
She texted Lana: Family emergency! Will be late. She didn’t offer an explanation, nor did she apologize. None of this was her fault. Helen Parry was the guilty party.
At nine sharp, they entered the waiting room and Gretel was taken into one of the examining rooms. With nobody else to text and all her emails read, Alexa tapped the Facebook icon and checked out the Danish Delight’s homepage, something she should have done weeks ago. There she was. Gretel Jepsen from Skagen, Denmark, had a shocking array of photos—boys, boys, boys, and more boys, hundreds of them: pale-skinned and fair-haired, bronzed with wavy hair, African-Americans, Asians, Lapps, Danes, Spaniards, and even a few Somalis, tall and very dark with narrow faces and prominent teeth. In some pictures Gretel was bundled up with a muffler, in others she wore a barely-there bikini, pale as a wisp of smoke. The text was in Danish. Bottom line: Gretel was boy bait.
An hour later, looking pale and frightened, Gretel emerged from the examining room frowning. Once again, Alexa pulled out her credit card and handed it over, praying Dr. Singh would give a discount. She didn’t. Senses dulled, she signed the receipt and realized the cost of keeping Gretel had surged past the fifteen-hundred-dollar mark.
As they walked out, the prinsesse stamped her foot. “This tooth doesn’t look anything like my old one.”
“Let me see,” asked Alexa politely, not that she cared.
Gretel lifted her swollen lip.
“It looks fine.”
“Jeg hader det! Ingen skole.” She crossed her arms over her thin chest defiantly
“That’s right, you’re not going to school today.” Alexa smiled and led her to the SUV. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Ingen overraskelser.”
“You don’t like surprises? Trust me, you’ll like this one.” They drove in silence to the corporate park. She turned off the ignition and said, “I work here.”
As they walked through the door, Gretel put her hand protectively over mouth. They strode to the double-wide doors of the executive suite and, without knocking; Alexa yanked them open and walked in. Lana Cox lounged on the chair opposite Mrs. Parry. Both popped up like a corks in an ocean of surprise.
“Who’s she?” asked Lana. “You can’t just bring strangers in here. We have rules.”
Helen’s brows knit together. “Doesn’t Gretel have school?”
“Not today. She’s your Valentine’s Day present.”
“Gretel, you stay here,” Alexa instructed firmly. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”
Over their protests, she hurried out to her car, as a wave of exquisite relief swept over her. Driving well under the posted limit, motorists honked, flashed their lights, and rocketed around her shooting the bird. She turned the country music station to high, singing along to Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places,” and Carrie Underwood’s “Last Name.” The lyrics spoke to her.
“Today, I woke up, thinking’ ‘bout Elvis, somewhere in Vegas; I’m not sure how I got here, or how this ring on my left hand just appeared.”
Wasn’t that the truth? At least she wasn’t the only one!
At home she leisurely packed Gretel’s jars of insanely expensive exotic food, stripped the couch, and tossed the dirty sheets in the laundry hamper. Then she made herself scrambled eggs and ate in blissful silence before rinsing the dishes and driving back to the office. Once again, she strolled past her astonished coworkers to Mrs. Parry’s desk, dropping the duffel bag, backpack, and two plastic bags with Gretel’s dirty laundry on the floor, along with a cloth Publix bag containing her precious imported delicacies.
“She’s all yours.”
“But I have contracts to
type up and letters to write.”
“I’m sure Gretel can be of use. She’s such a little hjælper.”
She asked, “Did I pronounce that right?”
“Danish isn’t that hard,” she said to Helen. “It’s the accent that’s a bitch.”
Gretel asked, “I don’t have to stay with you?”
“No, Gretel. You win.”
What she meant was: I win. Good luck.
Alexa pulled out receipts from Urgent Care, the pharmacy, and Dr. Singh. “I understand how tight things are with you Helen so there’s no rush to pay me back. The truth is that Gretel is a very expensive house guest. But we loved having her.”
“I’m surprised you kept her so long,” said Helen with a smirk. “I thought she’d last one day, maybe two, not five weeks.”
If she’d been played for a sucker, it no longer mattered. Alexa was free.
A sudden rain squall had produced magnificent rainbow that arced over the horizon as she drove to Jon & Bob’s, a popular watering hole and singles hangout on the beach. She walked in, recalling the last time she was here with Luke, Zelda, and Hannah enjoying a Thanksgiving meal.
She slid onto a stool at the outside bar and ordered up a Margarita. There was no rush to be anywhere. This was ME time, well-earned and definitely deserved. The cool breeze caressed her skin as she watched volleyball games played by bronzed men drenched in glistening sweat. The ocean sparkled like a million diamonds as gulls cried for handouts and her spirits soared. For the first time in months—in forever—she felt at peace. In the moment. In love with life.
Gazing around, she saw couples laughing and kissing over drinks, people who appeared to have not one care in the world. By contrast, she felt like Atlas. She needed to shrug off that weight and break free from the rules she imposed upon herself. The move to Florida and the spontaneous trip to Portland were her only two adventures. She’d never been to Europe or on an African safari. Looking at the Atlantic, she realized how sheltered her life had been—and still was. Hell, this was the first time she’d sat alone at a bar in the middle of the day having a drink. EVER!
Since moving to Florida, they hadn’t been anywhere, not even Worth Avenue in Palm Beach where fabulously wealthy old men trolled for women half their age and young women looking for sugar daddies donned curve-hugging short dresses and brazen smiles. It was only forty minutes north, an easy drive. But her life had been working and writing and keeping an eye out for Hannah while trying to make amends with Luke and tending Gretel’s needs and making sure Zelda was okay. She pulled up a blank screen on her phone and began creating a bucket list of things to do: snorkeling, airboat ride, alligator farm, rodeo...
As the tequila worked its magic, Alexa’s shoulders, which were always hunched around her neck, began to relax. Whatever happened with the book, with Luke, with work didn’t matter. She didn’t care if there was blowback from taking the day off or dumping Gretel on Helen. She ordered another Margarita, frozen this time, sucking in hard as brain freeze tore through the roof of her mouth and zapped her brain.
At home basking in the afterglow, she vacuumed up all remnants of Hurricane Gretel, straightened Hannah’s room, loaded the dirty laundry into the machines down the hall, and decided to make something special for dinner.
Hannah opened the door, glanced around warily. “Where is she? She never showed up for school.”
Alexa smiled. “Everything has an expiration date. Today was Gretel’s. By the way, I checked out her Facebook page. She was very promiscuous for her age.”
“She was promiscuous for any age.”
“I say hashtag good riddance.”
Hannah kissed her mother’s cheek. “Agreed. By the way, I know all the Danish curse words. Want to hear them?”
CHAPTER 41
THE END of February was perfect hiking weather in Sedona: cool at sunrise, warming up in the afternoon. New crops of mountain flowers added dizzying pops of color to the pale mossy-green scrub and rocky red dirt. Two weeks had passed since the incident at the plaza and Sari was moving on. She hadn’t relayed anything about the disaster to her Portland friends, nor did she tell Suzie that she had been blindsided by a man she was learning to trust. Although she didn’t have any reason to doubt her actions or to feel ashamed, she was embarrassed. She wished it had turned out differently.
She had avoided both Crystal Light Therapy and the Tlaquepaque Arts & Crafts Village where Rob Porterfield carved his exquisite figurines at Native Woodcrafts. He had not tried to contact her, nor did she expect him to. What’s done is done. No harm, no foul, isn’t that what they say?
On this Sunday morning, with nothing on her agenda, feeling fidgety and out of sorts, Sari trolled through the various photos of canyons and trails looking for a new place to explore when an incoming call buzzed. She heard a deep resonant voice say, “Don’t hang up.”
She sucked in, exhaling slowly.
“I can’t explain my behavior that night, but I won’t make any excuses. I was a jerk, I admit it.”
Her heart thrummed. “I’m listening.”
“I was upset. I’m not sure where I was coming from, but I hoped we could take a hike, somewhere quiet, talk things over, clear the air, find our way back to where we were going.”
“I’d like that.”
“Have you been to Boynton Canyon?”
“No, it sounds interesting.”
“The trail leads to Cathedral Lookout with a couple of out-of-the-way vortexes, what we call our secret magnetic treasures. I promise my behavior will be impeccable.”
She said nothing. He asked, “Are you still there?”
“I’m thinking.” She let another few seconds tick by. “Look, I was planning a hike anyway, so okay.”
He said, “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
After changing twice, she pulled on black yoga pants with a burgundy T-shirt and ivory cotton sweater that could later be tied around her waist, thick cotton socks, and hiking boots. Rob’s knock sent her heart racing. He planted a dry kiss on her forehead. Glancing up at the high beamed ceilings, he said, “This is nice.” Wandering over to the bookcase, he held up a carving she’d bought from the shop. “A piece of my heart is always here.”
His presence seemed to fill the entire space and suddenly she was acutely aware of the bedroom only a few feet away. Sari offered to whip up a couple of ham-and-cheese sandwiches, quickly gathering the fixings, and wrapping them up. “Tell me again where we’re going.”
She jotted the name of the trail, his name, and her cell phone number on a pad. Crazy shit happened. Women went missing all the time. She felt silly, but she did it anyway.
Sari climbed into his truck, pondering the unexpected turn of events. They chatted easily, like they had at dinner, before things turned sour. Forty minutes later he swung off the main highway, parked, and shut down the engine. “We have it practically all to ourselves. Come, let’s go.”
They grabbed their gear. “The trail ends on a plateau above the tree tops,” he explained. “And I have a special surprise for you.” His hazel eyes twinkled mischievously and he grinned seductively as he picked up her backpack. But he made no move to kiss or embrace her.
The air was crisp, filled with aromas she couldn’t readily identify: a savory bouquet of earthly delights. Rob shrugged into the straps of his rucksack, with a rolled blanket attached. Sari assumed it was for their picnic and felt comfortable knowing he was an experienced outdoorsman familiar with the terrain. “The path is flat for a while, then slants upward.”
She humped the backpack up between her shoulder blades, securing the straps. “Duly noted.”
Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, partially blocking out the cloudless cerulean sky. They seemed to be alone as the foliage became denser, pines and deciduous trees towering in leafy canopies. Their labored breath commingled with the swish of branches, the rustling of small animals, and strident cries of jays. Rob suddenly veered off the path. “Com’on,” he called. �
�It’s a shortcut.”
She hung back, skeptical as to his intentions. “I’m not sure.”
“Trust me.” He glanced over his shoulder and beckoned to her.
Sari didn’t like the expression trust me. Nothing good ever came of it. Nevertheless, she stepped onto the soft carpet of dead leaves and pine needles as he strode resolutely toward a copse of trees and shrugged off his burden.
“Let’s take a break.”
“What, already? We just started.”
He took a long pull on the water bottle. “I want to clear the air about the other night.”
She let her backpack slip off. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“I can’t excuse my behavior. I nearly hit a fox on the way home. I killed a snake.” He sighed and shook his head regretfully. “I’m at a loss to explain it.”
He took a step toward her. Without touching her, he leaned in as his lips grazed hers. “I like you Sari. It surprises me how much.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“That’s why we’re here.” He tugged off his sweater. “Did you know this forest is enchanted?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I can prove it.”
“Okay. You’re on.”
His open arms invited her in. She stepped forward. He kissed her gently. “Is this okay?”
She nodded. Again he put his lips to hers with no rushing, no tongue down her throat, no groping or frantic desire. Polite and respectful, he stopped, stepped back, pulled off his black T-shirt and dropped it into the pine needles.
Love Lost & Found (Surfside Romance Book 2) Page 14