I've never been around people with a lot of money, so this is all new to me. This house had to have cost him a couple of million dollars. It's secluded and in a gated community and obviously has a very large lot,, several acres if I'm not mistaken. That can't be a common thing this close to Chicago.
Being surrounded by all this beauty makes me want to paint. I haven't been able to lift a brush in nearly five years. Jay thought I spent too much time dreaming about things that were never meant to be, so he decided I didn't need to dream at all. One day, my easel, brushes, paint, and canvas were all there. The next, they weren't.
All of it was gone.
I had taken beating after beating and never let myself hate him for the hell he put me through, but when he threw out all my painting supplies ... brushes that my mother had bought me ... the easel my mother had saved money for weeks to buy ... gone.
That was the day I stopped loving and began to hate my husband.
It was as if an internal switch had been flipped. After that day, I never felt a shred of compassion, empathy, or love for him ever again.
The soft click of the back door draws my attention back to the here and now.
Mr. Scott comes running around the side of the house and into the backyard before he disappears, running in behind a row of hedges and out of my line of sight.
"Figures. I knew he'd be the athletic, healthy type." I shake my head and go back to polishing off my delicious pancakes.
Next week, I'll have to go back to the doctor’s office for some bloodwork and possibly a sonogram. But until then, I guess I'll have to occupy myself with something here.
I'm not allowed a lot of activity in the first couple of weeks. The doctors want to make sure that the implantation takes, and the less mobile I am, the better the chances.
I take a sip of my orange juice and decide it's time to take a tour of the house. Even though Mr. Scott isn't here to show me around, I can figure it out on my own. It would probably be awkward to have him show me around anyway. It's not like we're great at striking up stimulating conversations. If anything, he tries to avoid me as much as possible, and I need to do the same. It's obvious he wants to keep this coldly professional, so that's exactly what I plan to give him.
With that thought in mind, I take my dishes to the kitchen sink, rinse them off, and then load them into the dishwasher. After I'm finished, I head upstairs to have a look at the bedrooms.
After an hour of snooping, I’ve finally made my way through all the rooms except the one at the end of the hall. Will's room is just across the hall from mine, and while I assumed it was the master bedroom, it isn't.
When I open the last door it's like taking a step into another dimension.
Feminine clothes are scattered throughout the room, lying over the back of a sitting chair, and draped over the footboard of the bed. Jewelry lines a large dresser that runs the length of the wall.
An antique looking vanity has makeup brushes lying on it and other various tubes of liquid makeup and mascara scattered about.
My face scrunches up in confusion. Does someone live here with him? A girlfriend, maybe?
But all thoughts clear my mind when I step completely into the room and see a large canvas portrait of Will and his wife on their wedding day. It hangs prominently over the headboard of their bed.
The sight of it brings everything into sharp perspective.
"Oh, my god. He never touched a thing after she died," I whisper, my heart breaking for him.
The room is like a shrine to her existence, and it’s obvious he’s never allowed himself to let go of her. A fancy bag sits atop a table next to the chair in the corner, red silk spilling over its side. A nightie of some sort meant to entice her husband on a night that was obviously planned to be romantic, if her scattered clothes are any indication.
A woman knows how another woman thinks.
The scattered clothes. Jewelry on the dresser. Makeup on the vanity.
She was getting ready for a date. Obviously struggling to decide what she wanted to wear. And the nightie on the table––the perfect end to a special night.
I swallow the hard lump building in my throat and take several steps back. Feeling as if I've intruded on something I was never meant to see, I turn and scurry out of the room. When the door shuts behind me, I fall back against it. My breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
"He's still in love with her. So in love that he refuses to let her go." So strong are my thoughts that I can’t contain the words inside my head.
My heart aches for him so much. I've never known a love like the one he obviously shared with his wife. Never had someone cherish me so much that something as insignificant as clothes lying on the floor would mean more to them than anything else.
With my fist clenched over my chest, I make my way back to my room. I can't let him know I've seen their room. For some reason, I know it would anger him.
Chapter Fifteen
Will
The pounding of my feet against the ground as I jog the trail around my subdivision is the only sound that echoes through my ears. My runs are my time for contemplation. I always wear earplugs to tune out the world around me. My days are filled with endless consultations, phone calls, emails, research, and a constant flood of external stimuli. I had to learn the hard way that taking time out to reflect and redirect are as important as breathing to my mental well-being.
But one thing keeps interrupting my intense run, and no matter how hard I press my body to run faster, dig deeper ... she still invades my thoughts. I can't shake the unsettling feeling that having her in my house has brought about. Knowing that she'll be there when I get back. That she'll be there for the next nine months––and then the baby will take her place.
For the past two years, I have isolated myself from friends, family, and colleagues. I couldn't compartmentalize the memories that being around them brought back. Every time I had drinks with my friends, I remembered all the times Sophia and I had done the same thing with the same group of people. We shared a circle of friends, which made it impossible for me to forge new memories with all the painful ones dredging up every time I saw the look of pity in their eyes. They knew I was struggling, but they didn't know how to help me to overcome it.
I just wanted a semblance of normalcy again and all they wanted to do was fill the void they knew Sophia's death had left. But a beer and a night out with friends could never fill that void. It could never be filled by anything or anyone.
I'm of the firm belief we are granted that one special person meant to make our life something, more.
Sophia was it for me.
So I know that these feelings that Ms. Murphy is stirring within me are nothing more than my body craving human contact and my mind seeking an escape from the darkness that has consumed me of late.
Yes, that must be what it is. I'm lonely. Having her in my house has reminded me of just how much I've missed having someone to come home to.
With that bit of confusion somewhat resolved, I push myself a little harder on the last mile of my run.
I make a mental note that I need to call one of the nurses from the hospital that I have a casual, no-strings-attached fling with every now and then. It's been months since I've been with a woman. Clearly, my checking out Ms. Murphy must be a result of sexual frustration. I've never been the kind of man who needed sex on a regular basis after Sophia's death. Every few months, I'd find a willing partner to spend one night with. I was always clear that there were to be no expectations of commitment or emotional attachments. Just sex. A physical release and nothing more.
I usually only spend one night with them and no more. But Jackie, the nurse at the hospital, is the only exception to that rule. Not because I've grown fond of her or anything; it's more that she knows how to please and never asks for anything beyond a night of raw fucking. She has no illusions that what we share is making love. She takes it for exactly what it is ... a quick fuck to release my tension and ease the f
rustrations of being alone.
Yeah, calling her wouldn't be a bad idea at all.
Kara
Mr. Scott was gone all morning and well into the evening. I only heard him enter the house after his morning run and then a few minutes later, he left again, this time in his SUV.
I've made it my mission not to let him get under my skin. Honestly, his cold demeanor will make things so much easier. This experience might have been extremely uncomfortable if he were friendly or somewhat flirty, especially after what I saw in the master bedroom.
Maybe it would have been better had I went with a couple instead of a widower. But something about him and his picture stuck with me long after my meeting with the surrogacy agent.
William Scott looked like a man who needed me. As stupid as that may sound, that's the honest truth as to why I accepted his offer and took a bus all the way to Chicago to carry his baby. I've never heard the details of his wife's death, and frankly, that bothers me. For reasons that I don't understand, I want to know all about him. What are his hobbies? What is his favorite type of music? Does he like to cook?
I know that I'm treading on dangerous ground, but I believe more than just coincidence brought us together. Maybe we were meant to help each other overcome our pasts.
I huff. I'm being a romantic, and I should know better. Happy endings never happen for women like me.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding me that I need to eat.
But just as quickly, I'm taken back to this morning’s breakfast incident. I don't know why I got so excited when I saw that damn plate of pancakes on the table and thought he had cooked breakfast for me. It was completely stupid of me to think that he would go out of his way to cook a meal for me. In all the years I had been with Jay, he hadn't so much as made me a pitcher of Kool-Aid.
I reach over to the nightstand and type in a quick thank you to Abigail. Even though I secretly wish it had been Mr. Scott who had cooked breakfast, I need to thank her for the thoughtful gesture.
I hit send and sit back against the headboard, casually flipping through a magazine I found on the dining room table. It's a home and garden edition, but the pictures are popping with so much color that I am itching to paint a landscape. My room doesn't have any spectacular views, nothing like the sunroom, but barren trees that have yet to sprout buds and embrace the oncoming spring weather line the yard. Occasionally, a bird will venture out into the open and brave the chilly air.
I love winter––It's the contrast in color that captivates me. Everything is muted except that which is brimming with life. Birds, chipmunks, and squirrels occupy most of the trees. And every time one decides to leave the protection of the thick evergreens, a burst of color against the barren landscape catches my eye.
I wonder if Mr. Scott would mind if I set up an area to work in the sunroom? As soon as the thought enters my mind, a wave of elation soon follows. The corners of my mouth stretch upward as a smile overtakes my forlorn expression.
Sketching! That's exactly what I need. That would enable me to sit and obey the doctor’s orders while exercising my mind at the same time. Nothing puts me more at ease than a pencil in my hand and a blank page before me. The only thing better … my easel and paint brushes with a canvas just waiting to be filled with color.
As soon as I’m able to get out and about, I’ll take a cab to the city and purchase some supplies.
The sound of a text alert draws my attention down to my phone.
I look to see that Abigail has responded.
Abbi: It was my pleasure. Hope you enjoyed them. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything.
Me: Now that you mention it ... can we go shopping? I'd like to purchase some painting supplies.
Abbi: I didn't know you painted? I'd love to take you. How about Wednesday?
That will be long enough for your restrictions to ease a little.
Me: Perfect! Can't wait.
Abbi: I'll call or text you every day to check in. Feel free to do the same. I'm always available. Take care.
Me: Thank you!!
Well, at least I'm making progress with his sister. Even if Mr. Scott doesn't want me to get personal with him, Abbi doesn't seem to mind befriending me. And right now, I could use a friend.
Chapter Sixteen
Kara
I spend most of my days lying around the house by myself. Mr. Scott is a workaholic, and his work schedule keeps him on the go most of the time. I haven’t really spent a lot of time with him since that morning several days ago. He’s usually getting ready for work when I wake up, but after getting a few weird looks from him when I came downstairs in my sleep-ruffled t-shirt, I’ve tried to avoid coming down before he’s had his coffee and is ready to leave. Most nights, he doesn’t come home until after I’ve gone to bed. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but it sure feels that way.
Abbi calls to check on me every day, and with the way I’ve been feeling lately, I’m glad she does. Even though we haven’t had it confirmed by Dr. Carter yet, I know I’m pregnant. I can feel it in the way that my body aches and the sense of something being off. You know, that feeling you get before you catch the flu. Your body sends the messages,, and they’re easy to pick up on if you just listen.
I browse through the online store for some sketching supplies and finalize my purchase with an eager click. I pay extra for the overnight shipping so they’ll get here as soon as possible. Boredom has started to set in, and I can’t stand being idle for so long. I’ve tried watching TV, but it all seems to be the same thing on a constant loop of redundancy.
I need something to keep my thoughts in a positive light, or else I’ll start to focus in on the way that Mr. Scott acts as if I don’t exist. And if I’m being honest, that hurts a little.
I had hoped we could be friends throughout this process, but his eagerness to remain distant and aloof is a clear message that the feeling is not mutual.
I know it’s still early, but I feel lonely. Even though I’ve lived the better part of my life without companionship, I had hoped to develop friendships in my new life that could help me forge a happier existence.
So far, I’m failing miserably.
Will
It's been five days since she arrived at my home and disrupted my life. After I left the office this afternoon, I found myself dialing my occasional hookup. I hadn't wanted to call her, but day after day, my eyes seem to wander to the woman inhabiting my home.
Ms. Murphy is rough around the edges but completely transparent. I know she’s seeking a connection with me during the surrogacy process. I can see that she’s desperate for some form of companionship. Her sad eyes don’t lie. She’s lonely … but I’m not the man to fill that void. Even when she romps around the house in pajamas and oversized t-shirts as if she'd lived there for years on end. I can’t allow myself to succumb to any type of familiarity. It must remain strictly business between us.
It’s those thoughts that drove me to call Jackie. Thoughts of going home and seeing her living in a home that I had only shared with Sophia. I needed a moment where I could shut down my mind and escape the chaos of my thoughts.
Hence, Jackie.
My evening with her was nice enough. But I didn’t get the same satisfaction I used to get with a physical release. No, it felt cheapened by the fact that my mind was elsewhere. Thinking of someone else while I used her body with a harsh disconnect that she didn’t deserve. Crossing a line into a territory that I swore to myself I would avoid.
But my mind strayed … and when I looked down at Jackie and could only see the face of the woman living at my house … a sense of wrongness swept through my veins instead of pleasure.
Guilt. Self-loathing. Disgust.
I felt it as acutely as if it were a blade plunging through my chest.
Afterward, I grabbed my clothes and quickly dressed while Jackie took a shower. There were no words after or promises to meet again.
I just left.
; The ride home was torturous. My mind a tumultuous mix of emotions that I couldn’t decipher. I knew it wasn’t rational to think of myself as committed to this woman while she carried my child. I knew it was ridiculous to feel as if I had betrayed her when we had no relationship––beyond that of a business agreement.
But still, it gnawed at my insides with the bluntness of a dull razor. It left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Two feelings that I had long fought to keep at bay.
I shake my head to rid myself of the forlorn thoughts as I head into the house, tossing my keys and phone down on the table beneath the coat rack and sliding my shoes off.
A rustling sound coming from the sunroom has me heading in that direction before I can give it a second thought.
When I reach the sunroom, I find Ms. Murphy with a pad of paper on her lap, several wads of paper on the floor around her, and a pencil flying over the page at a rapid pace.
My wandering eyes take everything in. With the moonlight shining through the windows, she's silhouetted by its luminescent glow.
She's wearing a large night shirt that rides up her pearlescent thighs and falls just slightly below her right shoulder, leaving her skin bare for my eyes to feast upon. The light dances across her bare thighs like the reflection of light off a smooth lake on a warm summer’s night. The gentle sweep of her bare shoulder is highlighted by the light shining through as she shifts her weight to her left leg. I shake my head, pulling my attention away from the sight of her beautifully bare skin.
She hasn't noticed me yet, so I tiptoe farther in, peeking over her shoulder to see what she's drawing.
A beautiful sketch of the dark night sky and brilliant moon hanging like a pendulum greet my wandering eyes. She pauses, skirting the back of her hand over the corner of the moon, which works to smudge the fine lines and give it a faded appeal.
A Whisper Of Solace Page 6