by Gray, Meg
“Good morning, Ms. Hewitt,” Marcus said, starting the day off with the conventionalism their relationship had returned to. Since her arrival Emma felt like she couldn’t figure out where she stood with Marcus. The progress they’d made in being at ease with each other had suddenly vanished. Around him, she could go from feeling like a guest in his family’s home to the hired help in an instant.
It felt as if they were dancing around each other, trying to figure out how to coexist in this house. Marcus invited her to join them in the dining room for every meal, but when Brayden asked her to play basketball or tennis in the evenings, Marcus reminded his son of her need for time alone. Sometimes she wondered if he was concerned about her having time to herself or if it was just the excuse he used to let her know she was off the clock for the day. It was a delicate dance and she was trying to follow his lead.
“Good morning.” Emma smiled at Brayden next to her, whose cheeks were full of French toast. His hair was tousled in the back from his night of sleep.
Marcus took a sip of coffee and smiled at her as he set down his cup.
Brayden choked down his mouthful of French toast in his haste to speak. “We’re going to the beach today,” Brayden said. “Can you come with us? Dad said you could if you wanted to.”
“Oh I can, can I?” Emma asked, looking at Brayden then Marcus.
“Of course, we’d love to have you join us,” Marcus said, but Emma couldn’t tell if that was sincerity in his voice or not.
Brayden’s expectant eyes were still on her and she couldn’t deny how nice a day at the beach sounded. She couldn’t read Marcus, but Brayden’s desire for her to come along was written all over his face and so she accepted, “I’d love to.”
“Really?” Marcus seemed surprised, but then his face softened into a smile. “We’ll be leaving at ten, if that’s alright?”
Emma nodded—glad to have evoked a smile and not a scowl from Marcus. She took her first bite of breakfast, amazed by its mouth-watering goodness. The filling was whipped and felt light and fluffy inside her mouth. She tried to discern the flavors. It seemed simple, some cream cheese, a little vanilla and finely chopped nuts. Were they walnuts or pecans? Either way, it was just the right amount of texture pocketed inside the thick slice of French bread. She chewed slowly and thoughtfully.
“Is there something wrong with your breakfast?” Marcus asked, a crease forming above his brow.
“No, not at all,” Emma said. “It’s delicious. I was just enjoying the texture and flavors. What’s the nut inside, Maricella? Did you use walnuts?”
The housekeeper barely looked at her when she replied, “Pecans, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s delicious, thank you.” Emma got the feeling Maricella didn’t like her and she didn’t know why. She had been nothing but nice to the woman since her arrival and she tried to keep her space clean and tidy, not wanting to create extra work for the housekeeper. None of her efforts seemed to help. Every day Emma returned to her room finding her bed, which she’d already made in the morning, made up again with the sheets and blankets pulled to a smoothness Emma could never achieve. Marcus was smiling at her and she wondered why he looked so amused.
“More coffee, please Maricella,” Marcus requested, his smile stretching across his lips. The housekeeper jumped to attention and returned with the pot, pouring a stream of the dark brew into Marcus’s cup. She lifted his empty plate with her free hand and returned to the kitchen.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Marcus said, pushing back from the table. “I have some phone calls to make before we leave. Brayden, I’ll see you upstairs when you’re finished.” Brayden nodded and Marcus picked up his coffee cup bringing it with him as he left the room.
At ten o’clock Emma walked up the stairs, wearing a pair of black linen shorts and a white t-shirt, her large bag thrown over one shoulder. She stopped when she heard the loud smack of her cheap foam flip-flops hit against her heels in the grand entryway. The sound echoed in the large refined space and she quickly slipped them off, walking the rest of the distance in her bare feet.
“One, two, three…” Emma could hear Brayden count as he descended the steps with his father. He jumped off the bottom step and shouted, “Twenty!” Marcus turned to look at Emma, his eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Great counting Brayden,” she said, smiling at both of them and then Marcus turned to his son.
“That was great, Bray,” he echoed in praise.
Brayden reached for the pail and shovel waiting for him by the front door. Marcus picked up the woven picnic basket and they all walked out the door together.
The sky was blue and clear, the sun warmed them as they fought for a space on the narrow sands of Alki Beach. They finally found a small patch of sand behind a steel drum fire pit. Emma folded her towel and set it down next to a pile of seaweed, then sat and faced the water looking out at the view of Puget Sound. Marcus set the picnic basket next to her and reached in. He pulled out a Frisbee and twirled it with his fingertips.
“Want to play?” he asked.
“No thanks,” she replied, pulling her novel from her bag. “I’m going to try and get some reading done.”
He nodded and Brayden followed him out toward the water where they passed the Frisbee back and forth. Some of Brayden’s throws fell short and some hit the ground rolling away on its side, but he seemed to enjoy chasing after it. From a distance, Emma watched, struck by the similarities she saw in the father and son. She was already aware of the deep blue eyes they shared, but now she watched how they stood and moved, the way they both waited for the Frisbee poised with their hands on their bent knees ready to dart after the disc. They both moved with the grace of a gazelle, a natural, athletic flow. They were so alike.
A seagull landed in front of her and strutted across the sand searching for a snack. Marcus and Brayden walked back toward her and Emma tried to pretend she was immersed in the pages of her book.
“Somebody’s hungry,” Marcus said, dropping the Frisbee next to the basket.
“What can I say, I’m a growing boy,” Brayden said with a tone that suggested wisdom beyond his years. Both Emma and Marcus laughed.
Marcus spread out a blanket and Emma grabbed one side, kneeling on the corner to hold it in place. Next, he pulled the basket over, lifted the top, produced a juice box, and two bottles of water. He handed one to Emma. It was cold and dripped with condensation. Brayden broke his straw open and poked it through the little hole on top. He slurped it down, crushing the box at the end as he sucked out the last of its contents.
There were three sandwiches, carrot sticks—both Brayden and Marcus passed on those—three containers of pasta salad, and cookies for dessert. When Brayden finished he jumped up and grabbed his shovel and pail.
“Can I go dig?” he asked his father.
“Yes, just stay where I can see you,” Marcus told him and watched while Brayden walked away, stopping ten feet in front of them.
Emma tucked her empty container and garbage back into the basket before settling back on the blanket. Marcus sat with one leg bent in front of him and one arm resting on his knee. His eyes were on Brayden. His gaze was steady and focused, so much like Brayden’s.
“He looks just like you,” Emma said, breaking their silence.
“When I look at him all I see is his mother,” Marcus’s tone was even but weak. Emma didn’t know what to say. Marcus moved, cleaning up the rest of the blanket and latched the picnic basket closed. He leaned back on one elbow, watching Brayden and Emma didn’t know that she’d ever seen him look this relaxed. His bare feet caked with sand and his long legs covered in dark curls of hair were paler than his arms, but not by much. He wore a Stanford basketball t-shirt and his eyes were covered by dark aviator style sunglasses.
“You’re great with him,” Marcus said, not taking his eyes off Brayden who was losing more sand in each shovel scoop to the wind than he was depositing in his bucket.
“So are you,” E
mma said gently.
Marcus smiled and shook his head. “You know he hasn’t even touched his video games since you’ve gotten here. At night he usually plays for hours while I work, but now he sits in bed with the books you brought, looking for objects hidden inside pictures or doing mazes or drawing in that sketch pad. It really is amazing what you’ve been doing with him.”
“I haven’t done much,” Emma said. “He seems really relaxed here and that’s making a big difference for him. He must really like coming here.”
Marcus made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, “I wouldn’t say that our trips here have been very, um…good. We’re usually counting the days until we can go back home.”
They were silent again.
“Not this time, though,” Marcus said, looking at her. His voice was soft and kind, “It’s different with you here. I’m so glad you came.”
Emma felt a fluttering in her heart. She was glad to be here too, but didn’t trust the words to come out right, so she just smiled. Marcus jumped up and joined Brayden digging in the sand.
Chapter Twenty-six
Marcus was in a deep sleep when he heard a voice, soft and sultry, “Good morning, Sweetheart. Rise and shine. I’ve missed you.” It was husky and familiar yet wrong—very, very wrong. He knew he must be dreaming and tried to pull himself awake. There was a caress on his cheek, a body pressing against his and then the voice again, “C’mon baby, it’s been too long.”
Marcus opened one eye to catch the sight of fully pursed lips coming toward him. The smell of Polo Blue, the cologne worn by all the men in his family, registered in his brain. He instinctively threw his arm over his face and elbowed the uninvited guest in the jaw.
“Jesus Christ, Luke. What are you doing?” he said to his brother who fell back on his elbow and rubbed his jaw. Marcus sat up and shook the sleepiness from his brain. Brayden was still sound asleep on the other side of him, his slow and steady breaths evidence that he hadn’t been disturbed by his uncle’s immature entrance.
With a jerk of his thumb, Marcus motioned Luke off the bed and out of the room. Marcus pulled a t-shirt on and followed him into the hall. They found Maricella in the kitchen where the smell of bacon and coffee filled the air. She poured two mugs of coffee, blushing with a smile when she handed one to Luke. His brother had that effect on all women, young, old, married or single, he could make any one of them blush with his dimpled smile.
Outside on the patio Luke set his coffee cup down and hopped up on the stone countertop next to the outdoor grill. He shook his head to the side, trying to shake his long hair out of his turquoise blue eyes. He wore a pair of black and white plaid shorts, a black t-shirt, and the canvas shoes he bought already worn and frayed, making him look like a ridiculous vagabond. Marcus leaned on the wall next to him and rested an elbow close to his brother’s knee.
“So, what are you doing here?” Marcus asked, testing the temperature of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t coming in until next week.”
Luke shrugged, picked up his own mug and wrapped his hands around it. “Vegas was getting a little boring, so I decided to head this way. See my big brother and favorite nephew.”
“That either means you ran out of money or women,” Marcus said, eyeing his brother. “So, which is it?” Marcus prodded when there was no response.
“Is this what I get after driving all night to see you? An interrogation?”
Marcus shrugged and sipped his coffee.
“So, what’s been going on with you?” Luke asked.
“Not much. Dad’s got me working on the Barclay deal and things around here have been pretty quiet.”
“I see Brayden’s still sleeping in your bed.”
“Yeah, but he’s sleeping better at night. He hasn’t had a nightmare in months.” Marcus smiled, “I know I should really start pushing him to sleep by himself, but it’s kind of nice having him close to me.”
“Yeah,” Luke agreed. “It’s always nice to have a warm body next to you.”
“Something you don’t go without very often, I’m sure.”
Luke didn’t say anything, just flashed his brother a smile and drank more coffee. Marcus stared down at the cup in his hands.
“He’s in counseling now.”
“Seriously?” Luke asked, dropping his head for emphasis. “What did Mom and Dad say about that?”
“I haven’t told them yet.” Marcus avoided his brother’s eyes. “But I’m sure they’ll be incredibly understanding when I do,” he finished sarcastically and lifted his cup for another drink.
“Uh, huh, sure,” Luke agreed. “What made you decide to do that?”
“He was diagnosed at school with post-traumatic-stress-disorder and he started some counseling with the psychologist there. I’m keeping up his sessions while we’re here.”
“How’s it going for him?”
“Okay, I guess. He doesn’t talk about it much and his therapist said for me to follow his lead. When he’s ready to talk to me, he will.”
“Does this have anything to do with…” Luke hesitated. “Vanessa and the fire?”
“Probably.”
Luke was about to say something else when his eyes brightened and his cheeks dimpled into a smile. “Hey, look who’s up and at ‘em.”
Marcus turned and saw a bleary-eyed Brayden shuffle out onto the patio.
“Uncle Luke!” Brayden said, breaking into a run. Marcus lifted him up into his brother’s lap. Brayden wrapped himself around his uncle in a bear hug.
“I like this welcome a whole lot better than the one your dad gave me,” Luke said, releasing Brayden from the giant hug. Brayden looked up at Luke.
“Why, what did Dad do?” he asked.
“He punched me, right here.” Luke craned his head back and pointed at his jawline.
Brayden looked to his father, wide-eyed.
“I didn’t punch him. I bumped him with my elbow—accidentally.” Brayden seemed to accept this answer and relaxed against Luke’s chest. Luke looked at Marcus, letting him know he noticed the dramatic difference in Brayden’s demeanor.
“Who’s ready for breakfast?” Marcus asked, lifting Brayden to the ground. Luke jumped to the ground. As they walked into the dining room, they heard a loud rumbling noise and Marcus pulled Brayden and Luke into the doorway.
* * *
Emma secured the luxurious bath towel around her by tucking the corner between her breasts and reached for her comb. She heard a deep rumbling, like a distant locomotive. The sound grew louder and sent a trickle of fear down her back as she felt the ground beneath her shake. Acting on instinct, she leapt across the floor to the doorway of her bathroom.
Earthquake.
The intensity of the earth’s movement shook every bone in her body. She clutched the wood frame, tucking her chin to her chest and wondered if she should keep holding on or let go and cover her head like she always instructed her students to do in earthquake drills. Behind her, she heard the sound of her makeup scattering on the floor and the thumping of the framed mirrors that hung above the sinks. Other things were falling in her room too, but she wouldn’t lift her chin high enough to look up. Suddenly she felt her body rise up as the floor beneath her rippled and the carpet in front of her looked like a succession of waves rolling toward her. It was surreal to see her solid surroundings turn to liquid and then congeal again.
The shaking stopped in less than a minute, but to Emma it felt like hours. Her muscles were tight, she couldn’t make them relax. She was frozen. Unable to move, fearing the earth would start to quake again.
* * *
When the room stopped shaking Marcus looked at his son, “You okay Brayden?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What just happened?”
“It was an earthquake and we’re all okay.” Immediately his mind flashed to Emma in her room downstairs. “Emma,” he said aloud. “Luke. Stay with Brayden,” he ordered and rushed to the stairwell, hurdling over the broken glass of a m
irror. Guillermo burst through the front door on his way to find his wife. He and Marcus exchanged a look, but neither one slowed down.
Visions of Emma trapped down below or knocked unconscious by something falling off the wall spurred Marcus to move fast. He took the stairs two at a time and leapt to the ground before reaching the bottom step. The smell of wine permeated the air. It was dark. He reached for the switch. Nothing happened, they had lost power. Stepping carefully, he dragged a hand along the wall to help guide him. The carpet squished under his feet. He kept moving past the wine cellar door and on to Emma’s room.
“Emma,” he called. “Emma!”
There was no answer. He was at her door, knocking.
* * *
Emma closed her eyes and braced herself for another round of the quake when she heard a hammering sound. But nothing happened. The ground didn’t move.
“Emma, are you…oh, geez, I’m sorry.” Marcus’s voice was near and she snapped her eyes open. He was in front of her, one hand covering his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, eyes still covered. “When you didn’t answer I was afraid something happened to you.”
Emma looked down at her naked body. In her leap to safety, her towel must have somehow come loose—it lay in a puddle behind her.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, retrieving the towel from the floor. She hastily wrapped it back into place and covered her trembling body.
“Are you okay?” Marcus asked, slowly dropping his hand.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, clutching the towel with one hand and smoothing her wet hair with the other.
“Are you sure?” Marcus stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, not sounding convinced. “We’re all upstairs in the dining room. Do you need anything before I go?”
“No,” she said as tears of relief and embarrassment escaped down her cheeks. She sniffed, trying to stop the ridiculous tears.