by Lyn Horner
Minutes later, Marilee sat buckled into the back seat of the SUV which happened to have a small built in TV and DVD player, surprising Char. Hands stuffed in the pockets of her light blue parka, she stared at Tristan’s back as he popped in a disk of Mickey Mouse adventures, wondering if he might have children. He wasn’t married, she knew, because he’d lost his fiancée, but had he once been married or had children out of wedlock?
Finished setting up the movie, he pivoted to meet her wary, questioning gaze. Comprehension flashed across his handsome features. Lips twitching and hazel eyes twinkling, he said, “No, I don’t have any kids of my own, but I do have a precocious niece and nephew. Their mother is my sister and this is her SUV. She let me borrow it for the day.”
Char’s face grew hot, gaze skittering away. “I’m sorry for staring. It’s none of my business whose vehicle it is or, or –“
“That’s okay, honey. You had every right to wonder if I have a couple small fry tucked away. I would in your place.” Collapsing the wheelchair, he added, “Go ahead, get in. I’ll stow this in back and we’ll be on our way.”
Once belted in across from her, he steered around the wide horseshoe drive fronting the mansion. At its center stood an imposing fountain surrounded by snow covered grass. The octagonal base was built of the same dark red brick as the house, with huge gray granite lions perched in the center of the pool, holding up a massive bowl. Drained for the winter by the groundskeepers employed by Johanna Cantrell, the empty fountain gave Char a forlorn sensation.
Leaving the house behind, Tristan followed a curving, tree-lined lane to the electronically controlled gate, the only access to the walled estate. As they drew near, a sensor slowly swung the two halves of the gate open, allowing them to exit.
Driving west moments later, on Route 25A near Long Island’s north shore, Tristan asked, “How much do you know about this part of the island?”
Char glanced at him. “I know it’s called the Gold Coast because so many millionaires built mansions like Cantrell House here in the past.”
“Right, The Great Gatsby is set out here in that era. But the route we’re on was famous long before then. In colonial times it was named the Kings Highway. Then it became known as the Washington Spy Trail during the Revolutionary War. Members of the Culper Spy Ring and other Long Islanders risked their lives to get vital information to George Washington.
“Later, after being elected President, Washington traveled this route to personally thank those who risked their lives to help win America’s freedom.”
“Wow, that’s quite a story. I know 25A is called the Long Island Heritage Trail, but I had no idea of its significance. Thanks for filling me in.”
Tristan chuckled. “Now that I’ve bored you with a history lesson, we’ll head over to the 495 Expressway.”
“No! Please don’t,” she implored, gripping the edges of her seat in fear as blood drained from her head.
He sent her a startled glance. “What’s the matter, you afraid to go through the tunnel under the East River? It’s perfectly safe.”
“Maybe so but I … I’m somewhat claustrophobic.” That was a major understatement. The thought of being in a tunnel under millions of gallons of water, with no escape if they ran into a traffic jam, nearly made her hyperventilate.
He shrugged. “No problem. We’ll take the 59th Street Bridge instead.”
“Thank you.” Relief swept through her, leaving her weak.
After a moment he asked, “Have you always been afraid of enclosed spaces?”
She licked her dry lips and gazed out the side window. “For as long as I can remember.”
“That’s rough. Did something happen to trigger your fear?”
“I-I don’t know,” she lied. She knew exactly what had caused the black terror. Turning her head, she forced a smile. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“Not much to tell,” he said, eyes on the increasing traffic. “I did a tour in the navy after high school. Then I trained at the NYC Police Academy and served as a cop before quitting the force and –”
“Wait! You were a cop?” she burst out, eyeing him in stunned surprise.
He nodded. “For almost six years. Then I quit the force and took up baking.”
“But why? I mean that’s quite a change.”
“I got tired of certain aspects of police work,” he said with an edge to his voice. Then he smiled. “And I learned to love baking at my grandmother’s knee. After turning in my badge, I decided to make it my profession.” He tore his gaze from the road ahead for a second to glance at her. “But what about you? What made you go into nursing?”
Marilee emitted a loud snort at that moment. Char glanced over her shoulder. Seeing the girl was only laughing at Mickey and friends on the TV, she replied, “With my empathic gift, I thought I should use it to help heal the sick and injured. But after getting my degree, I worked at a hospital in Raleigh, North Carolina, and soon realized it was a mistake. My mother predicted I wouldn’t be able to endure being around sick, sometimes dying people constantly, and she was right.”
She stared at her gloved, tightly clasped hands. “So I quit my job and ran home to Mama with my tail between my legs.”
Tristan reached over to lightly rub her shoulder, his touch giving her a sense of sincere caring. “Must have hurt to give up on your dream.”
“It did.” She sighed and shook off her sadness. “But Mama came to my rescue. She urged me to try private nursing and helped me find my position here with Marilee.” She spoke softly so as not to draw her charge’s attention.
“And you’re happy here?”
She considered her answer carefully. “I’m glad to be taking care of someone who needs me and I feel … secure is the best word. So yes, I’m happy with the way things worked out.”
“Is security and your work enough? Don’t you want a husband and children of your own someday?”
Stiffening, she said, “Of course I do, but letting someone close, being touched by them, is often painful for me. You know that.”
After a brief silence he said, “Maybe the right person’s touch would bring you pleasure instead of pain.”
“Maybe.” Vigorously rubbing the top of her legs, she stared straight ahead. She was grateful when he let the subject drop in favor of telling her about the restaurant he and his partner owned in the East Village.
“We call the place Gus and Tristan’s. Not too original, but we’re doing pretty well. You should give us a try.” He aimed a playful grin at her, dimple denting his cheek.
She smiled in return. “I’d love to but it’s not always easy for me to get away.” Saving her from needing to say more, Marilee demanded her attention, asking to see toys now. Thankfully they were almost to their destination.
Tristan drove to a parking garage near Times Square where he kept a reserved spot because it wasn’t far from his apartment, he explained. He parked, unloaded the wheelchair and seated his young cousin in it. Char fastened the safety belt across her hips, withdrew a fluffy pink lap throw from the tote bag she’d brought along and spread it over Marilee’s legs to ward off the cold. Not that she would feel it, but she could get frostbite, and that might cause serious complications.
“Char, do you want me to put your bag in here?” Tristan asked, indicating a storage pouch attached to the back of the wheelchair.
“Yes, thanks.” Noting his use of her nickname again and deciding she didn’t mind, she handed him the bag. While he took care of it, she tugged on her slouchy white cashmere beanie.
“All set?” he asked with a crook of his lips.
She nodded and they set off. Although crisp, the day was bright and sunny, perfect for their shopping foray. Excited by the crowds of people, the Christmas displays and music playing everywhere, Marilee chattered gaily as Tristan pushed her into the bustling square. Char walked beside them, enjoying the young girl’s enthusiasm and their escort’s masculine presence.
They headed first to t
he Disney Store, where Marilee squealed in delight at all the toys depicting her favorite characters. She wanted one of everything. When told no, she pounded the arms of her chair and shrieked, face red with anger, drawing condemning looks from several other customers.
Char bent close. “Stop that right now, young lady, or we will take you straight home.” Her threat worked. The girl’s tantrum ended abruptly and she settled for a stuffed Mickey and Minnie Mouse, each half as big as she was.
Leaving with both dolls clutched tight in her arms, they progressed to the Legos Store, where Tristan purchased a set of oversized blocks for her, promising to help put them together when he came to visit.
“Don’t make promises you might not keep,” Char whispered, fearing his cousin would be disappointed.
“But I mean to keep that promise, soon,” he said, dimple showing. “Now, how about lunch, ladies?”
“Yes! I’m hungry!” Marilee shrilled.
CHAPTER THREE
Chuckling, Tristan suggested they eat at the nearby Shake Shack, famous for its milkshakes and hamburgers. Although not her first choice, Char didn’t argue since the idea met with Marilee’s loud approval. Once seated in the busy restaurant, she drew an oversize bib and a sippy cup with straw from her tote bag. She put the bib on Marilee neck and when their food arrived, she poured the girl’s milkshake – strawberry because it was pink – into the sippy cup while Tristan helpfully cut her burger into small bites.
The meal passed without incident, if she didn’t count the stares her charge received. Most people showed compassion and averted their gaze, but one or two were just plain rude. She gave them as good as they gave until they finally looked away.
After they finished eating, Char excused Marilee and herself for a bathroom break, taking along her tote bag with necessary supplies. When they rejoined Tristan, he took over pushing the wheelchair as they left the restaurant. “There’s a gift shop not far from here. I need to find something for my mother and sister. Do you want to pick up gifts for your family?”
“There’s only my mother and I already mailed her gifts,” Char said, flicking back strands of hair that had escaped her cap. “But I would like to get something for Johanna.”
“Yeah? Nice of you to think of the woman.” His scornful tone conveyed his poor opinion of her employer, but he swiftly changed the subject. “Does your mother still live in North Carolina?” He glanced at her curiously, eyes glinting golden in the sunlight.
She nodded. “Yes, in a small town you’ve never heard of. You haven’t mentioned your father. Do you need to get him a gift?”
He emitted a wave of dull sadness. “My dad died several years ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm as the sadness faded.
“It’s all right. He was glad to go at the end. What about your father? Has he passed away too?”
Hating to answer, she clenched her gloved hands and stared at the sidewalk. “He walked out on my mom and me when I was five. He showed up periodically over the years to wheedle money out of Mama, or threaten her if begging didn’t work.”
“Damn! What a louse,” Tristan ground out, jaw clenched.
“Exactly. But he hasn’t come around in the past few years. I have no idea where he is or even if he’s still alive. And frankly I don’t care.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” he said dryly as they entered the gift shop. Crowded with shoppers, the store was overly warm and, since there were no toys in sight, it didn’t please Marilee. Fortunately, Tristan didn’t take long to choose delicate, hand-blown glass ornaments for his mother and sister while Char decided on a gold-plated pen and letter opener for Johanna. With the gifts securely wrapped, they ushered Char’s cranky, obviously tired charge out the door.
“I want to see more toys,” Marilee demanded.
“Let’s save some for next time, sweetie. We need to go home now,” Char said, giving Tristan a look that pleaded for help.
“Right, it’s been fun but I’m tired, aren’t you, cupcake?” he said, tugging the tassel of his cousin’s pink and white knitted cap.
She giggled. “I’m not a cupcake!”
“But you’re sweet as one,” he teased as he had that morning.
Realizing this was a game he’d probably played with Marilee many times, Char laughed along with them. He did indeed have a way with children.
About an hour later, Tristan pulled to a stop outside the gate to the Cantrell estate. He punched in the enter code and the gate opened. Negotiating the concrete lane, he said, “When I was a boy this driveway was paved with old fashioned cobblestones. That was before Johanna’s arrival on the scene.”
“Did your parents bring you here often?” Charlotte asked, tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Fairly often. Later, after Lucas married his much younger bride, it was just my mother, sister and me.”
“Your father didn’t like Johanna?”
“You could say that. He came with us to a family gathering once after she took up residence. She made it plain that she viewed people of lesser means as her inferiors, including us. After that, Dad flatly refused to set foot in ‘that monstrosity of a house’ as he called it, where he’d have to put up with the, um, woman.”
Tristan shared his dad’s opinion. To him, Marilee’s mother was a self-centered bitch and the mansion a brooding hulk. Built in the late Victorian era, its dark red walls, steeply gabled roof and intimidating façade made him think of a witch’s lair, appropriate except the witch was seldom here. Preferring her Manhattan penthouse, she used Cantrell House as a kind of prison for Marilee, who she obviously viewed as an inconvenient burden.
“Marilee is sound asleep,” Charlotte whispered, twisting in her seat to look at the girl as Tristan stopped outside the covered entrance.
He shut down the SUV, glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “So she is. Don’t wake her. I’ll carry her inside.”
“Good idea. She gets really cranky when awakened from a deep sleep.”
Tristan got out, opened the back door, slipped the Disney dolls from Marilee’s loosened grip and handed them to Char. Then he quietly unbuckled his cousin’s seatbelt, gently slid his arms under her and lifted her out. She moaned in protest but didn’t open her eyes. With her head resting against his shoulder, he carried her up several steps and followed Charlotte into the house.
“Will you take her upstairs?” she asked, unzipping her parka and tossing it on a marble-topped bench in the hall. “There’s an elevator –”
“No need. She’s not heavy.” He nodded at the carpeted staircase adjacent to the left wall. “Lead the way.”
“Alright.”
Climbing the steps behind her, he admired the gentle sway of her hips until he was distracted by Marilee. Half awake by now, she began to drowsily complain.
“It’s okay, honey. You’re home,” Tristan said softly. “I’m taking you to your room.”
Reaching the upper floor, Char waited for him to join her. “Her room is this way,” she said, pointing to a hall on the right that extended toward the back of the house. She led the way to the farthest door on their left and ushered him inside. “Lay her on the bed, please.”
As he laid Marilee down, she whimpered, “I want Mickey and Minnie.”
“Here they are, darling,” Char murmured, giving her the soft characters to cuddle while she removed her cap and mittens.
“I’ll bring in the wheelchair and other things,” Tristan said.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him as she started to work off Marilee’s coat. “I’ll need a little while to take care of her. If you need to leave … ?”
“Nope, I’m in no hurry.” He arched his eyebrows. “Unless you want to get rid of me?”
She darted a flustered glance at him. “No, of course not. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay and be bored.”
“I’m not bored. I want to be here with Marilee … and you.” He grinned at her sudden blush, turne
d and headed downstairs. Bringing in the portable chair and packages, he deposited Marilee’s Lego set and Char’s gift for her undeserving boss on the marble-topped coffee table in the living room, or drawing room as Johanna pompously called it. Then he took off his coat and sat on the white leather couch to wait.
He was paging through a coffee table book of artsy photographs when he heard a low hum and realized it must be the elevator. A moment later Char joined him with Marilee now wide awake in her power chair, still clutching Mickey and Minnie. He closed the book and stood.
“We’re having pizza,” Marilee chirped.
“Mmm, sounds good.” He rubbed his stomach. “I sure would like some.” Grinning, he cocked an eyebrow at Char.
She looked flustered again but quickly recovered. “You’re welcome to stay and eat with us. The pizza is frozen, not gourmet like you’re probably used to eating, but it’s one of Marilee’s favorite foods.”
“Mine too, and I don’t eat gourmet all the time, just when my partner, Gus, insists I try some new dish he’s concocted.”
“Okay then, I’ll heat up the oven and start the pizza baking. Would you like some salad with it?”
“Sure. Want me to put it together?”
“Actually, I’d rather you keep Marilee company if you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind keeping company with my favorite cousin?” He gave Char a playful smile and ruffled Marilee’s fine blond hair, earning a giggle. “How about we build a house with your new Legos, cupcake?”
“Yes!” she shrieked, clapping her hands.
Char laughed and dashed off to the kitchen while he opened the box of large, bright colored blocks and spread them out on the coffee table. With Marilee choosing colors and sizes, he began to build. The house took on an odd shape but she liked it and that’s all that mattered. They’d just finished their architectural masterpiece when Char called out that supper was ready.
Enticed by the mouth watering aroma of freshly baked dough, pepperoni, marinara sauce and cheese, they gathered at the kitchen table. Marilee stayed in her chair with a tray attached across the front and wearing another large bib. She gobbled up the pizza, managing to handle thin slices. Tristan thought she would complain when Char spooned a mixture of cooked carrots, peas and corn onto her plate but she didn’t.