LaClaire Groom

by Dori Lavelle

I reach into my bag for my keys. The door to my apartment building swings open before I can use the key.

  “Hey, Jia,” Denise, a woman in her late twenties with an uncanny resemblance to a Barbie doll throws me a smile. As usual, her clothes fit her to perfection, and her makeup is flawless.

  Today she’s wearing a black bell sleeve dress with velvet pumps. Pearl earrings drip from her ears, and her hair is pulled into a smooth, glossy ponytail.

  Even though I’d never been one to care too much about what I’m wearing, I feel like a frump next to her. Every time I see her, so perfectly put together, I can’t help wondering whether her life is as perfect as she looks.

  Since I moved into the apartment three years ago, she’d worked hard at trying to make friends with me. She had been one of the first people to welcome me into the building, bringing me a homemade chocolate cake that I never ate because I don’t have a sweet tooth. But no matter how much she tried to win me over as a friend, she failed.

  The moment she started our first real conversation at a nearby café, I shut off. It became too tiresome to listen to her talk about how beautiful she is, how perfect her real estate job is, how she was once Miss New Jersey. Not once did she ask a question about me. That was fine since talking about myself is not something I’m keen on doing. Before I entered the world of the LaClaires, I was a complete loner. I felt safer that way.

  The only time we bonded for a moment was when she asked me for a hundred dollars to add to her rent money, a couple of months ago. Even though we weren’t friends, I’d given her the money because I know how it feels to be in a desperate situation. She’d promised that she would pay me back, but she never did. After a while, I let it go.

  “Going to work?” I catch the door before it slams shut.

  “Yes, girl. Have to pay the rent. I’m so behind.” She beams at me. “And where are you coming from so early this morning?” She winks. “Let me guess, you spent another night with Mr. Money.”

  “His name is Lance.”

  “Oh, right.” She shrugs. “You should introduce me sometime. Maybe I could end up with one of the gorgeous LaClaire brothers.”

  “Yeah.” I force a smile. “Maybe I will.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Really? I never noticed.”

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go. The world is waiting for me to paint it red.” She gives me a small wave and walks off, her hips swaying from side to side.

  Inside the elevator on the way to the fourth floor, I catch sight of myself in the dirty mirror. My eyes are red rimmed and puffy. I’m amazed that Denise didn’t notice. It’s so obvious that I was crying. It’s for the best. I’m not in the mood to answer questions, anyway.

  I inhale the cigarette-tainted air and lean my head back against the large mirror.

  On my way to my apartment, I notice there’s graffiti on the wall again. Norman, the landlord keeps painting over the walls every couple of months, but someone always comes back to display his insults on the walls.

  It had taken me a long time to bring Lance to my place, uncomfortable that it lacks the luxury he’s accustomed to. When he finally got me to bring him over, it took me by surprise how normal he acted. He seemed so at home in my apartment. He even made chicken soup for me in my tiny kitchen.

  Now, although we spend most of our time at his place, he occasionally visits me. Last time he visited, about two months ago, he hinted at me moving in with him. I brushed him off immediately and changed the subject. I wasn’t ready then. I’m not ready now.

  I like being able to escape to my own place whenever the demons from my past decide to come out and haunt me. My apartment might be small and far from fancy, but it’s my shelter. Leaving it would feel like leaving behind an old, loyal friend.

  I push the key into the lock, and the door opens easily—too easily. Even though I feel safe in my apartment most of the time, the last month was different. I keep getting the uncomfortable feeling that I’m being watched, even when I’m home.

  As I walk into the room that serves as both my bedroom and the living room, the air feels different, as though it’s been disturbed. There’s also a certain smell in the air, mingling with the fresh lemon scent I like to surround myself with. But it’s too faint for me to catch it, to study it.

  My chest stutters as I turn back to the door. I slide the key into the lock again from the inside, locking and unlocking the door a few times. Something is different. The click I usually hear is gone.

  It terrifies me to have the thought, but it seems as though someone might have tampered with my lock. I bend to study the area around the lock, and the cold fingers of dread grip my heart. I notice faint, but obvious scratches around it. My suspicions are correct. Someone was here, inside my apartment.

  I snap back to a standing position, dread crawling across my skin.

  I’m like a mad woman as I run around the apartment, checking to see if each piece of furniture is in its place, dropping onto my knees to peer under the couch, searching for signs that someone had touched my things or left a piece of themselves behind.

  Nothing seems out of place. The windows are closed, and everything is neatly folded inside the teal wardrobe that stands next to a matching dresser on one wall.

  Maybe I’m imagining it, making myself crazy. I sit on the edge of my bed and drop my head into my hands, forcing my heart to calm down. When strength returns to my body, I push myself to my feet and approach the kitchen.

  I open the fridge to get something to drink. That’s when I see it—the sign I’d been looking for. A beer standing next to my carton of milk. A suffocating sensation tightens my throat, making it hard for me to swallow.

  The bottle of beer is not mine. I never buy beer or any other kind of alcohol, for that matter. Since Lance is a recovering alcoholic, I try not to have alcohol in my apartment in case he happens to visit.

  The bottle is open, which means someone was actually sitting in my apartment drinking it. Sheer, black fright sweeps through me at the thought that the intruder might have waited for me.

  Choking back a cry, I grip the bottle and tip its contents into the sink. I almost gag as the smell rushes into my nostrils. I toss the bottle into the trash can and spin around. I felt like I was being watched again, but no one’s there. But he’s here—not in this room, but close.

  In a daze, I push through the thick air and crash onto my bed, and the mattress squeaks. I have to pull myself together. I have to think rationally. I can’t let fear take over. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s really only my imagination.

  No. I felt that bottle. I smelled the beer. I saw the scratches on the lock. When I last saw Kirk Dillon, he said he will find me. Looks like he has.

  I’ve been living a carefree life for seven years, pretending the past never happened, pretending I was someone else, only for it all to come crashing down in one day.

  But I can’t put my life on hold. I can’t hide. If I don’t live my life as I’ve done for the past few years, people will start asking questions. Lance and his family will become suspicious. I have to pretend that I’m not terrified of losing everything, that I’m not on the verge of getting my cover blown.

  Trying to hold back tears and mostly failing, I undress and change into jeans and a blush, stretch blouse. I can’t let the fear of the past stop me from living my life. If he shows up, I’ll find a way to handle it. I’m a strong woman now.

  It takes me only a few minutes to finish getting dressed. I brush my raven hair and pull it into a ponytail. I’m a mixture of Chinese and African-American heritage, but my hair is bone straight like my Chinese mother’s, and my skin is the color of coffee diluted with a lot of milk.

  I cover the shadows under my eyes with concealer, and hesitate only for a moment before heading back out the door.

  On my way to Grace’s Touch, I stop by the landlord’s apartment on the ground floor.

  Norman opens the door with a smile. The smell of old pizza escapes from the room.
He has always been kind to me, and he appreciates that I pay my rent on time every single month. But his kindness shot to a whole other level when he found out—from a tabloid magazine—that I’m dating Lance LaClaire.

  “It’s that time of year again.” I try to keep my voice from breaking.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bobs his head, and a lock of thick, gray hair that matches his beard plops onto his wrinkled forehead. “I’ll get it done for you today.”

  “Thank you.” I like that I don’t have to explain to him what I mean. He already knows. Every year as a tenant in this building, I’ve asked him to change my lock. I pay him so much money to do it that he stopped asking questions.

  3

  Jia

  I park in front of Grace’s Touch, but I remain inside the car for a moment to catch my breath and pull myself together.

  I started working for Grace LaClaire, Bryant LaClaire’s wife, a year after I got together with Lance. Both Lance and I agreed that it felt awkward to be employed by him—as a caretaker— when I was sleeping with him. Two weeks later, during one of the monthly LaClaire dinners, Grace proposed I work at one of her popular spas as a massage therapist. I told her I don’t have much experience in that area, and Lance immediately offered to pay for an intensive massage therapy course.

  I was employed at Grace’s Touch the month I graduated from my course. As time passed, Grace became one of my first friends in Boston. But, like Lance and the rest of them, I kept her in the dark about who I really am. No one can know, and I won’t let Kirk change that.

  I enter through the glass doors of the fancy spa, a hand inside one pocket of my jeans, my fingers touching the box with the engagement ring inside it.

  I greet the other ladies without meeting their gazes and run to hide in one of the massage rooms. Behind closed doors, my shoulders sink. Grace’s Touch, with its plush carpets, dim lighting, and calming aromas always calms my nerves. I love working here. I love making people feel better about themselves and their bodies. Massaging someone brings me as much relief as it brings them.

  I lean against one of the massage tables and pull the box from my pocket. When I open it, the ring blinks at me, begging me to try it on. God knows I want to wear it if only to soothe my aching heart.

  I glance at the time on the wall clock. My first client of the day, booked for a deep tissue massage, is due in forty-five minutes. I consider going for a walk to clear my head, but what if Kirk is waiting out there? I’m trying to be brave, but the truth is, I’m terrified. I know what Kirk is capable of. Hopefully, he won’t do something stupid like walking into Grace’s Touch pretending to be a client.

  In need of something to make me feel better, I pluck the ring from its bed of silk and hold it between my forefinger and thumb, holding it up to the light, remembering how it had felt when Lance proposed—the marriage of happiness and pain. I never even knew that two contrasting emotions can fill a heart at the same time.

  With the way things are looking right now, I don’t know if I can accept his proposal, but there’s no harm in me trying on the ring once.

  I lift my left hand in front of me and slide the piece of luxury metal onto my ring finger. It’s perfectly made for me. I wish I could keep it. But I can’t. The only reason I brought it with me to work was to serve as a reminder that I need to decide by the end of the day. After work, I intend on going back to Lance’s villa to tell him my answer. It’s not fair of me to make him wait for longer than that.

  I’m about to remove the ring, when the glass slides open and Grace appears in the doorway, beaming at me. Watching her, you would never know she’s the boss as she often dresses in the same blush massage scrubs as her employees.

  “Hey, gorgeous. You’re in early.”

  I put my hand behind my back. I don’t want her to see the ring. I don’t want to tell her about the proposal. I don’t want anybody to know until I make my decision.

  “You know I like being here. It’s so calming.”

  “I feel the same way.” Grace closes the door and comes to stand next to me, also leaning against the massage table, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze in the distance. This business is her dream, and she’s living it. “I love this place.”

  Grace has enough employees that she actually doesn’t need to come to work if she doesn’t feel like it. She could stay home and spend more time with her son. But she works because she loves it—not for the money. I could be jealous of everything she has, but she’s one of the nicest people I know. It’s hard not to wish her well.

  “Look at you.” She throws her head back in laughter. “You made me forget what I’m here for.” A gentle curve touches her lips. “I saw you coming in and wanted to tell you that your client canceled. Your next is at eleven. Looks like you have a lot of time on your hands till then. We could grab a coffee if you like.”

  “You’re the most amazing boss, you know that?”

  Grace steps in front of me and before I can stop her, she reaches for my hands. “Who wouldn’t be nice to a kind soul like you?”

  She has no idea. Looks can be deceiving.

  I try to act normal, forcing myself not to look at the ring in the hand she’s holding. But Grace feels the ring and instantly lifts my hand to the light, eyes wide. “My goodness, what is this?”

  I gently remove my hand from her grasp and slide the ring from my finger. I curl my fingers around it. “It’s just ... It’s just a ring. It’s nothing.”

  “Just a ring?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It didn’t look like just a ring. Come on, let me see it again.”

  I hesitate for a moment and give it to her. She studies it in the palm of her hand, then looks up at me. “Tell me this is not what I think it is.”

  I peel my gaze from hers.

  She gasps. “It is, isn’t it?”

  My eyes meet hers again. There’s no use lying to her. I’m sure the truth is written all over my face. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She gathers me into a warm but crushing hug. “Lance asked you to marry him? When?”

  I swallow hard and pull back. “This morning.”

  She gives me back the ring and narrows her eyes. “Then why aren’t you happy right now?”

  “I didn’t give him an answer.” I walk toward the shelf where all the massage oils are displayed and pick up one in turn—pretending to be reading the labels.

  Grace doesn’t say anything for so long that for a moment I wonder if she left the room. I turn around and there she is, watching me with a worried expression.

  “I thought you loved him.” Her expression grows serious. “You said he’s the love of your life.”

  “He is, Grace.” I approach her, begging her to believe me. “I love him more than anyone. And his daughter is amazing.”

  “Then, what’s stopping you from taking the leap?”

  “It’s a big decision.”

  “Not when you’re so in love. Not when he’s your whole world.”

  I turn around again, so she doesn’t see the tears clouding my eyes. “It’s complicated.”

  “Does it have something to do with Alice, his dead wife?” She places a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch. “Look, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. The way Lance talks about you, the way he looks at you, it’s so clear you mean everything to him. He adores you. We would all be thrilled if you became part of this family.”

  I turn to face her, my throat clenched. “I know. You’re all amazing to me. You already make me feel like part of the family.”

  “That’s because you’re a wonderful person. You’ve been there for Lance through his hardest times. After he lost Alice, I was really scared he might go back to drinking or do something to himself.” Grace sighs. “But you pulled him through.”

  “I had no choice. He’s the man I love.”

  “That’s why this is so confusing to me. I thought you would say yes immediately if he asked you.”

  I shru
g. “I just never thought about getting married again.”

  “What?” Grace’s head jerks back. “You were married before?”

  Shit. I have to do some damage control immediately. “No, what am I saying?” I wave a dismissive hand. “Of course not. I wasn’t married before. I’m scared, that’s all. You hear about marriages ending all the time. It makes me nervous.”

  “Hey, love.” She pulls me into another hug. “I don’t think you need to be worried. I have a feeling yours will last a lifetime.”

  She lets me go again and touches my cheek. “But you’re right, it is a big decision. If only more people took time to think before they tie the knot, there wouldn’t be so many failed marriages and broken hearts.” She plants her hand on her hips. “Come on, let’s go out for that coffee. I’m dying to know how Lance proposed to you.”

  4

  Lance

  “Fuck,” I whisper between gritted teeth. What the hell happened? When I woke up this morning, I had felt as if I were on some kind of high. Everything had felt right with us. Jia had been the missing piece of the puzzle. My dick had felt at home buried inside of her this morning.

  Yet here I am alone in my bed, staring at the damn ceiling, thinking of my rejected proposal. My heart feels like a stone inside my chest, hurting every time it beats. The whole time I thought we were on the same page only for her to walk out on me when I sealed the deal. What hurts the most is not so much that she made a fool of me. What pisses me off the most is not so much that she didn’t agree to be my wife, but because she offered me no explanation.

  When I hear the toilet flushing in the bathroom, I do my best to relax my jaw, to soften my features, so my little girl doesn’t see the anger on my face.

  Rose walks out of the bathroom. Her smile melts some of the ice surrounding my heart.

  “Hey, Angel. Did you wash your hands?”

  She glances down at her hands, a frown between her eyebrows. She looks back up at me and makes a face. “Oops, I forgot.” She reminds me so much of her mother, it makes my heart ache.