Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3)

by Claudia Burgoa

  Jacob is my escape when I’m about to give up. A girl can always dream and take a famous-celebrity timeout from the shithole reality that her life has become once in a while.

  “Is he all right?” I choke on the question, as I can’t take another hit.

  “Yeah, but he misses you and I can’t do all the shit you do with him, babe.” He stares at the ceiling, as if inspecting it for termites or waiting for it to fall on top of him so he doesn’t have to be around any longer. “Your mother isn’t here. Why can’t you bring him over?”

  I rub my eyes, count to five, and then glance back at him. Insensitive much? I can’t bring the dog. Maeve is allergic.

  “Are you kidding, Robbie? My sister is allergic.” I mumble between clenched teeth with a rage I have trouble keeping inside. “Max can’t be here. Give me until Monday and I should be back home by then.”

  “The wedding…” His voice trails and he’s staring at his black polished shoes with the obvious desire to disappear if he clicks the heels together. The moment he mentions the wedding, my first thought is he’s joking, or confirming my sister’s suspicions. He only cares about himself. But he surprises me. “I don’t think we should right now.”

  Relief washes over some of the tension, because I’m definitely on board that train. Right now isn’t the time for us to think about a white dress, rehearsal dinners, churches, maid of honors, and whatever else it includes. In fact, my parents never had a wedding account for me.

  “Yeah, that’s sensible, Rob.”

  I twist the two-carat, emerald-cut diamond he had given me as I’d said, “Yes, I think marriage is the next best step.”

  In my dreams, it was a lanky dork with cheesy lines who proposed while playing some song he composed for me. At night, under a blanket of stars that brighten the most important day of our lives. The fantasy ends right here. For starters, the boy no longer exists. The times I have seen his image, he’s been drool-worthy gorgeous, with a bad-boy attitude that screams “I don’t give a shit.” There are usually one or two women perched to his side. Either he’s a player or he’s hiding that life he wanted. Hot, skinny wife, six children, two dogs, and whatever else it included. Jace never did call and I tried never to dwell on it again , or the ghost pains will come back, reminding me that he played me, and most of all what happened—or almost happened—to me when I tried to reach out to him.

  “I mean, we haven’t picked a date.” We agreed to give it some time, and now I can’t think of any kind of celebration after losing Mom. Before, it wasn’t fair to Mae that I would marry and she wouldn’t. Secretly I held some hope that one day my sister would go outside the house and meet a great guy who’d love her. The kind, bubbly girl who fights every day to stay alive. Once I learned Mom was sick, I tried to organize something fast so she’d be with me, but with all the expenses, I had to fight against it. “Maybe we can talk about this next year?”

  “Ana, you’re nice and reliable. Smart. And you’re my parents’ idea of a great wife for my future career.” He scratches the back of his head and finally looks at me. “But you have a lot going on. Plus, your family isn’t exactly healthy. Cancer, CF, Alzheimer’s, and whatever else you come up with. So, for the future my parents and I envision, I believe it’s best for the two of us, Ana, if we part. You of all people should understand.”

  What people? And no, I don’t.

  “I was wrong. Robbie wasn’t as perfect as I thought, Ana.” Maeve hands me a second tub of rocky-road ice cream and a bar of chocolate to use as a spoon. “Safe-Perfect-Pete didn’t save you after all. Did he?”

  I’ve no idea what she’s talking about. However, I don’t care. The sugar high and the tequila are the only two things that matter at the moment. I bought the essentials when I went grocery shopping. Indulging matters more than Robert Clark Smith and Maeve Philomena Walker.

  “Do you think our parents hated us, Philly?” I take a swig of tequila to wash down the ice cream. “Cypriana and Philomena; what were they thinking?”

  My sister snatches the bottle of tequila from my hand and takes a few gulps before returning it. Mom would have a cow if she could see us right now. Drinking from the same bottle, sharing ice cream. Maeve eating ice cream, drinking alcohol, and exchanging germs.

  Oh, Mom. Should I even call her Mom? Yesterday, as I went through her documents I found out that I’m adopted. I wish she had told me, because… well I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She’s gone forever and I can’t have her back. I finish the bottle of tequila. I don’t want to think about my new discovery, not now. Maybe never. Yes, she was my mom. I miss her nagging. Which now I believe was her way to love us—unconditionally. It’s been four days since Mom’s funeral and my sister and I are like two ducklings without a mother, quacking around the house when Dad goes to bed.

  “What are we celebrating?” Mae slurs her words.

  “Four days since my fiancé broke up with me?” I reflect on what I said and correct whatever it is I was saying. “I can’t believe I let him break up with me. I should’ve broken up with him. I mean, the man wasn’t even that great in bed. He sucked, and not in a hot way.”

  I stayed with him for so long because of my mother—five long years of my life. Insensitive asshole. He broke up with me because my family should be living in a medical research facility. On top of everything, the asshole called today to remind me that Max and my shit are waiting for me.

  “My father thinks it’s best for the company if we stop using your services.” Robert Clark Smith sprinkled an entire bag of salt into the fresh, gushing wound.

  “You’ll have to pay penalties.” I reminded him about the little clause on said contract they signed when I started providing my services.

  “No, this is your fault.” Now my screwed up life is my own fault. If I had to pick, I’d have stayed with some guy in his apartment years ago and forgotten about my family. “Think of the legal fees if you decide to sue us.”

  For now, I don’t care about Rob, or what his father and his company think is the most sensible solution. Sensible Ana is, at the moment, taking a break from life. Today the only decision I could make was to buy loads of sugar and alcohol to numb the pain that losing Max will create.

  “Stop being a drama queen, Cypriana.” Maeve takes a few more gulps of tequila. “Hey, bring me a glass of water. Remember, I can’t dehydrate. It is bad for my health.”

  We both release a full-blown belly laugh. Yep, we’re drunk. Tomorrow we’ll both suffer for this lapse.

  “So tell me why you can’t go and lease an apartment?”

  “I need money for that.” I state the obvious. “First and last rent, plus a job.”

  The mortgage on the house Robbie and I own is upside down, meaning that once we sell the house, we’ll have to pay the difference to the bank. I’m poor. I have the medical bills Mom left behind. Mae’s freelancing work as a graphic designer only pays so much and that income isn’t steady. One month is crazy good, and the next she barely has anything coming her way.

  “You’re moving back home. That’s what we’re celebrating, Pree.”

  I don’t see how that’s motive to celebrate. Pitiful. I’ll never find the key to escape these walls. Where is that last meal before the sentence? No, wait. The meal is when you face death row. The last time I had to come back home, Jacob and I had spent that amazing week together. I bet he’s better in bed now, what with all the women he fucks…

  “You think if I search for him, he’ll give me a nice weekend before my life becomes even more pathetic?”

  Maeve doesn’t answer. No kidding about this being the first time in her life that she’s wasted. Tomorrow we’ll pay for my irresponsibility. This will be the one and only time I’m weak. Mom’s rules are what kept this family going for so long.

  I make my way to Maeve’s room, grab some of her stationary and write a letter.

  Hi
Jace,

  It’s sad to learn that your band broke up. You guys were great.

  Your biggest fan,

  Ana W.

  “That’s the last box.” I wipe the drops of sweat forming on the base of my neck and close the truck I rented to move the things from my former house to my parents’ home, and here, to the storage facility. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Robbie nods, his unmoving eyes staring at me. Today, when I showed up at his doorstep, he offered to carry the boxes and help me move. Not because he cares, but because he had an ulterior motive. He offered to buy my half of the house because he loves the place too much and selling is a hassle. Since our mortgage is upside down, he’d refinance and I’d have to pay him half of the closing costs, plus what we owe. He reassured me that I wouldn’t need any legal documents to transfer the property to him.

  PR is all about a cheery face and making the counterpart feel comfortable. I follow that rule with my own life. My mind wanted to scream at him. Are you freaking kidding me? I’m not stupid. A real estate transaction isn’t that simple. Instead, I promised to think about it.

  “About the house, Ana?”

  “As I said earlier, give me a couple of days to settle down and I’ll get back at you.” I head to the storage office, where I park my car, return the keys, and step outside.

  Tomorrow I have an interview with a prospective client. Depending on how it goes, I might ask my sister to loan me some money to hire an attorney. This get out of the house, we won’t use your services or pay you because we broke up and sign the house under my name thing clearly works for him, but not for me.

  “You can’t afford to be difficult.”

  I smile, because I can, and I am. This is my passive aggressive mode. For now I have to play my cards right and avoid ranting at him for breaking up with me—the day of my mother’s funeral. Cruel asshole. Money doesn’t scare me. There are lawyers who will ask for a retainer—that’s where Maeve will help—but will demand the opposition to pay for their fees. Smith & Clark will pay for whatever costs are incurred if I decide to take the legal path.

  “Try me, Robbie. Thank you again, and have a great day.”

  “I need a ride home,” he demands.

  “Call a freaking cab. I’m not driving you.”

  I huff while staring at the man who I shared my life with for so long. Blinded by my need to make my mother happy, I missed seeing the asshole in front of me for what he really was. Before I turn around, I give him a sweet smile. Not because he deserves it, but because it’s a pleasure knowing I’m done with the fucker.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” I stroke Max’s fur while he licks my face.

  I contacted all my friends, begging them to take Max with them. Not one of them could give him shelter. In fact, most of my friends were short with me during those conversations. Damn, Rob is taking the friends.

  “If I could bring you with me, I would. I swear.” I can’t hold the tears. He’s part of the cookie-cutter package. Now I have nothing left. No dog, no house, no children. No Jace.

  While having a moment with my dog in the parking lot, a female voice greets us. I pay no attention to her. This is a private moment, as I’m saying goodbye to my loyal friend, my stargazing companion and my furry kid. Max’s nostrils flare, his head points toward the lady, and I finally move my attention to her. In fact, there’s a she and a he standing only a few feet away from where I bawl for my dog.

  He’s about a foot taller than her; she’s maybe my height with curly, brown hair which bounces with each small bob her head makes. The vibe she gives me is crazy alert. The guy next to her stares at us and then at the woman who is beside him.

  “Can you believe it? Farm animals everywhere and not one pet.”

  I missed part of the conversation. I can’t multitask. Crying, hugging, being depressed, and listening to lunatics all at once is a job for someone in a better state of mind.

  “So is it?” she asks and I have no answer. “Hard to own a pet?”

  I give her a shrug because Max wasn’t easy, but he’s worth it.

  “Are you here to volunteer or something?” She tilts her head toward the shelter.

  “No, I’m giving up my dog because no one can take him.” Unbelievable. My last moments with Max have been interrupted by this woman.

  “He’s cute, isn’t he, Mase?” She speaks to the man who’s next to her, looking at me with tight shoulders and his hands shoved in his jean pockets. The typical male fear of tears. “As I explained, we’re looking for a furry child—active, friendly—that will go out with us for our daily runs and hikes. This guy needs a buddy.” She pats her significant other on the chest.

  The insane creature in front of me needs to take a few steps away before I call the mental institution. Why is it I attract the crazy kind of people who want to bond with strangers? Isn’t she looking at me? I mean, it’s obvious that I’m bawling my eyes out. Talk about the worst moment to appear. Now that I’m saying goodbye to that little piece of my fantasy, someone who reminds me of him materializes. Maybe that’s it, though—a sign that Max should go with them.

  “Max needs a home.” I hug Max again. “My life took a detour and it’s either him or my sister.”

  “Nine, let’s go to the shelter.” The guy insists. No doubt he’s trying to escape the crying woman, for which I want to applaud him. “We have many things to do.”

  Nine is a weird name, but I’m not about to ask about the origins. My name is Cypriana, for God’s sake. What were our parents thinking when they named us children?

  “Usually I’m not this friendly, I swear. Ainsley-Janine. My friends call me AJ. This is my fiancé, Mason.” She hands me a tissue. “You have this vibe that I can’t ignore. Not many have it. I want to help.”

  “Ana.” I wipe my tears and then shake hands with her and her fiancé. “Help, as in taking him with you and promising to care for him? Look, I need someone reliable and the shelter runs a thorough background check, and they go and inspect your home. I don’t have the time or the resources for that. My ex-fiancé left me homeless, right after my mother’s funeral. My checking account is down to single digits and about to go into the red. This is just not my year.”

  Saying that my five-year break is over and life is back to sucky levels isn’t any of their business. They both nod. It turns out they got engaged only a day ago, but it’s a serious relationship. The wedding is set for Thanksgiving.

  “No, I’m not pregnant.” She pats her belly. “We bought a house in Mercer Island. Big home with one cat who can use a friend.”

  “Nine, a second, please.” Mason pulls her aside. They talk in hushed tones to each other as they glance at us. Once they finish, the guy heads to pet Max. “Does he have all his shots?”

  I nod.

  “If we take him, you can visit him whenever you want.” Ainsley-Janine hands over a card with the guy’s information—Mason Bradley, a number and an address. “If you tell me what you do, Mason might be able to hook you up with a job.”

  “Hi. Mason Bradley,” he interrupts. “Where did you work?”

  “I own a company. Do some branding, PR and image consulting for companies and individuals; plus individual taxes. Bookkeeping and all that fun stuff.” I try to compose myself. It’ll be impossible to score a gig if they think I’m crazy. “I lost a big contract while caring for my ill mother. I couldn’t take on new clients. Another big contract fell through when the ass and I broke up. I also do some promotional stuff.”

  He nods and takes out his phone. I stop talking for a moment since it appears my audience is busy.

  “He has a big company and they’re always hiring or in need of something.” The friendly woman takes over the awkward moment. “Did I mention you have the vibe? It’s as if I’ve met you before. You can come over to my current home and check out how we live, and drink some coff
ee while we talk.”

  They seem nice, but I don’t trust easily. Yet, I once learned that life is full of surprises, and if you’re open to them they can change your life. Maybe Jacob and I never happened in this dimension, but I learned to take certain risks and defy Mom when it was important. The guy gave me the key to maintaining certain freedom within my heart.

  I decide to compromise and counteroffer. “Mind if we head to a coffee shop instead? We just met and the headlines reading ‘Local idiot assassinated by two serial killers’ isn’t something I want my family to wake up to.”

  They both laugh at me. “Nine, she has quite an imagination. Just like you.”

  One moment I’m enjoying my family; the next we’re in the Twilight Zone. A place where my sister is engaged, owns a dog, and plans on getting married in a couple of weeks. Next stop: the children. Cookie-cutter life. My life. Not really my life. The dog reminds me of Maximus and Maxine—the dogs I talked about years ago with that girl, Pria.

  My muse. The girl who had me writing sweet, sticky lyrics about the perfect girl, the perfect love, the dark eyes that captivated me, and the blanket of stars we shared. Only sixty of those songs I wrote made it out in the market. Later, I wrote about the same amount of songs in which I called her a heartless bitch who ripped my heart apart. Pria Walker, my muse and inspiration for two years, gifted me two things:

  1. Best first time sex.

  2. A nice income that keeps on giving.

  The jury is still out on the 3rd one.

  3. Norah.