Let There Be Life

by Melissa Storm

  A sense of calmness took over her as she drove the three of them back to her childhood home, the place where they now lived instead of her. The wedding had come and gone. It was over. Time to move on.

  Because that’s what people did…

  They moved on. Grew up. It had been well past time she moved out of her father’s house and started making a life of her own. Her new sisters, Victoria and Valeria, were only fifteen and seventeen years old, each more than ten years her junior. They’d never known a father, much the same way she had never known a mother.

  They deserved this second chance at a family, even if Vanessa Price didn’t.

  Liz’s Akita, Samson, was overjoyed to be back at the big house. He made do in the two-bedroom apartment where she and Scarlett lived with both Samson and Scarlett’s rescue Huskies, Fantine and Cosette, but things were more than a little cramped having two women and three high energy dogs in one small space.

  She laughed as Samson ran up and down the stairs, then straight to the kitchen to beg for a treat from the fridge.

  Valeria, who also stood in the kitchen, wrinkled her nose. “Why’d you bring him with you?”

  “Because he’s my dog. Where I go, he goes.” Liz patted Samson’s head and smiled to show him everything was okay despite Val’s hostile tone.

  The girl crossed her arms over her chest and sighed dramatically before saying, “Well, I’m allergic, so…”

  “Are you sure?” Liz asked, doing her best to keep her voice even. Samson may not speak English, but he understood when he wasn’t wanted. “I mean, your mom didn’t mention anything about dog allergies, and it’s too late to set him up at a kennel.”

  The elder of the two stepsisters, Victoria, entered the kitchen and traced a path toward the fridge, moving Samson with her foot so she had better access to grab a can of St. Croix. “Actually, I’m allergic, too.” She sneezed, and Liz hoped for the girl’s sake she didn’t plan on auditioning for any plays. Acting was clearly not a strength of hers.

  Victoria took a long, slow drink from her can, then fixed her eyes on poor Samson. “It’s okay. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind staying in the garage. It’s only for a little over a week.”

  How about you stay in the garage and see how you like it? Liz thought, but she managed to stop herself from saying that aloud.

  She waited for the girls to finish whatever they needed in the kitchen and head upstairs for the night, then she gathered the comforter from her bed and some old pillows and made Samson a bed in the garage.

  His ears drooped as he realized that she would not be staying out with him.

  “I’m so sorry, boy. It’s only for the night. I’ll bring you back in during the day, whether or not they’re allergic, which—between you and me—I highly doubt. You know you’re my good boy, but sometimes it’s just easier to grin and bear it, you know? Besides, for whatever reason, these people make Dad happy. And we want Dad to be happy. Don’t we, Samson?”

  Samson swished his curled tail weakly against the ground and stayed in place as Liz stood and returned inside.

  Tomorrow she would bring Samson back in after the girls left for school. When they came home, she could point out that their allergies didn’t seem to be acting up and tell them Samson would stay in the house for the rest of the week.

  She was the one in charge, and she needed Samson’s company to keep her strong and help speed the days along until her father returned to take her place.

  Liz hoped Victoria and Valeria were nicer to him than they were to her, but somehow she doubted it.

  It’s only for ten days, she reminded herself. Just ten.

  She tried to picture her father and Vanessa en route to their tropical honeymoon, laughing, smiling, enjoying each other’s company. But instead she saw Dorian turning his nose up at her, invading her privacy, triggering her in every sense of the word.

  Somehow she knew she would be seeing him again.

  And when he turned up the next time, she would be the one asking the questions.

  On Monday morning, Liz had to drag Valeria out of bed kicking and screaming. Victoria was no help at all. She actually left for school without her sister, meaning Liz had to drive the tardy sophomore herself.

  “I didn’t sleep well because of my allergies,” Val said without apology. It was enough to make Liz give up on not only her stepsisters, but quite possibly on ever having any children of her own, too.

  All of this made her late for her job, but thankfully her manager didn’t seem to mind.

  “Rough night?” her boss, Sofia Stepanov, asked with a subtle quirk of her lips that was decidedly not a smile. Sofia often looked amused, but very rarely smiled.

  “Rough morning more like,” Liz answered with a sigh. “I have never in my life been so happy to come to work for an opening shift.”

  “Keep talking like that and I just may have to give you a raise,” Sofia said, heading toward the display window with new outfits for the mannequins. Her knee-length polka-dotted skirt swished as she walked with bold strides and a practiced swing to her hips.

  Even though they worked at a trendy chain store, Liz was pretty sure her boss wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the clothing—employee discount or no. Sofia was everything their store wasn’t. She’d dyed her naturally blonde hair black with a slight tint of purple. Her snowy complexion was offset with flared eyeliner and a bright red lip, and though she was stylish in what she chose to wear, her outfits looked as if they belonged to a 1950's pinup model rather than a twenty-first century retail franchise manager.

  Sofia caught Liz staring and offered one of her rare smiles. “Like it?”

  “I’m sorry. My mind was somewhere else entirely,” she answered, realizing then that while she’d been looking at Sofia, she’d been thinking of that creep, Dorian.

  “You sure you don’t need a sick day or something?”

  Liz shook her head. “I’m not sick.”

  “A mental health day?”

  “C’mon,” Liz said, finally smiling herself. “We both know if the company allowed mental health days you’d never even bother to show up for work.”

  “Hardy har har,” Sofia shot back sarcastically. “Hey, did I show you my new tattoo?”

  “No, and I don’t want to see it if it’s not somewhere decent.” Liz rushed to cover her eyes. Sofia was known for flashing her backside to any who asked to see the first of her twelve tattoos, a crescent moon that rose over her right butt cheek.

  “Relax, it’s just on my shoulder.” Sofia undid the top two buttons on her dress and slid the sleeve down to show a patch of reddened skin and a new watercolor tattoo - an apple with a snake wrapped around it.

  “Uhh, it’s nice, I guess.” Liz would never tarnish her skin like that. Besides, she couldn’t think of a single thing she loved enough to emblazon upon her body forever. And with needles, too. Yup, no thank you.

  Sofia gave her a devilish look, even though they both knew she was one of the nicest people in all of Alaska. “The forbidden fruit,” she explained, pointing to her chest. “Because things are always more fun when you aren’t supposed to have them. People, too.”

  “Whatever you say, Sofia.” Sometimes Liz wondered if they would be friends were it not for work. While she liked Sofia’s individuality and brazen disregard for other people’s opinions, Liz had to confess that the two of them were as different as any two people could come.

  “You know I’m right,” her manager answered with a wink, buttoning her shirt back up. “Now tell me about your weekend, Miss Manners.”

  Liz told her about the wedding, the missing place setting on the stage, even the weird interrogation on the dance floor from Dorian. Somehow it felt safer confiding these things in Sofia rather than in Scarlett or Lauren. Besides, if push came to shove, her manager would always have her back—and Liz didn’t doubt the woman knew how to get the best of just about anybody in a fight.

  “I would have slapped that woman,” Sofia declared. “That wou
ld really give the reporter guy something to write about. Society.” She rolled her eyes. “What are we living in, the eighteenth century?”

  “Well, you’re not wrong about that point,” Liz said as she carried some new stock from the back room and began to parse some of their older pieces for the clearance rack. “And I wish I could give Vanessa a piece of my mind, but it would hurt my dad too much.”

  Sofia tsked. For as tough as she seemed on the outside, Liz knew very well she kept her heart in a carefully concealed box, locked away deep inside her chest. “You’re a saint. And what about those girls and their allergies? They are totally faking it!”

  “Again, you’re right. But what can I do?” Liz wished she could have called Sofia in to handle all her problems these past twenty-four hours, but more than that, she wished she was strong enough to handle them herself.

  “I don’t know, but you have to do something. You can’t just let people take advantage of you, because they’re mean enough to try. Sometimes life can be a battle. And you need to arm yourself for it. You know?”

  Who hurt you, Sofia? Liz wanted to ask, but she knew better than to question her boss. Besides, she admired her too much to talk down to her, even if it was out of a desire to help.

  Liz shrugged. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve never exactly had these kinds of problems before.”

  “Oh, honey, you are a lucky one then.” Another flash of a smile.

  What would Sofia do? Liz wondered. When faced with Vanessa, Valeria, Victoria? Dorian? WWSD?

  She wished she knew herself well enough to think about what she would do, what she should have done. But sometimes it felt like Liz knew everyone else in the world better than she understood her own heart.

  Sofia Stepanov was easy to understand, but what of Liz Benjamin?

  Someday soon, she hoped to figure it out.

  Monday mornings were always slow at the shop, which gave Liz and Sofia lots of time to catch up. Around noon, Sofia headed off toward the food court where she liked to people watch during her lunch break. This left Liz to sweep the floors and do some extra tidying up in the hopes they would see a busier afternoon.

  She hummed along to the radio as she cleaned, not realizing someone else had entered the store until a shadow fell over her path. She turned quickly and saw none other than Dorian Whitley with his hand raised as if he were about to caress her from behind.

  “You!” she spat with a cold, hard voice she barely recognized as her own.

  “You.” He gave this rejoinder without blinking, then added, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  Liz didn’t believe this visit was anything other than pre-meditated. She wanted to call Dorian out on it, to yell until he went away, but she knew better than to chew out a customer in the middle of the sales floor. Even if Sofia didn’t care, the franchise owner would. And Liz would be out of a job faster than she could bat an eyelash.

  “Well, now you know.” She sniffed and turned away. While she doubted her stepsisters were allergic to Samson, it definitely seemed she’d developed an aversion to Dorian Whitley.

  “Wait.” He took quick steps, coming up in front of her again. “I need your help.”

  She laughed in his face. “My help? You mean with your article?”

  He shook his head, keeping his expression blank. “No. With finding an outfit.”

  “An outfit?” Liz asked, raising a hand to her hip. She doubted he could afford to shop here given the crumpled, tired look of his current outfit, but it was her job to help anyone willing to spend money at her store. “What do you need the outfit for?”

  “For meeting my girlfriend’s parents,” he said smoothly. Dorian proved to be a much better liar than her stepsisters, but somehow, she knew he wasn’t being honest with her.

  She stared straight into his dappled green eyes, but they gave nothing away. “Your girlfriend?”

  “Right. Like I said before, you’re not my type. My girlfriend is much prettier than you. Her name is Janie.” His eyes widened as if he expected this revelation to make her feel something. She honestly still didn’t know whether he was flirting or interrogating—and she couldn’t be sure which option she preferred, either.

  Liz rolled her eyes and groaned. “Are you ever nice?”

  He smiled, and it almost made him seem charming. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Well, unfortunately, I have to help you. Which I’m guessing you know, and that’s why you’re here. But I refuse to talk about anything other than which clothes you should get.”

  Another smile. This one so wide it showed off two rows of perfectly white teeth. “Whatever you say.”

  “Good. Now, tell me where you’re meeting Janie’s parents, so we can pick an outfit and get you out of my store.” Liz didn’t have any friends named Jane—let alone Janie—yet the name did seemed familiar. She wondered if perhaps she had met Dorian’s girlfriend once upon a time. That is, if such a mythical being could even exist in the real world.

  As it was, she trusted nothing that came out of Dorian’s mouth.

  “We’re going horseback riding and then having a picnic on the beach,” he explained.

  Liz sighed. Again with the horseback riding. He had mentioned it during their wedding dance, asked if she was a fan. Her mind again flashed to the brown and cream animal looking out from beneath long, dark lashes.

  “Well, that sounds like a nice evening. You should stick with jeans for the outdoorsy stuff.” Liz led Dorian over to the wall display filled with jeans of all washes, sizes, and styles. “You look like a 34 tall. Go with the dark wash. It’ll hide the dirt better. Here.” She grabbed a pair from one of the higher shelves and pushed it into his chest. “Try these on.”

  “Actually, these are way out of my budget.” Not a hint of embarrassment flickered between them. Either he was incredibly used to being poor, or he had come for a reason other than shopping.

  Liz would hardly be surprised by either possibility. “The clearance section is in the back,” she muttered, doubting he would bother to keep up the charade.

  She traced her way back to the register and waited behind the counter until Dorian left the store. She didn’t have to wait long, because about five minutes later, he returned with a frown on his face.

  “Yeah, I’m not going to get anything, but thanks anyway,” he said, hovering near the counter.

  “Okay, buh-bye then.” She gave a sarcastic little wave, hoping he’d just leave already.

  But Dorian looked as if he wanted to say something more. He licked his lips, and…

  The return of Sofia saved Liz from having to hear whatever he had planned to say. She walked straight up to Dorian with the fake smile she’d perfected for their customers. “Hey, there. Welcome to our store. How can I help?”

  “He was on his way out,” Liz answered for him, staring at him, daring him to say otherwise.

  Sofia shrugged and disappeared into the back.

  Liz watched her walk away, and by the time she turned back toward Dorian, the store was once again empty.

  Did Dorian get what he came for, or would she be seeing him again before whatever this was had been finished?

  His visit did accomplish one thing. Liz spent the rest of the day fuming, wishing she had never met Dorian Whitley.

  A part of her felt as if she still hadn’t met him.

  This man had secrets—perhaps about her—and she’d only come face to face with his false front.

  Next time, she wouldn’t be so polite. Next time, she would expose the true man beneath the mask.

  Scars and all.

  Liz volunteered to close up shop that night so one of the high schoolers who worked evenings could leave early for a date. Sofia offered to stay back with her in case that “creepy guy shows up again,” but Liz waved her off, knowing her manager used her few hours off each night to design and sew her own fashion line.

  She loved Sofia’s passion for clothing. It reminded her of Scarlett’s dual passions for both b
ooks and dog sledding. Liz had never pursued anything quite so intentionally, but she often found herself happy—no matter what she ended up doing to pass the time.

  That is, until Vanessa Price stormed into her perfect little life, leaving a trail of wreckage and a pair of evil stepsisters in her wake. Like Liz, her friend Lauren had been directionless in life before moving to Alaska and falling in love with both the Iditarod and one of its most infamous mushers.

  Lauren had lacked passion, though she had always craved it. Liz didn’t need much to be happy. She simply preferred a steady, stable life. Something it seemed she might not have anymore.

  As she locked up shop for the night, she felt an odd chill wrack through her body. When she glanced around the dark parking lot, she saw no one. Just her mind playing tricks on her.

  Again.

  Still, she pushed down on the locks the moment she was seated safely in her car and drove home faster than she should have. She needed a nice cuddle with Samson, a good night’s sleep, and no stepsister drama to get her through the rest of this day.

  But when she pulled up to her father’s house, she found that this plan was not to be.

  Beat up cars and pickup trucks were wedged along every inch of curb for at least two blocks in either direction. Some had even pulled haphazardly onto the lawn and, sure enough… music was blaring at maximum volume from somewhere within the bowels of the house.

  She checked the time on her dashboard clock. It was only a quarter past eight, yet it seemed that this party had been going on for hours. And on a Monday night, too!

  She was going to kill Victoria or Valeria. Okay, both. She’d kill both now and ask questions later.

  But then Vanessa would probably kill her. Way too much bloodshed for what was supposed to be a quiet Monday night at home.

  Liz got out of her car and slammed the door shut. Even though she was mere inches away from the sound, it hardly reached her ears. The heavy bass and thumping rhythm of the party music was so heavy, it almost felt as if the ground beneath her was shaking.