by Hope Collier
Kevin was willing enough to provide that place, in a sense. Or rather, he had been. Things weren’t going so well for the two of us. We’d been fighting more and more lately, almost to the point of me threatening to call it quits. For some reason, and one I would never admit, that notion didn’t bother me like it should. Kevin always seemed to be grooming me for some sort of life he wanted me to lead but with no regard for what I wanted — an act I’d only recently noticed.
“So where do you feel your home is?” I asked, suddenly feeling very empty inside. I saw him shrug from the corner of my eye as he sighed.
“I don’t have the answer to that,” he murmured.
I swallowed air, silently agreeing with him.
“Are we heading to Granbury now?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “Um, yeah, I—” My sentence cut short when I realized that I couldn’t remember speaking the name of the city where we were headed. “How did you, I never—”
“It’s starred on your GPS.” He winked. “I’m not crazy.”
“Right.” I laughed, feeling foolish. “Charlie, my dad, has a house on the lake, though I don’t know the last time he visited. He built it for my mother as her wedding gift. He didn’t have the wealth that he does now, or did, so it was a very romantic gesture on his part. She always loved it. He kept it for her, I imagine.”
“Your mother doesn’t love it now?” Gabe watched me from the corner of his eye.
“She passed away when I was a baby,” I explained matter-of-factly. “No one ever spoke about her more than necessary. To this day, I don’t know how she looked or what her interests were.” I laughed once without humor. “They wouldn’t even tell me her name.”
I bit down on my tongue. Why did I tell him that?
Gabe leaned his head against the seat, his eyebrows low. “I’m sorry. I had no idea,” he spoke, his tone sad yet surprised. “That must’ve been hard growing up.”
“It’s different with my mom,” I explained. “I never knew her, so there wasn’t as much to lose. I still miss her though. Sounds crazy, huh? Missing someone you’ve never even met.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all. It’s hard not having a mother.” Gabe’s eyes filled with compassion. “But I do know trying to understand, trying to figure out why, can drive a person mad. Sometimes you just have to accept the hand you’ve been dealt.” His voice trailed with a hint of bitterness.
My teeth cut into my bottom lip.
“You’re much stronger than you realize, Ashton.” Gabe’s tone softened. “Always remember that.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true,” I murmured, remembering the mind-numbing terror that overrode all logic.
“What happened yesterday was in no way a sign of your being weak,” he spoke sternly.
Maybe not, I thought. But my life is a sign of weakness. Kevin’s face flashed through my mind as I glanced down to see the bruise had all but faded. Never once had I stood up to him.
Gabe’s expression confused me as I peered at him. It settled somewhere in the realm of remorse.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he assured. “I have a lot on my mind. It’s been an unusual couple of days. Things still surprise me.”
I laughed once. No truer words were ever spoken there.
“I guess that doesn’t come close to summing up your last few days though, does it?” He sighed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Please. Don’t worry about it. You know, there’s been a lot to change for me in the past forty-eight hours. Some of it has been really crappy and confusing, and I wish it hadn’t happened. But some of it has been amazing, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.” I looked down as my cheeks flamed red. “I don’t know much about you or your life or what’s going on, but someone once told me, ‘What matters, matters.’”
Gabe’s eyes flashed on mine. “What did that someone mean?”
“You shouldn’t feel bad about something that’s important to you just because someone else has issues you think are more significant. What you’re going through matters as much as what they are.”
Gabe’s brows furrowed as he turned his quiet assessment back to the highway, his hand slipping to the leather necklace around his neck.
A couple hours later, the Granbury city lights came into view. Signs plastered to poles announced that tomorrow was the fourth of July and there was to be a carnival, live music, and a fireworks display over the lake. I imagined Gabe would enjoy watching the pyrotechnics over the water. Guys seemed to enjoy explosions, even if they were pretty.
The city stood quiet as we crossed a bridge stretching over a wide ribbon of the lake. Muted light shone from the antiquated shops’ window displays. Brick storefronts glowed softly from the staggered streetlamps along the sidewalks.
“Hmm, North Houston Street,” I muttered to myself, catching sight of a street sign.
Gabe cocked an eyebrow as I eased into an empty space along the road.
“I need the address. Excuse me a sec.” I switched on the map light beneath the mirror.
Gabe flinched and moved his hand to his eyes. “It’s bright.”
“I’ll try and give you a heads up next time.” I smiled and pulled a thick stack of papers from the glove compartment. Sorting through them, I looked up the address for Charlie’s house.
“What is that?” Gabe asked.
“This is a book with information on all of my father’s properties. Pass codes, spare keys, phone numbers, everything is in here,” I said. “Ah-hah, there it is.” I held the book closer to the light and read it aloud. “Let’s see, North Houston runs into Weatherford and that takes us where we need to go.”
I entered the address, and the voice in the GPS told me to make a left. We followed a narrow one-lane road for several miles, the houses growing few and far between as we drove to the last lot on the peninsula.
An iron gate stood at the mouth of a stone wall. The silhouette of an elegant manor loomed across the courtyard, the roof stretching high into the darkness. A recent rain left its fingerprint in the form of wispy fog settling along the ground.
My tires splashed over the damp driveway. As I entered the security code on the keypad, the black gate groaned as it slid to the side, the chain links ticking in unison. The air seemed to cool as the quiet yet unnerving sound ceased with a clang.
My headlights washed across the square revealing well-groomed blooms and green shrubs. Sensors caught our motion, flooding the front lawn with light. An expansive Tudor home with a turret in the center, stretched toward the sky. Gray stone wrapped around the three-story exterior, the rock interspersed with patches of wood panels. Ivy trailed the corners, enveloping the stone in a mask of green.
A sudden stab of guilt twisted through me for defying my father’s wishes. Charlie’s gone, I told myself. There’s no one left to care anymore. The heart that had been racing began to ache.
I parked the car at the front of the house, and we grabbed our bags. Standing at the front door, I counted five places to the right of the doorbell and began wiggling the rectangular stone.
“Huh, clever,” Gabe murmured.
“Tell me about it,” I grunted, jarring the rock till it gave way. Inside the well-disguised cubby was a ring with multiple keys attached, each labeled in regards to what it opened.
I unlocked the dead bolt and turned the knob. My hand stilled as Gabe’s wrapped around my fingers.
“Ashton…” He drew a breath but didn’t continue. Finally, his head fell and he sighed. “Thank you for inviting me here. I realize this is different than staying at a hotel, with it being your family’s home and all.”
“Sure. I trust you not to make off with the silver while I’m sleeping,” I tried to joke, but the familiar current hummed through my skin where his hand lingered, making it hard to concentrate.
Gabe offered a weak smile then dropped his arm.
I took a steadying breath and pushed the door open.
The soft fragrance of lilies filled the doorway. I flipped the light switch and peered around the foyer. Two wooden staircases curved in opposite directions, winding up to the second floor. Watercolors dotted the sage colored walls that curled around the stairs. The marble tile was a grayish-green, reminding me of the Pacific after a storm when the water was troubled and frothy. A compass design was inlaid in the center. Large statues and sculptures stood guard over the entryway. While each piece of decorative furniture and art was different, they flowed harmoniously, sharing a likeness that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“It appears we have some hiking ahead of us.” Gabe nudged me back into reality, his eyes focused toward the landing atop the steps. “Then again…” His sentence drifted off as he walked through a passage between the staircases. He veered to the left before stopping. Gabe turned, wearing a satisfied grin, and stretched his hand forward to touch the wall. I looked on, confused, until I heard a familiar ding and the sound of doors sliding open.
“Your father’s home is meticulous,” Gabe offered as we stepped into an elevator. “I’m assuming there’s a staff of sorts?”
“No doubt.” I hit the button for the second floor. “Leave it Charlie to have a lawn service for a house he doesn’t even visit.”
“Will the staff mind you’re here then?”
“I don’t see how it’s any of their business.” I shrugged. “I imagine they’re off for the holiday anyway.”
“Then promise me this, if we’re caught in this house together, and there’s trouble, you can’t blame me.” Gabe grinned, his dimples sinking in.
“Scout’s honor.” I lifted my left hand to my forehead.
“That’s not the girl-scout salute,” Gabe pointed out, staring at the two fingers I held to my brow.
I tried to readjust my number of fingers. Gabe reached forward, grabbed my right hand, and positioned it to my head in place of the left.
“Wrong hand, Gracie.” He winked.
“Oh,” I murmured, trying to maintain a healthy pulse. “I was never in the girl-scouts.”
“I’m not sure what that says about your promise then,” he laughed.
My humor faded as I stared into his eyes. Something like liquid fire burned through my body, melting away my defenses. The invisible connection sang to life, drawing me closer. I searched his face, wanting to know what he was thinking. How did he feel at this exact moment? Why did he wear that expression? What did it mean?
A bell chimed as the doors opened on the second floor.
“Sorry,” Gabe murmured, severing the tenuous thread that stretched unseen between us. “I’m in my own world. It’s been a long day.”
Of course he’s just tired. I jerked my luggage out of elevator and down the hall. What would a kind soul like Gabe ever want from an emotional shut-in like you?
I sighed and turned to see Gabe still standing at the elevator, his hands balled at his sides.
“I—” He paused before saying something else. “Where would you like me to sleep?”
I cleared my throat, still thick with emotion. “You can pick any room you want. There seem to be plenty to choose from.”
“Sure, thanks, Ashton. Nite.” Gabe hoisted his bag and started down the hall to the left. He opened the first door and vanished into the darkness.
Fresh tears welled as he closed the door. Maybe Charlie’s death was affecting me more than I realized. Being here only added to my emotional instability. The house made me curious about the life and love my mother and father shared. I had never seen that kind of love in him. It was impossible to imagine him having the capability. But he did.
I looked over the banister to the floor below and realized that this was my mother’s house, her personal space. Charlie must have adored her to have it kept in such pristine condition all these years. Feminine touches were stamped in every way, and my heart ached at the thought that I never knew the woman who meant so much to him.
A strange remorse coursed through me. I never knew this wonderful woman — I never even had the opportunity to know her — but I also never had the opportunity to lose her. Charlie did.
For the first time in my life, I pitied my father.
“Ashton?” Gabe appeared from the shadows and paused a few feet away. Our eyes met, and his features grew serious. He took a tentative step toward me.
I drew a breath. “Yeah?”
“I need to tell you … I think I forgot to lock the front door.” Gabe swallowed hard, his expression tight. “Did you get it?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Good.” Gabe swept a curl from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. He shifted his body just enough to lean in a little more, and the current surged over me.
Stop it, I ordered myself, but it didn’t lessen the pull between us.
“We should probably call it a night,” I whispered, trying to control the trembling in my voice.
“Yeah, you must be tired,” he murmured. The corner of his mouth pulled down as he backed away, leaving a chill where he’d stood.
“Right.” Frustrated, I wheeled around and slammed into a table that stood behind me. It balked under the force, jarring a crystal container of wild flowers. As the vase toppled over, Gabe lunged forward in an attempt to catch it.
The loud crash of shattered crystal echoed through the hall. I stared down in horror, my eyes fixed on the deep gash running across the inside of Gabe’s right forearm. Blood ran freely from the wound, dripping onto the rug. He gripped his arm with his free hand, trying to stop the flow.
I dropped to his side and yanked the zipper open on my toiletry bag. Pulling out a shirt, I knotted it around the bloodied mess.
“We’d better get to the bathroom and clean you up. Here, elevate it.” I lifted his arm.
He rose on a groan but hesitated. I stuck close in case he turned out to be a fainter. Not that I could catch him, but I could come between his head and the floor if nothing else.
“There’s a bathroom in my room.” He gestured toward his wing of the house. We walked down the hall and paused outside his door. Gabe’s knuckles whitened around the shirt as I turned the knob and flipped on the light.
I led him into the bathroom, hitting the switch with my elbow. Gabe grudgingly lowered himself into an armchair. His head plopped back and he stared up toward the ceiling.
“I’m going to look for some bandages. Don’t try to get up,” I warned.
I wiped my bloodied hands on a hanging towel then rummaged through the cabinets until I found a full-sized first aid kit.
Gabe tilted his head toward me as I knelt in front of him. He drew a slow deliberate breath in through his nose and blew it from his mouth. I moved my hand to the shirt but Gabe caught mine in his.
“I can take care of this. You should go on to bed.”
“Gabe, you’re bleeding everywhere. You can’t do this one handed. It’s probably going to need stitches regardless. Just sit tight and let me help you.”
Gabe sighed in resignation and fell back against the seat.
I gently unknotted my shirt from his forearm and gasped. The bleeding had all but stopped. A deep cut remained but it was clean and dry less the crusted blood from moments ago. It looked like it had been formed from clay. I turned his hand in mine. How was that possible? The only way blood doesn’t flow is if it can’t. Something was very wrong with his arm.
CHAPTER FIVE
Insight
“It’s all right, Ashton.” Gabe grabbed my hand, his eyes locked on me.
“Right…” I managed, my focus still glued to his arm.
“Please, don’t be upset,” Gabe pleaded. “It isn’t ... I swear everything is fine.”
“I don’t understand how?” My mind fumbled around for an answer. Just a moment ago, he needed stitches, and now, the wound healed before my eyes.
“You’re confused, and I’m sorry.” Gabe looked pained as he tried to explain. “I wish I could say something.” He paused. “I just can’t right n
ow.”
“I don’t know what to say to that. I think I need to lie down.” My fingers moved to my temples.
Gabe nodded solemnly, not giving me anything else to go on.
The overwhelming events began to weigh on my suffering state of sanity. I tried to smother the anxiety and searched for a reason to excuse myself and run away.
“Well, I guess I understand why you didn’t want help. Sorry I pushed you.” My voice was a distant whisper. I didn’t know what to feel as I stood up in a panic and rushed out.
I lugged my bags into an open room and hurled them through the darkness. The wall protested with a thud. I fell backwards in the center of the canopy bed, wanting to go to sleep and escape this alternate reality, but my foot wouldn’t stop twitching. I threw my arm across my eyes and willed myself into unconsciousness. It was no use. All the day’s occurrences crept back in, sabotaging any hope I had of rest. I jerked up with a growl and tugged the chain of the lamp on the nightstand.
I picked up my bags and placed them on the leather bench at the foot of my bed. The first suitcase held my clothes. I chose the pink cotton tank top and matching pajama bottoms.
Yanking the new tags off, I caught sight of the brand. Apples to Oranges. A little image of the two fruits sat beneath the title. It seemed ridiculous that the commonplace emblem should bother me, but it did. The words were parts to one of Charlie’s frequently used quotes. You’re trying to compare apples to oranges, Ashton. That’s neither here nor there.
I sighed and walked into the bathroom. Every argument we ever had almost always consisted of him using that phrase. The last conversation I shared with my father echoed through my mind as I filled the tub.
“Ash,” Charlie pleaded in his thick southern accent, “please come home for the weekend. It’s your birthday.”
“Dad, we’ve been over this. The weather is going to be bad in New York in the next few days. I’ll come after this whole hurricane thing is past. Besides that, Kevin’s throwing me a party Friday.”