“I hope you found the bath agreeable.” He smiled, using his charming eyes.
“I did. Thank you.” I looked at him, wanting to say something else. “Thank you for dropping whatever it was and coming to get me. I can never repay you, Tom. You're first class, you know?”
“It was no problem at all. I'm happy that you thought of me. Not that I want to meddle or interfere with your business, but is your husband still in a coma at Mercer General?”
“Yes, well, no, he's not in a coma. He came out of it tonight.”
With bulging eyes and a loosened jaw, he quickly commented. “That's a miracle, Amy. I'm happy for you.” His brow scrunched. “Wait, why didn't you stay at the hospital then? Is he all right? No brain damage, I hope?”
It took a lot of restraint not to confuse idiocy with clinical brain damage. “No, it seems his brain is fully charged and operating normally.”
There was something untold in my comment. I sensed Tom wanted to ask. “It's that ... well, it seems ... he has a girlfriend. I wouldn't know for how long. But it seems she's been around long enough to be the reason he was leaving me.”
Tom came and sat next to me. His arms drew my body into his shoulder. It was a solid refuge. One fell swoop, followed by an emotional crisis and I was a babbling mess. I buried my head and pressed my eyes so tightly shut, I could see stars. When would the hurt be over?
The creepiness of the over-sized room and bed didn't help in giving me warm fuzzies. Tom had told me to yell if I needed anything. I didn't figure he had a snack-sized helping of security somewhere in that commercialized kitchen. Maybe an extra set of arms in the giant pantry to hold me tight and tell me it’d be all right?
The last check of the time read four o'clock. I must have fallen asleep because nightmares of the mugger chased me down the rest of the night. But a loud voice awoke me. Yelling was coming from downstairs. I got out of bed and pulled back the curtain. Daylight was making its debut. I pulled my robe shut and crept downstairs.
“I want this guy off the street, Ron. What are you doing to make that happen? Amy's not safe until he's behind bars. And when that happens, he won't see the light of day when I'm finished with him.”
I walked into the kitchen where his giant lawyer voice was coming from. Tom was wearing a path from the coffee pot to the stove. He covered the receiver when he saw me. “I'll be off in a second. Help yourself to some coffee.”
The kitchen seemed even larger in the daylight. Not much personality could be found, except for the loaf of bread by the toaster, the jar of peanut butter and bag of chips on the center island. I poured myself a cup and took a seat, waiting for him to finish beheading the nice detective on the phone.
“I'm sorry about that. I hope I didn't wake you.” He walked in from the other room, where he had finished his phone call.
“Kind of, but it's no problem. Was that the detective you were yelling at?” I pointed to his phone.
“Yeah, he's trying to tell me that they don't even have a line up for you to I.D. the son of a gun. They have nothing. It's like it's their first day on the job and a simple thug has the upper hand. It's unbelievable. I might have to hire my own detective.” He freshened up his cup of coffee.
“Tom, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but there is no need to do anything like that. They'll catch him. Until then, I'll keep to the lit walkways and carry plenty of pepper spray. Which reminds me, do you think you can drive me to my house to pick up some things and my car? I promise, it's the last time I'll have to bug you.”
He finished sipping his hot beverage. “Amy, you're not bugging me. And I do intend to find this guy so you can feel more secure. I sent a professional locksmith over to change out the locks. Someone should be here shortly with the new set of keys.”
My eyebrows crept closer together. “Tom, are you crazy? It's nine o'clock on Sunday morning. Who are your connections? The mob?”
“I knew it had to be done. Why wait? There's a punk out there with a key to your house. The sooner things get done, the better.” He opened the cabinet above the coffee maker. “Can I make you something to eat? I know how to pour a mean bowl of cereal or crack a few eggs. Your pick.”
“No, thank you. I'm not sure what would settle in my stomach. I just want to get through this weekend and try to think about what I'm going to do next. I'll just go upstairs and change back into my lucky red dress, and we can go.”
He stopped me from walking away, touching my shoulder. The casual shirt and khaki pants he was wearing took the edge off his executive exterior. “Amy, you should come back here.” He held me by the arms. I could smell his fresh aftershave lotion. “What I mean is that I don't think you're safe yet, and I want you to come back. Stay with me for a while. I don't care how long.”
“You have been a knight in shining armor, Tom McTavish, but I have to take care of myself. If I stay within the comforts of you, I won't learn how to be on my own. It's easier if I start out strong. I'll be all right at a hotel until they catch the guy or I find another place to live. I don't know about the future of the house anyway, if Wesley wants to sell it or live in it with his girlfriend. I couldn’t care less at this point, but I have to prepare myself for anything.”
“Amy, we can think about all that in due time. A lot has happened to you in the last twenty-four hours, but you're here now. It's Sunday and I can't think of anything better to do than help you relax and enjoy your company. Call me selfish, but let me keep you until this boils over and you can figure out some things. Plus, hotels are so impersonal.” He loosened his hold on me.
I looked around at his imposing large house wondering if he knew what personal looked like. He must not know any different. Maybe he never had the luxuries of fleece blankets thrown on the backs of sofas, tiny collectible tea-pots on the kitchen window-sill, or hanging ferns.
“All right, but only until I can secure another place.” It was no secret that I could never sleep in hotel rooms. I spent half the night checking the windows and doors, fearing I would be attacked in my sleep. And don't get me started on the bedding. Just wondering about all the things people did in those places gave me the heebie-jeebies.
He took one hand off my arm and shook my hand with it. “Deal. I'll be waiting for you in my office. When you're ready, I'll take you home for some things.”
Chapter Sixteen
Six weeks later and I was still living at Tom's house, partly because he had made it so comfortable and partly because I didn't know where else to go. I feared, with the mugger still at large, my house was a prime target. Signing a lease on a new place was risky, especially if I didn't know what Wesley's plans were. And, to date, he had made no effort to get in touch with me. Perhaps he was busy making a new home with Violet, the home wrecker. I wonder if he got Ashley's permission before moving forward with his mistress?
Before I got closer to Tom's house, I dialed Wesley's number. Dread waited with me, as I counted the number of rings. One, two, three ...
“Hello.”
“Wesley?” My stomach tightened.
“Yeah. Amy it's me.”
“I didn't know if you were out of the hospital yet or not? Are you?” My foot eased off the gas pedal. Where was I going?
“I got released two weeks ago. They had to do some more tests first. Make sure I didn't suffer damage to anything.” Yeah, yeah ... that's Violet's problem now. You can remove me from the give-a-crap list.
“All right. So the reason I called was to ask about the house. Do you want it?” Maybe you and the mugger would make great friends. You have an enemy in common.
“I figured you'd want to keep it, since I presume you're staying here in Portland.”
That would mean he's not ... staying? Not staying with me was one pill to swallow, but not staying in the same state was a mountain to swallow. My throat couldn't work. There was a detour to my windpipe. Nothing but emotions was working at the moment. There was no telling the damage they could do pent up inside.
“
You're not staying?” I didn't say it with any undertones of pity, did I?
“No, I'm moving to San Diego with…” He stopped. Did he think I couldn't handle hearing her name? Couldn't handle the fact that he was past ready to move past us?”
“Yeah, I get it. So then I'll put it on the market.”
He was quiet for a second. “I came by Thursday to pick up some things, but the door lock was changed. I can understand. You're probably still angry. But I need to get some things, if I could meet you there sometime?”
“Don't flatter yourself.” I pulled into Tom's driveway and sat in my parked car. “For your information, the night I left the hospital, I was mugged. The guy took my keys, so I had the locks changed. I haven't been staying there. But I'll get you a key.”
“Oh my Lord, Amy. Are you all right? What happened? Did he hurt you? Have they caught him?” His concern sounded unscripted. Something a thoughtful person might ask.
“Don't concern yourself with my well-being, Wesley. The unlikely identity doesn't suit you. You have a new girl to keep check of. I'm no longer your problem.” False bravado at its best. I shielded my eyes. The tears were not obeying my request to stay in their duct work.
“Amy, I'll always be concerned over your welfare. For God's sake, we've been together all our lives. Your mom wanted me to always look out for you. I made her a promise.”
The mentioning of my mother and how she'd feel knowing what happened helped in the tear secretion. “Please, don't mention my mother or any type of stupid pact you made to be there for me. Someone who cares for someone else, whether it be a friend, or a wife, doesn't cheat on them and leave. Thanks for the letter, by the way. It was a real joy reading about your departure. What did you think? I'd try and talk you out of it if you told me in person? Leave, see if I care.”
I hung up the phone and looked up to see Tom standing on the porch. Uneasiness wore on his gentle eyes. His tie was pulled down and the first button on his shirt was undone. I bent down, pretending to pick up something and wiped my face. A few seconds more and the red, puffiness of my eyes would smooth back to normal too.
“Hey, you. I tried to call, but you were on the phone.”
I walked slower, giving my face a few extra seconds to gain composure. “I was on the phone, I'm sorry.”
He took my hand and searched my face. “Is everything all right? Did something happen at work? I was worried.”
“I got off the phone with Wesley. He's moving.”
We walked inside. Tom had two plates set on the table, and I noticed a take-out bag from Rudy's Steakhouse was next to the trashcan. He took my bag off my shoulder and walked me to a chair. “That upsets you.”
Shouldn't it? I sat down and watched as he wore oven mittens to get our food out of the oven. His attention was fully on me, but he still managed to get the meal to my waiting plate. A steak with a baked potato and fresh green rods of asparagus on the side. I picked up the butter knife, scooping a slab of cream on the tip, folding it into the steaming potato. “Thirty-one years, and I can't remember a time that he has ever lived farther than a walk away from me. Thirty-one years.”
“Good grief, are you brother and sister?”
I laughed at the absurdity. It was absurd. Who lived their entire existence with the same person? It wasn't normal. But it was. For me, it was normal to always have him. Not that I would miss pretending we were perfectly happy, but I'd miss him. He was a part of who I was. That jackass.
“Maybe we are. In a sick way, we are brother and sister. That's probably why our private relationship never worked. It's unnatural to sleep with your sibling. No, that's perverse. We'll label it a roommate. He was my roommate. And now he'll be in another state, with another woman, not thinking about me.”
Tom took off the mitt and sat next to me. “I'm sure he will always have you on his mind. Who could know you and go through life never thinking about you? I have trouble at work not thinking about you, and I know I'll be seeing you in the evening.”
His comment slapped me in the face. I suddenly jumped off the Wesley train wreck and boarded the next one. All passengers for train wreck Tom, loading on platform B. All aboard!
“Tom, I'm nothing special. Certainly you don't think of me in the day? You're too busy fighting crime and suing for alimony.”
He stood up quickly, maybe sensing he had spoken too honestly. “Sweet tea or a soda? I bought bottled water too. I realize you don't like tap.”
“Tom, we need to talk about this.”
“Tea or water?” He held up each.
“Tea, now sit down.”
He placed the tea next to my plate and sat back down. “There's nothing to talk about. You know, I actually went to work excited about coming home today? I never get excited about coming home. I usually never leave work until after eight, just so I can go to bed when I get here.”
I had noticed a change in him, now that he said something. A bit more happiness buzzed around him. He was picking bright colored ties, humming at breakfast. Oh no! He was playing house. Why didn't I see the signs?
The potato was now the perfect temperature to eat. He handed me the salt and pepper. I suddenly realized I had managed to transfer my complacency to this man. Although this time, my temporary housemate did want a relationship with me. At least, that's the impression I was getting.
“Tom, it's time I find a place of my own. Now that I know Wesley's plans, I'm going to have the house listed. I'll find a realtor tomorrow to help me.”
He put down his fork. “Am I doing anything to make you feel not at home?”
“That's just it. You're doing everything for me. You're completely perfect. You had the locks changed, you hired a private investigator, you have my clothes washed, my sheets changed. I realize it’s a service doing these things, but it's your orders they're following. I'm still locked in my cage, only at a different house. I need to spread my wings and fly.”
“Nonsense, flying on your own is very overrated.”
I laughed. “I used to believe that, too. I've never flown solo. It's time I did. You've made it too comfortable for me.”
“I've made it comfortable because I don't want you to leave, Amy. I want you to stay. I think we've got something here. Let's explore it.” He touched me with both his vulnerability and his strong hand on my cheek.
It was time for me to tell someone the truth of how I felt for the first time. Sugar-coating always led to empty years of marriage and a week of regret. I wondered if I had told Mark how I felt about him, maybe he wouldn't have found Wesley's girlfriend and then pissed me off to the point of not seeing him again. It wouldn't hurt to give the truth a try. I put down my fork and looked into his ever-so-debonair eyes. God, someone was missing out on this hunk of a hero.
“Tom, I think you're absolutely a gentleman. Wonderful, sexy. But the only thing we share in common is our insecurity to be someone that scares us. Finding our opposite is actually the key to our freedom. Not people like us. You and I understand one another, and it's easy to confuse the familiarity with attraction.”
He withdrew from me. His posture shrunk three whole inches. I squinted, waiting to see the damage my honesty did. “I knew I should've kicked your ass a little more. Charged you rent, made you cook. It's all my fault.” He tried to make light of a situation that was robbing him of all the shades of his newfound happiness. But trying to make me stay would only make me less happy.
I smiled and let him have his dignity. It was better for everyone involved. “Don't plan on dinner tomorrow. I'm going to go house hunting. I'll call you before I come back. See if you've eaten. Maybe I can pick us up something.”
“Sure, sounds good.” He ate the rest of his meal quietly. I, on the other hand, felt like I just killed the Easter bunny and Santa with a two-by-two piece of metal piping.
Chapter Seventeen
Two townhouses and one apartment, all three of which contained a total of five sets of stairs. I was exhausted from my long day. When I call
ed Tom from the last realtor appointment, he told me he hadn't eaten. I stopped by Renaldo's Italian restaurant on my way home.
“I have an order to go. Whitfield.” I waited for the waitress to check the back for my order.
“Amy.” His voice was warm, sending comfort straight through my body.
I turned around. His face had two or more days’ worth of growth. Unruly curls teased my imagination. His presence rendered me ignorant. “Hi, Mark.”
“I've left a thousand messages. I've even left notes at your house. Where have you been?” I noticed his outfit was more professional today, although his burly face and bags under his eyes didn't seem to match his three-piece suit and cuff links.
“I messaged you that I didn't want to communicate.” Where are you, waitress? I'm being attacked by the past out here.
“Yeah, I got that. I just didn't want to take it for a final answer.”
“I'm not living there anymore. I'm moving.”
His look became more serious. “Moving? Where to?”
“I'm not sure. I was out looking today, in fact.”
“Where are you staying?”
Thank the Lord the waitress appeared. She handed me the large paper bag with twine handles. The smell of spaghetti and breadsticks wafted out of the bag. I set it on the floor beside me and took my time paying, hoping Mark would forget what he had asked and discreetly leave. Instead, he propped up against the wall and watched as I paid for the two meals. Luckily, I had cash. There was no time to wait for a transfer of funds from the tiny machine. She could keep the four dollars and twenty cents for a tip.
I grabbed the bag and started to leave the restaurant. Mark threw his ticket with a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and followed me out. This girl was making out like gangbusters with our problems of communication. I noticed he was carrying his laptop computer with him. “So why are you moving?”
“Wesley and I are getting a divorce. I don't want the house. We're going to split the profit.” I flung open the door of the restaurant and zeroed in on my parked car. Only twenty feet more to go.
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