Not What She Seems

by Victorine E. Lieske

  Her head snapped up. “Six.”

  Steven tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “What’s your shoe size?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “Okay. I’ll have the things sent to my apartment. I don’t want you answering the door for anyone other than me. If you need anything, call me on my cell.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked out.

  Gratitude surged through her. He didn’t have to do any of this. But for some strange reason, he was helping her. Even after what she did to him. “Steven?”

  He stuck his head around the corner. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He disappeared, and a moment later she heard the door close, and the deadbolt click.

  ******

  Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as Steven paced the floor. He had sent Elena to pick up his order over an hour ago, and she wasn’t back yet. The sun was setting, and his stomach ached. There wasn’t any point in worrying, but he couldn’t help it. Emily had planned on running again, before he forced her to come with him. He suspected that she was still trying to figure out a way to disappear into thin air. It wouldn’t surprise him much if he were to find his guest apartment empty right now. He sighed, and went to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  The doorbell chimed, and Steven rushed to answer it. Elena stood at the door, looking like she had just bought out Macy’s entire clothing department.

  “Thank you, Elena. You can just put everything down here.”

  “What? In the hall?” She looked at Steven like he had dyed his hair purple.

  “I’m going to take it over to the guest apartment.”

  A curious look crossed her face. “Okay. Do you need anything else, Mr. Ashton?”

  “No, I think that will be all.”

  She nodded and walked down the hallway to her door. He waited for her to enter her quarters before gathering all of the shopping bags. He rang the doorbell to his guest house and waited several long moments for Emily to answer, his blood pressure rising with each second that passed. The door swung open, and she stood there wiping her hands on a paper towel.

  “You look surprised that someone answered. Did you forget I was here?”

  “I um,” he stammered. “Honestly, I thought you might have run off again.”

  “Oh, that’s funny. I have no car, no money, and my son doesn’t even have shoes… except it looks like he does now. Let me help you with these.” She took an armful of bags from him, and he followed her inside, locking the door after himself. “My gosh, how many clothes did you get?”

  “I don’t know—several outfits.” He set the bags down in the foyer. “What is that smell?”

  “I’m fixing dinner.” She peeked in a few sacks, obviously pleased with the contents.

  He smiled to himself. Elena always knew what to buy. His stomach growled. “What is it? It smells delicious.”

  “It’s only chicken and dumplings.” She motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. Connor sat on a bar stool, swiveling it back and forth.

  “Ethan, come sit down. These chairs move!”

  “I know, buddy. They are fun, aren’t they?” Connor nodded in agreement. “You know, everyone here in New York calls me Steven.”

  “Why do they call you Steven?” Connor’s eyebrows knotted in confusion.

  “Because that’s my real name. Ethan was my pretend name.”

  “Oh.” He continued to swivel on the stool while he digested that information. “Mom, can I have a pretend name too?”

  Emily let out a musical laugh. “Sure, hon.”

  Connor looked satisfied. He placed his elbows on the counter, and asked, “Are you going to eat dinner with us?” Emily appeared to be trying to swallow a golf ball.

  “Um…” He raked his hand through his hair, unsure of what to say.

  Emily smiled weakly, and said, “You are welcome to stay if you’d like. It’s nothing fancy, but I’m sure there’s plenty.”

  Steven was certain the invitation wasn’t genuine, but he couldn’t resist. Even though he knew Emily didn’t feel the same way about him, he still felt the need to be around her. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  ******

  The gentle rocking motion of the car soothed Richard. He always loved driving. Maybe it was because his father had enjoyed driving, something he passed on to him in his genes. The thought of his father made him scowl.

  He muttered, “Worthless piece of human garbage.” Feeling agitated, he shifted in his seat. His father didn’t do one good thing in his entire wasted life. He got what he deserved in the end, a bullet through his miserable head.

  Richard’s mind jumped to Emily. She had married that wretched man, and he knew how that would end. The day that she came to him, he opened the door and saw his mother’s face, bruised and swollen. Something inside of him awoke, and took possession of him. It was too late to protect his mother, but he wasn’t going to let Emily end up like her.

  He had taken her in, fed her and clothed her. Sheltered her from the police, and helped her give birth to her kid. Now she was being stupid, letting some good-for-nothing prat come along and mess her up again. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Emily would see it his way, would thank him someday for what he did for her.

  He watched the scenery speed by. Tomorrow he would arrive in New York. He didn’t know how, but Steven would pay for what he’d done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunday morning brought below zero temperatures and a light dusting of snow over everything in Huntington, adding to the existing six inches, and refreezing the slush in the road. Rose looked out the kitchen window again, scanning the farm for signs of Frank. He had gone to feed the animals an hour ago, and he hadn’t returned yet.

  Lines of worry deepened in her face, and she clutched her robe close. Another heart attack could damage his heart beyond repair. If he didn’t come in soon she would go check on him.

  She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the oatmeal on the stove. The handle was worn smooth from years of making puddings and cookies for the boys. She missed those times, when the kids were young and the farm was alive with laughter. Now the house was too quiet.

  The kitchen door opened, and she heard Frank stomping his boots before entering.

  “Bitter cold this morning, the poor calf wouldn’t come out from his corner to eat.” He pulled his thick gloves off before sitting down to take off his boots.

  “I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t go out in this weather if I didn’t have to either.” She opened the cupboard and pulled out two bowls.

  Frank sat down and made a face at his breakfast, but didn’t say anything.

  “Would you like some peaches with your oatmeal?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Naw.” Then he threw on a smirk. “How about some bacon with my oatmeal?”

  “Funny. Eat your oats or you won’t get a piece of toast.”

  “Yeah, that’s really enticing, dear.” He picked up his spoon and started to eat anyway. His pale skin and slumped shoulders betrayed what he didn’t want her to know. He was not well. If they didn’t sell the farm soon, he would not live to see age sixty.

  “You should rest after you eat.” She pushed her oatmeal around in her bowl, making swirls with the spoon.

  He nodded, frowning. “When is Nathan going to be here?”

  “He’ll be here Friday evening. Finals are this week, and he’s stressed out. The break will be good for him.”

  “Good, he can go Christmas shopping with me.”

  “Maybe he can help repair the barn roof.” She didn’t mention that it had to be done before they could sell the farm.

  “I’ll get around to it.” He pulled a paper napkin from the holder and wiped his mouth.

  “I don’t want you to get around to it. I want you to rest and get to feeling better.”

  “I feel fine.” With a small wave of his hand, he signaled to her he was done with his breakfast.
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br />   “Do you want some toast?” Rose stood, her chair making a scraping noise on the linoleum.

  “No.” After a few moments he got up and left the room.

  When the table was clear, she sat down at the computer to check her email. The message from Steven jumped out at her immediately.

  Rose –

  Emily and Connor are safe with me. I’m getting her legal help. She was not involved in the murder of her husband. I’ll contact you as soon as I have more details. One more thing, please accept my deepest apologies for my deception, I should never have lied about who I was. Personal integrity is worth more than I gave it credit.

  -Steven A.

  She clicked on the Reply button, and typed out a response.

  Dear Steven,

  I’m so glad Emily and Connor are okay. Phone when you can. Don’t worry about it. Apology accepted. I haven’t been completely honest with you either. Frank knows who you are. I guess I’m not as good at keeping a secret as I thought. But I didn’t tell anyone else, except for Flora, my hairdresser, but who would she tell? Just kidding. I hope to see you soon.

  Rose

  The soft sounds of snoring drifted from the other room, and Rose knew her husband had fallen asleep in his easy chair. He is a wonderful man, but so stubborn. It will take a miracle for him to agree to sell the farm. She turned off the computer, and bustled into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

  ******

  Emily opened her eyes, the soft light filtering in through the window, prompting her to get out of bed. She glanced at the clock. Since when did she sleep in until nine-thirty? She rolled over and discovered Connor had crawled into bed with her in the night. He was still fast asleep.

  Slipping out of bed, she realized it had been years since she had slept on a mattress that didn’t have springs in her back. That must be why she’d overslept; she was comfortable for once. That, and she felt safe.

  She pulled on a silk robe, and walked barefoot into the bathroom. She knew Steven had not hand picked the clothes he had sent up, but she felt strange wearing the silky sleepwear he bought for her. She was more of a ‘tee shirt and sweat pants to bed’ kind of a girl. Yet she didn’t have much of a choice.

  The face that stared back at her from the mirror reminded her of Frankenstein’s bride. She didn’t have any cream to take her makeup off with, so she looked like she was about to play quarterback for the big game. Her hair was ratted and knotted, her curls spinning out of control in every direction. Of course, she didn’t have her hairbrush either. She attempted to wash her face with her hands, not wanting to stain the expensive looking wash cloths. At least there was a bar of facial soap.

  Once her face was mostly clean, she started raking her fingers through her matted hair. The doorbell rang soft chimes from the other room. That would be Steven checking up on her again. A tinge of anger mixed with guilt shot through her. He didn’t have to be quite so obvious. He had stayed with her until Connor was tucked into bed last night, most likely making sure she wasn’t going to run. If she wasn’t so mortified by what had happened with Steven, he would have been enjoyable company. Unfortunately, stealing money from your date tends to put a damper on a relationship.

  After making sure it was Steven, she pulled her robe tight around her and opened the door.

  He coughed into his fist, and said, “Um, sorry, I thought you’d be up by now.”

  “I’m up. I just don’t have a hairbrush.” She felt her cheeks burn despite her best efforts to remain unflustered.

  “Oh, I didn’t think. I’ll have one sent up. Listen, I just wanted to tell you I have to run to the office for a couple of hours. Elena can leave the brush outside of your door. Is there anything else you need?” He put his hand to her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb, his fingertips shooting warmth through her. “Maybe some makeup remover?”

  He kept his hand on her face a little longer than she thought necessary. Emily’s heart and stomach started playing musical chairs, and she glanced at the floor, hoping a large hole would appear so she could jump in it. Why did he have that effect on her? She needed to get a grip.

  “Uh, yeah,” was all she could manage to get out. She stepped back and self-consciously touched her face.

  “I’ll stop by later and make sure everything’s okay.”

  You mean make sure I’m still here. Emily nodded, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t blame him for not trusting her. She deserved it. But did he have to keep reminding her how suspicious he was of her?

  “Sure. I’ll be here.” She had tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but from the look on his face she was probably unsuccessful. After he left, she clicked the dead bolt in place and turned to go make breakfast.

  Several hours later the doorbell chimed. She looked through the hole in the door. A woman walked down the hall, and entered the apartment on the opposite side. This must be Elena, she decided. Left outside of her door was a large bag full of toiletries. Not only was there a hairbrush and cold cream, but a wide variety of makeup, bath salts, toothbrushes, deodorant, perfume, and feminine products. Steven should give Elena a raise.

  ******

  Richard walked around the building a second time. Dang thing was a fortress. Glancing down at his tattered t-shirt, he knew the doorman would never let him in. He watched a couple leave the condominium, a small dog on a leash yipping and pulling them toward Central Park.

  He took a long drag from his cigarette, then threw the butt into the street. Getting to Steven wouldn't be as easy as he had thought. He stuffed his fists into his pockets and headed toward the park. He needed time to think about what he was going to do.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The telephone rang for the zillionth time that morning, and Samantha bristled. Mondays are always like this, she thought. Everybody and their dog, and their dog’s fleas, calling here.

  “Paul Berman Insurance, this is Samantha speaking, how may I direct your call?” She leaned back in her flimsy build-it-yourself task chair, certain that one of these days the back was going to snap and send her to the floor.

  Samantha could hear Paul on the phone in his office behind her. “I’m sorry; Mr. Berman is on the phone right now. Would you like me to put you through to his voice mail?” She tapped her pen on her desk. “All right, please hold.” With a little more force than she meant to, she pressed a button on the phone and hung up.

  She loathed this job. She hated the cheap plastic plants strewn about the reception area, the pea-green drapes from the 1950’s, and the way Paul insisted she answer the phone. There were only two agents in the office for heaven’s sake. She felt idiotic every time she said, ‘How may I direct your call?’

  The phone rang again, and she gritted her teeth. She wondered if anyone would notice if the line became unplugged for a while. Surprisingly, she heard Courtney’s high-pitched voice coming through the receiver.

  “Samantha, you’re not gonna believe this. Lana’s husband called her from the station today. They got a phone call from Emily Grant. She said she’s gonna come turn herself in!”

  She could have sworn Courtney said Emily Grant, but that was impossible. “What are you talking about?”

  “Emily Grant! She’s coming to Stapleton tomorrow. She’s got herself some fancy lawyer, and is...”

  Courtney continued to speak, but the words were lost to Samantha. Her throat tightened, and she felt sick. Emily? What on earth dug her up from the way beyond? She swallowed hard, and tried to keep breathing.

  Emily couldn’t come back, not now, it would ruin everything. William’s murder case would be re-activated. Emily’s lawyer would have access to all the evidence. Someone was bound to put two and two together this time, especially with Emily around. The room started to spin.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Um, sorry Courtney. What did you say?”

  “I need to go. I’ve got to call Amanda. She is going to freak when she hears this.”

  Samantha
slowly replaced the receiver, and stared out of the front window. Water stains and finger prints were starting to build up again, and she knew she would have to go outside in the bitter cold to squeegee the glass. She wanted to quit so bad, just so she didn’t have to be the one to do the windows.

  A black sedan pulled into the parking lot. A man got out of the car, and pulled his long dress coat around himself while the wind tried to tear it off. Moments later he entered the lobby.

  “How may I help you?” She tried to smile, but felt like she was baring her teeth, so she closed her mouth.

  “I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Paul.”

  “Just one moment, I’ll tell him you’re here.” She picked up the phone and pressed Paul’s intercom button. Her voice came from the room behind her as she spoke. “Your eleven o’clock appointment is here.” There were some shuffling noises behind her as Paul stood up, and she rolled her eyes. Why didn’t he just come out when he heard his appointment come in?

  He materialized behind her, and stepped around her desk. “Right this way, sir.” They went into his office and he shut the door.

  Acid started to churn in her stomach. Her job was not her biggest problem anymore. Emily Grant could mess up the rest of her life. She hadn’t expected Emily to show her face in Stapleton again. Why did she have to come back and ruin everything? Samantha clenched her hands into tight fists, her well manicured nails leaving deep impressions in her palm. She was going to have to do something about Emily.

  ******

  Steven showed Attorney Michael Pitman out the front door. His gut twisted inside of him as he walked back to where Emily sat on the sofa. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and she fiddled with a pinecone from the decorative bowl on the glass coffee table. Her hair was pulled back and clipped at the nape of her neck. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.