Once the plane was in the air, I reached for my backpack stuffed under the seat in front of me and pulled out my tablet and the used-and-abused, leather-bound notebook inside. I thought I’d look her up on Facebook, but realized I didn’t catch her last name, so I went straight to the notebook. I kept notes of my search in it, but also used it for communication when texting on my phone didn’t work and even had a few sketches in it. I was far from a great artist—my true talent was music. Or, at least, it had been before the accident. Now my talent lays in things much more sinister.
I flipped to the picture I’d drawn a couple of weeks ago after waking from a dream, one I’d been having for years. As I had previously, I’d felt the need to sketch the girl who had me waking with a painful boner. Now that I’d met her in real life, I couldn’t deny the girl in my sketches depicted Leni—curly hair, exotic green eyes, full lips and breasts, dark-honey skin . . . As if the absolute best features of African and European heritage had been blended together to create my Beautiful Girl. The Leni I’d just met would probably never wear the leather bra, miniskirt, and knee-high boots I’d drawn her in, but damn if she wouldn’t look hot in them. The vision came to me clearly. Too clearly. I had to place the book over my lap to hide the full-blown stiffy pressing against my jeans.
Damn. I needed a distraction. I needed to get her out of my head. Several airline bottles of rum dumped into my Coke weren’t enough to blur the image of Leni’s face in my mind. When the smoking hot flight attendant ran her finger over my arm then dropped a napkin with a message on my tray (“Meet me upstairs?”), I couldn’t resist. I snuck up the spiral staircase to the empty upper level and found her in the bathroom wearing nothing but heels and thigh-high stockings, tendrils of bottle-bleached hair barely hiding her fake tits. Flight attendants like this had made me a lifetime member of the mile-high club—they wanted nothing more than something to make the long flight more interesting. My perfect kind of girl.
Unfortunately, my eyes only saw Leni’s body under my hands.
The French babe who helped me through the Paris airport didn’t distract me either. I had a little easier time communicating—I could read her lips as she spoke French—because I’d spent enough time in France for work for a couple of years. I thought she might actually recognize me, the way she flirted in a more subtle way than most chicks. When she told me the flight to Miami had been cancelled due to weather and the next available flight to the U.S. left in three hours for Atlanta, I forgot what she even looked like. Atlanta. What were the odds?
Not that I could really expect to see Leni again. Atlanta was a big city.
I took the flight, making new plans as we crossed the Atlantic. My search for a piece of my past had become an epic fail. Except for a few clues I’d been given along the way, I’d been going completely on instinct, following my gut even all the way to Italy. My gut was usually pretty accurate, but not this time. The one person who’d cared enough to tell me what she knew lived right outside of Atlanta. I didn’t particularly want to see her because it also meant seeing her asshole husband, but maybe she knew more than she’d told me and a face-to-face was the only way to get any more info out of her. Of course, I’d changed a lot over the years—I didn’t exactly look like the kid she’d seen last—but hopefully she’d see beyond the larger build and the tats.
Or would she slam the door in my face once again?
My jaw clenched and my leg bounced with agitation at the thought of what I had to do next. I had to—I was out of options. The guy in the next seat shifted, his eyes darting at me apprehensively with all the tension I threw off. Tatted up, muscular dude suddenly angry for no apparent reason must have freaked him out, especially on an airplane. I inhaled a deep breath, closed my eyes, and rubbed at my wrist, vaguely wondering why it had started to tingle.
Leni’s face filled the backs of my eyelids, and I immediately calmed down. For one last time I allowed my imagination to run wild, promising myself I’d let her go before the plane landed. Once in Atlanta, I’d need to focus my energy elsewhere.
When I saw the caramel-colored curls bobbing in the customs line at Atlanta Hartsfield, though, how could I let go? Maybe life wasn’t such an unfair bitch after all.
CHAPTER 3
As soon as Jeric left, I felt a strange sense of being lost. And lonely. In fact, I’d never felt more alone in this foreign land than I did now. My heart had been aching over this departure—I would miss the quaint villages, sidewalk cafés, and colorful buildings with their rows of windows hidden behind brightly colored awnings and flowers that made the façades look like beautiful tiered cakes. The theaters, too, some of them centuries old, where classic operas had once been performed in times when wigged men had played the roles of women.
And my soul—it had never felt so free. Although I hadn’t made any lifelong friends while in Italy, I’d still been able to be me. The real me. Maybe because everybody’s expectations of me were so low anyway or maybe because I knew I’d never see them again, but I didn’t care what anyone thought here. I didn’t feel the need to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.
Uncle Theo had given me the best gift ever, and I certainly hadn’t deserved it. But it was time to go and with Jeric’s departure, I suddenly couldn’t wait to leave, too, to get home to Uncle Theo, to my comfortable bed, to my familiar surroundings filled with people I knew.
Well, not so much that last part. Most of the people I’d known had left. My parents had moved to Alaska, and all of my friends had gone off to college or to New York City to pursue their dreams, and I’d become someone they’d once known in high school. It was mostly just Uncle Theo and me, and sometimes Mira. But at least the neighbors were friendly and the people at the coffee shop and stores were familiar. By the time I boarded my connecting flight in London, I was as excited to arrive home as I’d been to embark on this journey five weeks ago, especially to see my uncle. As weird as it sounded, he had pretty much become my best friend since I’d graduated high school. I missed his company terribly.
I tried to sleep on the trans-Atlantic flight, but rest eluded me. My mind wouldn’t let go of Jeric’s face and kept replaying our entire conversation, focusing on the way his hands moved, his muscular forearms, the beautiful images inked on his skin. My own forearm burned as though it imagined what all those tats felt like, and I instinctively slipped my finger under my bracelets to rub at it. The woman next to me made a noise of annoyance at the jangle of my bracelets. I fought the urge to give her a dirty look. She’d kept her overhead light on for the entire flight as she flipped through magazine after magazine, not helping my sleep pursuit at all.
I glanced over at her and became intrigued with the look on her face, then another cluck of her tongue. Maybe she wasn’t annoyed at me. I stole a glance at what had her panties in a bunch, and my jaw dropped. I bolted upright in my seat and snatched the magazine right out of her hands.
“Excusé moi?” the woman snapped, but I ignored her.
My full attention had been captured by the magazine ad depicting a perfectly sculpted masculine body clad only in underwear—the defined pecs, the washboard abs, the thick legs, the only part covered .... But even all this didn’t captivate me like the face did. Because I knew that face. I’d spent an hour at the airport looking into those same blue eyes. The tats were gone, probably airbrushed out, but I had no doubt. I burst into a fit of giggles. Jeric was a model. And not just any model. An underwear model. I’d had coffee with a freakin’ international male model!
A few people around me made grunts of irritation as they shifted in their seats, annoyed my laughter awoke them. My conscience twanged with the old feeling of caring what other people thought, and the only reason I didn’t apologize was because I didn’t want to disturb them any further. The closer I came to home, the more Mama’s lessons were returning.
I sat back and held the magazine toward the lady next to me, who’d been staring at me this whole time.
“No, no. You keep,” she
said, looking at me as though afraid I might be a little off my rocker, as Mira would say. She probably thought me to be some kind of perv the way I had stared at the nearly naked man on the page. With a huff, she pulled another magazine out of the pocket on the seat in front of me. Apparently she’d already been through the ones in her own pocket. At least now she stopped glaring at me.
I studied the picture of Jeric in his underwear and now that the initial shock had worn off, embarrassment overcame me. A male model. On the pages of a French fashion magazine. And most of our conversation had centered on his deafness, his disability. I was such an idiot.
And now glad I would never see him again.
* * *
I should have known something was off with Uncle Theo’s house the moment the cab drove up, but I was too focused on paying the driver and unloading my bags. The two-story, white house was nothing special, but it was home, for the most part. I paid little attention to the overgrown flowerbeds and too-tall grass, much worse than I’d expected. I’d have to deal with them soon enough. Right now, I wanted to see Uncle Theo and then my bed.
I went around to the side door that entered into the mudroom and then the kitchen, dug my keys out of my bag and selected the one for the house.
The key refused to enter the lock.
Feeling disoriented, I held the key up to eye level and stared at it for a long moment, then studied the lock. The key would never fit, and being the only brass key on my ring, I knew I’d selected the right one. What used to be the right one, anyway. What the hell? Did Uncle Theo change the locks on me? The thought was ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing?
I tapped my knuckles against the glass pane of the door, hoping Mira was there, because Uncle Theo would never hear me. When she didn’t come, I knocked harder, now on the wooden part of the door. I pressed my face against the glass to see if Mira’s gray-haired, plump body was making its way to the back door.
What I saw was all wrong.
The mudroom appeared to be completely cleared out—no brooms and mops in the corner, no cleaning bottles, soaps and detergents on the shelves by the washing machine. In fact, no washing machine or dryer at all. The maroon area rug no longer lay on the floor. I tilted my head to get a better view of the kitchen. All you could normally see would be the wooden table and chairs close to the mudroom doorway, but those were gone, too.
Weird, I thought as I pounded on the door harder.
“Uncle Theo! Mira!” I yelled, but no answer came.
I ran to the front of the house, up the steps and across the deep porch to the door, where I tried the key again. Nothing. My finger jabbed at the doorbell that would also flash the lights for Uncle Theo while my other fist banged on the wooden door.
“Uncle Theo! Mira! It’s me, Leni,” I called. “Open the door!”
With still no answer, I moved to the front window that looked in on the living room. Well, what had once been a living room. Now, it was only an empty space. Uncle Theo’s big, brown recliner, the hunter green sofa, the large, wooden coffee table and matching end tables, the bookcases overflowing with books . . . all gone. No pictures or paintings on the walls. Hot panic rose from the pit of my stomach, threatening to take over my lungs, but I forced myself to swallow it down. To try to stay calm.
Still, my heart raced as I moved to the window on the other side of the door, the one for Uncle Theo’s bedroom, but I already knew it’d be empty. My brain tried to process it all to come up with an explanation while my feet carried me around the house so I could peer into other windows. Most were too high off the ground for me to see into. I glanced up to the second floor, where my bedroom was, and my heart sank. No curtains, no pillows in the window seat, and, I was sure, nothing else, either.
I returned to the side door and sunk down to the step. Where was Uncle Theo? All his stuff? A glance around the overgrown yard made me think no one had been here for weeks. At least my old beater truck still sat at the end of the driveway. The only thing grounding me, confirming I was at the right house. Had Uncle Theo moved? But why? Maybe he’d moved in with Mira, though I found that highly unlikely. He may have liked spending time with her, but my uncle wouldn’t like the constant presence. He didn’t even like me around twenty-four seven. Besides, that didn’t explain why they’d take my stuff yet leave my truck.
I dropped my head into my hands. This was all too much for my tired mind to take. It was nearly six in the evening in Italy, which meant I’d been awake for fifty hours with only a few moments here and there of sleep. My body probably needed food nearly as much as sleep, although I felt no appetite now. Only confusion and loss. And a little fear as horrible scenarios tried to pop their ugly selves into my thoughts. I pushed them away. Someone would have called me if something was wrong with my uncle.
He has to be at Mira’s. The only answer I could come up with at the moment. That’s where I needed to go. I needed to make sure he was okay, which he had to be. He and Mira probably had a sound explanation for everything, although I could think of none now.
I rubbed my temples with my fingers, trying to motivate my body to move. Stand up. Pick up your bags. Put them in the truck. Drive to Mira’s. Check on Uncle Theo. That’s all I had to do, and then I could sleep, but my body refused to move. I could have curled up on the concrete step and fallen asleep right there and then, if concern for my uncle didn’t needle my brain and heart and soul. He has to be okay.
“Can I help ya?” a man’s voice with a southern twang called from the driveway.
My heart jumped with the surprise, pumping adrenaline that shot my body into action. I sprang to my feet, shocked to find a stout man, about forty years old, with a thick mustache and a mop of brown hair on his head, standing right next to a silver, late model car. I hadn’t heard the car pull up or the door as the man got out and shut it.
“Excuse me?” I asked, tilting my head with confusion at this stranger’s offer of help.
“The neighbors called and said someone was bangin’ on my house, tryin’ to get in,” he said.
“Your house?”
“For now anyway. Bought it several weeks ago on the courthouse steps. It’s up for sale, though. Thought you might be interested. That’s why you’re here, ain’t it?”
What was he talking about? Exhaustion had obliterated any understanding of his words. I suppressed a burst of giggles at how silly they had sounded to me. The guy’s brows pressed together with concern. For what, I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “I’m sleep deprived, so it sounded like you said this is your house. That you thought I’d want to buy it.”
“I did say that. Guess I’m wrong, though.”
“Uh, yeah, you are. Good joke, though. Did Uncle Theo put you up to this?” That’s it! Uncle Theo up to his practical jokes, like the time when he ate all the cream out of the cookies and put the halves back together and into the box, or the time when I was still in high school and he set all the clocks two hours behind, making me think I had left school and come home early. He’d even acted mad at me for skipping class. A little extreme, this one, but he definitely had me.
“Who?” the guy asked.
I snorted. “You can give it up now. Great joke, but I really just want to see Uncle Theo, then go to bed.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really don’t know who you’re talkin’ about.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied me more closely. His expression turned grave. “I think you need to leave now. I don’t want to have to call the cops.”
My eyebrows lifted at his empty threat. I straightened my back and held up my chin. “Look, sir, I don’t have the energy for this. Please tell me where I can find Theo, and you can be on your way.”
He shook his head, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. I watched as he pretended to call the police and tell them a trespasser was on his property. He snapped his flip-phone shut when he was done and glared at me with hard brown eyes.
“The poh-leece are on their way
. If you don’t leave, I’ll tell them you were tryin’ to break and enter, too.”
“Whatever,” I muttered to myself, knowing he’d really called Uncle Theo. My excitement to see him had disappeared with my patience, and my body trembled with exhaustion. I sank back to the concrete step and dropped my head into my hands while we both waited for Mira’s car to arrive with Uncle Theo in it.
Instead, two county sheriff cars arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
What the hell?
“You really called the cops?” I asked in disbelief. My body shook harder, anger combining with the fatigue. He wouldn’t really have me arrested, would he? The curtains over the kitchen window next door parted a hair, and Mrs. Gingham’s face peeked out at all the noise. When our eyes met, hers flitted away.
“Who did ya think I called?” the guy asked. “Yeah, I called the cops. I want ya off my property now!”
“But . . . but—” Surely Uncle Theo wouldn’t go this far. “You really don’t know Theodore Drago?”
Something flickered on the man’s face. Aha! I knew it! He did know Uncle Theo.
“We got a problem here?” one of the officers asked, sauntering up to us the way cops do, his thumbs in his pockets. Big, dark glasses hid his eyes, but I felt them on me and not in a protector-of-the-peace-appropriate way. The other policeman stayed by his car on the street, watching us closely.
“Hold on,” the guy said, lifting his hand out to the cop. “You said Drago? Are you Jacquelena Drago?”
I wanted to roll my eyes at my full given name, but relief the guy finally admitted his recognition flooded over me. “Leni, please, but yes. I’m Theo’s niece. You going to tell these nice officers they can go now?”
The guy shook his head. “I still don’t know no Theo or Theodore, but that ugly damn truck there is registered in your name. I was goin’ to have it towed tomorrow. You can take it and get both you and the truck off my property.”
That was it. I didn’t think even my stoic, always proper mama could restrain herself a minute longer.
Curses, Fates & Soul Mates Page 4