Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts)

by Tiffany Snow

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. “Like I said, it probably didn’t even occur to you. It’s not as though you were being deliberate about it.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was angry or not, and since he hadn’t outright said he was mad, I went with not.

  “The cops said it was a clear-cut suicide,” I offered.

  Jackson winced. “He was a friend of mine,” he said.

  I understood what he meant and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Could I have been more insensitive? This was why interacting with people exhausted me and left me feeling inadequate. Sometimes I just said the wrong thing. Oh, who was I kidding—not sometimes, ALL the time.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’m not good at this. Can I do anything? Do you need something?” Being given a task would be so much easier than finding the right words to say. “Would you like some hot tea? I drink chamomile every night and it’s very soothing.”

  “No. I was actually coming in here to have a look around,” he said. “And you don’t have to apologize. You’re probably the one thinking the clearest at the moment, without emotions affecting your logic.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. Embarrassment was doing a pretty good job of impeding my thinking, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Did anything catch your eye?” he asked.

  “I hadn’t looked around very much.”

  “Madeline seems to think foul play was involved.”

  “I know. I heard,” I said. “But if the police can’t find any evidence, then I don’t know what else you can do.”

  “Well, if he was murdered and they made it look like a suicide, they wouldn’t leave evidence now, would they?”

  I didn’t argue, just resumed my trip around the office, stopping in various spots to peruse the dead man’s effects. “Where did he work?”

  Jackson looked at me. “Wyndemere.”

  Oh. “I really hope that’s just coincidence,” I said. “Because otherwise it’s a little . . . disconcerting.” I was proud that I’d found a better word than the one that had immediately come to mind, which was terrifying.

  “Me, too.”

  Although we went through the office, neither of us found anything. No work files that looked incriminating or worth killing over, and no suicide note. I even dug through the trash, but came up empty.

  “Let’s go ahead and leave,” Jackson said at last. “Madeline’s sister is on her way to stay with her and I don’t want to intrude further.”

  We said good-bye to Madeline, and Jackson promised to be in touch. He didn’t say anything on the way back to the office, appearing deep in thought, so I stayed quiet, too. Until my phone began shrieking at me.

  “It’s me! Your favorite niece. Pick up the phone! I know you’re there. Answer me—”

  I scrambled for my cell, digging in my pocket and pulling it out. It was even louder now. Mia must have changed my ringtone. When the hell had she done that?

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Aunt Chi!”

  “What did you do to my phone?” I hissed as Jackson glanced sideways at me.

  “Oh yeah, you like it? Way better than that boring ringtone you had, and now you know it’s me without looking!”

  “I like my ringtone.”

  “Seriously? It was some weird western song.”

  Jackson was listening, I could tell, so I turned away slightly so he wouldn’t hear me. “It’s the theme to Firefly.”

  “To what?”

  “Firefly,” I said louder.

  “What’s that?”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. It wasn’t worth it. “What did you want?”

  “Oh yeah, why I’m calling. I want to make brownies but I can’t find your flour.”

  “You want to do what?”

  “Make brownies.”

  I didn’t even know if I owned a pan to make brownies in, much less have flour. “I don’t do a lot of baking, Mia. If you want brownies, you’ll have to buy them.”

  “Okay, but homemade is better. I’ll walk across the street to the drugstore then. They’ll have brownies.”

  Was that okay for her to do? Was she old enough? Would a good parent tell her no, she shouldn’t do that? I had no idea. I guessed if she thought it was okay, then it probably was? I had no clue.

  “Ah, okay, I guess. Hey, did you call your dad?” The sooner I could send her back home to her parents, the better we’d all be.

  “We had a long talk, yes, and guess what?” She sounded terribly excited, which I instinctively knew meant I wouldn’t be. “He said I could stay with you for a semester! And I researched it and everything and the high school here is only four miles away. I called and got an appointment to go in and meet with them and register.”

  My mouth was gaping, but it took me several long moments to realize it.

  “Aunt Chi? Are you there?”

  “Um, yeah, I’m here. Listen, let me call you back in a little bit. I’m not in the office right now.”

  “’kay. I’m so excited! Bye!”

  My next call was to Oslo, and I didn’t bother going through conventional social niceties when he answered.

  “You told Mia she could stay with me? For a semester?” That came out kind of squeaky. I cleared my throat, glancing at Jackson, who seemed not to be paying attention.

  “Please, China,” Oslo said. “She and Heather are going through a rough time right now. They’re bickering constantly. If Heather says the sky is blue, Mia says it’s . . . orange.” He paused. “It’s because of her mom leaving, China, I know it is. I tried to get her to talk to a therapist, but she won’t. It’s been years, but that kind of thing . . . it doesn’t ever go away. Your own mother abandoning you. I mean, hell, it was excruciating for me and I was just married to the woman. She wasn’t my mother. Please. Can she stay?”

  Damn it. No way would I say no now, and Oslo knew it. “I don’t know how to deal with a teenage girl,” I said, in one last futile attempt. “She’s going to hate staying with me.”

  There was an awkward silence, and it clicked.

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s what you want. If she hates it here, she’ll realize how good she has it there, and will change her tune. Nice, Oslo.”

  He must’ve heard the hurt and anger I couldn’t disguise. “It’s not like that, China,” he said. “But . . . yeah. I’m hoping a few months there will . . . change her perspective.”

  “You’re lucky I like her,” I said, then ended the call. And I did like Mia. I could understand how she’d feel about her biological mom leaving her. Although I knew that my mom hadn’t wanted to leave me when I was eight, the stages of grief included an anger phase where you do blame the person who died for leaving. Very common.

  I stared out the windshield, my mind racing. I wasn’t equipped to deal with a teenager. I’d have to be like a pseudo-parental figure or something. I couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive, so my qualifications for caring for another actual living person were pretty slim.

  “Everything okay?”

  Jarred from my thoughts, I turned to Jackson. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, no, not really.”

  “No? Or yes?”

  “No, well, I don’t know.”

  He was looking at me like I was an alien and I thought I should explain.

  “It’s just that my niece, Mia, decided to run away from home last night and flew here. Now I guess she’s convinced her dad—my brother—to let her stay here with me for a semester.”

  “Is she a problem kid? On drugs or something like that?”

  “Of course not. She’s a good kid, not into alcohol or drugs. Too smart for her own good and a downright prodigy at math.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Now it was my turn to look at him like he was an alien. “I’m not a mother! I don’t know the first thing about how to deal with a teenager, even if she is related to me.”

  “Well, they’re just like normal people, right? Just younger.”

  He’d obviously not dealt w
ith many teens.

  “I think there’s a little more to it than that,” I said. As to what the “more” part of it was, though, I had no clue.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  I appreciated the vote of confidence.

  “. . . so all we have to do is designate you my temporary guardian and then I can enroll,” Mia finished.

  I continued dishing up the beef and broccoli (Tuesday was Chinese night) onto two plates, along with fried rice and eggrolls.

  “Did you get sweet-and-sour chicken?” Mia asked.

  I paused. “You didn’t say you wanted sweet-and-sour chicken.”

  “Everyone loves sweet-and-sour chicken.”

  “That’s not really Chinese food. It’s Chinese food for Americans who don’t like Chinese food.”

  “Then what do you call beef and broccoli? That’s about as un-Chinese as you can get.”

  I decided to ignore this rather than argue the merits of beef and broccoli versus sweet-and-sour chicken. Grabbing my plate and fork, I headed into the living room. Mia followed me, plate in hand as well.

  “So?” she asked. “Will you do it?”

  I curled up cross-legged on the sofa and clicked on the television, digging into my apparently pseudo-Chinese food.

  “Aunt Chi?”

  What choice did I have? I’d researched the public school Mia wanted to go to and it was a really good school, better than her one back home, with an accelerated math and science track. Oslo had e-mailed me PDF copies of Mia’s medical records, birth certificate, and insurance information—in short, everything I needed to take care of her for the next however-many months.

  I swallowed my mouthful. Although I’d told Oslo I’d take care of Mia, I still wanted her to work for it. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “Yes!” She pumped her fist.

  “But—” I interrupted her celebration. “But you have to promise to obey my rules and dedicate yourself to your homework. This isn’t some kind of vacation. You’ll need to work, especially at this school you want to attend.”

  “I swear, I’ll work hard and I won’t be any trouble.”

  I wasn’t sure about that last part, but if Mia needed to have a few months away from home for whatever teenage reasons were bothering her and coming between her and Heather, then I could give that to her. She was family.

  Navigating the DVR menu, I pulled up the episode of Castle that I recorded. Tuesday night I watched the shows I’d recorded—Castle, Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, and Rizzoli & Isles.

  “Ooh, I love Rizzoli & Isles,” Mia said, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and tucking it around her legs. “Let’s watch that first.”

  “But I watch it last,” I said. “Not first.”

  “Does it matter?”

  I hesitated. “It’s just . . . how I do it.”

  “Okay, that’s fine,” she said, backing down. “It’s your thing so we’ll watch however you want.”

  She was making me feel crazy OCD again, but obviously didn’t want to rock the boat since she was now a semipermanent houseguest.

  There was a loud thump outside, interrupting our conversation.

  “What was that?” I asked, setting down my plate.

  “Probably your new neighbor,” Mia said.

  “I have a new neighbor?” I headed for the door as another thump sounded.

  “Yeah. They moved in this afternoon. A couple of moving guys, but I didn’t see who it was.”

  Pulling aside the curtains in the front window, I peered outside. The duplex next door had been empty for a couple of months. A new neighbor would be nice, so long as they didn’t play music too loud or smoke.

  I couldn’t see who it was, but could see a man bent over behind a sofa, apparently trying to move it himself. Hurriedly, I opened the door.

  “Here, let me help you,” I said. He was going to hurt himself. I rushed forward to grab the other side of the sofa, then realized I’d vastly underestimated how heavy it was.

  A low chuckle made me look up from where I was straining to lift the furniture, and I forgot how to breathe.

  The man on the other end of the sofa was probably the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. No. Scratch that. He was definitely the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Wavy black hair and crystal-blue eyes like the best incarnation of Superman ever. Dimples creased his cheeks as he gave me a thousand-watt, whiter-than-white, perfectly-straight-teeth smile.

  His wide shoulders and muscled arms were giving the cotton of his black T-shirt a run for its money as it stretched to accommodate his body. I couldn’t see the rest of him because of the couch, but I had no doubt he was as perfect below the waist as he was above it.

  That sent my thoughts spiraling in a direction straight out of the racier Harlequins that I kept meaning to send to Grandma. And I would send them . . . eventually. Just as soon as I finished Love’s Pure Delight.

  “I’m Clark,” Superman said, reaching a hand across the sofa toward me.

  “No way,” I murmured. His eyes were so blue—

  “What was that?”

  I made myself blink, breaking the spell of his amazing eyes. “Nothing,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “I’m China.”

  “China?” His hand engulfed mine.

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “My parents met there. It’s better than being named Beijing.”

  Clark laughed and I was mesmerized—a throaty chuckle that made me want to record it just so I could hear it over and over.

  “Good to meet you, China.”

  He looked down and I realized I was still holding his hand. I snatched it away, my face burning.

  “So, yeah, I came out to help you,” I said, trying to act natural, or at least what passed as natural for me. “Because you, ah, looked like you, ah, needed help.”

  “No offense, China, but I’m guessing this couch weighs nearly three times what you do. I appreciate the offer, but I can get it. It’s just a little awkward.” He smiled again.

  “I’m Mia.”

  She popped over my shoulder, wearing a brilliant smile, her long blonde hair blowing softly in the breeze. Some aunt I was—I’d completely forgotten her presence once I’d seen Superman.

  “Hi, Mia.” Clark glanced between the two of us. “Are you sisters?”

  “I’m her niece,” Mia said. “I’m here visiting for a few months. So you’re moving in next door?”

  I wanted to shush her for being so nosy, but I was dying to know, too, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, I closed on the lease a few days ago,” he said. “My work relocated me here from Huntsville.”

  “Alabama?” I asked.

  “The very one.”

  “So what do you do?” Mia asked. “Don’t tell me . . . you’re a model.”

  I was mortified, but Clark just laughed.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” he said. “But I’m actually in human resources.”

  “That’s great,” I said, grabbing Mia’s arm and squeezing. “We’ll just leave you alone then.”

  “We should help him,” Mia said. “Between the two of us, we can help.”

  Before I could say anything, she’d taken a position next to me. “Okay, on the count of three.”

  Clark grinned and bent to grab the couch. “One, two . . . three.”

  We all heaved. Mia and I scrabbled backward through the door.

  “Ouch!” I’d banged my side against the handle as we maneuvered.

  “You okay?” Clark asked, not even huffing slightly, whereas I was trying not to grunt with the effort I was exerting. She-Ra, I was not.

  “Yep . . . fine,” I gritted out.

  We managed to get the couch inside, where Mia and I unceremoniously dropped it, both of us out of breath.

  “Thanks a lot,” Clark said. “That went faster than I thought it would.” He pushed the couch a few times and I admired the muscles bulging in his arms and back. Then the couch must have been arranged to his satisfaction
because he stood back to take a look.

  “Glad we could help,” Mia piped up. “Hey, we just ordered Chinese food. Have you had dinner?”

  My jaw was somewhere in the vicinity of the floor. I never in my wildest dreams would just invite a man over for dinner—especially a man who looked like Superman.

  “Actually, I haven’t,” Clark said, glancing at me. “I’d love some Chinese, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”

  When I didn’t say anything, Mia dug her elbow into my side and I winced. “No, it’s fine. We’d love the company,” I said on cue.

  “Great! Thanks! Give me a few minutes to clean up and I’ll be right over.” Another full-wattage smile.

  “Awesome! See you soon,” Mia said, taking my elbow and dragging me out the door.

  It wasn’t until we were back inside my place that I regained full cognizance.

  “What did you do?” I asked, turning on Mia. “You invited a total stranger here? For dinner? Are you insane?”

  “Correction,” she said, going to the kitchen to get another plate and fork. “I invited the completely awesome hot guy to dinner. That’s way different and totally acceptable.”

  “We don’t even know him,” I protested. “He could be an ax murderer.”

  She paused on her way back to the living room, her expression dreamy. “There are worse ways to go.”

  There was no reasoning with a hormonal teenage girl.

  Luckily, I’d doubled our order tonight because I hadn’t known how much Mia would eat, so there was plenty of food. But that didn’t do a thing for my nerves as we waited for Clark’s imminent arrival. I redid my ponytail twice and pushed my glasses so far up my nose, my eyelashes were brushing the lenses.

  I was feeding The Doctor when a knock sounded on the door. Mia bounded over to answer before I’d even put away the fish food.

  “Hi again!” Mia said as Clark walked in.

  He grinned and looked around the room, his gaze stopping when it rested on me. “Hi,” he said.

  I was so nervous, I didn’t know what to say, even though I felt a smile curve my lips. It was impossible not to smile when a man who looked like Superman said hello to you. His sexy grin should have been outlawed, as should the jeans that clung to his hips and thighs and . . . oh God. I really needed to stop reading those damn romance novels.