by Leanne Davis
She smiled at him, and her eyes glistened. “You don’t lie. You don’t give me a lecture on semantics or false pep talks. And somehow, your honesty works. I believe you when you say it’s up to me and I feel motivated not to be like them. It’s a surprise to me that I like your unapologetic view on things. Because it’s real. What you say is completely real.”
“I try to be.”
She closed her eyes. “It’s hard to see my parents like that. And even harder to get used to them not being interested or worried about me anymore.” She put her elbow on the door’s armrest, staring out the window. “I miss that. Feeling like I have parents who love me. But I guess I’ll go back there this weekend and clean the house up.”
“I could mow their lawn. Their flowers need watering. Lots of weeds need pulling too.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure, if it needs to be done.”
She sucked in a breath. “That is actually what I could use right now.”
“Then consider it done.”
She shook her head. “You are not what I expected.”
He glanced her way for only a brief second, but long enough to flash a smile at her. “No kidding.”
She smiled right back. “No kidding. I don’t know how, but somehow it works. Your ways work for me.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes. It is.”
He let out a breath. Yeah, he wasn’t what she ever expected or thought she could count on. He understood that, even if he didn’t fully comprehend why she found it so surprising. She didn’t know why it was hard for her to see him as someone she could rely on and be with. But the cold, disinterested, and almost catatonic depression she observed in her parents did something to Chloe. It galvanized her and she started realizing how much she needed to take care of them, as they once cared for her.
Chloe and Chet spent all day Saturday working on the outside and inside of their house. Her parents just watched. They didn’t even wander over to offer their help or conversation. They barely raised an eyebrow or uttered a word of thanks. Even so, Chloe went back every few days with fresh meals and did some more housework. Each time it made her cry, but each time, she cried a little less.
****
One day, a few weeks after Chloe’s return, Chet was startled when his mother cornered him as he went outside to empty the garbage bins into the dumpster. She always spoke in Thai to him. It was easier for her and she missed speaking it fluently. There was no one else in her life who knew the language except Chet so they used it when talking together. As always, after years of training, Chet waited and let her do most of the talking.
“When did you start sleeping with her?”
He pursed his lips, concentrating hard on turning over the garbage can. “What are you talking about?”
“Chloe. Why are you sleeping with her?”
“I… what business is that of yours?”
“Business? Oh, I don’t know. Because she’s my boss, as well as yours.”
“She’s not going to let it affect anything.”
“So you say. Have you forgotten so soon that I already watched her fire someone who she didn’t like sleeping with someone else? What do you think she’ll do to us?”
“Nothing. You have nothing to do with it.”
She scoffed. “That girl… she’s not well, right now. No one can predict what she’ll do. She’s also vulnerable. How could you take advantage of that?”
“Because she needed someone.”
“You?”
“Turns out, yes.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“Good thing it isn’t your idea. It’s mine. And she won’t do anything to you.”
His mom tapped her foot, drawing her mouth downwards. “Did you tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“About you? About—”
“No.”
“Yet she doesn’t wonder—?”
“She likes me. People can like me, you know. It does happen.”
His mother flushed appropriately and he raised his eyebrows in challenge. She sighed. “I just think it’s a terrible formula. It’s a recipe for disaster for all involved. She’s still so sick and vulnerable after the terrible shock she’s had and we must work for her. She’s not thinking or feeling clearly.”
“No. She really isn’t.”
“Then why would you think she’s being clear about you?”
“Because it’s how she feels. Really, Mom, we don’t need to do this. We never have before.”
“But—but with our boss? While she is still grieving over her dead sister?”
“I know,” he said gently. “I got it.”
Dok stiffened and walked away. His guilt overcame him at using that against her. But he had secretly wanted Chloe for a long time, and now that he had a chance with her, he intended to take it.
Chapter Eleven
CHLOE GLANCED UP, STARTLED when Dok entered her office. “I finished cleaning up the tables and here are the receipts from the till.”
“Oh. Thank you, Dok. I appreciate it.”
Dok tapped her foot. She was always in and out with whatever she had to say. Chloe leaned back in her chair. “Did you need something else?” She kept her tone super polite.
“The things I said that day with Tara…”
“Oh. That. It was my fault. You all were right. I hope everyone can forgive me for that. I was overwrought. I shouldn’t have been here.”
“I understand.”
Chloe folded her hands together, confused over what else Dok could want. She stared straight ahead as her mouth twisted into a scowl. “You know,” Chloe said softly as she finally realized there would be no other reason for this woman to be standing there so absurdly upright with her lips pursed so strangely. Chloe stood up slowly, pushing her chair back. She crossed the room and went over to the door and shut it. She hoped to avoid having anyone else hear whatever Dok had to say, like Tiana and Petra. She indicated that Dok should go towards the couch, trying to take the sting out of the situation. Dok had a good thirty years on her and was a loyal and valued employee.
“Please sit.” Chloe said and Dok did, although her back remained rigid. “How did you know?”
“All the stolen glances, he suddenly comes into your office at least once a day, and sometimes more, closing the door, when I’m pretty sure he’s never set foot in here before.”
Chloe blushed. “N—nothing was going on. I’ve just been having a hard time since my sister’s funeral and he is… I don’t know, calming somehow. It’s nothing inappropriate.”
Dok nodded, and her back stiffened even more. She didn’t answer or reveal anything. Although she did raise one eyebrow skeptically.
Chloe shook her head. “You’re just like him. Neither of you give anything away.”
Her lips twitched. “Oh, no. Not even close. I react. My lips twitched and I scowled to show my displeasure. My son wouldn’t have displayed that much.”
Surprised at the quick evaluation of Chet, Chloe let out a laugh that helped to ease the tension for her. But Dok didn’t relent in her posture. Chloe couldn’t hide her smile at picturing Chet’s reaction to this and Dok was right on. “No. No, he wouldn’t.”
“You get that about him?”
“Um, well, I’ve witnessed it pretty consistently, yes.”
“It doesn’t bother you? Being one who cries and screams and carries on with your employees, even trying to fire one, you’re now telling me my son’s stoic demeanor and neutrality is what you want?”
She winced at Dok’s description of Chet and her. It made her sound like a crazy, screaming, and totally unprofessional mess. Not to mention being a tyrant to work for. It only happened twice that she acted that way: when she got the news about Ebony and when she tried to fire Tara. Dok made Chet sound so boring, dull, and odd, and she was asking how could Chloe want that? “Yes. Actually. He’s not indifferent at all. He’s just calm. Level-headed, steady, an
d strong.”
“I know what my son is. He’s also unemotional. Perhaps that works for you because you are the opposite?”
Chloe shifted around. “Yes. What are you asking me, Dok? Do you want to know if I’m sure about this? No. I realize I shouldn’t be dating an employee. It honestly just happened. I wasn’t looking for it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, maybe not, but he was. He’s had his eye on you for three years. I just didn’t think you’d notice seeing as how you never looked at him, or considered him a person, a man especially. Hell, did you ever say more than two words to him?”
“No,” Chloe answered, her tone growing feeble. Wow, Dok was observant. “No. I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure he could speak fluent English. Chet knows that. I asked him. What do you want from me? A promise? I’ll give it to you. Whatever happens, I won’t turn it against either of you or your jobs. I’ll step aside before I’d do something like that.”
“You’re just the last thing he needs.”
“May I ask you something? Besides work, why would you say that? Do you dislike me?”
“I don’t dislike you. It’s that he’s… not ready for this.”
“For what?”
“The emotional baggage you come with. He’s not good with emotions. Considering how he is—”
“How is he? You keep mentioning that.”
She shot to her feet, shaking her head. “No. I shouldn’t have gotten into this with you.”
Chloe grabbed Dok’s elbow, grasping her sleeve. “But you did. Why? What do you want me to know? Why are you doubting if you should tell me?”
Dok flung Chloe’s hand off her. Her expression was fierce and her tone was angry as she spat out, “He already had to bury his own sister. It can’t be good for him if he has to help you bury yours. Do you really think that he can help you? Or that you can do any good for him?” Spinning around, Dok stormed out.
Chloe stared after her slammed shut door with her mouth open and her entire body went rigid. What? What the hell? What the fuck? What had Dok just said? Chet buried his sister? What? She spent day and night for a matter of weeks with the man, so she should freaking have known, shouldn’t she have? She would have to know he had a sister. Surely, he would have told her.
But…? Sighing, she shut her eyes. Statements that he said to her drifted through her brain. By rote, she got to her feet, bypassing her desk and all her employees, including Chet, to leave. She drove to his place and entered it, walking directly to his paintings. There were a bunch more stored in his back closet. Crammed full. She never looked at those. The answer, she knew, would be there. She knew that because all of Chet’s life was portrayed on his canvases. He might not speak about it, but he could paint it, everything he observed as he so modestly explained his talent. He saw everything, it seemed, and noticed all the details, everywhere, about everyone, even people and situations he had no interest in, or who had no real importance or meaning to him. He could still paint every last, small detail. And whatever that answer was, she could find it on these canvases.
She wasn’t feeling like herself or thinking clearly as Dok correctly diagnosed. She found the paintings of someone who had to be Chet’s sister and Dok’s daughter. She naturally assumed it was a full sister but she didn’t know. The young woman was lovely with dark hair, a bright smile and a prim outfit. Chloe saw plenty of her different moods captured on the canvases. Love and care were evident in the softness of the lines he used. He purposely avoided any bold or harsh lines or colors, and they all seemed more like mirages or smoky images that seemed about to disappear.
It wasn’t long before she glanced up and saw Chet. He entered as silently as a mouse. Not the first time he’d snuck up on her either.
“You had a sister,” Chloe blurted out without preamble. He must have realized she knew now, and only his mother could have told her.
“Yes.”
“And she died. Like mine.”
“Yes.”
Chloe shut her eyes. “So when you said there was no point in reciting empty platitudes to me, you were speaking from your own personal experience, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to have to give me some more here, Chet. How then, in all these weeks, since you slept with me on the night of my sister’s memorial, how could you not tell me you had a sister who also died?”
“I should have told you,” he calmly stated. What reasonable person wouldn’t have told her?
“Ya think? What is wrong with you? Why? Why wouldn’t you mention it? Don’tcha think it’s pretty relevant?”
“Because… you didn’t ask…” he said, and for the first time, his hesitation spoke volumes. He stepped forward, flinching as he glanced down at her. She was sure her eyes must have been wild, and the veins popping in her throat must have been visible as her mouth tightened in disdain.
Anger exploded through her. Blood pounded and boiled in her veins. “I didn’t ask? Oh, my God. Are you for real? I didn’t check with you first to see if you had a dead sister? Gee, ya think? What is wrong with you? I was grieving and wondering why you, of all people, and a near stranger, grieved with me. You understood me so well when you shouldn’t have. Why would you not just tell me? I mean, it’s freaking unbelievable. I didn’t ask. That is ridiculous. Stupid. Callous. That cannot be your real reason.”
He cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and pressing a hand to his head. “It is. My only reason.” His tone was quiet and soft.
“HOLY SHIT!” Chloe yelled as loudly as she could while kicking at his bed, only to start hopping around in circles when it hurt her toe. “Holy shit. You have to do better than that. You have to give me something more. Something that’s normal. Rational. Reasonable. Something that makes sense.”
He didn’t raise his head up. The silence went on and on and on. “Chet?” Chloe eventually pressed.
More silence. She was about to give up when he said something so softly she had to ask, “What? What did you just say? What excuse did you just give me? Was this whole caring about my grief and shit just a ploy to get into my pants? Your opportunity to pounce on me because you harbored a stupid, long-term crush on me? You had the hots for me, so here was your chance?”
Calm and controlled, Chet shook his head at her inflammatory yelling and mean-spirited accusations, saying only, “No.”
“No?” she shrieked. She wanted to smash the wall behind her with her fist. “Give me more. Give me something. Some kind of real explanation. Something to explain why you can manage to be the biggest dick in the entire world.”
He hunched forward and finally muttered, “I’m autistic. I didn’t realize I needed to tell you.”
She jerked back so far, she hit the wall behind her. Her mouth dropped opened in shock. “What?” she shrieked without realizing it. What did he mean? Autistic? What a fucking lie. It had to be. He couldn’t be. No. She would have known. She would… well, maybe she could not properly describe what it meant to be autistic but she recognized it when she saw it. And this? Chet was not autistic. Not someone she was sleeping with.
He dropped his head down. “Back in school, they referred to it as Asperger’s to be more accurate. Now, it is called high functioning autism. Many people still separate them however. I don’t know what the reason is for all the controversy. But most people recognize the term Asperger’s more often than high functioning autism. Besides, it’s longer and harder to say. Anyway, I’ve been told that I don’t react like others. I don’t agree with them. I don’t see it. But I can tell you what they told me.”
“Wh—who are they?”
“Psychologists. The school first diagnosed me. But I never felt like it was something that needed a cure. I don’t feel different or anything.”
Her eyes were rounded and her mouth too. She had no experience or any idea how to react. Visions of the word filtered through her brain, but none of them fit Chet. None of them fit the man she’d been spend
ing countless satisfying and gratifying hours being around.
“I hate the word. It makes me sound like a handicapped kid who stares at the wall, unable to speak or communicate. I’m not. It’s not like that. I’m not weird.” His gaze finally lifted and this time, he drilled it right into hers. She was shocked to see tears filling his eyes. He blinked them back and she drew in a breath. Fisting her hand, she slowly sat down next to him.
“What? What did they describe?”
“I have a high IQ. I’m not stupid. It’s not due to a lack of intelligence.”
“Okay, I never thought it was. Ever. Honest. I’ve listened to every word you’ve ever said to me and taken all of your advice to date. So I haven’t treated you differently.”
He sucked in a breath, “Concrete. That’s how they described the world I saw. Literally, like concrete. I don’t acknowledge my emotions—”
“Like you—”
“I have them,” he interrupted her, and his tone, for once, was full of meaning and a sense of passion. “I have them all. I feel them all. I… I guess it’s just a communication thing lacking in me. I fail to pick up on normal social cues and body language. I miss a lot of it, okay, probably the majority of it, especially with strangers. But I get you because I’ve noticed you and spent a lot of time getting to know you. The longer I know someone, the more I get them. Or I guess after I observe someone long enough, I can figure out what their body language means.”
“Like you do with me? It’s like you have to learn a person?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“So you’re better after interacting with people and the longer you know someone or are around them, the more responsive you are to them?”
“Maybe. From their perspective, I guess. I don’t really know what I do wrong. I just know there are things. I don’t like to be different. So I always pay attention to what others do, and how they act and what they wear and say around me. I can learn it too. Fast. I told you, I’m not stupid. So I mimic them and apply what I learn to my own life. At least, that’s what they told me.”
“Who are they?”