by Claire Adams
Donna stepped between me and the conflicted police officer. "Now, dear, just give yourself some time to take this all in. You don't have to make any decisions tonight. Tonight, you just have to let this all sink in. Take it slowly now, dear, please."
She steered me away from the ambulance and the still-struggling firefighters. On the opposite edge of my property, the one that edged her employer's grand estate, she gave me a tight hug. "You're a fine girl, Kiara. A beauty inside and out. That means you'll always belong anywhere you choose to be."
"That's just it," I said with a heavy hitch in my voice. "I can't even choose to be here anymore."
I looked back at the thick smoke that hung around my family home. I knew when it cleared, there would be nothing left but a blackened outline of the cottage.
I had never lived anywhere else except my small apartment in Brooklyn. My mother had died in her brass bed overlooking the Atlantic. It was the only place I had ever gone when the world seemed ready to crash in on me.
And now it was gone.
"Come, dear. You can stay with me tonight," Donna said.
"Mrs. Martin, there you are. I was worried when I saw you heading over here." Donna's employer, a retired banker of epic proportions – both physically and financially – ambled through the gate and onto my rough driveway where he was shocked to see me. "I'm sorry. I thought the place had been abandoned."
My heart twisted hard, and I had to look away. I had abandoned my childhood home, just as I had been abandoned for duty time and time again. I wondered if the cottage had felt just as empty as I did. I had abandoned the only home I had ever loved, and now it was gone.
"Come, Mrs. Martin; we must let her deal with this in her own way."
Donna shook her head, but her employer led her back through the gate. His generosity funded her comfortable retirement, but she still hesitated.
I shook my head. "I'll be fine, Donna. Thank you."
Hours later, when not only had the sun set but the moon as well, the firefighters finally called it a night and went home. I lied and told them I was staying with Donna Martin in the guest wing of the neighboring estate, and they had no reason to not to believe me. I didn't cry until every light had disappeared along the curve of Long Island.
The first tears were silent and slipped off my face as I walked around the wreckage that was once our cozy, little cottage. It was such a small footprint of blackened earth that I felt even worse. Our little scrap of a house had stood between looming palaces for so long. It felt as if a battle my family always wanted to fight had finally been lost.
I half expected to run into Teddy Brickman as I circled near the split-rail fence. His face had shown such concern that I looked out over his sweeping lawns and peered at the spot where he had waved from the portico.
Then, I stumbled over a sharp pine branch and shook myself back into reality.
Teddy Brickman hadn't shown any real concern as his party invaded my privacy. He'd let his bottle-blonde girlfriend talk down to me and belittle my family's place in the neighborhood. He'd tried to stop me from standing too close to his charming friend Roger, as if I was somehow going to cheapen him.
He'd also saved me from plunging into the hopeless fire.
There was more than a long, elegant expanse of dark lawn between us. It might as well have been an entire canyon. Teddy Brickman was a billionaire, and I didn't even have cab fare back to Brooklyn.
I stopped and lost my grip on loud, ragged sobs. I was stuck on Long Island with no place to stay. It would still be forty-eight hours before my paycheck transferred into my bank account, and until then, I couldn't get anywhere without charity.
I forced myself to keep walking and take in the entire scope of the wreckage. Ironically, the stone fireplace was the only feature still standing. I stopped again, enveloped in the ash-covered shadows of a memory.
My father had leaned against that fireplace mantle and stirred the coals a few years ago. I had hovered in the tight doorway to the kitchen and started to beg him again. "Please, I'm old enough now. Take me with you."
"I can't, Kiara. We promised your mother. Besides, you're building a really nice life. Your grades mean you can go anywhere." My father had looked down at the fire instead of me.
"Let me join up so I'm not always left behind."
"No, Kiara. It's not the life for you." My father had closed the conversation and said nothing more.
I had ended up sleeping outside in a tent that night. My brother had gratefully taken the bed I had abandoned, but my father hadn't said a word. I’d wanted to show him how strong I was, how capable, but I just woke up feeling more miserable than ever. They shipped out two days later, and I was alone again.
I ground my cheap, black heels into the ashes. Anyone else would have been sifting through the soot looking for photographs and other keepsakes. What little the cabin held had been put there by me and all of it felt temporary. There weren't any photographs. I only had a few old snapshots of the whole family and, luckily, those were safe in my Brooklyn attic apartment.
The problem was, I looked exactly like my mother. I saw it every time my father returned home from a tour and flinched at the sight of me. My brother, too. I had caught him studying me out of the corner of my eye and knew he was straining to remember why I looked so familiar.
I had her hair and eyes. But I had my father’s stubborn pride.
I kicked the charred siding with my scuffed heel and turned away. I marched straight to the blackened, but unharmed garage and yanked open the door. A bare bulb illuminated the clutter, but I saw the order. I was the one who cleaned out and sorted the stuffed garage, usually in the late fall, when I was all alone again and needed a project to keep me busy.
I sorted through boxes and crates that I had carefully labeled and found the one marked camping. Inside was the old tent, a thin, foam sleeping pad, and the tightly rolled, military-issued sleeping bag.
I had also inherited my father's strength.
It was only two nights camping out, I told myself. People would pay hundreds of dollars to camp on the ritzy expanse of Long Island with the billionaire views. I pitched the old tent by the Atlantic and made sure to face the door towards the distant horizon and away from the still-smoldering wreckage.
Wrapped up in the sleeping bag with the ocean in front of me, I gave in to one wild daydream. What if I gave in like everyone wanted me to? My father would accept my decision with the nonchalance his lifestyle had engrained in him. There was nothing left, so why fight it any longer?
My heart squeezed at the thought of never seeing that view again. It was still home, no matter what shape it was in. And, no matter how hard I tried to escape it, I was the poor, pitied daughter of the tiny shack. Either I turned my back on all of it, or I accepted what my life was.
I sat there until the bright swathes of dawn reached into the sky. The daydream burned away with the first rays of sunlight. I could never sell the property. Just like I could never pretend to be anything but a house-poor, abandoned daughter who was all alone.
I faced it all as music still drifted along the shore. Teddy's party didn't stop until the sun broke over the treetops, and I finally fell asleep.
#
The sound of the sports engine roared into my dreams, and I woke up to find myself still huddled inside the old tent. The late morning sun streamed through the canvas, and I wished I had slept long enough for the fire to have died completely. I settled back into the corner of the tent and wrapped the sleeping bag over my head.
Then, I realized the sound of the sports car had not zoomed past my driveway, but was growling its way towards me. I ripped my way out of the sleeping bag, but stopped with my hand on the tent zipper. The old, khaki-green tent was hidden by the little undergrowth the fire had left behind.
I hoped whomever it was would gawk at the tragedy and then continue on their way and leave me alone.
"Oh, God, Teddy. This is bad. This is all my fault. I am so sorry," Teddy
's stout friend Darren stammered as they approached the blackened pit. "I don't know how I can make it up to her."
"It was an accident," Teddy told him. "Besides, I already have a team of surveyors and my best contractor heading over this afternoon. They'll take stock of everything and give me an estimate before she hears from the insurance company."
So, Teddy Brickman was planning to offer me a deal before I even found out what our insurance would cover. My hand itched to rip open the tent flap and confront him, but I waited to hear if he would give away more of his heartless plan.
Darren chuckled. "Who knows, maybe there's one good thing that will come out of this. Your father's going to be happy to hear you’re taking the initiative on something."
Teddy snorted. "I think you're underestimating my old man. He'd probably only be impressed if I got her to accept an offer for the land. If he hears I'm building over here, he'll just assume it's a new garage and go on being disappointed in me."
"Speaking of garages," Darren joked, "you can park this little number at my place any time you need."
"You're officially cut off from driving, remember?"
Darren groaned. "So, where is Ms. Davies? From what you've said about her, I half-expected her to be here and already cleaning up."
It was too much. First they were assessing my land and planning to build a garage for Teddy's insane car collection. Then, they were accusing me of sleeping on the job. I tore open the tent and stumbled to my feet, completely forgetting I was still in the smoky cocktail dress and blaze orange sweatshirt.
"Kiara?" Teddy cried. He strode around the darkened pile of ashes and caught a glimpse of my tent. "You slept here last night? In that thing?"
"It's called camping, rich boy," I snapped. "The question is, what are you doing here? Get off my land."
"Ms. Davies, I'm so sorry. I came to… What are you wearing?" Darren stopped next to Teddy and gawked.
I looked down at the rumpled cocktail dress. It was muddy and ripped, ruined just like everything else I owned. The orange sweatshirt the EMTs had forced on me was too big, misshapen, and offensively bright in the sunshine.
I felt my chest tighten as I squared my shoulders. "Whatever guilt you came here to unload is fine, but I'm not going to stand here and be stared at."
Darren shook himself and rushed over to take my hands. "It really was an accident. That's what happens when I try to help. I'm really sorry. Could I please secure your stay at a local bed and breakfast while you get this all sorted out?"
I tugged my hands free of his sweaty grip. "I know it was an accident. Thank you for apologizing. Like you said earlier, I have a lot of cleaning up to do, and I should have already started."
Teddy bumped his friend aside. "I already talked to a local crew about helping with the cleanup. Dumpsters and a crew should be here within the hour."
"Cleaning up before your contractor arrives? Think you'll get an early bid in on the property?" I snapped.
Teddy looked confused that my forgiving tone did not extend to him. "I thought it might help if you saw how rebuilding would progress."
"Who said I was rebuilding?" I raked my hands through my tangled hair. "In fact, I'm sure everyone at your party discussed exactly how much it would cost and how there is no way a poor girl like me could ever afford to pay for it. Or were you all just too busy drinking and dancing past dawn to remember what happened?"
I marched away from the tent, unable to bear the horrified glances both men gave it. I knew I was an object of pity, and I knew they were trying to help, but all I wanted was to be left alone. I made it to the driveway and was stopped cold by the sharp contrast between Teddy's gleaming, new sports car and the smoldering, jagged, black shell of the destroyed house.
I'll be fine once they're gone and I am alone, I told myself.
Teddy came up behind me and raised a hand to lie on my shoulder. I flinched away and gestured for him to get into his car.
"Kiara, please. Take Darren up on his offer. Or did you want a lift back to the city? We're heading that way. I could give you some money to tide you over. I could even pick you up and bring you back here once you had a chance to get what you need." Teddy ran around the bright car and held open the passenger seat. "Let Darren take the backseat. He's wanting to pay penance, anyway."
He thought he could buy me off and get me miles away from my land before his contractors arrived. The pressure in my chest threatened to explode. "Get off my property – now."
Teddy tried to convince me to let him help. Darren begged me to be reasonable. I turned away from both of them and stumbled around the wreckage. Far down on the beach, all I could hear was the roaring of the waves. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I heard the added growl of the sports car as it left and raced back towards the city.
I should have accepted the ride back. I could have left it all as it was and never looked back.
But stubbornness and strength weren't all I had inherited. This lonely, little hold-out of a property was intended for me. It was all I had, and I knew I had to stay.
CHAPTER FOUR
Teddy
"For God's sake, Teddy, make up your mind before I throw up," Darren groaned.
I pressed on the accelerator again and gripped the steering wheel. "We're going to Manhattan. If Kiara Davies doesn't want any help, then she can take care of herself."
"Right," Darren said. "That's why you're lurching your way along the road and looking for places to make a U-turn."
My foot had slipped off the gas again, and we were drifting along. The turnout for the Davies driveway was still in my rear-view mirror. What was she planning to do? Camp out until she could afford to rebuild? Somehow, I didn't doubt her stubbornness could take her that far.
"Just turn around already," Darren gripped the door handle.
"I have a better idea," I said and whipped my new sports car into the bumpy lot of the gas station. "Kiara got rear-ended by someone from the party yesterday. Her truck is here, and I can pay for the repairs. She'll never have to know it was me."
"Rear-ended and her house burned down? That is some luck." Darren heaved himself out of the sports car and stretched. "Wait. Isn't the point of paying to have her ride fixed is that she knows it was you? Aren't you hoping a little gratitude will work where your charm failed?"
"My charm never fails," I muttered and pushed open the dusty door of the gas station.
The young man behind the counter scrubbed his cap back and rolled his eyes. "We have premium gas, but you have to pump it yourself. Self-serve. Says it on the sign."
"I'm here to pay for the repairs on Kiara Davies’ truck," I said.
"You're the Grade A asshole who rear-ended Kiara?" The young man, whose name tag read Young Jim, stood up and tossed his dirty cap on the ground.
If his father hadn't burst through the shop door, the young man probably would have jumped around the counter and tried to punch me. "Whoa, kid. What's all this?"
"He's trying to pay for Kiara's truck," Young Jim said. "He's the dick who hit her."
Old Jim, as his name tag said, shooed his son off to the shop. "Mr. Brickman is just trying to be neighborly. We saw him drive by right after the accident. Remember?"
"So I can pay for the repairs?"
Old Jim shook his head. "There's nothing to pay for. The truck's totaled. We just figured now might not be the best time to tell her."
I shoved my wallet back in my pocket, feeling like the asshole Young Jim had accused me of being. "Think she'll be all right?" I asked Old Jim.
"She doesn't need some rich boy waving his wallet around, if that's what you think," Young Jim barked.
"Sorry, Mr. Brickman," Old Jim said. "You have a nice drive back to Manhattan."
Darren waited until we were two miles away before he commented, "Yeah, that charm of yours works every time."
I strangled the steering wheel to keep from punching him.
I thought I would feel some relief when I dropped Darren
off in front of his park-view building. The doorman opened the door for him and then rushed past the hood of my car. His shrill whistle and white gloves shooed cars out of the right lane so that I could pull into the flow of traffic. I nodded to him, but wished I had been stuck there for hours.
I couldn't face my day knowing that Kiara was out on Long Island all alone. Without a vehicle. Without a house.
In comparison, my day was completely ridiculous.
I had a fitting for a new tuxedo. Not that the five in my closet were ill-fitting or out-of-fashion; it was just expected that I have a new tuxedo for the charity ball. After that, I would have lunch at the club and just enough time to get to my new loft apartment in the Meat Packing District. Manhattan's most in-demand interior designer was meeting me there. All I had to do was tell her the look I wanted and she would magically make it all happen while I stayed in the comfort of the Plaza Hotel.
I felt sick.
And, I couldn't even blame a hangover. I didn't understand how everyone was able to walk away from the fire and go back to the party as if nothing ever happened. I had stood there at my post in the ballroom and did nothing but marvel at the carelessness I saw all around me.
In my mind, I stood with Kiara all night, helpless as the flames finished off the last of her family home. If she would have let me, I would have stood there with her until the sun came up.
"Good morning, Mr. Brickman," the valet said. He whipped open my car door with gentle efficiency.
I stood up and tugged down my rumpled suit. "Morning," I said over my shoulder as I headed into the Manhattan landmark.
Sal Cohen came from a long line of tailors whose connections included major politicians, movie stars, and all the best families of New York. His shop was a haven of timeless fashion and effortless respectability. My hands used to sweat when I walked through his doors because I was afraid he'd take one look at me and know I wasn't worthy of his work.