by Sofia Tate
I silently nod my head.
Emilia speaks into the phone again. “Yes? Excellent. We’ll see you then.”
She ends her call and drops the phone to her desk. “Thank God that’s done.”
She sits down in her desk chair, gesturing for me to take the other seat in her office.
I sit as she carefully folds her hands on her desk. She glances over at a picture on her desk, of a young couple dressed elegantly and smiling widely, the woman holding a toddler in her arms. When she notices my eyes on it, a wistful look crosses her face.
“I’ve worked for the Shaw family since Grayson was born. He’s like a son to me. What happened to him as a boy is just…” She trails off, shaking her head
Don’t ask.
Do. Not. Ask.
She stares at the picture. “He was five years old when it happened. He and his parents were returning from a weekend trip. The weather was similar to what it is now. They hit a patch of black ice and their car went over the hill. His parents were killed instantly. He was in the back seat, still wearing his seat belt when he was pulled out.”
My gaze shifts to the picture, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
Emilia reaches out to tap me gently on my right hand to get my attention. “Lily, if you’re worried about your job, don’t be. I have no cause to fire you. And even if I wanted to, Grayson would object.”
Suddenly, a sense of warmth envelops my entire body, as if someone had just covered me with a cashmere blanket. “Why?”
“Because he told me what happened in his studio from his perspective and when I asked what he wanted me to do about it, he said ‘Nothing.’”
The warmth dissipates as quickly as it overtook me. Her reply unnerves me, leaving me cold and with a sense of disappointment that I wish I could understand.
“All I can say is just stay out of his way and don’t go into his studio uninvited,” she continues.
I nod in relief and understanding. “Of course. Thank you.”
She claps her hands together. “Right. Today I need you to polish the silver. I apologize because I know that sounds very Downton Abbey of me, but even though Grayson could care less about the house, I do. And I think it’s important to take care of precious things, don’t you?”
I wonder if she’s talking about Grayson. “Yes, it is. Which silver?”
“Oh, just the items on the mantel in the living room and whatever is on the sideboard in the dining room.”
“I’ll get to it then.”
“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” she informs me.
I follow her out of the office. She heads upstairs while I go to the supply closet. I easily find the silver polish, but I can’t see the rags anywhere.
My cell phone jolts me when it rings in the pocket of my sweats.
I hurriedly swipe it open. “Reed, I can’t talk now. I’m working.”
“Did you do something to the printer? I’m running late and I need to print out a doc for class.”
“No, I didn’t do anything to the printer. I can’t even remember the last time I used it.”
“Are you sure?” he insists.
“I’m fucking positive. I’m not an idiot. Just print it out when you get to campus. Look, I have to go,” I snap back at him.
“I never said you were an idiot.”
I grit my teeth together. “I don’t need this shit right now, least of all from my own boyfriend. You know I need this job. We’ll talk when I get home.”
I end the call, shoving the phone back into my pocket, sighing in frustration.
A deep voice from behind me asks, “Are you in need of something?”
I jump up and gasp, clasping my right hand over my heart, beating rapidly from the shock. I slowly turn around, now face to face with Grayson. Dressed in a black crewneck sweater stretched across his chest by his powerful muscles, and worn jeans that cover his long legs, his dark brown eyes bore into mine. His chest rises up and down from what I can only imagine is impatience as he waits for my answer.
“I was looking for the rags to polish the silver,” I reply breathlessly. “I’m sorry if you overheard—”
“Were you raised by wolves?”
I shake my head at the peculiarity of the question. “Excuse me?”
“You entered my studio without permission, which is why I’m asking if you were raised in a forest by animals.”
Is this guy for real?
I take a deep breath to calm myself. “No, Mr. Shaw. I was raised by a single mother who worked day and night to make sure I had a decent life and received a college education. But I thought a person like you would have better manners.”
His shoulders slump as his gaze shifts to the floor. He doesn’t say a word as I continue.
“I’m very sorry for intruding on your privacy. I was exploring the grounds and I realize now that was a mistake. I should’ve asked Emilia’s permission first. But I just have to tell you that I love your sculpture on campus. I went to Ashby for my undergrad and whenever I needed some peace, I always sat by The Lovers and it was like my sanctuary. It still is, and I love—”
“Enough!”
I jump in place from his sudden outburst, gasping yet again in surprise. I didn’t even realize I was rambling.
“You’re just saying that to be nice so you don’t lose your job and because of what I look like. The way you screamed at me when you first saw me in the studio and your reaction, running away like a scared little girl, was rude and offensive.”
This man is unbelievable.
I take a step toward him to disprove his theory. This close, he towers over me and I have to pivot my head up to look into his eyes. My knees begin shaking, but then I detect the scent of body wash from him, fresh and clean, which somehow calms my nerves. I clear my throat.
“Mr. Shaw, with all due respect, I’m not a scared little girl. And I didn’t scream. I gasped. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone inside, but more to the point, to see an injury like yours. I had no idea what you looked like, so how did you expect me to react? Emilia didn’t warn me about you. That’s why I screamed, not because I found you ugly or hideous.”
I watch as his face contorts in confusion, his eyebrows narrowed, his lips clenched as if to keep himself in check.
“Why did you take this job?”
I inhale deeply. “I lost my job. I teach ESL at Cottage Grove School and the board decided that they didn’t need to have separate ESL classes. I won’t be teaching full-time next semester, but I’ll still be tutoring my students in the afternoon. They’re amazing kids. I love seeing them learn and the joy on their faces just from being in school.”
I stop explaining and wait for him to say something, but he just continues to stare at me, making my legs shake nervously.
Finally, he speaks gruffly, gesturing to the cabinet next to the kitchen sink. “I see. The rags are in there.”
I watch as he storms off toward the side door in the kitchen, which I now realize leads to the passageway that connects his studio to the main house.
A wave of sadness envelops my entire body. I mentally review everything I just said to him. I don’t think I sounded insincere. As intimidating as he was physically the first time I saw him, all I’ve seen now is a man whose spirit is broken and only needs someone to pull the thorn from his paw.
Or he’s just a self-absorbed artist who doesn’t give a shit about other people’s feelings.
I wonder about that the entire time I polish his family’s silver until I can see my face reflected back at me in the precious metal.
* * *
Grayson
My hand slams into the clay, forcing it to submit to me.
Pound.
She was just being nice.
Pound.
I don’t care how much she denied it.
That’s all I can think about, the only thoughts that occupy my mind.
Sweat rolls down my back. My hair is plastered against my forehead. I do
n’t even know what time it is. The sun went down long ago. I just needed to create something new, to vent this pent-up rage inside me. I blast Vivaldi’s “Winter” with its furious violins on my stereo system, and the music perfectly matches my mood.
And then her face enters my mind.
I see the way her light blue eyes turned brighter as she took a step toward me, unafraid to confront me. I see her creamy skin turn from its usual pinkish hue to bright red as she spoke to me, so determined, with no fear.
She didn’t flinch once. She didn’t cringe.
The way she spoke about her mother—so proud, so loving. I couldn’t look at her when she was talking about her because I was so ashamed.
My arms drop from the sculpture, my muscles aching for rest.
I sink to the floor, my body completely spent but my head still full of her.
And that phone call…it was her boyfriend. Reed, I think. How she talked to him. I haven’t even met him, and already I know he doesn’t treat her in the manner she deserves.
A loud knock sounds at the door.
I rise from the floor. When I open the door, Emilia stands on the other side holding a dinner tray in her hands.
“Your dinner, Grayson.” Her eyes take in my appearance. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I mumble in reply.
She gives me a slight smile and hands me the tray. “Have a good evening. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Holding my dinner in my hands, I call out to her retreating back. “Emilia.”
She turns around to face me. After what Lily revealed to me, I need to make sure of something.
“No matter what happens, Miss Moore keeps her job.”
She nods. “Of course, Grayson. Understood.”
I shut the door, taking the tray of steaming food over to one of my worktables. I sit down on a tall stool, glancing down at my dinner.
I take a deep breath.
I shouldn’t have snapped at Lily the way I did. She was just defending herself, and why she walked into my studio. From what she told me, she obviously had a rough childhood. And even though I’ve lost my parents, at least I don’t have to worry about losing my home or not having enough to eat because my parents ensured I was taken care of.
I truly am a beast.
Chapter Seven
Slamming Ingrid’s trunk shut in my driveway, I haul two overflowing bags of groceries into my arms. I reach the door but can’t manage to get the key in the lock from being so overloaded. I use my elbow to ring the bell over and over until Reed appears in the doorway.
“Why didn’t you just use your key?”
My jaw drops at his cluelessness. “You’re joking, right?”
At least he’s enough of a gentleman to take the bags from me. “What took you so long?”
I follow him into the kitchen. “For crying out loud, Reed, it’s not my fault the supermarket was having a sale on Christmas turkeys. It was beyond crowded. Do me a favor, please. Nuke the rotisserie chicken and set the table. I’ll make the baked potatoes and salad when I come down. I have to go change.”
I hear him mumble under his breath about doing it during the next commercial break as I walk out, leaving my wet snow boots at the door before I head upstairs.
When I return to the kitchen a few minutes later, Reed is pouring white wine into glasses. Plates, cutlery, and napkins are already laid out on placemats on the table.
I give him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you. I had a tough day.”
He shrugs his shoulders in reply.
I head for the kitchen, pulling the lettuce out to rinse it.
Why he didn’t want to know about my day?
I chop two tomatoes for the salad.
Why don’t I want to know how his day went?
I pop the potatoes in the microwave.
Am I afraid of his answer if I do ask?
The ping of the microwave brings me back to the present. I take out the potatoes and bring them to the table, where Reed is already sitting, waiting for me before he serves himself.
I return to the kitchen for the dressing, the salad, the sour cream and the butter, glancing at Reed, who doesn’t move an inch to help me carry any of the food.
Reed and I go through the motions as I take a long sip of wine and carve a thigh from the chicken. Then, taking some salad and a potato, I dig into my dinner.
I stare across at my boyfriend, who’s perfectly dressed in a long-sleeved polo shirt, not a blond hair out of place. He cuts his food so meticulously that he could be a surgeon performing an operation, every move precise. The silence in the room is deafening.
What is happening to us?
I can’t look at him anymore because suddenly, I think of Grayson and how perfectly imperfect he is. It’s such a cruel joke how one side of his face is deformed by jagged scars, the other intact, untouched by tragedy. Now I know why he has no mirrors in his house.
“Lily!”
Reed’s impatient voice snaps me back to the dinner table. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages. What’s going on with you?”
I sigh to myself. “Did you not hear me tell you I had a tough day?”
He closes his eyes. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. What happened?”
I put down my fork and knife. “It’s the man I work for. He has a horrible injury.”
“What kind of injury?”
“I can’t say. It’s just…very sad.”
He chews his food slowly, then reaches for his wine. “Christ, Lily, it’s just a job. And doesn’t he live in a mansion or something like that? He’s probably fine. If he’s living in a mansion, I’m sure he’s got some good insurance.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t get why you’re acting so weird. It’s not like you’re married to him. All you do is clean his house. That’s what you should care about more, not what he looks like. Sounds like he’s well off, so I wouldn’t feel so badly for him if I were you.”
I bite down on my inner lower lip to both keep me from yelling at him for his lack of compassion.
“I can’t believe you,” I whisper to myself.
I stare down at my food, suddenly feeling nauseous. I push the plate away, grab my wine glass, and push back from the table. “I need to be alone.”
“Lily, what the hell?”
I stare back at him, my eyes and voice unwavering. “Please take care of the dishes and the leftovers.”
I hear him grunt with displeasure behind me as I walk out, not looking back once.
Once upstairs, I sit in the bay window. I don’t know how much time passes before I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. When I glance over, Reed is standing in the doorway holding a glass of wine.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking forlorn. “Can I give you a foot rub, then maybe take you out for a nightcap? I think we both need one.”
Exhaling a deep breath, I agree. “Sure.”
He places his wine glass on the dresser and settles himself onto the seat, taking my feet into his hands, rubbing them from heel to toes, making sure each is properly massaged. I fall back into the soft cushions behind me, taking a long sip of wine. I close my eyes to absorb the sensations running from my feet, relaxing my nerve endings as I take deep, cleansing breaths.
I don’t even notice when Reed releases my feet from his grip, placing them in his lap.
My eyes snap open, nodding at him. “Thank you. That felt good.”
My cheeks begin to hurt when I return the grin on his face, from keeping it on mine for too long.
Sure, I’m relaxed now, and that was nice, but why do I still feel empty inside?
That question sticks in my head for the rest of the night, despite the fact that Reed’s behavior reminds me of how he was when we first started dating. He opens doors for me, pushes my chair in at the local pub where we both order Irish coffees, gets up from his chair when I stand up to go to the restroom.
When I return
to the table, he reaches out to take my hand. “I know I’ve been acting like a shit, Lily, and I’m so sorry. I’ve been so worried about my job and my observation that I forget about everything and everyone else.”
The sincerity in his voice touches me to my core. “I forgive you. And I understand.”
“Oh, my parents want to have us over for brunch on Sunday.”
My good mood slowly dissipates. “Okay. That would be nice.”
He kisses the knuckles on my hand. “Thank you, honey. I promise from now on I’ll be the perfect boyfriend.”
He releases my hand to signal for our waitress.
Perfect.
Hearing him use that word jolts me as I stare back at him, wondering what the term perfect means to him.
And before I can stop myself, my mind fills with the image of Grayson’s face, so perfectly imperfect.
* * *
The next day at Grayson’s I call out to Emilia but nobody responds. I check the kitchen counter, finding a list of chores from her. When I go to the supply closet to hang up my coat, something catches my attention from the corner of my eye.
Sitting on top of the cleaning supplies is a postcard. When I pick it up, I smile to myself. It’s one of those postcards you find in a museum. The Lovers stare back at me.
I turn it over. A message is written in elegant penmanship:
Lily,
Please come see me in my studio today after you’ve finished work.
Thank you,
GS
My eyebrows narrow in worry.
Fuck. What did I do now?
I tuck the postcard into my purse and grab the mop bucket with shaking hands, eager to finish my chores so I can face Grayson and get it over with.
* * *
Grayson
A quiet knock sounds on the door.
When I answer it, Lily stands in the passageway. “Hello. You asked to see me.”
Her hands are clutched together, and she’s nervously tangling her fingers. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong,” I reassure her. “Please come in.”
I step back and watch her enter. She’s dressed in a black ribbed turtleneck and sweatpants with the word “Ashby” embossed across her backside, making me smile for a brief moment.