by Emerson Rose
Suddenly, visions of a fire flash in my mind, engulfing a large area of this home. “A fire,” I mumble.
“What?”
“There was a fire. I think that’s why the kitchen is different. It must have been destroyed and remodeled.”
“Did you just remember that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s wonderful. I mean not the fire but the memory. I think you’re right about being here at home. It’s going to help you more than I thought.”
“Of course, I’m right.”
She chuckles, sitting back in her chair to sip her coffee. “Lawyers always think they’re right.”
“I would think that a good quality in a lawyer, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t want a lawyer who wasn’t confident. Do you remember anything about being an attorney?”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember specific cases per se, but the law I remember.”
“That will make it easier to get back into it then. You can always get new cases, but if you’d forgotten the law, well, you would have been screwed.”
She’s right about that. How shitty would it have been to go to college and work so hard to become a lawyer only to lose it all from a smack to the head? “I wonder if I were in the middle of anything before the accident.”
“I can check with Callahan and see if he knows who you work with. Do you remember if you were with a firm or working on your own?”
“No. I’m not sure.”
“All right, I’ll find out today, but for now, you’ve got to be knackered after your eventful night. Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll call Fiona and see if she can spell me for a bit later so that I can go home.”
“I’m tired.”
“Good, then there’ll be no argument.”
“No argument here.”
She removes the tray from the bed. Before she turns to leave, I rest my hand on her wrist. She looks down at me with her liquid-amber eyes. “I’m glad you’re staying.”
Glancing at my hand, the corners of her mouth lift into a small, shy smile. “Me, too.”
10
Trinity
Downstairs in the kitchen, Callahan is still cleaning up after making breakfast. I set the tray down on the island, and he turns when he hears the clack of the wood against the granite. “Ah, he ate well. That’s a good sign. When Mr. Lennon is upset, he won’t eat. He must be happy today.”
“Is he a moody man?”
He wipes the counter in front of him even though it’s sparkling clean. “I wouldn’t call him moody. He’s a black-or-white kind of man. He’s either happy or angry, nothing in between.”
“What makes him angry?”
“Mostly his father and his work. He loves being a lawyer, but some of his cases infuriate him. I have seen him lock himself in his office for days trying to figure out a way to fight for his client.”
“What makes him happy?”
“Oh, that’s easy, his friends. He was an outsider in high school. Always studying and focused on his goal to be a lawyer. In college, when he joined his fraternity, that changed him. He was part of something, a true member of a group who cared for him and included him in everything they did. They became the family he didn’t have here.”
“Where were his parents?”
“Oh, they were here, but they had careers that sadly they put before family.”
“Does he have any siblings?” I ask, and Callahan lowers his gaze to the counter.
“Yes, he has a half-sister named Sasha. His father had a mistress and…” He shrugs.
“I see. That had to be difficult for everyone.”
“Her birth was the catalyst for their divorce.”
“So, no full siblings, then?”
“One. His brother, Samuel. He died in a car accident when the boys were young. I’d say that had a lot to do with his parents’ separation. They dealt with his death in different ways, and it drove a wedge between them. Samuel’s death is also the reason Lennon became a lawyer. The man who hit and killed his brother got off on a technicality. Lennon couldn’t understand it, and it infuriated him. When he was older, he decided he wanted to pursue law to make sure no one else ever got away with murder unpunished.”
“Callahan, you’re going to be an integral part of Lennon’s recovery. Thank you for telling me some of his history. Would you mind if I passed those things along to help him with his memory?”
“Of course, not. I’m always here for him. I hope he remembers that.”
“I’m sure he will the moment he lays eyes on you.” Callahan is a gentle, kind man. I wonder if he hasn’t been more of a father figure to Lennon than his biological father.
“If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Trinity, I have to do some grocery shopping now that Mr. Lennon is home. Will you be staying with us?”
“Yes. I’ll be going home sometime today to pack and get my cat. I’m going to see if Fiona can come and stay with him while I’m gone.”
He smiles at the mention of Fiona. “Ah, Ms. Fiona, such a dear girl. Spunky, but full of compassion and life, she is.”
“That sounds like her.”
“Do you have any dietary needs that I should know about?”
“No, I’ll eat most things.”
“Very well. I’ll see you at dinner?”
“If not before.”
“I’ll prepare you a room near Mr. Lennon’s when I’m finished shopping.”
“Thank you.”
He exits through a rear entrance to the kitchen that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I slide my phone from my pocket and call Fiona to make sure she can come over later. She’s happy to do it between yoga and her part-time job cleaning the fraternity house. I don’t think that woman ever slows down to actually enjoy life.
Now what? Lennon is sleeping, and Callahan is gone. That leaves exploring. I know I told Lennon we would do it together, but I’m thinking there is more than enough house here to keep us busy for days.
I retrace my steps back to the foyer and check out the hall that leads down the opposite side of the staircase. To my right is a large, open living room with a fireplace. The mantel is crammed with photographs of Lennon and his family. I find one in which Lennon must be about five years old. He is sitting on the lap of a beautiful woman who has to be his mother. He looks just like her. Next to them stands a large man with a full beard that is cut neat and tidy close to his face. He is frowning, but his hand rests on the shoulder of a boy who resembles Lennon but a few years older. It’s a family photo, but none of them look as happy as Lennon. His smile is bright and warm, and he is holding his brother’s hand. It’s clear he loved his brother very much.
There are other photos of Lennon, but none of them include his brother. He must have died soon after the family portrait was taken. As the years pass, it’s easy to see the progression of sadness on the faces of this family. His mother’s smiles are forced and unnatural. His father, it seems, never smiled at all, and Lennon, well, Lennon looks lost.
One photo of a woman about my age looks out of place. It’s recent, and the frame is modern, where the others are more traditional. She’s striking with her long, inky-black hair and big blue eyes. She looks like Lennon’s father. Maybe this is his half-sister, Sasha? Is Lennon friends with her? I would think an illegitimate child might not have been involved in his life. Maybe they sought each other out and became close after the divorce.
So many questions and only one or two people who can answer them. Lennon, if his memories return, and Callahan who has been here for it all.
I wander down the hall taking in the art that looks like it belongs in a museum and not the dark corners of a minted man’s house. Some of it is beautiful, and other pieces are downright disturbing like the painting entitled, The Scream, of a man standing on a bridge under a blood-red sky holding his face while he screams. It’s a famous piece of art. I assume it’s a copy, but then again, Lennon is a wealthy man.
There are several closed
doors lining the hall. I open the first on the left tentatively unsure of what I’ll find. Inside is another bright room with many windows that face the backyard with the same view as the kitchen, but this is a solarium. White wicker chairs and couches litter the room with fat, floral cushions on each one. A large, empty birdcage hangs on a stand in the center, and I wonder if a bird has ever lived inside it, and if so, did they let it out to fly around this room?
Next, down the hall is a library that is not bright and airy like the solarium. It is dark and full of wood and ladders on tracks so a reader can reach any book they desire. I scan a few of the titles and find loads of classics, rows of law books, and a couple of shelves dedicated to mystery and thriller novels. Lennon must read those for pleasure.
On down the line, there is a den. I’m not sure what one would do in there. It looks rather boring. One more door down is a room that I think is where a tailor must come and fit Lennon for his suits. There is a box at the center and various sewing supplies like a tape measure and even a sewing machine. I had no idea rich people had rooms dedicated to this.
After another living room area that feels like one Lennon often uses with a large screen television and a comfy couch and a billiard room, I’m starting to wish I’d waited to do this with him. It’s like snooping instead of exploring when you do it alone. I climb the stairs and make my way back to his bedroom, glancing at the rooms near his as I go, wondering which one will be mine.
Lennon appears to be sleeping when I check on him, but when I start to leave, he speaks.
“Stay with me,” he says in a gruff, sleepy voice.
“I’m not leaving the house until Fiona gets here. Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”
“No, I mean stay with me here, in my bed.”
My heart flips upside down in my chest, and I feel myself losing the plot. I am so attracted to this man that hearing him say he wants me in his bed if only for a nap, has me thinking erotic thoughts.
“Lennon, we spoke about this earlier. It’s not appropriate for me to…”
“I don’t give two shits what’s appropriate or not. Come, lay with me. I promise not to make a move on you. I just want to feel you next to me.”
I scan the room as if someone might be there to catch me considering his demand. I want to do it. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to have him make all kinds of moves on me, but I shouldn’t.
“If it makes you feel better, you can lock the door,” he says with a sly grin.
“There’s no need to lock the door. Nothing inappropriate is going to be happening. I’ll lay with you, but you have to keep your hands to yourself. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything you say.”
I can’t believe I’m letting him do this to me. I have a mind of my own. I could say no and walk down those stairs and sit in the kitchen until Fiona gets here.
But I don’t want to.
I cross the room and slide onto the bed on top of the comforter, making sure not to touch where Kelly slept earlier. I don’t want any of her cheap perfume or body odor to rub off on me.
Lennon turns onto his side and winces in pain. “You shouldn’t lie that way. It’s not good for your head,” I say.
“I want to look at you. And, since you won’t come any closer, I have to turn this way to see you.”
I sigh knowing full well that he is manipulating me but give into it and scoot closer to his side. “There, now will you please turn onto your back?”
He does as I ask but keeps his head tilted in my direction. “Having your head that way is going to make it hurt,” I say.
“I can’t see you in that position unless you’re on top of me.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I laugh.
“You’re too much.”
“I’m just enough.” He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it up to his mouth where he kisses my knuckles. Never in a million years would I consider a kiss on the hand seductive until this moment. Zings of electricity race through my arm straight to my core igniting a fire that’s been cold for too long.
He moans and rests our linked hands on his chest and sighs. “There’s something here, Trinity. I think you feel it, too, don’t you?” he asks, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
“Lennon, we shouldn’t.”
“Why? Because someone else might not like it? Because it might tarnish your reputation? Because it’s not professional? No one will know until we make it known. If that’s all you’re worried about, stop worrying and come over here so I can kiss you.”
I scoot closer and lift to straddle his hips, not putting any pressure on his body. He raises his hands to cup my cheeks, and I feel dizzy looking into his pale ocean-blue eyes. He gently guides my face to his and whispers, “My angel,” before he presses his lips against mine.
The kiss is gentle and feathery soft, his lips barely touching mine, his tongue tracing my mouth until I’m quivering with need. When I’m panting, he pulls me in and deepens the kiss. We explore one another’s mouths, cheeks, necks, and shoulders until his hands are suddenly on my hips, pulling at my shorts.
It takes a special kind of strength to pull away. His health is more important than my physical desire for him. “We can’t, Lennon.”
He pulls me back and whispers with his lips on mine, “We can.”
I sit up and get off the bed. “No, we can’t. I’m not going to be responsible for you having another brain bleed or a seizure, and I damn sure won’t be responsible if you fall into another coma.”
He deflates, letting out a sigh of resignation. “Why do you have to be a nurse?” he asks no one in particular.
“You wouldn’t know me if I weren’t.”
He shrugs, “That’s true. Okay, come back to bed, and I promise no more kissing.”
“You promised that in the first place.”
“I said I wouldn’t make any moves on you. If I remember correctly, you were on top of me.” The sly smirk on his face says I win.
“At your direction, not mine. I was perfectly content resting on the other side of the bed.” That’s a bold-faced lie. I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
“Angels shouldn’t lie, you know.”
“It’s a good thing I’m no angel then, isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on, you wanted that as much as I did. Admit it.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look away, not wanting to lie again.
“See, you don’t even like lying. I swear not to manipulate you into kissing me again if you come back to bed. I’ll even draw up a legal document if you like.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll sit right here next to you in the chair. You can stare at me until your heart is content. You won’t even have to turn your head.”
“All right, it’s a start, and I do love looking at you.”
I sit down and squirm under his direct stare. I think it might have been better to lay next to him where he couldn’t see me.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks, pulling the covers over his chest.
“Yes. Only because we have a professional relationship, though. I don’t generally shy away from physical attention.”
His lips purse together, and his brow furrows as he thinks. “So, if you weren’t my nurse, you would get into bed and let me make love to you?”
I cough and inhale sharply choking on my own spit. When I’ve recovered, I give him a stern look. “No, I would not.”
“Why?”
“Because I have been your nurse since you were injured. I can’t just shut that off. I know what your brain looks like on the inside, and I know how much physical exertion could jeopardize your well-being. Not to mention that I hardly know you. I don’t jump into bed with strangers. I’m not that kind of woman.”
He gives me a curt nod. “I see. I guess I can’t be upset that you’re looking out for me, although I do wish you were less educated on the inside of my brain right now.”
“I’m still not a slapper.”
He fro
wns and tilts his head on the pillow. “A slapper?”
“A promiscuous woman.”
“Ah, your slang is confusing.”
“Only to a Yank.”
“Hmmm, now that one I know. The chef… what was his name again?”
“Callahan.”
“Yes, Callahan used to say that when we were little. I don’t think he has an accent anymore, does he?”
“Not much of one. You remember that?”
“I do. I remember him taking care of my brother and me a lot. Our parents must have been gone quite often. Do you know where they are?”
“Who? Your parents?”
“Yes.”
“I believe Damian called them, and they were coming here, but you told him to call them back and tell them not to.”
“I did, didn’t I? I’m not sure why I did that.”
“Do you feel like you don’t get along well with them?”
“Yes. That’s the feeling I get.”
“Well, when you’re ready to know more about your parents or anything to do with your life, you should speak to Callahan. He and I had an interesting talk today about your siblings.”
I watch the wheels turn in his mind as he searches for memories of his brother and sister.
“I had a brother. He died. I have a sister. She lives with father. I don’t think I like her much.”
“She’s your half-sister.”
“She is? So, my father divorced my mother and remarried?”
“Um, no, the way Callahan tells it your father had an affair and your sister was born out of wedlock. I expect that’s why you don’t care for her if she was part of the reason your parents divorced.”
“Yes, maybe so. How did my brother die?”
“In a car accident.” His face pales as if all the blood has drained from his head, and he becomes agitated moving around in the bed clutching the sheets. “Lennon, are you okay? What’s the matter, talk to me.” I get up and sit on the edge of the bed, my hip against his.
“I, it was, he…” he stammers, and I take his hand. His pulse is racing, and a thin layer of perspiration layers his skin.