by Harlow James
“I wish I could come visit you, but I guess that would be hard without even knowing where you’re at.”
And it’s true. Not even my best friend knows where I am, a detail that my parents were insistent about. She just knows I’m safe and I can at least speak on this other phone that my parents purchased for contact between us.
“Me too, Rach. But I’m good.”
“So, any good stories? Patients that came in with injuries that would make me cringe?”
I chuckle as I pour the eggs into the pan, gently moving them around with my spatula. “There was a sex toy escapade gone wrong.”
“Oh jeez. What else?”
“Well, I actually got hit on by a deputy that hit his head during an accident.” My thoughts veer back to Cash and how blatant he was in flirting with me.
“Oh, a man in uniform? I like. Tell me more…” she teases and as I finish my breakfast and sit down to eat while I fill her in.
“So, he sounds like an overly confident man with skills in the bedroom and a liking to you… so what’s stopping you from going there?”
I almost choke on my sip of coffee. “You’re kidding, right? Why on earth would I go there? He’s a player from what I've heard, and he was so confident in himself, it was kind of a turnoff,” I answer, even though how attractive he is physically isn’t something I have overlooked at all.
“So? You’re single for the first time in eight years in a new place, where no one knows who you really are. I say, use the man. Gain some experience and have some fun. Why not? You and I both know Mason was lack-luster in bed.”
“I hate that you know that,” I cringe.
“Uh, no you don’t. As your best friend, I should know that. I know you were with him for so long, you didn’t know otherwise. But there are men out there who actually know where a clit is located, Pfeiffer, and it sounds to me that this guy could definitely locate yours.”
Laughing at her honesty, I settle back in my chair. “I just don’t know if getting involved with someone is smart. Who knows how long I’ll be here, and I’m trying to lie low.”
“Well, just think about it. I hate that this has all happened in the first place,” she says, and I can hear the emotion in her voice. A sniffle comes through the line and tears instantly build in my eyes.
“Me too. I still can’t believe it. My parents said that Mason hasn’t been seen in a while…”
“No. None of our group has seen him in at least a month. As soon as your parents got lawyers involved, he vanished. He’s probably pretty ashamed too.”
“Well, he should be. But the fact that he’s missing is alarming.”
“What exactly happened, Pfeiffer?” Rachel cries. “I just don’t understand why you had to leave! I miss my best friend, and your parents look so sad all the time…”
“Oh God, please don’t tell me that, Rachel… this is killing me too, okay? I’m trying to be strong, I’m trying to move on, but it’s painful knowing my family is so far away and I can’t see them. My heart constantly aches, I cry at random times. It’s like the old me died but I’m still alive… does that make sense?”
“Yes, because that’s how I feel. I feel like my best friend is gone and I won’t ever see her again.”
“All I can do is try to live my life here for right now, Rachel, and hopefully this will all blow over soon and I can come home. And I know you miss me, but I need you to be there for my parents, please. If there is anything I would ask you to do, it’s that. Check in on them, give them hugs for me, tell them we spoke and I’m doing okay, even though I feel like I’m about to break…”
I’m a blubbering mess, but if there is anyone I can let see this side of me, it’s Rachel. It’s been six months since I’ve seen my family or her. And you would think it would get easier with time, but the opposite is happening. Each additional day that I spend away from them feels like a piece of the old me is dying and is being replaced with Piper Davis—a woman who is part of someone who doesn’t exist anymore, yet has the whole new life to live. It’s confusing, yet exciting, like I get to be whoever I want to be in Emerson Falls without fear of judgement and acceptance, but I’m desperately still trying to hang on to pieces of Pfeiffer Winters, hopeful that I’ll get to be her again one day.
“I promise, Pfeiffer. I… I love you, girl.”
Sniffling and trying to see my apartment around me through my clouded vision, I reply before hanging up. “I love you too. I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”
Lowering my head to the table on top of my folded arms, I cry hysterically, sobs wracking my body as the weight of this decision holds me down. But it wasn’t just my decision to leave. No. It was Mason’s decision to lie, my parent’s decision to protect me, and my choice to continue to move forward in my life after working so hard to achieve my goals instead of staying home and living in fear, never knowing if my future was possible.
After I feel there are no more tears left inside, I sit up tall and catch my breath.
I have to remain strong; I have to keep living. I won’t let Mason steal my happiness and future from me any longer.
Mustering up as much resolve as I can find, I hop in the shower and get ready to run a few errands today, one I’m actually looking forward to. As I cruise through town and admire my surroundings, I start to feel a tiny bit of peace with my new life after my meltdown, and hopeful that reaching out today will help me start to build a few roots that won’t be too hard to sever in the event I ever get to leave.
“Hi there. How can I help you?”
“Yes, hi. My name is Piper and I was wondering who I could speak to about volunteering here at the retirement center,” I answer as the dark-haired woman sitting at the receptionist counter smiles up at me. Her charcoal eyes match the color of her hair, but her features offer her a subtle beauty that requires no make-up whatsoever. She’s gorgeous, and I suddenly find myself staring.
“Are you with an organization or club?” The woman whose name tag shows I should call her Sarah asks as she clicks away on her computer and I hear the sound of a printer turning on.
“No, just a good samaritan who wants to volunteer their time. I’m new to town and don't really know anyone. But I used to volunteer at a home back east and figured it would be a good way to get myself acquainted with the citizens of the town. I know how lonely things can get for people this late in life.”
After talking to my mother again last night, I figured that getting back to volunteering would help me fill the void I’m feeling of being alone, so I decided the best way to stay sane and still make friends is to do so with people who crave human interaction as much as me—with old people.
I decided to stop by this morning on my first official day off this week after working my three twelve-hour days, which really became sixteen hours shifts when all was said and done. I needed something to combat the utter boredom that can manifest on my days off.
Sarah smiles at my words and then narrows her eyes at me. “You’re so very right. Our establishment tries really hard to offer entertainment and activities to keep the members busy, but nothing beats conversation and connection.”
“Exactly.”
“We’re actually looking for people to run a few new classes if you have any talents or skills you’d want to share…” she says as she reaches behind her and grabs the papers on the tray of the printer.
“Yes, actually! I used to teach a painting class back at the facility where I’m from. I am also a certified dance instructor in ballroom dancing and salsa, and I can teach water aerobics.”
“You’re just a jack of all trades, aren’t you?” Sarah chuckles as she hands me a pen to fill out the volunteer form.
“Yes, that and I have parents that insisted I was well-rounded in school and in life.”
“What do you do for a living?”
I start to write my name on the paper and then realize I wrote the wrong one—my real name, that is.
“Uh, I’m actually a nurse over at
Emerson Memorial. I’m so sorry, but is it possible to get another form? I already made a mistake because I wasn’t paying attention,” I roll my eyes playfully, but inside my heart is racing. It’s instances like these that I worry about all the time—one little slip up and my true identity could get out, not that I think that Sarah the receptionist at Sagewood Retirement Center would let anyone know of my whereabouts.
But the point is to be careful—and I’m already messing up.
“Yup, no problem,” she clicks a button on her mouse again as the printer spits out another paper. I fill out the information correctly this time, deposit my mistake-filled form in my purse, and let Sarah take a copy of my driver’s license that says I’m a citizen of the state of Oregon, a fact I’d never thought would be true in my life.
“Piper Davis, what a beautiful name,” she says as she stands and hands me back my ID.
“Thank you,” I reply, although I can’t wait to be Pfeiffer Winters again one day.
“Alright, well let me give you the tour and then I can lead you to Terrence’s office. He is the activities coordinator here and loves when we get new blood,” she winks.
Sarah sashays as we walk along the wide corridor which leads to several rooms in the main building of the center. As I walk, I see a map of the property and notice the handful of other buildings that look like apartments, where I’m guessing the residents live. The recreation center and lobby where we are currently located is full of rooms that house numerous activities and purposes.
“This is the cafeteria,” Sarah points out to her left, where the sound of metal pans clinging and chatter filter through the double doors. Several members sit across from each other at the formal dining tables adorned with white table cloths eating their breakfasts, gold-plated chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. “Members have a full kitchen in their apartments, but most choose to eat in here where three square meals are prepared each day by a professional chef and her staff. The food is pretty great, if I do say so myself.” I survey the room, taking in the opulence of the space. This place is fancy for a retirement center, reminding me more of a hotel than a sullen place like a convalescent home. These people must pay good money to live here.
“In this space is where the members partake in crafts,” she gestures to the currently empty room further down from the cafeteria, but I can see stacks of clear-drawer organizers lining one wall full of crafting supplies. Long rectangular tables sit in rows with chairs tucked up underneath. The walls are full of projects completed by members, I assume, bringing life and color to the otherwise dull, grey walls.
“And on the right is the game room, which is always hopping. These people may be pushing the brink of existence, but they are some of the most competitive souls I’ve ever met.”
The thought makes me smile because I know just how much I hate to lose at anything at the ripe old age of twenty-six. If Sarah’s observation is any indication, I’d say I’ll be a force to be reckoned with by the time I reach retirement and battle others for the distinction of winning at a board game.
“How do you like them apples?” A gleeful rebuttal pulls my attention into the game room to a table where two African-American members sit across from each other. Just by the way they’re staring each other down, you can tell they’re good friends, but the competitive energy between them is clearly alive and well.
“Christ, woman. How many points did that one earn ya?” The man replies in frustration.
“Seventy-seven, young man! Woo-hoo!” The woman claps her hands high above her head in celebration.
“Is she kickin’ your butt?” Sarah interrupts as I follow her into the room and we arrive next to their table.
“Yeah. She’s getting her revenge today, Sarah,” the man replies.
“I only get better with age, honey,” the woman winks at Sarah before her eyes fixate on me.
“Birdie, Samuel… this is Piper. She’s signing up to be a volunteer and help run a few new classes for the center.” Sarah beams as she introduces me with an upturned palm and I can’t help but catch the surprised reaction that the woman I now know is Birdie shoots my way.
“Piper, huh? What an unusual name?” She cocks an eyebrow and shoots a look over at Samuel as well. Confusion fills my thoughts as I watch them have a silent conversation with their eyes alone.
“Yes, well, my mother was all for originality,” I offer.
“That is definitely a name you don’t hear every day, huh Samuel? Say, Piper… where are you from? No offense, but you look sort of out of place,” Birdie questions as the hairs on my neck stand up.
She couldn’t possibly know who I am, could she? Paranoia is clouding my thoughts daily now, so crazy ideas pop into my mind at the worst times.
“Oh, just back east. I’m actually new to town, hence why I wanted to volunteer. I have experience and I love getting to know new people,” I smile politely, hoping that explanation will satisfy their curiosity and the puffiness from my cry-fest from earlier has dissipated enough not to allude that something is wrong.
But when Birdie’s blinding smile stretches across her face, there’s a sparkle in her eyes. The woman who looks like she could be the adoring grandma that you love but wouldn’t dare cross is looking at me like I just took first place in the spelling bee.
“That’s wonderful, dear! Isn’t that wonderful, Samuel,” she turns to the man, still holding the giant smile on her face, which is now borderline scary.
“Oh yeah, just wonderful,” he grins and nods in agreement, and now I’m officially freaked out.
“Alright then. No offense you two, but you’re acting really strange. Did you take your meds this morning?” Sarah chimes in, cutting through the awkwardness.
“Oh yes, we’re fine, Sarah. I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Piper. Maybe one of these days you can join us for a game. My son comes to play with us at least once a week and I’d love to introduce you,” Birdie gleams with a calculating glance and Samuel chuckles behind his hand.
“Oh. Uh, sure! I’d love that,” I reply, knowing that set-ups are part of the stipulations when you agree to hang out with retirees. If I had a dollar for every time I was cornered or surprised with a set-up with the doting son each woman claimed was perfect from me—well, let’s just say I wouldn’t need to work for a while. But back home, I was engaged, so they were easy to hold off. Living here, that may be a problem.
Sarah finishes giving me the tour, leading me out into the courtyard full of mature trees, blooming flowers and bushes, and benches lining the sidewalks. Outside is also a pool, but there’s an indoor one that stays heated all year long, where I will more than likely teach water aerobics. Tennis courts lie adjacent to the property, a vegetable and flower garden are fenced where members with a green thumb can work their magic, and a Koi pond stationed in a Zen garden round out the outdoor space.
When Sarah leads me back inside, we arrive at Terrence’s office, where the energetic and enthusiastic man sitting behind a desk nearly jumps out of his skin when I tell him I’m here to volunteer and teach classes.
“Oh, my goodness! Aren’t you just the cutest thing, ever!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together wildly. “The people are just gonna love you, honey! Sit! Sit! Tell me everything you can do and let’s start scheduling,” he widens his eyes in excitement as Sarah laughs and winks at me before leaving me alone with him.
Once Terrence settles down and we start talking logistics, I leave with a commitment to teach two classes per week to start, and then more if I decide to add them on. I figured that was a compromise I could handle between adjusting to my new work schedule.
Settled in my car and preparing to leave, movement to the left draws my attention as a man strides up to the front doors like he owns the place. And when I study that swagger from the dark boots on his feet to the long legs covered in denim, attached to the narrow waist and toned upper body that is clearly visible beneath the fabric of his shirt, I realize that face is one I know and could
n’t forget even if I tried, and believe me, I have.
Cash Williams must have escaped the hospital and lived to see another day. Sure is shame that a man with those looks has the arrogance to go with it. But then suddenly, it’s not his pig-headedness that I’m questioning anymore at that moment—it’s the reason why he’s walking into Sagewood Retirement Center that has my mind reeling.
What on earth could a man like Cash Williams be doing in a place like this?
Hopefully, if the universe is on my side, we won’t ever cross paths and I won’t ever find out.
If only things would work out the way I wanted them to for a change.
Chapter 6
Cash
Age Sixteen
“Which one was it this time, Herald, huh? Which waitress at the country club did you fuck and think I wouldn’t find out about it?”
“I already knew you’d find out, so what makes you think I care? Come on, Delaney… we both know the real score here. Once Cash turns eighteen, we’re through, so why remain celibate for two more years? Go out and fuck whatever man you want. The pool boy, the gardener, the masseuse at the club—I don’t give a shit anymore.”
From the corner of the hallway, I can see my father sip his scotch with a smug look on his face while my mother’s face turns a bright shade of red. The two of them are in one of the formal living rooms in this mansion we call home. Complete wealth is reflected around them—dark mahogany wood reflected in each piece of furniture, gold accents in every nook and cranny of the room, marble floors and crown molding frame in part of the home that anyone would be jealous of from the outside—but could never see the ugliness hiding within.
“You don’t care that people know? You don’t care that it looks bad on both of us when people find out that you’re messing around?”
“As far as we say, it’s all rumors. No one should know. Make your conquest sign an NDA, like I have with mine. Legal action will be taken if they make a peep. Problem solved.” He raises his glass in the air, completely pleased with himself while I relentlessly try to smother the anger brewing inside.