Two-Step

by Stephanie Fournet

  Today was one of those times.

  She hid her head in the fridge as she searched for sliced turkey, mayo, mustard, and lettuce, and set about making a sandwich.

  “Mama make lunch?” Oscar asked, hope lifting the question.

  Meredith smiled over her shoulder at him. His big brown eyes watched her with unbroken focus.

  “Yes, baby. Mama’s making lunch, and I’ll sit with you while I eat. And then we’ll take a nap. Okay?”

  Oscar shook his head, smiling with mischief. “No nap, Mama.”

  Leona tsked again. “Little man needs a nap,” she told him.

  Oscar frowned at his grandmother. “No nap, Meemaw!”

  “Four months early, and he’s already hitting the terrible twos,” Leona said, shaking her head. “I just hope he’s better than Jamie at that age. When that boy didn’t get his way, look out!”

  And that’s changed how? Meredith wanted to ask, but she finished making her sandwich in silence.

  “Mama sit.”

  She carried her sandwich to the table and joined her baby. “I’m sitting, my love.”

  Oscar’s lip curled in a satisfied smile, and he patted the table next to her. “Mama sitting,” he said softly.

  Meredith took a bite and spoke through a mouthful. “You are so sweet, little buddy. I love you so much.”

  “Love you, Mama.”

  After Meredith loaded her plate and silverware into the dishwasher, carried Oscar to their room, and read him four stories, he finally crashed. She held him tucked against her for a moment, smelling his sweet baby-shampoo smell. When it was safe to slide away from him, she tiptoed out of the room.

  Because there was no opportunity for privacy in the McCormick house, Meredith walked out the front door and headed for the Mickey Shunick Memorial. She’d brought her phone and the scrap of paper from the job flyer.

  Staring down at it, Meredith doubted it would amount to anything. She’d have to get back in her car and head across town to Super One Foods to try there.

  “Might as well get on with it.” She dialed the number and waited as it rang through. On the third ring, Meredith prepared herself to leave a voicemail. Leaving voicemails sucked. It made her nervous. She sounded stupid, and knowing that she sounded stupid made her do stupid things like forgetting to say her name or tripping over her phone number.

  She was working herself up to a pre-voicemail fit when someone answered.

  “Hello?” The voice was male, young, and it sounded confused.

  Meredith checked the number again before speaking. “Um… hi. I’m calling about the job? The personal assistant job?” She hated the way she’d turned her sentences into questions. It was a job. She wanted it. Why couldn’t she sound certain?

  “You are?”

  Meredith blinked. He sounded even less certain than she did. Which made her suspicious.

  “Um… yeah. There is a job, right? Not a scam?”

  “A scam?” Humor entered his voice, and for some reason this eased her suspicions. If someone were scamming her, he’d sound serious. Right?

  “Yeah, you know, like those job listings that say Earn $5,000 a week, and when you go online to apply for the job, it’s really a weight-loss supplement, and they ask for your credit-card number, and before you know it, your credit card’s been charged like eight hundred dollars.”

  Meredith stopped talking. She’d stopped talking because she started hearing how she sounded, and if the man on the other end was in the position to give her a job for real, she needed to sound less weird.

  “Wow… you really know a lot about that. Did that happen to you?” he asked.

  “What? N-no,” she stammered. “I just don’t want that to happen. Not that it would happen. I mean, I don’t even have a credit card, and who’s stupid enough to put down their credit card number when they’re applying for a job anyway…”

  It was happening again. Train wreck. Meredith tried to get it under control. “I mean… the job… if it’s real… I’d like some information.”

  She heard laughter on the other end of the line.

  Great. I’m never getting a job again.

  “I’m sorry. The job is real. I was just surprised to hear back so fast. I just put up those flyers this morning, and you’re the first person to call.”

  “Really?” She knew she sounded way too excited, but her gut was telling her that whatever this was, it wasn’t a scam.

  “Really. My name’s Baxter Blakewood. To whom am I speaking?”

  Proper grammar. No one running a scam would ask “To whom am I speaking?” Baxter Blakewood sounded cultured and sophisticated. Exactly like someone who needed a personal assistant. A little spot of hope pressed against her chest.

  “Meredith Ryan. I’m a nursing student at UL, and I saw your sign in Wharton Hall.”

  “A nurse?” Mr. Blakewood asked, sounding intrigued.

  “Just a student. First year,” she said.

  “Still…” he murmured. Something in his tone made her frown.

  “What…what exactly would you be needing?”

  Silence.

  “Well… the job… would require someone who could run errands. Trips to the grocery store, to the dry cleaners… That sort of thing. Running errands and taking care of a few chores.”

  So far, so good.

  “Okay… what else?”

  Again, silence.

  “Well… how do you feel about dogs?”

  Meredith thought about Zabby, the black Scottish terrier she hadn’t seen in almost two years — which made her think of Becca. She’d seen her sister since her parents kicked her out, but only because Becca would sneak behind their backs and meet her at CC’s or the mall or at the movies once every few months. They had to be careful, though. Becca was only fourteen. Too young to drive. She’d have to get dropped off first and text Meredith to let her know the coast was clear. If her parents ever saw them together, they’d probably lock Becca away for good.

  Thinking about Becca and Zabby and her parents only hurt, so she shoved those thoughts aside.

  “I love dogs,” she said, hearing the constricted sound of her voice.

  “Are you sure about that?” Mr. Blakewood asked, apparently mistaking her distress for something it wasn’t.

  Meredith cleared her throat. “I’m sure,” she said with more resolve.

  “Okay… how about writers?”

  Was Mr. Blakewood a writer? Meredith smiled. It would be so cool to work for a writer. When Meredith wasn’t studying, or working, or taking care of Oscar — which, admittedly, wasn’t that often since her whole life revolved around studying, working, or taking care of Oscar — she was reading.

  Reading was her one refuge. Her one indulgence. She couldn’t read if Jamie was home. One look at Meredith with a book in her lap, and Jamie assumed she was doing nothing, and she should, therefore, pay attention to him.

  But if he was offshore, and her studying was done — on nights she didn’t work while Oscar was playing or asleep — Meredith would sink into a book and feed her mind and her dreams for a few minutes. She loved fantasy best. Her favorite author was Laini Taylor. The Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy had wrecked her for anything else. No books she’d read before or since could touch its magic. But she read other genres too. She liked reading highly acclaimed contemporary novels. It made her feel smart and in touch with something bigger than the confines of her life if she heard someone at school talk about The Goldfinch or The Paris Wife.

  So it was easy to answer his question. “I like dogs, but writers are a close second,” she said.

  Mr. Blakewood laughed again. “Well, this just might work out. How about we set up a meeting?”

  Meredith’s heart soared. “Great. What works for you?”

  She heard him sigh. “I know it’s short notice, but if you’re free this afternoon, that would be awesome.”

  Now, her heart raced. “I… um… I’m free right now.”

  “You a
re?” He sounded as hopeful as she did, and her nerves settled just a little.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Wow… uh… okay… um… Meredith, there are some things we’ll need to… uh… discuss when you get here… some… uh… challenges that come with the position,” Mr. Blakewood said, now sounding more nervous than she was. “But we can go over all of that when you get here.”

  Challenges? Meredith hesitated for a moment.

  “Meredith? You still there?”

  You don’t have to take the job if something’s off, she told herself. You can text Brooke the address so she can send the cops if you don’t come home.

  “Yeah. What’s the address?”

  “231 St. Louis, one block off St. Mary and Souvenir Gate… Do you know where that is?”

  “St. Louis?” Had she heard him right? The address was just blocks away. If that were the case, the job had just got even better.

  “Yes, it’s the two-story house. Light brown with white trim.”

  Meredith beamed. “I’m not far. Give me two minutes.”

  Chapter Four

  “You what?” Gray scowled at his brother.

  “I’m interviewing a young lady — a nurse in training — to come help you.” Baxter’s eyes danced with excitement. He looked so pleased with himself. The afternoon sun poured into Gray’s living room, seeming to light his brother with a ridiculous halo. “She’ll be here any minute.”

  Frustration pressed against Gray’s temples. Or maybe it was the tumor. He kept seeing a shadow out of the corner of his eye, and straining to unsee it made his headache worse.

  “But you’re supposed to be leaving today,” he argued. “You have an empire to inherit. You don’t have time for this.”

  Bax’s overnight trip had stretched to two nights, and he’d insisted on watching Gray take his seizure meds for the third day in a row now.

  Which meant for the last seventy-two hours, Gray’s novel had grown by only a couple of pages. He was supposed to be writing the scene when Detective Alex Booth discovered the hellhole where a human-trafficking ring kept their latest prey.

  But with the meds, Gray couldn’t see it.

  Without the Topiramate, he could picture everything. The sweat beaded on his hero’s forehead. The red welts where tie wraps dug into his victim’s wrists. The mottled grays of corrugated tin in the abandoned warehouse.

  And he needed to see it to be able to write it. He needed Bax to leave so he could get through the rescue scene — the one where Booth would take a bullet in his shoulder. After that, Gray could tie up the rest of the book, go through it a few more times, and send it to his publisher.

  He loved his brother, but he didn’t have time for his worry. Or his fear. He’d learned that lesson two months ago with the diagnosis that narrowed the prospect of his life down to one focus.

  Write.

  His tumor, benign by pathology but malignant by location, would require surgery if it didn’t kill him first. But situated in his temporal lobe where its removal threatened memory, cognition, nerve function, and even blood flow to the rest of his brain, meant that if he survived the surgery — and he had about a sixty-percent chance of doing that — he might not be Gray Blakewood when he woke up.

  He didn’t know who he’d be. Or what.

  He might not be able to speak. Or solve complex problems. Or concentrate for more than a few seconds. Or breathe on his own — if he wasn’t lucky enough to die on the operating table.

  All of this meant that while Baxter had time to be afraid and worry, Gray did not. If he was going to die — or worse — he needed to finish his fourth book. And if his tumor wasn’t growing, he might get the chance to finish a fifth before he lost the ability to do the only thing that mattered to him.

  Alone upstairs in his study with Vulcan and Juno at his feet. A blazing fireplace and a fully charged laptop. That was all he wanted. Was that so much to ask?

  “Do you have any questions for her?” Bax asked, ignoring his protest.

  “Hell, no. I don’t even want her here,” Gray snapped. “When she shows up, send her away. And then. Go. Back. To. New Orleans.”

  Bax’s smile dimmed just a little. “Don’t you think you should at least talk to her? She sounded pretty cool on the phone. Funny,” he said, shrugging. “She might be able to help you.”

  “I don’t need help. Everything’s fine.”

  Baxter cocked his head at him. “Gray… c’mon.”

  Gray drew a breath to lay down his objections, but a knock at the door cut him off. Juno and Vulcan jumped up from their spots in front of the fireplace and raced down the hall, whining steadily.

  He followed the dogs into the hall. “Silence.”

  The command, spoken lightly, hushed his Czechoslovakian Vlcaks, but both stared at the front door, their necks drawn taut, the fur on their backs rising.

  His brother got to his feet. “That’ll be her,” Bax said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

  Gray shook his head in disgust. “Well, get rid of her.”

  “No. We’ll talk to her,” Bax insisted. “Maybe this can work.”

  That was Bax. He never met a stranger. No problem existed that couldn’t be solved with goodwill and teamwork. Everything happened for a reason. And he’d never lived through an awkward moment in his life.

  Gray scowled again. “No, we won’t. You found her… you talk to her.” Gray backed down the hall. “And finish that talk by sending her away. I don’t need some nurse-in-training hovering over me and slowing me down.”

  He stalked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Gray wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Bax sigh before his footsteps clicked against the red oak floors. He half expected his brother to knock on the door and apologize for interfering. Instead, the sound of his footfalls stretched down the hall toward the front of the house.

  He heard the front door open. “Hi, Meredith? Baxter Blakewood. Come on in.”

  “Hi… Oh, wow.” Nervous laughter, lilting and carrying, drifted down the hall and into Gray’s room. “You have direwolves!”

  Baxter’s deeper laugh followed. In spite of himself, Gray smiled. His dogs did look like direwolves. And they were just as loyal. Fearless, too. “They’re Vlcaks, Czech wolf dogs. This is Vulcan. Vulcan, back off!” Bax scolded. “And this is Juno.”

  “They’re brother and sister?” the girl asked. “Like the gods?”

  Listening, Gray’s chin pulled back in surprise. Most people didn’t get the reference.

  “Yeah, littermates. They’re three years old.”

  “Have you had them since they were puppies?”

  Gray waited for his brother’s answer, remembering the afternoon when they’d gone together to the breeder’s. Gray had only put a deposit on the male, but Vulcan had been so attached to his little sister that Bax wouldn’t let them leave without her.

  Gray wouldn’t have left either. Even if he’d been alone. Cecilia’s death six months before was still like an open wound for them both. If there had been a third puppy left to take, Gray would now have a pack.

  “Yes… well, my brother’s had them since they were eight weeks. They’re his.”

  “Oh… do you look after them often?” Confusion came through her voice. “I assumed from our conversation you had dogs.”

  “Yeah… um… about that,” Bax stammered, and Gray found himself grinning as his brother struggled. What had Bax told the girl? Not much, by the sound of it. He leaned closer against his bedroom door and strained to hear. “I’m not looking for an assistant.”

  “You’re not?” Shock and what Gray thought was a hint of wariness pinched the girl’s voice.

  “No, my—”

  “My best friend knows exactly where I—” she blurted. “I mean, in case this is… something it shouldn’t be.” Now there was more than just a hint of wariness. She sounded scared. In the next instant, he picked up the low rumble of Vulcan’s growl, and Gray’s hand reached for the doorknob.
r />   “What? No… Vulcan, hush!” Bax scolded. The dog whined in response.

  Gray froze, the doorknob in his grip. What his brother didn’t realize — because he was too innocent to think criminal thoughts — was that this girl feared for her safety and was probably ready to fight him off if need be. This was something Vulcan knew. And because Gray thought criminal thoughts for a living, he knew it too. And he recognized that Baxter’s cluelessness only made matters worse.

  “I mean, if you’re… like a Craigslist killer or something, I’ll fight you just like Mickey Shunick, and you’ll go down for my murder.”

  “What?!”

  It would have been funny if it weren’t happening in his kitchen. After all, he might not have to send the poor girl away if his brother scared her off. But he didn’t like the idea of a woman in his home being afraid, so he was just turning the knob to put them out of their misery when Baxter course-corrected.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Meredith, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. No,” he said again. “These are my brother’s dogs, and this is my brother’s house, and he’s the one in need of an assistant.”

  Finally. Gray held his ground and listened to see what the girl would make of Baxter’s explanation. He figured she’d be out the door in about two seconds. Then he’d send his brother on his way, take the dogs for a walk, and wait for the Topiramate to wear off.

  “So… why am I talking to you?” she asked, and if Gray was ready to laugh before, he felt the onset of hysterics now.

  “My brother’s unwell.”

  Laughter dried up in his throat. What the hell?

  The term made him sound like a lunatic.

  “His condition doesn’t allow him to drive, so he needs someone to run errands for him.”

  A soft gasp preceded her “Oh!”

  Gray narrowed his eyes at the door and pictured punching his brother in the head.

  “He’s not feeling up to meeting you today,” Bax went on smoothly. “But he needs someone to help him with errands, and he can work around your school schedule.”