Fearsome (6 page)

I glance up at Carson and he looks just as surprised as me to hear himself mentioned in the letter.

“This is another beginning for you. Embrace it and be happy. And please, please, love and take care of Bert.

Love,

Aunt Ginnie”

“Bert?” I ask.

“Sweet Potato Pie!” Lois shouts. “I forgot to bring Bert!”

Everyone is laughing, but I’m still feeling misty-eyed from the letter and can’t imagine who Bert could be.

Carson notices my confusion. “Bert is Gin’s two-year-old bulldog. He’s been staying at Lois’s house for the last week.” I appreciate that he speaks to me in a normal tone without the sarcasm.

“I’ve inherited a dog, too?” Now I know this won’t work out. My New York apartment can’t handle a dog and neither can my roommates.

“I’ll bring Bert by tomorrow when Carson and I come back,” Dylan tells me. “Once you get past all the farting and snorting, you’ll love Bert.”

“You’re going to be working here tomorrow?” I ask.

“Is that a problem?” Dylan and Carson are both looking at me, gauging my reaction I suppose.

Time for your big girl pants.
I remember that was one of my aunt’s favorite lines she used on my annoyed mother. Carson’s unforgiving glare brings that memory back. I shake my head, still feeling befuddled by the last twenty-four hours. It’s all too much too soon.

“Damn. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy,” Eleanor says to me. “Ginnie left us with a lot of explaining to do. It’s a nice letter, but it doesn’t help in the real world; right, sweetie?”

“Oh my,” Archie says and I fear that this is his standard response to most things. “I just don’t have the intestinal fortitude for this. I’m very happy Jessica is with us now, but it’s all so tragic.”

I don’t know what to say to these people. They seem to have very high expectations of me and my head is swimming with information while my emotions are running on high-speed. Plus, now I find out that I’m a dog owner. They might as well have told me I’m getting a baby in the morning. I’ve been managing my own dull life crafted out by working hard, saving money for future non-existent plans, and living on a lot of ramen noodles. Now I have a huge, beautiful though aging home to maintain and a farting dog.

Why did Ginnie have to die before I could get to know her? I could use some type of adult guidance right about now. I know I’m supposed to be a grown-up, but most of the time I feel like a kid in an adult’s body. The only time the big girl pants make their appearance is when I’m talking about computer simulations and code.

I’ve been bamboozled. I get a super deal at an unbelievable cost, a furnished house and potty-trained dog, but I never get to see Aunt Virginia again while the people of Hera are supposed to be a replacement for my family. I don’t have to read between the lines to understand what my aunt was trying to convey in her letter. It’s a peace offering attached to a lot of people she wants back in my life.

Lauren gets up to serve more coffee. Everyone is jabbering while I put myself through this mind maze, it’s like a data surge on my brain.

“Hey,” Carson says quietly, coming over to replace Lauren’s empty seat next to me. “Are you okay?”

Oh, God. His eyes turn me into a quivering blob. To think I had the audacity as a child to say he’d be my husband. It makes me wish I still had that confidence to speak my mind. I look into Carson’s eyes and search his face, completely forgetting to respond to his question.

Dylan takes notice of Carson’s attention towards me. “Jess?” he asks, bringing my focus away from Carson.

“She’s overwhelmed,” Archie says.

“You’re going to stay for a while, right?” Imogene asks. “At least live here for the summer?”

Lauren nods along with Imogene’s comment as if they’ve come up with a splendid plan.

“I have a job in New York. I have an apartment in New York. My life is there, my career,” I say half-heartedly.

“Jessie, Lois and I will be helping you go through the house and Ginnie’s things and we’ll tell you whatever you want to know. We’ll do it nice and easy,” Eleanor says. “Can’t you take a leave of absence from your job?”

“It doesn’t work that way. There’s always someone to replace you. I’m not in a position to take a summer off.”

“She’d get bored here,” Carson comments. His voice is deep and strong; there’s no sign of that caring tone from a moment ago and there is a hint of something else, maybe distrust or cynicism. “She’d want to run back to the city after one week in this place.”

“Carson, stop being so negative,” Imogene snaps with her hands on her hips. “She may get bored being around your sorry, crabby ass, but Lauren and I are boatloads of fun.”

Carson scoffs.

“Fun! Fun! Fun!” Imogene kicks Carson’s leg three times as she says it. He doesn’t even flinch in pain.

“Whatever. I have to get going.” He gets up and leaves my side. I feel an instant loneliness with his departure. I wish I could run down the steps after him and ask him to take me on a nighttime drive. Anywhere. Anyplace where I don’t have to make decisions. “See you in the morning, Dylan. Bright and early!” Carson shouts from his truck before driving off.

“Great, just what I love, working at dawn on a Sunday,” Dylan says to me. Somehow I don’t think he really minds, though. There’s something brewing between his golden locks besides a pretty face. He likes his brother’s attention and he wants me to notice that he’s needed.

“What could you possibly be doing at dawn?” I ask. “Chop down trees and hunt bears?”

Dylan laughs, but my imagination shows them doing exactly that, swinging axes.

After the dinner is cleared up, the dishes are done and I’m given several more overloads of the history I can’t remember, everyone bids me goodbye. Dylan lingers and is the last to leave.

“If you get scared staying in this big house all alone, just call me. I’ll run right over.” What a flirt. I’ve had plenty of guys hit on me, mostly drunk frat types that want sex, but none as sweet as Dylan. He’s the kind of guy who has always been out of my league. They notice me, but turn away once I mention my major or my work.

Dylan would fit in at the Hamptons with a pretty, pedigreed girl on his arm who excels at society benefits and interior design.

“Bye.” I push him out the door.

“You can’t get rid of me. I’ll be back tomorrow,” he calls out into the night.

Sleep does not come easily. The country makes its own kind of racket that’s different from the city, yet even louder. Crickets chirping, owls–or something–hooting and buzzing insects outside my screened window. The moon casts dark shadows across the bedroom and I am amazed that I slept here as a child unafraid. Of course, then the house was full of people; Aunt Virginia, my mother, Carson and Dylan in the rooms next door. There are no humans within a mile of me now and it terrifies me.

I keep my mind busy with things I must do. I’ll need to call 5 Alpha and ask about an extended leave from my job and health coverage. I need to call Kate and Marissa to let them know I’ll be gone awhile and that I’ll mail my rent check to them. Call my parents and scream at them, or alternatively, never speak to them again. I need to go to the bank in Woodstock and sign papers for the account Aunt Virginia left in my trust. Fix this house up and decide if I need to sell it. I rethink that idea and consider Dylan, his attractiveness as well as his evident interest towards me and what I might be able to have if I stayed here longer.

I continue to mull the same thoughts and ideas over and over until the room brightens a bit and I know it will soon be sunrise. The last things I think of in my big, lonely house are wishing a subway line ran under the foundation so its rumbling vibrations could lull me to sleep and Carson Blackard’s blue eyes waiting for me to answer him.

Are you okay?
No, Carson, I’m not, but my aunt says you can fix anything.

Seven

A wet, grunting sound persists in my dream. I am at a party back in New York. The guests are not people I recognize and more than one guy has asked me to dance even though there isn’t any music playing. I am walking away from the party and down a hallway, but someone is following me and there’s that wet grunting sound again. I know I’m dreaming when I become very analytical in my dreams. Sometimes I can force myself to wake up while at other times it’s like I’m heavily sedated and I don’t have the will to pull myself out of the drugged-like state.

Something warm and wet touches my leg. No, licks my leg. I pry my eyes open and, in that moment, I see a lump of blubber with giant jowls resting next to my leg. He is panting with a thread of saliva hanging from his mouth. He grunts, shakes his head so his spittle hits my face and then plops his head back down on the bed as if he is satisfied with his new owner.

“Ah, you must be Bert,” I say to the bulldog.

His eyes perk and he glances at me upon hearing his name.

“I bet you are the worst roommate,” I say groggily and decide to go back to sleep.

Violent pounding underneath my bed jolts me awake. Hera doesn’t have earthquakes, at least not ones accompanied by hammering and sawing. The commotion makes my bed jump and Bert and me with it.

“For the love of sarsaparilla!” I shout, now fully awake.

“Hey, good,” Carson says, appearing at my door. “You got your country on. Glad to see it. Now get up or you’re going to suffer much worse.”

“What the HEY are you doing down there?” I yell.

“Dylan and I are finishing the library shelves, Babycakes. Nice to see you and Bert getting along so well.” He smiles and leaves.

“Why do we need bookcases?” I yell after him. “It’s the digital age, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Bert looks at me with his tired, red-veined, droopy eyes.

“It was a pretty good comeback.” Bert merely closes his eyes and feigns sleep.

I realize I have been sleeping on top of the covers in a skimpy, sheer white T-shirt and bikini panties which means Carson got a good gander at my almost naked body. Either he wasn’t impressed or he was being polite about it. Somehow, I doubt he’s the polite type.

I put my long hair in one of those messy top knots with curls and frizz spiking out; the kind of grab-and-go do that is always a no-no in public, however, women do it anyway. I do it because, really, whom do I have to impress? After a quick hot shower, I throw on a pair of very short cut-off jeans, a green tank top and some flip-flops. The house doesn’t have air conditioning of any kind and I already feel the oppressive heat of an early summer day coming on.

As if he knows I’m in charge now, Bert automatically jumps off the bed and follows me downstairs to the second floor where the construction nightmare is taking place. Dylan is the first person I see when I walk into the library and I quickly regret not fixing my hair and putting on some make-up. He’s up on a ladder with wood planks and a drill in his hand.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” He gives me a big smile.

“Hi,” I reply back, wondering if I should go back upstairs and make myself more presentable, however, that would be too obvious.

Bert grunts, snorts and waddles over to Carson who is across the room sanding boards. He kneels down and pets Bert. “Hey, little buddy.”

“I assume you brought Bert here this morning and put him in my bed?” I say to Carson.

“We brought him with us, but he ran upstairs and let himself into your room.” Carson begins roughhousing with an eager Bert.

“He was probably hoping to find Ginnie,” Dylan adds. “And when he didn’t, he must have searched the other bedrooms. Then he saw Sleeping Beauty and decided to join her.”

Carson lets out a snicker at Dylan’s flirting, but I don’t mind. I like the flattery. I smile and bat my eyelashes at Dylan until he laughs. Carson frowns at me and throws his work gloves on the floor. “Dylan let’s break for lunch,” he says curtly.

“Lunch?” I ask. “I was just going to put on a pot of coffee and make some breakfast.”

“Listen, Babycakes, you’re going to have to rise earlier if you want to keep up with what goes on around here. We started at six to prep these boards at the shop and now it’s almost noon, so we need to eat lunch,” Carson says.

“It’s Sunday,” I retort. “Who does construction on Sunday? In New York this is when we go out for brunch. You know; eggs, pancakes and mimosas.”

Carson isn’t amused and brushes by me on his way downstairs. The contact of his bare arm against mine is electric. Carson turns back enough to catch me suck in a quiet breath. He doesn’t look too composed either before walking out of the room. What was that? My body and brain don’t react to men like that.

“He’s grouchy. Don’t take it personally. I’m sorry we woke you, too. I wanted to let you sleep in, but Carson wants to stick to his rigid schedule.” Dylan climbs down the ladder and removes his gloves as he approaches me.

“It’s okay. I should have gotten up earlier. I need to learn my way around this house and inventory my aunt’s possessions. That sounds very insensitive of me, but there are so many books and canvases and wine.” I am amused at the idea of me being a wine collector.

“It can wait.” Dylan lifts a strand of hair off my face. It is an intimate gesture that sends those sweet shivers down my body. I wouldn’t mind a summer fling for once in my life. He is simply too cute. A part of me wants him to kiss me now, fast and furiously. He stares at me intently and for a moment I think he’s considering it, too, but then he pulls his hand back. “Get your breakfast and meet us on the porch.” I suppose my admonishments from the previous night have forced him to use some restraint and avoid a kiss.

The kitchen is in the back on the east side of the house. The remaining morning light still fills the room, making it bright and cheery. It’s a dated kitchen, not one of those high-end jobs where you can entertain and feed your guests at the same time. Some of it must date back to the late 1800’s, like the wooden slat walls. There’s also a large, stained and slightly chipped porcelain farmhouse sink, a round, oak table with four mismatched, ladder-back chairs and one of those small, round-edged refrigerators from the 1940’s that hums loudly and is inefficient at keeping perishables cold.