Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy) (22 page)

“Catch!”
Dane shouts as he tosses me a tomato.

I
manage to grab it out of the air.  “Hey!  Be careful!”

“Catch!”
he yells again and tosses me another.

I catch
that one too and look at him with his head stuck behind the refrigerator door. 
“Stop throwing things at me!” I laugh.

“Catch!”
It’s a head of lettuce this time.

“Oh
geez!” I yelp, as I try to catch it without dropping the two tomatoes.  I
fail.  I catch the lettuce all right, but one tomato splatters against the tile
floor while the other simply bounces.

“Catch!”
he warns me again.

“No! 
Stop!”  I laugh.  “I’ve already ruined the tomatoes!”

He
pokes his head around the door and looks at the floor.  “Well, that’s a mess,”
he snickers.

“No
thanks to you!”

I move
to grab some paper towels.  We’re supposed to be prepping the sandwiches for a
small golf outing the next day, but it’s taking longer than necessary. 
Everyone who works at Bay Woods has already gone home, with the exception of
Kris.

“Dude,
we have to get this done,” I complain as I bend down to wipe up the tomato
slime.  “I would like to go home sometime this century.”

“Awww,”
he pretends to be offended.  He kicks the refrigerator door shut because his
hands are full with a large turkey breast, two more tomatoes, and a jar of
mayonnaise.  “You’re that anxious to get away from me?”

“Not
you, this place,” I groan.

Over
the last week, it seems like Kris has been working us extra hard by adding new
responsibilities to our current ones, like this sandwich building fiasco.

Dane sets
his items down and places the turkey on a huge, metal slicer.  He turns it on
and starts cutting away.  “I’ll be sure to go extra fast then, especially while
using this,” he nods toward the slicer.  “Who needs five fingers anyway?”

“Stop
it,” I chastise him like a mother scolding a child, even though I know he’s
joking.  “Be careful.  I don’t know that much first aid.”

He winks
at me.

I set
to work slicing up the remaining tomatoes and the lettuce.  When that’s
finished, I get the bread out and start assembling the sandwiches as Dane
places handfuls of sliced turkey on the cutting board.  We work as a two person
assembly line.  When the sandwiches are complete, and we’re wrapping the last
one, Kris appears out of nowhere.

“Hey
guys.”  She looks weary.

“What’s
up?” Dane asks.

“This
outing for tomorrow is driving me crazy!”  She slams her clipboard on the
counter.

“What’s
wrong?” I ask.

“I just
got off the phone with them.  They keep changing things.  Now they want to add
some fruit to the lunches and a dessert.”

“No
problem,” Dane says.  “We were just about to start packing the boxes.  Where’s
the fruit?”

“At the
store,” Kris sighs.  “I didn’t add any fruit to the delivery this week.  And I
need to come up with a cheap dessert.”

“Cookies,”
I say.  “Cookies are easy.”

“Right!” 
Kris’ face lights up like I just solved all of her troubles.

“So
what do you want us to do?” Dane asks.

“Could
you go to the store for me?  I still have to reconcile today’s drawer,” she
frowns.  “I’ll give you some petty cash.  Get two bags of apples and two bags
of oranges and the cookies.  Enough for two per person.”

“Sure
thing,” Dane says.

Kris
disappears to get the cash while we stack the completed sandwiches in the fridge. 
When she reappears, she beams at us.  “Thank you so much for doing this! 
Here,” she hands me the money.  “I included an extra $20.  Get yourselves
something to eat, on me, since it’s so late.”

“Thanks,”
I shrug.  I’d rather just go home.

Dane
grabs his keys.  “Ready?” he asks.

“As
ever,” I reply, following him outside.  At least I don’t have to drive.

Dane
leads me to a Chevy Camaro.  A brand new, charcoal gray, leather interior,
hot-rod Chevy Camaro.  “When did you get this?” I ask in awe.

“I’ve
had it,” he responds like it’s no big deal.

“Shows
how much I pay attention,” I murmur.

“Why?”
he raises an eyebrow.  “You like?”

“It’s...it’s
just…better than my beat up car.”

Dane flashes
me a devious smile like he knows I’m lying.  I am lying.  This car is freaking
awesome and I don’t even like cars.

When we
make it to the grocery store, I grab a cart and we head to the produce
section.  “Why don’t you go over to the cookie aisle?” I suggest.  “Decide what
to get.  I’ll grab the apples and oranges and meet you there.”

Dane
nods and walks off in the opposite direction.

I pick
up the first two bags of each fruit I see, checking to make sure they’re not
moldy or gross.  I wouldn’t want to have to come back here tonight.  Once I’m
satisfied that the fruit is okay, I make my way to find Dane.

I turn
down the first aisle – Baked Goods.  I find lots of bread, but no desserts, and
no Dane.  I set my sights on the end of the aisle, intent on making this a fast
trip.

“Emma?”

Hearing
my name catches me off guard.  I glance behind me and stop dead in my tracks. 
Standing there, staring at me, is Mrs. Davis.

“H–hi,
Mrs. Davis,” I say slowly.

“Catching
up on some shopping?” she asks, tilting her head to look at my cart.

“Just
picking up a few things for work,” I mumble.  I start to sweat.  I haven’t seen
her since the night she and James’ dad came over after the funeral.  Even then,
I didn’t really see her; I just eavesdropped on the conversation.  I have no
idea what to say to her.  My heart flutters nervously.

“Oh. 
Where are you working?” she asks.

“At Bay
Woods, the golf course.”  As if there is another.

She
takes a minute to assess me from head to toe.  I feel as if I’m undergoing some
sort of physical inspection.  I stare at her in confusion as she scrutinizes
me.  She looks tired; haggard even.  Her normally perfect, salon-styled, sandy
blonde hair is unkempt; like she fell asleep and didn’t bother to straighten
her hair before she left the house.  Her clothes even appear wrinkled, and I
notice her nails are not manicured.  Mrs. Davis always has her nails done; she’s
had a standing appointment for as long as I’ve known her.

“How–how’ve
you been?” I timidly ask, afraid I’ll be burnt by my words.  This is probably
dangerous territory, but I don’t want to add being rude to the top of my list
of faults.

“Well. 
Thank you,” she responds curtly as though she’s rehearsed the line a thousand
times.

Awkward
silence.  Should I just say goodbye and walk away?  Or would now be an
appropriate time to apologize for my behavior at the funeral?  My heart pounds.

“It
appears that you are doing well also,” she says, breaking the silence.  I can’t
help but notice the disdain in her voice.

Curious,
I ask, “How so?”

Her
blue eyes seem to darken to gray and she narrows them toward me.  “I had a
visit from your new boyfriend the other day.”

My eyes
widen in shocked surprise.  “Excuse me?”

“Yes, I
believe it was last Friday.”  Her expression sours.  “A mutual friend of James
and yours?  He stopped by the house to give us his late condolences.  He made
sure to tell us all about how the two of you have been helping each other
through such a tough time.”

What is
she talking about?  That’s impossible!  I shake my head.  “I’m sorry but there
has to be some confusion…”

“Emma!”
I hear Dane call my name from behind me.  I turn to see him striding toward
us.  “What’s taking you so long?  I’m two aisles over and I need the cart…” He
stops talking as he reaches me, realizing he’s interrupted a conversation.  “Oh,
I’m sorry.”  He holds a hand out to Mrs. Davis and smiles.  “Dane Walker.”

Mrs.
Davis eyes Dane’s hand with interest, but doesn’t take it.  “Carol Davis,” she
responds coolly.  She turns to me.  “This isn’t the same gentleman who came by
our house the other day,” she says.  “Exactly how many boyfriends do you have
dear
?” 
She spits out the word “dear” like it’s poisonous.

“Mrs.
Davis, Dane’s not…I don’t have…”

Dane
senses the tension and cuts me off.  “We work together.  We’re not dating.”

James’
mother chooses to ignore Dane’s words and my weak protests.  “That’s what
happened, isn’t it?” she accuses me, her tone harsh and judgmental.

“I’m
sorry,” I shake my head again.  “What are you talking about?”

“James
found out, didn’t he?” she sneers.

“Found
out about what?  Please Mrs. Davis; you’re not making sense…”

“About
all of your men!” she hisses, raising her voice enough so the other shoppers in
the aisle turn toward her, confused.  “He found out about you!  You broke his
heart!  I always knew you were to blame!”  She’s shouting now.  “You broke my
poor son’s heart and now he’s dead because of it!”

The
blood drains from my face.  I clutch the handle of the cart as tight as I can to
prevent myself from collapsing.  Dane moves to my side immediately.  I can’t
speak to defend myself.  I take a quick glance around.  Of the few people in
the aisle, some are staring at me with their mouths hanging open.  I imagine others
are pretending we don’t exist.

“Go to
the car Emma,” Dane says in an authoritative tone.  He holds his keys out to me
without taking his eyes of James’ mother.

I’m
frozen.  I can’t move.

“I said
go to the car,” he says sternly again and looks at me when he says it.

I
blink.  Shaking, I reach into my pocket and hand him the money Kris gave us. 
He exchanges it with his keys.  I force my legs to move my body forward.  I start
to head up the aisle, hoping to make it out of the store with a few shreds of
dignity.  I almost make it.  Just as I turn the corner of the aisle, Mrs. Davis
blasts me with one last sentiment.

“Whore!”
she screams at my retreating figure.

I sit
in Dane’s car, shaking.  It’s been twenty minutes, and I can’t bring my body
under control.  Mrs. Davis’ voice rings in my ears – “Whore!”  How could she
think that about me?  I wonder what happened after I walked out of the store.  Did
she say anything else?  My guess is yes.  Did Dane jump to defend me, making it
worse?  I close my eyes to escape the nightmare that just took place.  I could
never conjure up anything like this, not in my wildest dreams.

I hear
the sound of a cart arrive at the rear of the car.  I fumble with the door
handle and step out to help Dane with the bags.

“Get
back in the car.”  His tone indicates that he’s not playing around.

I shake
my head.  “No.  Let me help.”

“Get
back in the car,” he says again, softer this time.

I hand
him his keys and oblige.  After a few moments, I hear the trunk slam shut.  He
walks around the side of the car, opens the door, and slides in.  Dane stares
at me for a few a seconds with sympathy, I think.  I look out the window to
avoid his gaze as the possibility of tears now threatens.

We ride
in silence back to work.  As we near the entrance to the course, Dane pulls off
the road unexpectedly.  He throws the car in park, and I turn and frown at him.

“You’re
shaking,” he growls and reaches for my hands.  He manages to catch only one,
and he presses it between both of his to stop its seizing.

“It’s
okay,” I mutter lamely.

“It’s not
okay!” he nearly shouts.  “That woman had no right to say what she said to
you!”

I give
him a weak smile and state the obvious, “I’m not her favorite person.”

“Evidently,”
he mutters as he rubs my hand.

“Listen,
let’s go back to work and get these lunches done.”  I try to remove my hand
from his, but he holds it tightly.

Dane
shakes his head.  “You can’t go back to work like this.”

“Like
what?  Let’s just do this already!” I yank my hand harder.  “It’s not like it’s
brain surgery!”

He lets
go of my hand.  “Your entire body is shaking.”

“It’ll
stop.”

“No,”
he says firmly, putting the car back in gear.  “I’m taking you home.”

“What? 
No!  What about my car?”

Dane
makes a U-turn.  “Leave it.  I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“No!  I
can’t go home without my car!  My parents will worry especially if they see my
like this,” I protest.  “I don’t want to relive what happened with them!  Take
me back to work to give me time to settle down.”

Dane
appears to consider it because his eyes soften, but he keeps driving anyway.