Zenith Fulfilled (9 page)

Nick took over as the family father figure after her real dad died. Nick was always, without any exceptions, there for her. Not just for Trina, but her older sister, Sophie, and the oldest sister, Carrie. Always there. He never judged, or tried to control them. He let them make their own choices, and live their lives. And what did they do to thank him when he fell in love, and wanted to begin his own life and family at the age of thirty-six? They impudently turned their noses up at him, and Joelle, and behind their backs, had running bets that they’d never make a permanent life together as a couple.

And now, the very first time Rebecca needed something from Joelle, who saw to her request in spades?
Joelle
. No questions asked. And no judgments.  

Rebecca sighed as she started her van and backed out of Rob’s driveway. Even though she suddenly had a new appreciation for her brother and Joelle, she intended to do this book with Rob. And because of the memories it would stir up, she owed it to both of them to do it right. To make it work. To make it a success. She also owed it to herself. It was time for her to start over. To start a new life. And move on. To create a new identity and be somebody besides Mrs. Douglas Randall.

Rob slowed his motorcycle at the turnoff for Rebecca’s address. His bike skimmed over the gravel that covered the long, one-lane road he was on. The scenery was nice: trees, scatterings of mobile homes, a house, and more trees. There were mountains visible above the tree line. Shit, he was really far from the city. And from his regular life. Rebecca’s road wasn’t even paved. She lived much further outside the city limits, and away from the freeway, than he ever dreamed.

After following the highway through the small town of Arlington, he was now halfway to the even smaller town of
Darrington. Not far from that lay the North Cascades Pass to Eastern Washington. Rebecca was closer to the mountains than she was to civilization.

He found the gravel road turnoff on Rebecca’s map and was now heading along the North Fork of the Stillaguamish River. At least, that was according to the last sign he passed, back when he was still on pavement. Finally, he spotted the wooden sign, RANDALL and the address beneath. More gravel, more one-
laned road to steer his bike over. He was well prepared for hillbilly hell.

The evergreen trees that choked the road opened up into a clearing. They were obviously removed to create an acre or possibly more for the house and grounds. Beyond that was more forest, and more trees that peppered into the distance for miles. Talk about no neighbors! The Randall’s house was beautiful. Really, it was.
A two-story house surrounded by a huge porch that rounded the corners before it disappeared from vision. Gables rose from the second story, and a matching, detached garage stood on the right, with a mini-van parked in front.

The house was painted a dark green, with a black roof, and white trim. The yard was landscaped in rolling grass, and large, well groomed shrubbery followed the lines of the porch,
extending into the lawn. A walkway traversed the lawn, leading to the front door under the porch. It wasn’t a huge house, maybe only a couple of thousand square feet, but its country charm complemented the landscape, the forest, the mountains, and the quiet that enveloped it. Sun from the fading sunset slanted in through the trees, creating a beam across the house,. The trees were silhouetted against the twilight sky. A flock of birds took off and reflected the last of the sun’s glow in a shadowy V-formation. It could have been a painting or a snapshot on a decorative plate or a sentimental greeting card.

When Rob stopped his bike, Rebecca’s neighborhood surprised him. The quiet managed to even displace the roar of his bike’s engine.
Quiet
. Real quiet. There was no background noise of traffic, much less, people. No far off yells or shouts, or the rattling of lawn mowers. That’s because there was no one around. There was only the sound of trees rustling and birds chirping as the soft, gentle breeze fluttered through the branches. Holy shit was it quiet. Rob was used to loud machinery, busy traffic, and crowded city neighborhoods. Even at night, he was accustomed to loud clubs, loud music, and a loud life.

Never this quiet. The forest. The land. The pristine, undeveloped, unoccupied land. Who knew such things existed?

It started to creep him out far more than the dark city streets at night, where he could easily get jumped. But that was familiar, and still in his territory. This was the total unknown. It was too quiet and way too isolated. Who the hell knew what might lurk in these woods?

Rob took his helmet off, and dismounted from the bike, snapping the kickstand down before he started towards the front door
of the Randall’s house. He felt his nerves jumping. This wasn’t what he expected. He thought he was going to a suburban house in a suburban neighborhood. A house and area like he grew up in. He could handle it. Sure. Whatever. Freak out Rebecca’s husband maybe, then perhaps, she’d get discouraged enough to think the endeavor was as bad an idea as it truly was.

He never expected to drive to the woods and mountains. He never expected the house to be located in the middle of nowhere. And it made him nervous. He, Rob, leader of the drunk and sleazy, was nervous. It was almost funny enough to make him stop and laugh.

But he was here. In Normalville. The small-town, predictable family homestead. What could he say? Or do? How should he enter this house? What was the proper way to act? He should have made her come to him! He should have made her interview him at his house, in the city, totally out of her element and comfort zone. Out of her
normal
.

His leather jacket squeaked as he stood awkwardly on the porch, after ringing the doorbell. He heard some laughter, very girlish,
because they were squeals of laughter. Then someone was the running with loud footsteps. Holy Christ, little girls! A whole pack of them sounded like they were running towards the door.
Towards him.

Then the front door flew open
, and before Rob were the three girls. They all stopped abruptly, as if the doorway were a picture frame. They gawked at him with their mouths open.

They were all little
Rebeccas! He noticed three variations of the shade of red hair standing before him. The oldest, who was maybe ten, had auburn red; the middle child, who could’ve been seven, had a lighter blond-red; and the youngest had the brightest, deepest, Rebecca-shade of red. And freckles. Every one of them had freckles, and varying hues of blue eyes. Together, they were adorable, even to Rob. Kids and cute families were something he knew nothing about and had no interest in. But seeing all of them with the same coloring, in diverse ages, standing together, hell! They could have been a picture for a catalogue: they were that cute.

Staring at him, as he was them, he suddenly realized why all their smiles and giggles seemed to vanish. They were scared of him. He had a dark bandanna tied around his hair, dark sunglasses still on, and a scowl from the drive over there on his face. With his leather jacket, jeans, and big boots, he did not appear little-girl-friendly. He cleared his throat, and made an effort to stop shuffling his feet
and steadied his nerves before he addressed them.

“Uh, is your mom here?”

“Yup, she hew. You Wob?” Rob looked down at the smallest redhead. She was the one who asked and was now staring up at him without any fear, but rather monumental fascination in her eyes.

Rob found a smile, even through his misery. The baby accented
Wob
was hard not to melt over. “Yeah. I’m Rob.” How did one talk to a three-year-old girl? Should he use baby talk to her? Did she understand regular adult words?

“Mom. Your guy’s here,” the oldest daughter screamed behind her without bothering to turn away from him. The shrillness nearly punctured Rob’s eardrum. So much for the quiet solitude of the country!

He heard movement from the second floor, then saw Rebecca bounding down the stairs. Her breasts bounced and jiggled as she quickly hurried down the staircase. Rob glared at her for doing that, and making him notice she had nice breasts. Not too big. Not too small. Just right. It annoyed him she insisted on drawing his attention to the fact that she was a woman. A pretty, attractive women, with a nice figure that he didn’t want to think about. She could have tried to not bounce so obviously. You’d think being a married, mother of three, she should have known better.

Then she was smiling at him, meeting his eyes over her kids’ heads. At least, she couldn’t detect his new appreciation of her through his sunglasses. Perhaps that was why he didn’t take them off. It made him look meaner th
an he actually was. He didn’t want Rebecca to consider him likable.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I expected you later. It’s a long drive for you. Girls, move back. Quit gawking at him; it’ll make him feel unwelcome.” Rebecca moved the girls, swinging the youngest up into her arms. She did it all quite naturally, without breaking a step or seeming to notice what she did.

“My ride’s pretty fast.”

She glanced into her yard at his motorcycle, then back at him. “A lot faster and sexier than my van
. Anyway, I’m glad you made it, come in.”

She held the front door open, inviting him to enter. Rebecca certainly had no qualms about asking him into her home, with her children there, no less. It made no sense to Rob. Why didn’t she hesitate? Why was she so open to having her kids there with him? Why would she ask him to come to her remote, hidden, isolated house?

Then he was inside and faced the four females, nearly lined up in a row in the living room and each one looking at him.

He glanced around. The house appeared comfortable
with the sun’s lingering rays highlighting the motes of dust through the windows. It had nice furniture that was big and cushy-looking, centered around a big, stone fireplace. The mantel was cluttered with knick-knacks and a large family portrait seemed to look out over the room.

He swung his gaze back to Rebecca when she started to speak. “These are my daughters: my oldest, Kayla, the middle, Kathy, and my youngest, Karlee. Girls, this is Mr. Williams. I told you he’d be coming here to help me write my next book.”

“Hello Mr. Williams,” Kayla spoke in a tone that sounded like she was trying to be very adult.

“Hi Mr. Williams,” Kathy said, who was much shyer, hiding her head
against her mother’s hip.

Then Karlee spoke. “
Hewwo Wob. Nithe to have you vithit uth.”

Rob couldn’t help but l
augh. She was funny kid and smiled up at him with big gums and twinkling eyes.

“Karlee, call him Mr. Williams. Be polite.”

“Aw Mom,” Karlee mumbled.

Rob hesitated. “Nice to meet you girls.” With a hand on his bandanna, he pulled it from his head,
took off the glasses and hooked them on his front pocket. Then he turned and looked around some more.

The house was cheerful and bright. It was a mesh of lavender and purple “girl colors” with only brief hints that a man lived there: a framed picture of a deer, and an old gun hanging on a gun rack. To the right, he saw an office with a desk, computer, and the usual office stuff through
the glass doors. There were also various toys scattered in different corners of the rooms.

“Girls, why don’t you finish up your dinner? I’ll be right there.”

Rebecca watched them leave, and turned towards Rob. “They’ll be going to bed really soon. Can you give me like… half an hour?”

“They go to bed at seven-thirty?”

“Karlee does. The other two can read for half an hour.”

Huh. He didn’t know that. He never gave much thought about when little kids went to bed. He didn’t have a clue it happened before the night really began. His only question was what should he do for the next half hour?

“Are you hungry? Did you eat dinner?”

He shrugged like he didn’t care.

“It’s lasagna. I’m a pretty decent cook.”

He followed Rebecca down the hallway, trying to ignore the swinging of her butt in her blue jeans.
And the way her blue t-shirt rode up her back when she stopped and bent over to pick up a napkin that fell to the floor. She had ultra-white skin. The kind that never tans. It looked soft and delicious, like vanilla ice cream.

The perfect metaphor for exactly who she was: vanilla. The antithesis of him. She was his polar opposite in every single way: from her looks to her entire lifestyle.

Her stray strands of hair slipped from the ponytail on her head. She looked good with her hair off her face, and had a nice profile.

He shook his head. A nice profile? Walking into this happy nest of little girls and married bliss, why should he be thinking that she looked nice with her hair up? The scowl returned to his face. No need to get comfortable with her, or any of this.

Besides, where was Mr. Rebecca Randall anyway? Friday night? End of the work week. Shouldn’t he have been home by now? And sure to take one fleeting look at Rob before telling Rebecca what a stupid idea her project was.

The kitchen led into a large eating area. A six-person, square, oak table stood front and center. It was laden with salad, lasagna, rolls and plates that still had half eaten food on them. The girls
were all reseating themselves and talking amongst each other.

He stood back, just watching. Suddenly, the confidence that
created the swagger that he used as he moved through life, whether at club openings, in large crowds, or on construction sites, totally vacated him.

He didn’t know when little girls went to bed because no one ever put him to bed as a kid. He couldn’t remember his mother
, even once, bothering to tuck him in bed, or insisting that he go there at a prescribed hour. He remembered he fell asleep wherever he happened to be. Usually, since he was hiding in his bedroom anyway, he woke up there. His parents were frequently passed out by seven o’clock every evening. He had no memories of meals served on square, oak tables with the family gathered around. His dinners were usually crackers and lunchmeat, which he made for himself. If his mother and father were even at home, they were always drinking. They didn’t do things like fixing dinner for him.

He didn’t grow up being all that poor. Both his parents made good salaries at Boeing, although they each worked on different airplanes. Both held full-time jobs and were considered “functioning alcoholics.” But they couldn’t do anything beyond that. Specifically, taking care of Rob. They both drank themselves into a stupor every night. The only difference between Mom and Dad for Rob was Dad became an enraged, violent drunk and his mother simply passed out. So Dad had to beat up Rob, since Rob was in the way.