Jonathan led the way out to the garage.  The four car garage.  “I’ll have to get her car seat out of my car and put it in the Beemer for now.  I’ll pick up another one tomorrow, so you have a permanent one here.”

M glanced at Alicia before asking, “Why didn’t Summer have a car seat in here already?”

“Because Summer…ah, because Summer liked the limo, remember?”

Judging from the look that crossed her face he didn’t need to explain that Summer had done her best to pretend that Alicia didn’t exist.  Playing mommy hadn’t been her thing.

A few minutes later, after he deftly buckled his sister into her car seat, M pulled out of the garage.

“Do you need directions?” Jonathan asked.

“Um, I’m pretty sure it’s a straight run down to the lake from here, right?”

“Right.  I’ll guide you out of the neighbourhood.  Once we get onto Avenue Rd, stay on it.  It’ll turn into University, then York, then we hit Queen’s Quay.  We’ll find somewhere to park along the Quay, then get the ferry.”

“How often does the ferry run in the summer?”

“Every half hour, so we shouldn’t have to wait too long when we get there.”

He settled back in his seat and tried not to be too obvious as he monitored her driving.  She was a prickly one, and he didn’t want to fire her ire again.  To the extent possible, he’d like this to be a relaxed afternoon.  Alicia needed a chance to get to know her, and he wanted to see how Em managed her.

His sister had been surprisingly reticent with Em, and that unsettled him a bit.  Generally, she bubbled with enthusiasm for new people and new things.  Sure, the last few months had been hard on her, hard on them both, but her reaction to Em — Emmanuela? — puzzled him.  Alicia and Summer had never been close, largely due to the fact that Summer had kept her at arm’s length, but why shy away from her sister like that?

He sighed.  This wasn’t turning out like he’d expected.  Somehow Em continually slipped under his guard.  He refused to be like his father, so easily swayed by a pretty face.  Okay, that was a little unfair and made his father sound shallow.  His father had spent the years after his mother’s death looking to replace — or at least come close to — the love they had shared.

Jonathan respected the bond that had held his parents together.  He wasn’t so lacking in emotion and common sense that he couldn’t recognize and accept the fact true love existed.

It was the way some went about finding it that he questioned.  People today were looking for love in the oddest places, and as far as he was concerned, they needed to rethink that.  He didn’t need to look too far to see what a bad match could mean.  Sure, people went into relationships with the best of intentions — for the most part — but the divorce rate was staggering.  Obviously, couples were doing something very wrong.  Right from the get go, in his opinion.

He planned to follow in his parent’s footsteps.  It was a rational, logical thing to do.  It had worked for them and it would work for him.  If — when — he married, it would be permanent.  For his sake, for his sister’s sake, and for the sake of any children he would have.

Jonathan returned his attention to her.  She handled the car competently, completely at ease.  He noticed the way she occasionally glanced back at Alicia.  She said she didn’t know much about children, but he’d bet she was a natural caregiver.

“When I pick up the car seat tomorrow, I’ll get you one of those little add-on mirrors for your rear-view mirror.”

She wrinkled her brow.  “Add-on mirror?”

“Yes.  You clip it on to the rear view and adjust it so you can see the back seat.  That way when you want to see what she’s up to, you don’t need to turn around.  I have one in my car.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Alicia.  “That sounds like a good idea.  I’ll be able to see you, and you can see me too.”  She let her eyes drift over him before returning them to the road.  “Thanks.”

He mentally patted himself on the back.  Yes, this was a good idea.  He had few misgivings that things would work out between Em and Alicia.  Whatever doubts he had — and he was honest enough with himself to admit he had them — were about how she would ultimately impact him.

As a teenager he’d plotted a course for his life.  A life where he kept all aspects of his personality resembling his father locked away in a vault.  He knew — beyond a shadow of a doubt — that his natural tendency was toward right-brain thinking and reactions.  After two decades of forcing his left-brain into dominance he’d become complacent.

He restrained a sour laugh.  Both intuition and impulse — right-brained characterises — had played a large part in his decision to hire her.

No matter how much he’d like to ignore it, a niggle of fear plagued him.  He had a premonition that Em — Ember? — could shake up a life he’d neatly stirred.  That she could force the spontaneous, touchy feely side of him out of hiding, and make him forget that he preferred to be rational, logical, analytical.

Installment 12 Coming Soon!

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

Jonathan and Alicia found her in the kitchen just after one o’clock.  She’d gone out, had a late breakfast, and picked up a few groceries.  She was putting the last of them away when they walked into the kitchen.

M looked at the two of them as they stood there holding hands.  She’d been too distraught yesterday to take a good look at Alicia.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.  You weren’t too distraught to notice her brother.

Despite the fact she was trying to hide behind her brother’s leg, M could see enough to know Alicia was a gorgeous child.  She shook her head.  Some people had it all.

That wasn’t fair.  Alicia may be beautiful and come from money, but she was an orphan.  No one could say she had it all.

She was about five years old, with dark hair and dark eyes.  Dressed in a denim skort, pink t-shirt, and matching pink sport sandals, she peeked at M and then dropped her eyes and let her lashes fan her cheeks.

M wondered if Jonathan had dressed her, and if he was the one to put her hair up in those two cute pony tails that stood straight up on top of her head

Not too sure how to act, and hating it, she said, “Hi, Alicia.  My name is M.  We met yesterday, remember?”

Alicia let go of her brother’s hand and clutched his leg instead.  Hugging tight, she bobbed her head at M.

Who was this little girl?  The shy act was so contrary to her behaviour of yesterday, it confused M.

She looked at Jonathan and raised her brows.

He laid his palm on the top of his sister’s head and leaned back a bit so he could see her face.  “Hey, Allioop.  Say hello to Em.  Remember I told you about her yesterday?  She’s Summer’s sister, and she’s going to stay with us.”

Allioop? So maybe Mr Stuffy, I Don’t Like Derivatives wasn’t so stuffy after all.

While that ran through M’s mind Alicia sunk farther into her brother’s side.  A horrible speculation blindsided her and she thought, no.  It couldn’t be.

She put her hands on her thighs and squatted in front of Alicia.  “Tell you what.  Let’s just get to know each other first, okay?”

Alicia nodded.

“Good.  Your brother said we were going to Centre Island.  I’ve never been there.  Have you been there before?”

Another nod.

“Then maybe, if you feel like it, you can do a little show…,” she bugged her eyes out, “…and tell.”  This time she used her hands against her mouth and imitated big flappy lips.

That got her a little more than a nod.  Alicia grinned, and for just a moment, sparkling brown eyes met M’s.

Jonathan looked at her as she stood up.  “You ready to go?”

She looked down at what she wore and decided it would have to do.  White shorts and a red tank-top.  After all, it was August in Toronto, which, when translated, meant stinking hot.  If you were going to be outside for any length of time, you dressed accordingly.  Both Jonathan and Alicia wore shorts as well.

“Um, yes.  But I just remembered something.  I mailed all my stuff from Winnipeg.  It should arrive here sometime today.”

“Don’t worry.  Mrs Brickman will sign for it if we’re not back yet.”

She grabbed her fanny pack off the counter.  “Then I’m ready when you are.”

Jonathan leaned down and picked up his sister.  “What about you, bobblehead?  Are you ready to go?”

Alicia grinned at him, obviously safe and comfortable in her brother’s arms.  “Uh-huh.”

How could one body host two such disparate personalities?  There was no comparing the man that stood before her now, and the man of yesterday.  Would the real Mr Jonathan Davenport please stand up?

He dug into his pocket and handed M a set of keys.

“Here, keys to the house and car.  Why don’t you drive.”

Huh.  Not a request.  More like a command.

She didn’t take the keys.  Arching a brow, she said, “Should I treat this like a road test?”

He gave her look for look.  “Yes.  I’m assuming your licence isn’t under suspension.  What about your driving record?  Is it clean?”

She couldn’t resist.  Utterly deadpan, she said, “You’re actually assuming a lot more than that.  You’re assuming I have a driver’s licence.  Who said I could drive?”

A look of shock crossed his face, and he snatched the keys away.   “What?  You said you could drive.”

M shook her head.  “No, I didn’t.  You told me I could use Summer’s Beemer, and I asked you how you knew I didn’t have a car.  Whether or not I could actually drive wasn’t discussed.”

While letting Alicia down to the floor with one arm, he dragged his other hand through his hair.  “Well, this isn’t going to work.  I can’t leave Alicia here all the time with someone who doesn’t drive.  Mrs Brickman can’t be doing it.”

She rolled her eyes.  Like there weren’t people all over the city, all over the world, that had kids but didn’t have cars.  “People that don’t own cars can get around, you know.”

Those beast of prey eyes glittered.  “I know that.  But my little sister doesn’t have to be one of them.”

She heaved a sigh and put out her hand.  “Give me the keys.  Of course I can drive.  But let this be a lesson to you.  You don’t know me, so don’t go around making assumptions about me.”

He didn’t hand the keys back.  “What?  I’m supposed to believe you this time?”

M planted her hands on her hips and thrust out her chin.  “Yes.  You are supposed to believe me.  I am not a liar.  I’m not a cheat.  And I’m not…”  She stumbled to a halt, her breath caught, and then she resumed.  “I’m not a thief.  I told you I can drive, and I can.  I never told you I couldn’t, I just questioned it.  If you want to call the Ministry of Transportation and get an abstract of my driving record, you go right ahead.”

Alicia tugged on his hand, trying to get him moving, but Jonathan held his ground and looked down at Em.  Something bigger was going on here, and he didn’t have a clue as to what it was.  Had someone doubted her honesty?  Her character?  As far as he was concerned she screamed trustworthy, so that didn’t make much sense to him.

Palm up, he stretched out his hand, offering her the keys.  “I believe you.  Now, would you like to drive us, or would you like me to?”

She hesitated, searched his eyes, then took the keys.  “Thank you.  I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, it’s just…” She lowered her eyes and gave her head a little shake.  Sighed.  “I’d like to drive.”

“Good.  Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

Go to Installment 11

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

They were still chatting when Jonathan walked into the kitchen a while later.

“Good.  You two have met.”

M shifted in her chair as searching eyes roved over her face.  The look was almost — intimate.  As if it was his fingers drifting across her skin, not his eyes.

It made her spine tingle.  Made her breath catch.  Made her nervous — or something.

Finally, he spoke.  “Are you okay?”

It was so unfair.  He stood there in jeans and a pale blue golf shirt, looking oh so perfect.  Like he’d stepped off the pages of a magazine.  His wavy hair was either wet or he’d styled it with some glossy sort of gel.  Since he didn’t seem to be the stylin’ type, she weighed in on the wet side.  And as he walked by, she caught the scent of his cologne or aftershave.  Whatever it was — it was sensuous.  Her nose picked out citrus warmed with something spicy as it followed him.  Hmm, and did she catch a woodsy hint as well?  Surely not all three.  If so, a paradox that certainly worked for her.  Was it a reflection of the man within?

She turned her head — her nose — away and looked down at herself.  She looked like a train wreck.  Again.

Yeah?  So why do you care?  He’s nothing more than your boss.  Try to remember that.

“I’m fine, thanks.  Are we still on for this afternoon?”

He nodded.  “Yes.”

He grabbed a cup out of the cupboard, poured himself a coffee, then leaned back against the counter.  “She’s out back having her swimming lesson.  We’re heading to Centre Island sometime after lunch.  Does that work for you?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”  She glanced at Mrs. Brickman.  “Thanks for the company.  Would you both excuse me?  I need to go call my parents.”

Mrs. Brickman reached over and touched the back of her hand.  “Remember what I said, dear.”

M nodded.  “I will.  Thank you.”  She looked at Jonathan.  “Just give me a holler when you’re ready to go.”

“I will.”

She escaped.  Although what she was leaving behind was probably better than what she was about to face.  She hadn’t talked to her parents in years, and this conversation would be more difficult than most.

Oh, well.  Suck it up and get it over with.

She paused at the bottom of the grand staircase.  She’d never be able to look at a set of stairs the same way.  Somehow in the last two days, stairs had taken on allegorical proportions.  Yesterday she’d stood at the base of the steps outside assuring herself she could do what had to be done.  And here she was again.  Standing, gathering strength for the climb, shoring up her backbone as she mentally faced down a chore she’d rather not deal with.

She took a breath, put her head down, and climbed the stairs.

Her room had an alcove by the window.  At this time of day the sun shone through the glass and landed on the tub chair placed there. She sat, with her cell phone in her hand, trying to gain solace or vitality from the sun’s rays.  She wasn’t sure which.  Probably both.

Finally, unable to put it off any longer, she dialled her parent’s number.  Even though she hadn’t called them for years, she didn’t stop to wonder if they were in the same place.  Her parents would never have the initiative or the ambition to move.  They lived in the same spot they’d lived in when she was born.  They’d just upgraded the trailer to a new — make that slightly newer — model.  If they’d paid their phone bill, this was the number to call.

Her mother answered on the third ring.   ” ‘lo?”

“Hi, Mom.  It’s M.”

She shuddered in disgust when a phlegmy smoker’s cough assaulted her ear.  God, were they still wasting what little money they cheated the government out of on two packs a day each?

“Who?”

She wondered how many children phoned their mothers and were asked that question.  Unless a parent had some sort of dementia, it was unforgivable as far as M was concerned.  And it wasn’t that her mother wasn’t familiar with the name M.  She’d started calling herself that when she was nine.  She’d made everyone else call her that as well.

“Mother, I said it’s M.”

‘Oh.  Whadya want?  We ain’t got no money to give you, if that’s why you’re calling.”

The sun wasn’t helping.  No solace here.

“That’s not why I’m calling.  I’m in Toronto.  I got here yesterday and found out that Summer is dead.  I thought you should know.”

During the next few seconds — eternity — of silence, M felt tension ratchet up her body.  What had happened?  Had her mother hung up?

“D’ ya need us to come there?”

M nearly dropped the phone.  An offer of support?

Tears began to sprout.  That was the most thoughtful thing her mother had ever said to her.  Maybe her parents had changed.  Her heart warmed as endless possibilities swam through her head.

She could nearly hear the whoosh as tension drained from her body.  The steel left her spine, and she relaxed into the chair.

“I…”

“Cause we know she was married to that rich old man.  Did she leave us any money?  Do we have to come see lawyers or sign some papers to get it?”

M sat up, ramrod straight all over again.

How could she have been so stupid?  She had a lifetime’s worth of experience where her parents were concerned.  Why had she foolishly let herself believe they might have changed?

Charlie liked to tell her that not everything was black or white.  Well, it was in her life.

“M?  Answer me.”

“There is no money, Mother.  I just thought you might like to know that one of your daughters is dead.”

“Whadya mean there’s no mo…”

M ended the call.

She sat there, staring at the opulence surrounding her, refusing to cry.  She’d cried over her sister, and that was okay, but she categorically would not cry over her parents.

She was a miles away from them, literally and figuratively.  This room — this house — underscored that.  Much more important than the means of life though, was the way she lived her life.  Her parents may have gifted her with it, but she was the one who’d, all on her own, made something out of it.

But what about genetics?  Could she outrun her roots?  Was she destined to become her mother?  She didn’t want to believe that, but she was afraid she’d add veracity to the belief that children are a product of their environment.

Again, she thought of what Charlie often told her.  There were exceptions to every rule.  That everything couldn’t be black or white.  Life — living — demanded and created the greys in between.  But she had a hard time believing that.  Her life had taught her about the starkness of extremes, not the forgiveness of in betweens.

Last night she’d accepted that part of the reason for her roaming was a search for home, for family.  The flipside?  She was running as fast as she could from the home and family she’d started life with.  Because she knew — she’d known as a young girl — that there might be truth to the claim that she could be nothing more than her environment taught her to be.  One of those poor, white trash, McCallister girls.

If she was going to paint herself into a corner she couldn’t get out of, then so be it.  But she hoped it wasn’t the corner she’d spent a lifetime working her way out of.  With any luck, it would be the corner she constantly strived to reach.

M snorted.  Luck?  She didn’t believe in luck.  It was all about hard work.

She pushed herself out of the chair, and on the way to the bathroom, dropped her cell phone back in her purse.

After brushing her teeth, and washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror.  Pushed her shoulders back and made a promise to herself.

She wouldn’t reflect on the conversation with her mother and let it get her down.  She was done with looking at the past.  She’d be positive and use that phone call as a prod.  Whenever she needed a kick in the pants over the coming months, whenever she lost sight of her reasons for being here in the first place, she’d remind herself of her motivation.  She wasn’t her mother — or her father.  She had goals and ambition, and she was going to make something of her life.  And maybe, just maybe, one day she’d have a family she could be proud of.

Go to Installment 10

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

Chapter Three

M couldn’t sleep.

Her body was exhausted, her spirit sapped, but her mind refused to hit the stop button.  She’d have been happy with pause, but she was stuck in an endless cycle of rewind, play, fast forward.  Rewind, play, fast forward.

A week ago she’d been so jazzed.  So full of hope and an edgy sort of optimism.  She’d really believed her time had come.  That she was about to find her place in the grand scheme of things.  Find the little niche that said, “This is where you belong.  You’re home.”

But the building blocks had tumbled before she even began.

In some far reach of her mind, she’d subconsciously been hoping her sister would be part of the equation.  That since they’d both be living in Toronto, they’d eventually find themselves back where they’d been when they were kids. The best of buds.

Given how different they were — had been — it was probably a foolish hope, but she’d so wanted to belong again.  She hadn’t really belonged since she was twelve.

Oh, she’d had relationships, friends and lovers both, but she hadn’t felt that special kind of connection since she and Summer drifted apart.

The connection of family.

She realized there were many kinds of family.  The bonds that forge a family could be blood, could be love, could be one, could be both.  And however pathetic, she knew she finally had to admit to herself that her constant roaming was actually a search.  A search for home, a search for family.

M rolled over onto her side, curling into a fetal position around a spare pillow.

Tears began to flow, and before long she was sobbing desperately.

Summer was gone.

No more opportunities to make amends.   She’d wasted so much time assuming there would be a tomorrow.  Tomorrow was here, Summer wasn’t.

She should have tried harder.  For the past eleven years she’d roamed the country looking for family, while resenting, denying, the family she had.  Summer was her baby sister, but M really hadn’t tried that hard to bridge the distance between them.

How could she have been so selfish?  Maybe if she’d been around, been some sort of guiding influence in her sister’s life, she’d still be alive.

She’d never know, would she?

M pulled herself up off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom.  She grabbed a wad of tissues and blew her nose.

The face that looked back at her in the vanity mirror was red and puffy.  Summer had been the beautiful one, while M had often felt like the tacky knock-off.  There was a time she’d resented it, but that was long ago.  Now even the memory of it seemed foolish.

No matter how bad she looked, she could still see some of her sister in her reflection.

How do you deal with losing a part of yourself?  A sibling is essentially made up of the same ingredients you are, just put together in a different fashion.  There is an undeniable — perhaps spiritual — connection between you.  No matter how far apart you drift, that connection remains.

She’d read about people who’d had limbs amputated and how they suffered from phantom pains afterward.  As if the limb was still there.  Would it be like that?  How much time would pass before it really sunk in that Summer was gone?

Even though they’d never been close as adults, her sister always occupied a place in her heart.  In her mind.  She’d often see something in a store and think, Summer would like that.  Or she’d read a book, and think, I wonder if Summer has read this?  Would that just automatically stop now that Summer was dead?  Somehow, she didn’t think so.  It would probably be years before she stopped doing that.

She splashed her face with cold water, then headed back to bed.

*****

The next morning she walked into the kitchen in search of coffee.  Even though her face resembled a blowfish, she’d left the sanctuary of her room to follow its aroma.

A woman of about sixty stood stooped over the open oven door.  She had a muffin tray in one hand and with the other she rubbed her lower back.

Mrs. Brickman, she presumed.

“Here, let me help you.”

M walked across the kitchen, took the obviously cold tray from the woman’s bare hand, and put it in the oven.

With a slight groan, the woman straightened.  “Thank you, dear.  The older I get, the stiffer I get.  But I’m not ready to be called a stiff yet.  I’m Mrs. Brickman, but please call me Estelle.  You must be Summer’s sister, Em.”

M bit her lip to stop the laughter threatening to spill out at the “stiff” comment.  Although her parents had never taught her a thing about manners, she’d learned a thing or two along the way.  One — laughing in someone’s face was rude, and two — treat your elders with respect.

She put her hand out.  “Yes, I’m M.  It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Brickman…um, Estelle.  Is your back bothering you?  Why don’t you sit down and let me finish whatever you’re doing.”

“Nonsense.  I’m just fine.”

Watching her, M knew she wasn’t fine, but she understood pride.

“Was that coffee I could smell?”

“Yes.  Let me get you a cup.”

M shook her head.  “No.  If you tell me where the cups are, I’ll get my own.  But would you do me a favour?  Will you sit and have a cup with me?  Jonathan — Mr. Davenport — showed me around last night, but maybe you could fill me in little bit more.  Like where everything is stored here in the kitchen.”

A grateful smile spread across Mrs. Brickman’s face as she replied.  “I could do that.  Coffee mugs are in the cupboard right above the coffee maker.  On your right.”

“Thanks.  How do you take yours?”

M assembled two cups of coffee, then went and sat down in one of the funky chairs at the granite slab table.

“Would you like me to make you some breakfast?” Mrs. Brickman asked.

“No thanks.  Once you’ve told me where everything is, I’ll get something for myself.  I’ll pick up some groceries later, as well.”

Thoughtful eyes rested on M long enough to make her want to squirm.

“I didn’t know Summer had a sister.  Were the two of you close?”

M caught her breath as an echo of last night’s pain resounded through her.  “No.  Not since we were very young.”

“You’re nothing alike.”

M cocked her head in question.

Her first answer was a sigh.  Then, “Summer lived here for more than two years.  I met you when you walked into the kitchen a few minutes ago.  You’ve helped me, offered further assistance, and with a degree of sneakiness I have to admire, got me to sit down when you noticed I was in pain.  You’re sitting here sharing a coffee with an old woman.  That’s all I’m saying.”

That was all she needed to say.  Summer had obviously done none of those things and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“No.  We aren’t alike.  Weren’t.  But I was older.  I took off when I was eighteen.  Maybe if I’d stuck around…”

Mrs. Brickman flashed up her palm, halting M.  “None of that.  Don’t you go blaming yourself.  I’m guessing Summer started life with the same opportunities you did.  She chose to be who she was.  I’d say you’ve made different choices.”

M sighed.  That was true.

“Was Summer the only family you had?  Are you alone now?”

I’ve been alone most of my life. “Our parents are still alive.  They live in Saskatoon.”

“Poor people.  I’m sure they’re devastated.”

Not likely. “Um, well, I’m not sure they know.  I just found out yesterday, myself.”

Mrs. Brickman shook her head, a sad expression on her face.  “Well, if you need someone to talk to after you speak to them, I’m here all day.”

M mentally clapped a hand over her mouth.  It was a miracle she’d been able to restrain herself from verbalizing her thoughts so far.

The last thing she wanted to do was speak to her parents, but Mrs. Brickman had a point.  Her parents should be told.

“Thanks, Mrs. Brickman.  It’s sweet of you to offer.”

“Call me Estelle, dear.  I’m just doing what anyone else would do.”

Apparently Mrs…Estelle — had managed to hold on to a rosy view of the world.  Lucky her.

Go to Installment 9

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

She took a deep breath, trying to contain the explosion of grief that suddenly hit her.  Now that she’d relaxed, the reality of it burst in on her.

There’d only been a year between them, and way back when they were still little girls, M and her little sister had been the best of buds.  But somewhere around her twelfth birthday, M had begun to realize there was more to life than what her parents had — or didn’t have.  But Summer, Summer hadn’t been an achiever like M.  She’d been content with what she had, and on the occasions she wanted more, she wasn’t above using her looks — or anything else — to get it.

Over the years, M had made the occasional attempt to reconnect with her sister, but Summer hadn’t been interested.  Instead she mocked M for always working so hard.

Now her sister was dead and she’d never have the chance to recreate the bond they’d shared as little girls.

She looked up as Charlie came around and squeezed into the booth beside her.

He put his arm around her.  “Oh, sweetie.  I’m so sorry.  You okay?  What happened?”

She sniffed and laid her head on his shoulder.  “I don’t know all the details, but she was drunk driving.  She killed herself and her husband.”

He just held her for a moment without saying anything.  After a bit, he asked, “So what are you going to do?  Do you need a place to stay?”

“No.  I’m…ah… I’m staying at her house.  Her step-son’s house.  He and his little sister are living there.”

He pulled back and took her by the shoulders.  “What?  You don’t even know this guy.  You can’t do that.”

“Well, you don’t have room…unless…?”

He pursed his mouth and shook his head, looking a little steamed.  “No, the four of us are still sharing the house we bought together a few years ago.  And space is about to get tighter.”

“Why?  Is someone else moving in?”

He laughed.  A sour laugh.  “You could say that.  Jeff and Kellie got pregnant.”

M’s jaw dropped.  “What?  I didn’t know they were dating.  I thought you guys had a house rule about no dating each other.  You all figured it would mess things up.”

“They aren’t dating.  Have never dated.  They had an accident! Yeah, oops.  So in three months, there will be a baby in the house.”

Okay.  It wasn’t like she’d thought there was a chance.

She reached up and grabbed his hand.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll be okay.  The place is huge, so it’s like living in a motel.  It’s bigger than your parent’s house.  And he gave me a job.  If I help with his sister, I can live there rent free.”

She looked up at him.  “I need to do this, Charlie.  I need to prove something to myself.”

“What?”

“That I can stay in one place.  That I can start my own business.   That I can be someone!”

He gave her another squeeze, then got up and went back to his seat.  “You are someone.  And you make sure you let me know if you need anything.”

They spent a comfortable hour getting caught up on each other’s lives, then she headed back to the place where she’d live for the next while.

And wasn’t the fact she thought of it like that a sad commentary on her life?  It had been a long time since she’d lived somewhere she’d thought of as home.  If ever.  Where ever she laid her head at night was just the place she lived for the time being.  Not home.  A home was more than a roof over your head.  More than the place you hung your clothes.

She found the front door locked when she got back to the house.  Good, someone had seen her note and locked the door.

Unfortunately, she’d have to knock before she got back in.

Jonathan answered the door.

Feeling awkward, she said, “Hi.”

“Hi.  Do you have a few minutes?”

“Uh, yeah.  I guess so.  Is something wrong?”

He shook his head.  “No.  There’re just a few things I thought we should talk about.  You mentioned a trial period.  I want you to know that works both ways.  If this doesn’t work for Alicia, or me, the deal is off.  Like you said, no harm, no foul.”

While she would’ve liked to take offence, what he said was fair.  “Agreed.”

“Good.  I’d promised to take Alicia somewhere for the afternoon tomorrow, so why don’t you join us?  It will give me a chance to see the two of you together.  See if this will work out.”

Oh, yay.  That sounded like more fun than she could stand.  “That’s a good idea.”

He spread his arms.  “And I thought I should show you around.  I would have offered before, but you looked like you needed to rest first.”

She raised her brows and thought, why not just go ahead and say I looked like a hag?

Her expression must have telegraphed her thoughts, because he looked a little chagrined. “Ah, I meant…”

“Forget it.  You’re right.  I was tired.  Sure, I’d love to look around.  It will save me from getting lost at a later date.”

He smiled at that.  “Let’s start with the kitchen.  And I want you to know…well…if you’re going to live here, please treat it like a home.”

That was just weird.  She’d just been thinking she’d never had a home and that this certainly wasn’t one, and now he was telling her to treat it like it was?

She squinched her nose.  “What do you mean?”

He shrugged and spread his hands.  “You don’t need to go out to eat, and you don’t need to let me know if you leave the house.  If I’m home, your time is your own.  Feel free to come and go, and feel free to make yourself a meal whenever you want.  Actually, why don’t you join Alicia and me for your meals?  Mrs. Brickman cooks for us as well, and I can ask her to start making a little extra.  What do you think?”

What did she think?  She thought this was way more then she’d expected.  She thought she’d be treated like one of the servants, and she was pretty sure servants didn’t get to eat with their employers.

She tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, not quite sure why this conversation was making her so uncomfortable.

“Well, here’s the thing.  Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like it’s rude to just leave without telling someone you’re on the way out.  I mean…I’m not saying I’m going to tell you where I’m going, that’s none of your business, but I will tell someone if I’m leaving the house.”  She lifted her shoulders, as if apologizing.  “It just…seems like the right thing to do.  As far as the kitchen goes, thanks.  I’ll use it, but don’t be surprised if I buy my own food.  And I wouldn’t feel right about eating with you.  If I’m eating in, I can eat in my room.”

“Fine.  That’s your decision.  One thing though…”  He hesitated, clearly choosing his next words carefully.

“What?”

“I live here.  For the time being, this is my home.  I expect you to respect my privacy.  Alicia is not allowed in my office, and she knows it.  You…well, I told you to treat this like your home, and I mean that.  To a point.  Whatever isn’t on tonight’s tour is off limits.  Is that clear?”

M clenched her jaw, and the heat of fury stung her cheeks, while the echo of past allegations rang in her ears.  “Crystal.  Make sure you lock up all your valuables too.  Or have you done that already?”

He opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything.  Instead, he gestured to the left, indicating they should begin walking in that direction.  To the kitchen, she presumed.

Oh, the kitchen.  It nearly brought tears to her eyes.  It also deflated the bubble of anger that threatened to overtake her.

She’d never been in a kitchen like this.  Oh, she’d worked in fine restaurants with industrial like kitchens, but this, this was her idea of paradise.

Her eyes swept across an area bigger than her last apartment, and took in the gas cooktop — five burners, and easily three feet wide — to the built-in microwave, the sub-zero fridge, two ovens, and two dishwashers, all in stainless steel.

After taking in the important stuff — i.e. the appliances — she let her eyes wander over the rest of the kitchen.  Acres of granite countertop in a black stone flecked with bits of silver set off the stainless steel perfectly.  Gleaming hardwood cabinetry, some with wood doors and some fronted in smoky glass.

She skirted a huge island and walked across the ceramic tiled floor to a doorway on her left.  An enormous butler’s pantry with another fridge!

M shook her head in disbelief.  What she wouldn’t do for a kitchen like this.

She looked at the table, a huge granite slab that extended in an L shape from the island, and wondered if they ever sat in those funky chairs and ate a meal in here.  Or did richy rich only eat in the elegant, formal dining room that was surely just around the corner?  Probably.

Watching her, Jonathan found he had to revise his earlier opinion of her.  He’d compared her looks to Summer’s and found her wanting.

He’d been wrong.

From the moment she’d walked into the kitchen, it was if she’d been lit from within.  She…glowed.  Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed — from pleasure this time.  She seemed to overflow with an energy that practically reverberated through the room.

He watched as awe, desire, and longing spread across her expressive face.

For his kitchen!

He couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like…whoa!

His brain provided him with a visual of both feet slamming on the brakes to halt that thought.  He could help but wonder, so he was not going there.

She wasn’t his type, and he already had a master plan for the future Mrs. Davenport, thank you very much.

He realized she’d just said something, but he’d been so entrenched in his little inner battle, he hadn’t heard her.  “I’m sorry.  Can you repeat that?”

“Do you cook?”

“Me?  If you mean do I throw the occasional meal together, yes, I guess I cook.  But this…”  He swept his arm through the air, indicating the expanse of the kitchen.  “I don’t need this.  I could make due with just the microwave.”

She shook her head and gazed around longingly.

Ah man, she was killing him.

“My father had a cook, but my needs are simple.  Mrs. Brickman does okay, and that’s good enough for Alicia and me.”

For some reason that made her sad.  He could see it in her face.

Why did he care?  Why was she affecting him this way?  He was a sensible man.  He refused to live the kind of life his father had led.  Ruled by his heart — a foolish heart at that.

Jonathan had decided a long time ago — sometime after his father’s fourth marriage — that his life, his decisions, would be ruled by logic, not emotion.

As far as he was concerned, emotion was nothing but a cloud that obscured reality.

Ironic that he’d lacked respect for Summer for being empty.  Shallow.  Or his favourite description of her, an abyss of nothingness.

Here was her sister tying him in knots because she was the exact opposite.  She may give the impression of being controlled, but her face portrayed a merry-go-round of roiling emotion.

He couldn’t afford to be attracted to her.  Or distracted by her.  He knew exactly what kind of women he’d settle down with one day.  And since he wanted to provide a solid home for his little sister, he guessed one day was here.

He wanted a stable environment for Alicia.  Not the kind of hustle and flow they’d both been subjected to.

To that end, the ideal candidate to be his wife would be someone like him.  A thinker.  A planner.  Someone with the same sort of background — not because he was a snob, but because there was a degree of comfort in commonality.

Not someone like Em…Emmie?

What was her name?

Go to Installment 8

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

An hour later — showered and feeling fresher than she’d felt in days — she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling.  Well, actually, she couldn’t see the ceiling.  Her eyes rested on the canopy above her bed.

There was a time she’d dreamed of having a bed like this.  Felt envy — green eyed jealousy — for the girls in her class that had bedrooms all to themselves.  Bedrooms with sweet smelling sheets edged in white lace.  Canopy beds and frilly curtains.  Fathers that tucked them in at night and mothers that woke them in the morning with a call to breakfast.

Actually, this bed, this room, was far more than anything she’d ever wished for.  This room could have graced the pages of a magazine.  She snorted.  This room — this house — probably did grace the pages of a magazine!

She gazed around her, taking in the shades of gold and purple.  Very regal.  Not too feminine; not too masculine.

No white lace here.  The canopy over her head, and the drapes falling from the four poster, were a heavy satin damask stripe.  In rich gold.

She was so out of her element.

This place was a galaxy away from the 1960’s mobile home where she’d grown up.  A rickety old trailer.  Twelve feet wide with fading white paint and peeling green trim.

Her stomach growled, reminding her her last meal had been courtesy of VIA Rail, and breakfast on a train left a lot to be desired.  She hated eating assembly line food.  It was just so — wrong.  Meals should be created with style and flair.  The proper ingredients deserved attention and detail.

Oh, well.  C’est la vie.

She rolled off the bed and looked at the fresh clothes she’d laid out on a chair.

She’d packed up her car four days ago, and she’d spread the twelve hour drive from Edmonton to Winnipeg across the next two days.  In Winnipeg, a friend of a friend of a friend who was a collector gave her top dollar for her old Austin Mini.  From there, she’d hopped the midnight train to Toronto.  That was more than thirty-six hours ago.

Before leaving Winnipeg she’d mailed the rest of her belongings to her sister’s address.  Thankfully, they would arrive tomorrow.  She needed different clothes.  For some reason she was uncomfortable in her “this is who I am, take it or leave it” clothes.

She always found it interesting.  People were so quick to judge you because of the clothes you wore.

It was also of interest that richy rich would trust her with his little sister, despite the fact she’d looked like a thrift shop reject.

Oh well, she wasn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth.

She dressed in the most respectable clothes she had and headed out of her lair.

Jonathan — she wondered if she could get away with calling him Jonny just to bug him — had given her a room in the east wing.  Yikes.  This was going to take some getting used to.

Her stomach launched another rumbling demand for food, but she didn’t know what to do.  Raiding the kitchen didn’t feel right, neither did leaving the house without letting anyone know what she was doing.

She’d need to find out the proper etiquette for being a live-in employee.

Since she didn’t see anyone, and wasn’t going to resort to snooping, she ran back to her room.  Rooting through her bag, she found a pad of Post-it Notes and a pen.

After jotting down a quick message, she headed for the front door.  She left her magenta — no blah yellow for her — note stuck to the inside of the door, and then headed out.

Jonathan hadn’t given her keys to the Beemer yet, but she wouldn’t have felt right about taking it anyway.  Her legs worked just fine, and she could use public transit for now.

She hadn’t been in Toronto for a few years, but she knew exactly where she was going.

She loved T.O. —  for Toronto, Ontario, one of names Canadian’s had for the city.  Or just Trawna, as nearly every born and bred Torontonian pronounced it.  Recognized as one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world, you couldn’t walk two steps without being exposed to different races and cultures.

And their food.

For a foodie like her, this was paradise.  Of course, it also meant lots of competition for someone like her.  Someone wanting to get into the business of food.

Right now, she craved good, authentic, Indian food.

And she didn’t plan to eat alone.

Cell phone in hand, she called an old friend.  “Charlie!  It’s M.  I finally made it here.”

“M!  Girlfriend, it’s good to hear your voice.  Where ya at?”

“I’m just about to hop on the subway.  Can you meet me at Himalayas?  It’s a little early for the supper crowd, so we should be able to get a table.”

“I’ll see you there.”

“Okay.  I’ll order for us.  Bye”

Twenty minutes later, she watched Charlie walk toward her.  They’d worked together last time she lived in Toronto.  Forged a bond while working in the kitchen’s of Gericho’s, an upscale restaurant in the heart of the city.  The fact that they both had issues with their parents had just made them more sympathetic toward each other.

He hadn’t changed a bit.  And just by looking at him, she knew he was in one of his “bite me” phases.

She was tempted to put her sunglasses back on, but instead squinted her eyes against his red leather pants and yellow sleeveless shirt.  Make that a spandex yellow shirt.

Huh, and yellow wasn’t supposed to work with his complexion.

He waved.  “Hi, hi, sweetie pie!  Stand up and give Charlie Chan a proper hug.”

M returned his gesture of affection.  As she absorbed the spicy scent of his cologne and the exuberance of his spirit, she realized how much she’d missed him.  Missed the unabashed joy of being with a true friend.

Being something of a hobo was tough on friendships.  Tough on relationships period.

They sat down.

“So, tell me what’s up.  You were pretty obscure when you called to tell me you were on your way to Toronto.”

She moved her glass of water over an inch.  Took her finger, and twirled her fork in a three-sixty on the tablecloth.  “I want to start my own business here.”

Charlie’s brows inched toward a crown of glossy, raven black hair.  “Cool.  What kind of business?”

“Well. I’d love to start my own restaurant…”

He laughed — giggled almost — then looked over his shoulder.  “Sweetie pie, did you rob a bank?  Do I need to be on the lookout for the cops?”

M stuck her tongue out.  “Oh, har har.  If you’d let me finish, I was about to say that  I’d love to open my own restaurant, but there’s probably more work to that them I’m aware of.  So, if not that, I was thinking of getting into catering.  I’m tired of working for other people.  For prima donna chefs.  Just because I never went to some hoity toity culinary school, doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Huh.  I hear ya, sweetie.  I did go to one of those hoity toity culinary schools, and I still get treated like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Their food arrived.

She closed her eyes and inhaled.  Ah, yes.  She could smell the curry — the coriander.

She opened her eyes and reached for a slice of puri bread.  Tore off a piece and dipped it in her channa masala.  She popped it in her mouth and the cumin burst across her taste buds.

M swallowed, then looked at her plate and sighed.

Charlie laughed, and she looked up at him.  “What?”

“You’re still hung up on the way it looks, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.  You know I think good food should appeal to more than the taste buds.  It should appeal to all of your senses except your hearing.  Even the texture is important.  But this…” She pointed to her plate.  “How can something that looks so disgusting be so good?”

He dropped the persona he occasionally cloaked himself with, suddenly serious.  “M, how many times have I told you sometimes there’s an exception to the rule?  Everything isn’t always black and white.  The fact that you love Indian food, yet it doesn’t appeal to your eyes, is just one example of that.  One day your deeply ingrained perception of things is going to get you in trouble.  You’re going to paint yourself into a corner you can’t get out of.”

She curled her nose.  This was an old debate.  Time to change the subject.

“You know how I told you I was going to live with my sister for a while?  Well, I went to her house this morning, and found out…found out she’s dead.”

Go to Installment 7

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

Chapter Two

M was tempted.  What she could see of the house — a large Georgian manor — was stunning.  She’d never been in a home like this and couldn’t imagine living in one.  The place was the size of an Inn, not a single-family dwelling.

Could she do it?

Living here would be like putting salt in an open wound, and then covering it with a bandage.

For as long as she could remember, people like this had been looking down on her.  Heck, even the people that had worked in homes like this had looked down on her family.  As far as the social hierarchy in Canada went, her family was only one step up from the bottom.  Homeless, then trailer park trash.  Isn’t that how it went?  And while she’d worked hard since leaving home — in an effort to carve out an identity of her own –  the stigma of her beginnings still jumped up and bit her butt from time to time.

And sometimes she waved it in peoples’ faces just to test them.

But the fact was she needed a roof over her head, no matter how ornate the roof was.  She couldn’t afford to be too picky.

Pros and cons.  Pros: She wouldn’t end up sleeping on the street tonight, finding herself farther down the food chain than when she’d started life twenty-nine years ago.  Cons:  She’d have to share a house with richy rich and his little sister, and the two of them were in obvious need of an intervention.  She’d have to live with a little girl who’d lost her father because of her sister.  Talk about uncomfortable.  And richy rich was a lot more than he’d seemed at first.  He’d raised an awareness in her that she’d have to be wary of.  Her heart had been butchered by his kind already, and she wasn’t going to let that happen ever again.

She needed more info before she could make a decision.

“How much do you want for the use of a bedroom and a bathroom?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just steepled the fingers of both hands, then tapped them against each other.

“Since I’d be — in effect — hiring you, nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Sure.  Your payment for looking after Alicia three days a week will be a suite.  Bedroom and bathroom.”

He paused, separated his palms, then put his hands in his pants pockets.  He leaned one shoulder back against the wall behind him — stepping off her bags in doing so — and gave her a slight smile.

“Alicia may have appointments, or you may want to do something with her on the days she’s home, so you’ll need a car.  Since I haven’t got around to selling Summer’s Beemer, it’s still in the garage.  It’s yours to use whenever you want.”

Hookay.  That kinda tips the scales for the pro side.

“Summer’s Beemer?”

He nodded.  “She was driving my father’s car when…Anyway, the Beemer is less than a year old.  And she didn’t drive it that often.  She preferred it when the chauffer drove her around in the limo.”

He stopped, frowning.  “Unless…Unless you would prefer that as well?”

“No!”

Summer hadn’t believed in doing anything she could get someone else to do, but that wasn’t M’s style.  Her independence wouldn’t allow it.

Having a car would be a boon.  Giving her own up had been a difficult decision, but she’d needed the cash and had rationalized that she could make do with public transportation while in Toronto.  She’d get another when she could afford it.

That looked like it was going to take longer than she’d originally hoped, though.

“How do you know I need a car?”

He shrugged.  “The front drive is big, but not so big that I’d miss a car in it.  You either walked, or were dropped off.”

He was right about the drive.  Once you entered the property through the front gates, you traversed a wide circular driveway up to the house, which stood about a hundred and fifty feet back from the street.  From the front door, you could see the entire driveway.

“Oh.”

He straightened away from the wall, then bent down and picked up her bags.  Walking toward her, he said, “So, what’s your decision?  Will you stay?”

She took her bags.  Looked out the front door, and down those death-defying stairs.  Stairs that led to what she knew.  All things familiar and comfortable.

She heaved a sigh.

Was she willing to stay in the home of a complete stranger?  What about common sense and safety precautions?  What if he was some kind of pervert?

Did she really have a choice?

She always had choices.

“How about a trial period?  I’ll give it a few days, maybe a week.  If I’m not comfortable with the arrangement for any reason, I leave.  No harm, no foul.”

He stuck his hand out.  “Agreed.”

She set her bags back down and shook his hand.

She wanted to pretend her sudden breathlessness was due to the choice she’d just made, not his touch.  He’d likely had a soft life, a life of ease — and sure, that was probably a sweeping generalization — but he had a firm grip.  Powerful.  Confident.  In control.  All of the things she wasn’t.  Things she admired in others.

She envied Alicia.  Not because of the money.  Not because of the big house.  Her young life had been visited with tragedy, but this man would always be there for her.

His touch sparked more than that, though.  Something far scarier.  The tingles doing curly cues around her spine were the result of awareness.  The kind of awareness she wanted to avoid.

As he walked away to close the front door — shutting her in — M shook those thoughts from her head.

She had to focus on reality.  Was she making a mistake?

This was not her kind of place.  These were not her kind of people.  She’d been able to rationalize staying here with her sister, but this was an entirely different matter.

M knew from experience that desperation can move you to make choices you usually wouldn’t, and this was one of those times.

She was tired.  Tired of always being on the move.  Fed up with a life of searching for — something.  She didn’t know what, and she didn’t know why, she only knew that the fruitlessness of it was wearing her down.

Go to Installment 6

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

Jonathan found her intriguing — and a host of other emotions he didn’t care to try to identify.  He wondered if she knew how much she’d revealed about herself just now.  She certainly wasn’t anything like her sister, which, from his standpoint, was a good thing.

Summer had been mind numbingly beautiful and little else.  Great packaging that hid an abyss of nothingness.  But Em — Emerald? — was a different story.  For the last five minutes, he’d been watching a face that attested to a churning cauldron of emotions underneath.  She reminded him of an old commercial for Bits & Bites.  Something new with every handful.

Now that he looked a little closer, her relationship to Summer was obvious.  Her hair was the same natural blonde, with about five different shades of gold.  The only hairstylist that could achieve such an array of colour was God himself.  Her eyes were the same shape as Summer’s, only they were a deep, mysterious brown, where Summer’s had been blue.

She wasn’t classically beautiful like her sister.  Everything about her was — long. But her longish face went with her long graceful neck, long hair, long lithe body, and long, long legs.

And while Summer had been a stylish dresser, Em — what was her name? — wasn’t.

She looked like hippy chick meets Goodwill.  And — what was that expression his assistant used?  Ah, yes.  A granola head.

Bottom line, though, she wasn’t a taker like her sister had been.  Her comment just now proved that.  Amazing what you can reveal about yourself in just a few sentences.

Yes, she was the complete antithesis of Summer.

Jonathan was an excellent judge of character, and he was going to go with his gut on this one.  And while there might be a touch of benevolence in his motives, his reasons for asking her to stay were largely selfish.  He needed help looking after Alicia, and hadn’t found anyone willing to stick around.  Maybe Em’s seemingly desperate situation would be the leverage he needed.  And it must be desperate indeed.  His conscience had smote him when he’d seen her face pale at the news of her sister’s death.  Watching her sway had brought to the fore instincts that only his little sister could engender.

Perhaps asking a young woman — as apposed to the granny type he’d been hoping to hire — to move in was a huge error in judgement on his part, but he buried the thought.  After all, despite the way she kicked his pulse up, she was as far removed from his ideal woman as you could get.

Yes.  This was a good idea.

“I’m sorry for implying you were.  It’s just that lately, it seems like there’s always someone at the door, or on the phone, trying to sell you something, or asking you to give money.”

She just looked at him.

“As far as the offer goes?  No, I don’t owe you anything, but I could use your help.  And you need a place to stay.  Maybe we can work something out that will satisfy both of us.”

Her eyes narrowed.  Suspicious, wasn’t she?  “You could use my help for what?”

Jonathan sighed and looked up the stairs.  “I moved in here after my father died.  I would have moved Alicia in with me, but she…well, she was uncomfortable with the idea.”

That was putting it mildly.  When he’d asked her about moving into his condo with him, she’d had a meltdown of monumental proportions, but he didn’t think sharing that bit of info with Em…Emmaline? — not knowing her full name was going to drive him crazy — would be in his best interests.

“Our housekeeper has been here forever.  She’s getting old, and she can’t keep up with Alicia and the house.  I could use some help.  I’ve been trying to find someone, but…”

Her jaw dropped.  “Are you asking me to be her nanny or something?  ‘Cause if you are, you can just forget it.  I don’t know diddly about kids.  I don’t even know if I like them that much.”

Jonathan raised his brows.  “You seemed to know how to handle her a few minutes ago.”

“That was just common sense.”

“How so?”

“Come on.  If she thought for a moment that you were really going to do anything to make her stop, she’d have stopped.  I may not know much about kids, but I’m pretty sure they’re not stupid.  They’ll get away with whatever you let them get away with.  Have you ever disciplined her?”

He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.  “If you’re about to suggest I use corporal punishment, you can leave right now.”

“Oh, get a grip, and then get over yourself.  Who said spanking and discipline were synonymous?  I’ll ask again, have you ever disciplined her?”

“Sure.  I’ve sent her to her room before.”

Em rolled her eyes.  “Uh huh.  Where she’s playing with her toys right now?  That’s tough punishment.  No wonder she doesn’t listen to you.”

He ground his teeth together.  She certainly didn’t have any problem sharing her opinions, did she?  He should just hand her her bags and send her on her way, but he found her — invigorating.  Not too many people had the nerve to argue with him.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we?  She’s starting senior kindergarten in a few weeks.  She’ll be in school all day, Tuesday to Thursday.  I’m here evenings and weekends.  You need a place to stay.  I need someone here with Alicia.  There are two of us living in a house with seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms.  I think we can squeeze you in.”

He watched as her eyes darted around.  She looked out the front door — which still stood open.  She seemed to be looking at the stairs.  Maybe she was thinking of making a run for it.  Then she turned and looked across the large foyer where they stood, then up the grand staircase to the second level.

When she looked back at him, she seemed to be chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Would I have to stay with her everyday until she starts school?”

Jonathan shook his head.  “No.  I’m working from home as much as I can.  Mrs Brickman watches her if I need to go out.”

He could tell she was tempted, but she still hesitated.  Lucky for him, he had the perfect carrot to dangle in front of her nose.

Go to Installment 5

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

“Hey!  You give those back!  You…you…richy rich!”

She hoped his head imploded.  With the screeching fore and aft, it was a possibility.  Fortunately, though, she had more control than the little troglodyte at the door.  That one gave no sign of winding down, but M had some self-respect.  She hoped to make a reputation for herself in this city, and yelling and swearing — almost, she’d caught herself in time — in one of the wealthiest areas in town, wasn’t quite the impression she wanted to make.  It was people like this that she’d need to make her plan work.  The people on this street and all their muckety muck friends.

She zipped her lip and barrelled up the stairs.  If she fell, she was suing.  For every penny he had.

Not that she could afford a lawyer.

Jonathan Davenport — a.k.a. Jonny, ha ha —  was just inside the door, trying to get his sister to stop wailing. Unfortunately, he still held onto M’s bags, or she would have grabbed them and run.

He was on his knees, eye to eye with the little monster.  “Alicia, please.  Sweetie, calm down.  I’m not going anywhere.  I promise.”

And the band played on.  The kid had incredible lung capacity.  She could put an opera diva to shame.

M had had enough.  Who was in charge here anyway?  Dumb question.  Obviously the short one.

Apparently the tall one was a wuss.

Not stopping to consider the appropriateness of her actions, she stepped forward, and tilted the child’s chin up with a finger.  She didn’t know squat about kids, but as far as she was concerned, lowering herself to the brat’s level and giving up superiority at a time like this was a bad move.  Counter productive.  With a look that meant business, and a voice to match, she said, “Stop. That.  Racket.  Right.  Now.”

Alicia’s eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut.

Blessed silence.

After pinning M with a glare that nearly robbed her lungs of air, Jonathan stood, then reached down and picked up his sister.  He kissed her cheek and brushed away her tears. “I promised you.  I’m not going away.  Okay?”

She nodded.

Giving her a squeeze, he said, “Can you try not to forget it the next time I walk out the door?”

She nodded again.  After a moment, she kissed him back then flung her arms around him.  Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she said, “Wuv you, Jonny.  Forever an’ awways.”

M watched as his hand came up and cupped the back of her head in a gesture so tender, so protective, it made her ache.  “Wuv…love you too.”

Alicia lifted her head and looked at him.  “Forever an’ awways?”

He looked like he wanted to cry.  “Forever and always.”

Until that moment, M hadn’t even considered the ramifications of Summer’s death.  Her husband’s death.  Okay, she had, but only how it impacted her.  This child had lost her parents.  And no matter how hard it was for M to picture Summer as any kind of mother figure, the fact remained.  For a few years, she had been Alicia’s mother.

Maybe she needed to cut the kid some slack.

Jonathan put his sister down.  “Now, I need to talk to this lady.  Can you go back to your room and play by yourself for a bit?”

In the lightning swift mood change of a child, she grinned up at him.  “K, Jonny.  Bye, wady!”

With that, she charged up the stairs.  And what a surprise.  It was another grand staircase.

M still wasn’t in the mood to play nice, and besides, she didn’t believe he deserved it.  And if she had to keep reminding herself not to turn to pudding inside just because he’d treated his sister with more concern than her own father had ever treated her, so be it.

With her hands fisted and her arms folded over her chest, she tapped her foot.  “My bags, please.  I’d like to leave.”

He moved his own foot and stood on the strap of her bag.

Yeah, call her crazy.  She been so distracted by the scene when he picked up his sister, she hadn’t realized he’d had to set her bags down to do so.  If her brain had been firing at full capacity she would have grabbed them and ran when she had the chance.

Oh, well.  Spilt milk and all that.  And since her life consisted of bathtubs full of spilt milk, she knew how to deal.   Suck it up, and move on.

“Thank you.”

That brought her up short.  “Huh?”  She cringed.  Apparently her vocabulary was packed away like everything else she owned.

“While it certainly wasn’t your place to do so, I’m saying thanks for getting her to quiet down.  I never can.  This is all new to me, and she can be a bit of a handful.”

M snorted.  “That’s not a ‘handful’.  That’s out of control.”

His eyes narrowed.

The words were barely out of her mouth when she began to castigate herself.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Would you learn to keep your mouth shut?

“Sorry.  I…sorry.  She just lost her parents.  Um…how long ago did they die?  What happened?”

He hunched his shoulders, then scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Six months ago.  Summer was…”

She actually heard his mouth slap shut.

“Summer was…?

“Forget it.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Look, either you tell me, or I find out from someone else.  Summer was what?”

She watched him struggle for a moment, then give up.  “Summer was drunk.  She was driving.  They’re dead.”

His words hit her with the staccato beat of bullets from a machine gun.

M kept her expression stoic, but inside, she cringed.  She had to bite her tongue.  How many times had she apologized for her family because they were too lazy, too drunk, too stoned?  She’d promised herself she’d never do it again.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”  Which sounded incredibly trite, but at least she wasn’t apologizing for Summer’s actions.

“Thanks.”  He took a deep breath before continuing.  “Will you stay?”

She shrugged.  “Thanks for the offer, but why should I?  We’re not family.  You don’t owe me anything.  Besides, I’ll figure something out.  I always do.”  Her eyes shot firebombs at him.  “I’m not a charity case or a beggar.”

Go to Installment 4

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

M had been on her own, and taking care of herself — for the most part — for the last eleven years.  She’d made it through a lot, and it took something big to unsettle her.  This went beyond big.  This was colossal.  Galactic.

Feeling the blood drain from her head, she took a step back, as if dodging the blow of his words.  Her hand went to her chest and pressed against her stuttering heart.

“Wh-What?”

He had the grace to look chagrined.

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have been so blunt.  It’s just…well, your presence comes as something of a shock.  Summer never told us she had family.”

Her breath caught.  Well, what did I expect?  That’d she tell her rich new family about her poor old family?

“And in case you’re wondering, she didn’t leave a will.”

M knew he’d just insulted her, but that was the least of her worries.  “It’s okay.  I’m not surprised you didn’t know about me.  Summer and I…we’re not…weren’t close.”  She swallowed.  Hard.  “Well…um…okay.  I’ll be going.  Sorry to bother you.”

Her hand left her heart, and she pressed her palm to her throat.  The taste of copper — the taste of fear — began to flood her mouth, and she wished she could stop it.

What was she going to do?  Her whole plan — okay, she really didn’t have a full-fledged plan, she rarely did.   But her idea hinged on having an extremely cheap — or even better, rent-free — place to stay for a while.  She couldn’t afford to live in this city and start her business.  She’d checked.  To rent a single small room in Toronto would cost three to four hundred dollars a month.  And that was in the scary parts of town.  A one bedroom apartment could cost anywhere from six to — infinity!  Her money would quickly run out at that rate.

Everything had hinged on Summer’s largess, and M had been prepared to beg for it.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the door close behind her.

Good.  She was alone.

Fearing her suddenly wobbly legs would give out on her, she plopped down on the stairs.  Clutching her arms around the bags in her lap, she buried her head in them.

She had to gain perspective.

Her sister was dead — dead! — and she was worrying about a place to live.  She’d often accused her family of being self-centred, and here she was falling into that very same mindset.  But to be fair, her life since leaving home — heck, even before leaving home — had forced her to look out for herself.  She wasn’t self-absorbed, but she’d learned the hard way that she had to keep an eye out for herself.  Nobody else was.

What could have happened?  Summer was — had been — young and healthy.  But she liked to live fast and loose.  Maybe that had finally caught up with her.  But what about her husband?  He was dead too.

She sighed.  She would mourn her sister, but she couldn’t change the past.  She had a very difficult present of her own to deal with right now.

As always, she’d have to roll with the punches.

Oh, well.  She’d been in situations worse than this.  She’d been making it on her own for a long time.  Maybe she could stay at the Y for a bit.  Or just head right back out of Toronto.

No.

That wasn’t an option.  She had a dream.  She had something to prove.  To herself and — well — to herself.  She’d been aimless far too long.  It was time to take a shot at staying in one place for a while.  She wasn’t letting her first setback derail her — even if it was a big setback.

Two things happened at once.  She saw an expensively shod foot in her peripheral vision and heard the voice that went with the foot.

“Why don’t you come inside?  I really am sorry for telling you about your sister like that.”

Completely freaked, she nearly did a somersault down the stairs.  Neither the stone steps nor the tumbled pavers at street level would have been forgiving.

Squelching a squeak, she popped up — nearly taking a header for the second time — and looked at him over her shoulder.

“No thanks.  I’ll be going.”

She wasn’t a fool.  She remembered him asking what kind of game she was playing.  Just as the rich thought they were better than you, they were prone to believing people like her were involved in some nefarious plot to separate them from their money.  And while she had hopes of rich people like him someday making her business a success, she didn’t have to like them, or suck up to them.

And besides, he’d probably watch her like a hawk if she did go in.  As if she was going to steal the silver or something.

“Where will you go?  You said you needed a place to…ah, ‘crash.’”

She looked back toward the street.  “Is there a Y around here?”

“I have no idea.”

M sneered.  “Of course you don’t.  Not your kind of place, is it?”

She started down the stairs.

The sigh she heard could have passed for air brakes on a semi, but she kept going.

“Look, will you stop?  I said I was sorry.  This place is huge.  If you need a place to stay, please stay here.”

The instant she felt his hand grab her upper arm, she wrenched herself away.  What?  First he tries to block her from entering the house, now he was going to drag her in?  She didn’t think so.

She spun toward him, ready to let him have it, when she heard the front door bang open, and the inhuman screech of a banshee cut through the air.  Every muscle in her body clenched and every hair attached to it stood straight up.

It took a moment, but she realized the screech was actually speaking English.

“Jonny!  Where you going?  Jonny!”

M looked up at the child standing in the doorway — how could someone that small make that much noise? — then looked back at Jonathan.  Jonny?  That was laughable.  He so wasn’t a Jonny.

He dragged a hand through his hair, looking beleaguered.  She almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.  Okay — not at all.

“Who — what — is that?”

“My little sister.  Alicia.”

“Ah.  The bratty kid.  And here I thought she meant you.”

At the force of his glare, she nearly did the summersault thing down the stairs again.  She really needed to get off them.  At this rate, she’d die here.  They’d intimidated her at first, but now they were going to be the death of her.

Those beast of prey eyes fit.  He might give the impression of being the body double of a life size ice sculpture, but here was a wolf — puma — in sheep’s clothing.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah…nothing.  Not a thing.”  She started to ease herself backward.  Damn.  When would she learn to keep her thoughts to herself?  She’d spent so much time alone over the years, she’d started speaking them aloud.  Just to hear a voice.  Problem was, she forgot to curtail that little habit when she wasn’t alone and it was always getting her into trouble.

“You mean Summer.  Summer called her a bratty kid, didn’t she?”

She lifted her shoulders and squinched her face at him.  “Well, it’s been a slice.  I’ll just go now.  I really think you need to need to go take care of — that.”

“That” was still screeching loud enough to wake the dead, and M wanted to be long gone when they arose.

Without saying a word, he grabbed her bags from where she’d dropped them and charged back up the stairs.

Go to Installment 3

Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.