Shay…
Too many things are happening at once.
Good things, I hoped.
But still, I couldn’t catch a solid breath. My heart raced like I’d sprinted an entire mile.
In twelve minutes, one new about-to-happen thing had been sprung on me: a call from Ben.
In seconds, the one I’d been waiting three hundred sixty-four days for would happen.
The house sitter’s blue Outback reversed down the long driveway, swung a wide arc into the street, then puttered away.
I eased out from behind the wide tree trunk I’d been hiding behind. “There you are,” I whispered, exhaling a held breath. From the shadows of the giant elm, I stayed motionless, watching, waiting. Hands clenched around the straps of my two bags—my small backpack slung from one shoulder, the double straps of my larger duffel tucked over the other—I began to loosen my grip.
Dead ahead, the modern Tuscan villa appeared gigantic across the wide asphalt street. To the casual observer, its heavy wood doors and shutters, stacked stone walls trimmed by stucco, and clay tile roof would seem out of place in a neighborhood dominated by Colonial Revivals and French Baroque’s. Then again, the sleek cars parked in circular drives and under porte cocheres screamed new money, from the likes of Maserati, Bugatti, and even a matching pair of Teslas.
“Looks like home to me.” At least for the next twenty-four hours, all I felt comfortable with. All I need.
Once all mechanical sounds in the neighborhood disappeared, car engines gone distant and garage openers silent, I stepped out into the warm morning sun in broad daylight and crossed the street. The new brazen move fired through me like a rite of passage. As if all of a sudden, on that one day, with that house, I no longer wanted to hide anymore.
“I blame you, Ben,” I grumbled under my breath. But no anger powered the words, only a little humor. And maybe gratitude. After all, I’d been pushing Ben to test his limits. About time I did the same.
The salted cement driveway remained the same: spotless, not one tire scuff on it. I floated trembling fingers over a cape honeysuckle hedge that had been recently trimmed, its squared top softened by new-growth fluff and brightened by orange tubular flowers.
Around the corner, in the large arched entryway, two new sentries greeted me. Italian cypress spirals corkscrewed up from hefty stone planters and stretched far above my head.
But I didn’t waste any more time on the sameness or differences as my heart raced faster. I wanted to be inside, the door closed behind me, to get past the anxiety I swallowed down.
Took me two tries to get the custom-made key to slide into its slot. No fumbling with lockpicks on the special houses; I’d made it a priority to get a set of keys made for our most important clients: Henrietta the house sitter’s and mine.
But all my apprehension melted away when the deadbolt clicked open. I slipped inside, then locked up tight.
With giddy eagerness, I turned with a knowing smile, tugged even wider by who waited for me, possibly with more anxious excitement than I had.
A beautiful blue-point Himalayan sat at attention in the center of the entry hall, strong paws kneading against the tumbled travertine floor, creamy silver body vibrating, bright ice-blue eyes staring up at me with anticipation. Her deep bass purr echoed off the walls, broadcasting her joy.
Miss Princess Persephone. “Hello, little one.” With care, I eased my bags to the floor, careful not to startle her. Then I lowered to my knees and held my hands out in greeting.
If she took an obligatory sniff, I’d missed it. Because her face skimmed along my fingers. She lifted her velvety chin, eyes closing, as I scratched under her jaw. Suddenly, she pounced forward onto my chest, and I fell back laughing as she began to knead those muscular paws against me.
“I’m happy to see you too, girl. I’ve missed you.”
Tears stung my eyes as emotions flooded in. Eight years I’d been coming. Every year, same exact anniversary date, each just as special as the last. Because the borrowed house of Miss Princess Persephone’s had been my first. We’d both been teenagers back then, her a downy half-grown kitten, me a scraggly mostly grown girl.
I rubbed through the silky fur over her shoulders, fingertips gently massaging the muscles underneath, remembering that gangly kitten that’d greeted me on my debut break-in. We’d had a lot in common back then: young, afraid, alone in a giant empty house for the first time in our lives.
Why I came back year after year. To celebrate both my independence and as a homecoming.
“Awww, that’s right. You love to be rubbed there, don’t you, Persie?” All her favorites flooded back to me, one after another, as I stroked the silken fur at the base of her ear, then stiffened the fingers of both hands as I massaged down along either side of her spine.
Both of us startled at the riotous sound of a ringtone coming from my backpack. And even though I’d been expecting the call, even though he’d texted me back with an eighteen minutes countdown text followed by a winky face, the intrusion felt bizarre. No one besides Persie and me had ever disturbed our private silence when I’d been there.
By the beginning of the third ring, I sat upright and unzipped my backpack. The phone’s screen lit brightly in the shadowy entry. One name appeared in bold block letters: BEN.
I clicked the button. “Couldn’t go a whole day without me?” The barbecue had ended late yesterday afternoon, but the agreement I’d made with Ben over an unusual tangerine dessert—to have a date on some yet-to-be-determined day—had kept him on my mind ever since.
Apparently, Ben had missed me too, which made me smile a little.
“Nope. It’s a special day today.”
I frowned.
It is.
But how do you know that?
“For who?” Distant warning bells clanged in my mind, but I discounted the threat immediately. The whole world didn’t revolve around me. Of course. For him, he meant.
“For you.”
Oh. I closed my eyes, breath held while I said nothing. Maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it aloud, Ben knowing wouldn’t be true.
When the silence stretched, he cleared his throat. “Rafe told me.”
I blew out a tense gust of air, relief washing through me. Rafe. A safe source. Because he would reveal only the bare minimum. Still, I didn’t want a full-blown parade about it. “No big. No special day...just like any other day.”
“It’s your birthday. It is special. And I’m taking you out.”
My heart started to thunder again. My breath reduced to short gasps. “I...”
Could I take the plunge? On today of all days? Never having put myself so far out there before, I hesitated. But this is Ben. And standing in a house that’d been my first break in—after surviving for years on my own, unafraid and daring to try anything—maybe I could.
Fear shot through me a split second later. Doubt flashed right after it.
No. This is Ben. Maybe if I reminded myself often enough, I’d believe Ben would be safe.
“I could pick you up at six...” His voice had softened, uncertainty in his tone.
We both wandered into the unknown, unsteady about what lay ahead, and that gave me a little courage. “No...” Not here. But where? “Could I meet you somewhere?” Somewhere far away from here.
Silence filled the seconds. Then a heavy exhale from his end. “Like where?” Frustration clipped his tone.
“Do you want to take me out, or not?” Because if Ben wanted tonight, it would be on my terms, at my comfort level, no matter how badly he wanted me to let him all the way in. I wasn’t ready for more. Not yet.
A low chuckle came through. “Yeah, I do. But you won’t make it easy on me, will you?”
“No way. Where would the fun in that be?”
He gave a light snort. “Nowhere at all.”
“See? We’re on the same page here. And I’ve seen this go down in movies. There’s courting. And romance.” Panic seized my breath when I realized I might’ve revealed too much. I firmed my tone. “Do this right, or we’re not doing it at all.”
“Okay...” He cleared his throat again. “Miss Shay Morgan, may I have the pleasure of your company tonight?”
I stood up from the cold stone tiles of the entryway, fighting a grin.
Persie sat upright too, bright blue eyes blinking up at me as she waited.
My knight-in-shining-armor fantasy had arrived—over a telephone I hadn’t even wanted.
“Well?” His word huffed out in half-laughter. And with it, the untarnished image of my bold and hopeful knight on his white steed shattered to reveal the reality of a dark impatient man, arms crossed, brows raised in challenge.
I ignored his attitude, secretly loving his defiance. “Seven.” That would give me most of the day I wanted to myself, then time to get ready before walking there. “What about that Fairmount Park place?” The one from the card he’d given to Joey at the diner a week ago.
“Uh...yeah. I happen to know the owner.”
“I know. I remember.” Cade and Hannah’s restaurant. He probably knew all the restaurant and bar owners in Glenhaven. Small towns made for close neighbors. But if I wanted to walk there—and getting there on my own was the only way I’d agree—the options were limited.
I sighed, growing uneasy. Can I handle being in the middle of Ben’s world?
Before I chickened out, he agreed. “It’s the perfect place. I’ll meet you at seven.”
The phone disconnected right after his last word. Like he’d sensed my indecision and obliterated that possibility with speed and precision. I stared at the screen as it turned black.
Why is it the perfect place? Perfect for what?
Perfect for our first date, for something new. Don’t read anything more into it.
As I scooped up my backpack, then shouldered my heavier duffel, a thought hit me. “This old place could use some new too.” I headed out from the entryway, resolved.
My bright-eyed kitty trotted beside me, an excited spring to her steps.
Caution weighted mine, every methodically placed heel-to-toe guiding me with care through a house I visited the least, even though it affected me the most.
The first room appeared on the left, its double doors thrown wide open.
I paused at the threshold. My feet held fast, rooted to the floor out of instinct, self-preservation...tradition.
But I forged on, determined to break through everything that had held me back before.
A king-sized bed stretched along a wall, a full bathroom opened up straight ahead, but I walked directly toward the low, wide dresser off to my right.
I opened its top center drawer, wondering what I would find. Would it be obvious or hidden? Would they have erased the evidence all these years later? Or would everything remain exactly as I remembered?
What I didn’t do is look up into the large mirror. I didn’t need to see the rest of the room, didn’t want to discover anything new about its inhabitants. I already knew enough.
The old drawer scuffed on its side rails as I pulled. Halfway open, it jarred to a stop. But there in plain view lay my answers. Off to one side, a few baubles gleamed in segmented trays: necklaces, bracelets. But in the center, with nothing else touching it, a single white glove rested on black velvet, flattened fingers stretching toward the back. Ghostly, it appeared as if it could float up, puff out, and slide over a woman’s arm. But it would forever remain unfulfilled; its mate had been stolen away.
With me. Where we belonged.
For the first time, a part of me wanted to leave behind the glove I’d taken, rid myself of the past. But a deep-seated defiance kept my stolen glove tucked away, kept it mine.
With a steadying breath, I hiked my backpack higher on my shoulder, shoved the drawer closed, then exited the room, planning never to step foot in there again.
The next room appeared on the right. Over the years, it’d been filled with little-girl dreams. But Barbie dolls no longer occupied the far corner. No Hello Kitty pillow rested on the bed. Teen idol posters that’d been tacked onto the wall had been replaced with vintage travel posters, hung in respectable frames.
The only thing remotely childlike skewed much younger: a white crib stood tall in the near corner where a second twin bed used to be.
Not even one pot of lip gloss sat on the dresser, only a purple wide-toothed comb and a few makeup brushes. On the small desk, one corner held a stack of what appeared to be college textbooks.
My throat cramped. My chest grew heavy. I didn’t want to step foot in that room. It felt wrong and foreign. Far different than when I’d first broken in all those years ago.
The last room loomed at the end of the hall. With renewed purpose and a healthy dose of detachment, I walked toward the partially open door that led to a large office. When I slipped through the opening, sameness greeted me everywhere. Floor-to-ceiling oak shelving spanned an entire wall. Yet the space seemed smaller than I remembered, or I felt taller. Than a year ago? I wondered if I hadn’t been paying much attention last year. Or maybe it had more to do with who I’d become in the three hundred and sixty-four days since. Or over the last week.
Every book appeared the same: rare copies and first editions by the likes of Thoreau and Dickens. But with the thick dust that coated their jackets and the shelves between their spines, they didn’t seem to be treasured, only collected.
Trinkets and random objects lay in generous spaces, as if cleared specifically to showcase each item. With great satisfaction, I stared at an empty wood surface where a patinaed coin had once lain. In eight years, nothing but dust had replaced it.
Continuing on with my ritual, but venturing into new territory by peering deeper, I crossed to the desk. Using the sides of my fingers, I pulled open the right-hand drawer, somewhere a man who collected prized things might stash a folding knife.
I sucked in a surprised breath.
A folding knife laid there, one a good size-and-a-half larger than the one I’d stolen. But that wasn’t the shocker. Beside it rested a semi-automatic handgun, its black metal gleaming and magazine fully seated, with a loaded spare angled in the back part of the drawer.
In all the times I’d returned, they hadn’t changed the front door lock once, hadn’t installed an alarm, nor any security cameras. I knew, because I checked every single time.
But the gun? Why would he get a gun?
To defend against intruders?
Without any comfortable answers, I closed the drawer and put the danger out of my mind.
They’re not home, Shay. As far as anyone knows, you’re not even here. That’s the way it’s always been. No tracks. No trace. How I needed to keep it.
I turned my back on the office. Then I retraced my steps into the center of the empty hallway. The cat had abandoned me somewhere along the way.
My eyes stayed wide open, but my gaze grew unfocused. All around me sat rooms, empty of people, but filled with hints and reminders of who they were.
Their story bled through without me having to stand face-to-face with them. They all seemed cold and indifferent—adult and out of touch with who they’d once been.
But the girl standing in the center of all the emptiness had discovered exactly who she was and no longer needed one stolen thing in her backpack to remind her of it.
“Well, that’s new,” I murmured, amazed at the revelation.
What have you done to me, Ben?
Somehow the gruff man had burrowed into my head and my heart...and changed me in fundamental ways. Invincibility charged through my veins. I’d grown up, yet I still felt the most important parts of me snapping wild and alive just under the surface.
My backpack vibrated. “Thinking of the devil...” Ben had probably sent another text.
But I forced new out of my mind. I had an annual ritual to finish.
The impersonal guestroom called to me, a haven that sheltered me from the mental chaos of the empty house. I breathed easier the moment I entered the botanical room. Buttercream walls met gauzy window coverings with green silk braids that fastened them back. Colorful flowers had been pressed and framed on the nightstand. A dark purple orchid sat on a small writing desk in front of the window. An ensuite bath held a giant freestanding marble tub, plush ivory guest towels folded over its edge.
I stood tall in my self-designated neutral zone, in enemy territory.
With a satisfied nod that all was well with my annual inspection, I tugged the phone from my backpack and stuffed it into my back jeans pocket. Then I tucked my bags under the large queen bed. Not that anyone would see them. But I left nothing to chance when I stashed my stuff. No tracks. No trace.
But when I stepped out through the guestroom doorway and glanced down the hall at an educated man’s office, an obedient girl’s bedroom, and a grown-up master suite, a fading part of me longed to announce my presence. Kinda like on a street corner not far from there, under a pool of lamplight, when a girl I’d once known who’d fled from her supposed protection visited once in a while to say See me. I’m here. I’m still alive.
But the people who belonged to the house I stood in didn’t have a right to know, nor did they need to know. The only one who needed to know I still existed—that I still survived in spite of a grave injustice? Me.
I walked from the hall toward the front door with a new sense of being. My steps were lighter. My heart beat stronger than ever before.
Because I’d changed. A different person had just trespassed in that house. A grown woman.
My back pocket vibrated. I smiled as I exited the house and locked the door from the outside. And as I stood in the shadows of the entryway, I finally pulled the phone out.
Ben had texted.
Miss me yet?
With a headshake and the remnants of my smile, I repocketed the phone. “How could I miss you? You’ve been with me the whole time.”
Then I vanished into the thick bushes at the back of the house and connected with the woods that edged the upper-class neighborhood.
I had an unofficial appointment to keep back at my real home, deep in the forest that surrounded my park.
“Trin!” I called out into the vast surrounding forest.
The hidden clearing remained the same, as it always had year after year. Access had been granted to only those few who’d been shown which blackberry thickets to navigate through, which mossy boulder to turn left or right at, which overgrown ferns hid a worn pathway under years of pine needles and leaf litter.
A few shafts of sparkling golden sunlight broke through the overhead canopy, shimmering as the wind rippled through branches. A gift had been delivered from the Gods to us mortals, ribboned treasures that begged a child to dart through. And I did. On a deep breath of pure air scented of earth and rain and dreams and possibilities, I raced through ancient sunbeams that’d been strung down from the skies. Warm then cool, sun then shadow, light then dark. Freedom and joy filled my heart as I remembered who I truly was, where I’d come from.
Leaping steps rocketed me fifteen feet up a boulder staircase that’d been etched into the side of a mountain eons ago by water, wind, and probably some massive glacier that had scraped by. When the ball of my foot hit the flattened top, I launched into the air and howled a low ahhhwwwhhhooo into my beloved forest, claiming my territory, calling out to those who knew.
“Ahhhwwwhhhooo...” replied a faint soprano as I landed onto a giant pile of leaves.
A blur of movement flashed by and raced up the boulders. Melodic laughter tinkled from above before the airspace beside me exploded in a flurry of leaves.
I belly laughed and sat up, propping an arm behind me. “You under there somewhere, Trin?”
“Yes.” The pile rustled and she sat up. A lion’s mane of dried orange leaves framed round blue eyes that blinked heavily. Plump cheeks had flushed pink. A tiny dimple marked her chin. She grinned.
“You look like king of the jungle.”
“Raaawwwrrr...” Small hands clawed the air as my favorite cub growled out her best roar.
“Well done, little one. You’ll have them shaking in their boots in no time.”
“Hey.” She rose to her full four-and-a-half-foot height, leaves tumbling everywhere. “I’m not little. I’ve grown five inches just this morning.”
“Uh-huh. How old are you again?”
“I turn eleven next month.” She dropped her hands onto her hips.
Same age as me when I’d hit the streets. Strange to think I’d ever been that young. But youth and freedom tended to breed resourcefulness and cunning.
“You keep growing at that rate, you’ll be a thousand feet tall by the time you turn eighteen.”
“I’m a giant!” She lifted her arms, curled her fists in, and tensed her small biceps in a classic muscleman pose.
“Yeah, ya are.” No doubt. The amazing things that kid accomplished put the most notorious pickpockets to shame.
“It’s in my blood.” She gave a definitive nod, raining crumbled bits of leaves from her hair.
“Royal lineage.”
She spun on her heel, threw her arms wide, then timbered backward onto our soft forest pile. “A runaway princess.”
I collapsed back down to join her. “Now running with thieves.”
“Best place in the world to be.”
“Agreed.” Especially on a private birthday, my own secret celebration. “Speaking of, were you able to hit Tony’s for me last night?”
“Course.” She crunched fistfuls of leaves, then tossed them into the air. “Dropped a couple cool by midnight.”
“Awesome.” She’d been a fast learner. And Rafe and Bear had insisted that if Trin was going to survive on her own, she needed the same skills I’d had.
“Why’d you need me to?”
“Because I’m growing up too.” Wouldn’t be there forever, needed someone to pass the torch to.
“Five inches a morning?”
I smiled. “Something like that.”
“What else like that?”
“I’m going on a date tonight.”
“Ewww...” She scrunched her face. “With a boy?”
“An older boy.” A man. But she’d freak if I used any term that remotely sounded like a grown-up.
The leaves rustled, like she’d moved her hands behind her head. “How older?”
“Older than me.”
“Do I have to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Date a boy.”
“You could date a girl.”
She fell silent for a few seconds. “Why do I have to date at all?”
“Don’t have to. Just...” I shrugged. “Don’t you get lonely sometimes?”
“No way. I’ve got Lando and Tony and Bear. Plus, a new kid showed up last week.”
“At the home front?” Unlike me, Trin came from a foster home. Not the worst of them, but not the best of places either.
“Yup. His name is Michael. He’s quiet, though.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“And he likes books.”
“Everything right there.”
“Ya think?”
“I know. Quiet and bookish? That one might be worth it.” Worthy of her time, maybe at some later point, someone she could open up to, rely on.
She looked skeptical. “We’ll see.”
Trust ran thin with that one. I knew the feeling.
But hell, she talked to me. That was something. One day she’d feel comfortable enough to test the waters again. Probably not for a while, though. Trin had never had a dad and her mom died a few years back from a drug overdose. The adults “responsible for her” were strapped, with lots of mouths to feed and a big roof to pay for over all their heads. But at least Trin had a place to go where she could clean up and sleep safe.
Which reminded me, I had a few other favorite places to visit, people to check on, then just enough time to get cleaned up in a giant marble bathtub. “I gotta go.” I stood from our leaf pile, then gave her a hand up.
“N’ts cool. The art fair’s about warmed up by now. Lunchtime.” She waggled her brows. “Tired parents.”
“Pockets o’ cash beggin’ ta be picked.” I plucked a few remaining leaf bits from her mass of blond hair. Not that it mattered much. Cute kids were invisible. Made for best kind of stealth.
She flashed a wide grin, then disappeared through the trees to the north.
I headed south, back to where I’d come from.
For the briefest moment, I wondered what Ben would think if he caught a glimpse of my world.