CHAPTER 4:
JUNIPER
The neighbors were super friendly.
First that guy Ben Turner had come over, momentarily freaking me the hell out by just barging into the house. I almost peed my pants he scared me so bad. I’d thought for sure he’d call the cops on me, but instead of realizing that I was a criminal, he’d mistaken me for some random girl named Lilly Davenport. I guess she used to live here and her family still owned the place. Then a second member of the Turner family came over.
How many Turners were there?
Her name was Ellie. She had the same dark-chocolate brown, nearly black, hair and exceptionally blue eyes that her brother had had. And she was equally as warm and welcoming.
“Ellie Turner at your service,” she stated when I opened the front door for her. I’d since turned on a bunch of lights, figuring there was no need to sit around in the dark anymore. “Wow, Lilly,” Ellie said from behind a pile of plates. Each plate was wrapped in foil and whatever she was holding smelled delicious. “You really grew up,” she commented.
I didn’t know what she meant, but I played along.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Okay.” She handed me the first plate with foil. “Lasagna.” Then another plate. “Some garlic bread.” Then a third. “And a few cannoli. My grandmother on my mom’s side is Italian. So you know those are the fucking real deal there. Enjoy.”
And that was it.
She was gone as fast as she’d come—back down the steps to the front porch and off with a man who’d been waiting at the bottom of the steps. I stood in the doorway, dumbfounded for a moment, with my plates of food. These people were way too trusting. Maybe I didn’t look like the typical burglar, but did any of them know what this Lilly Davenport actually looked like?
Whatever.
I hadn’t eaten all day long and with food now in my hands, I became ravenous.
I slammed the door with my foot and then rushed upstairs. Right this moment, I didn’t care how authentic the cannoli and lasagna was, I shoveled it in like… well… a pregnant lady. Afterward, too tired to be frightened or weirded out by staying in this house all alone, I went upstairs and crawled under the covers of the first bed I found.
Sleep came easy tonight.
* * *
At the first break of sunlight, I woke up. I wasn't sure if I'd been dreaming or having a nightmare, but this jarring feeling hit me like the wind being knocked from my lungs.
It took me a second to remember where I was—oh yeah, the beach house.
I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, reminded myself that, at least for the moment, I was safe. Then I started a mental debate—to leave or not to leave? That was the question. Ellie and Ben from next door had both mistaken me for this Lilly person, but maybe someone else who knew her family would more easily see through the lie. I needed to leave before I was discovered. I needed to find a new house to hideout in. But this bed I was lying in was so cozy, tempting me otherwise.
My bare feet slide across the warm sheets, taking in the feel of them.
See, tempting.
All the more reason I needed to go.
That was when I heard a loud rap on the door downstairs.
“Ah!” I screamed, one sharp sound escaping my lips. It was super early for someone to be at the door.
Shit, what if it was Quinton!
There was another knock. And I heard a muffled voice from outside.
“Lilly...it’s Ben.”
Oh. I relaxed a little.
Then, semi-reluctantly, I crawled out of bed and hurried for the front door.
Meeting Ben yesterday was a strange sort of instant friendship. Kind of like the feeling you get when you haven't seen an old friend in years and you wonder if it will be awkward seeing them again, but it totally isn't and you pick up right where you left off. That was what it was like with Ben. The moment we met we'd clicked like old friends. He was easy to be around. Nothing sexual about it, nothing awkward, nothing other than an immediate level of comfort.
I pulled open the door and there he was again, wearing jeans, a black sweater, and a grey scarf today. A relaxed smile came to his lips.
Ben was a good-looking guy, in the very obvious and classic kind of way. With his dark hair, blue eyes, slim athletic build, and perfect amount of stubble on his face, I’d bet he had no problem picking up women.
Not my type.
I guess I had a thing for the tortured souls. But it was worth stating that he was handsome, because he was, even if he wasn't my kind of handsome.
“Hello, again,” Ben said, pushing his hands into his pockets.
He had an easy way when he spoke, like he could talk to any stranger off the street with no fear or anxiety. I, on the other hand, as an introvert, had a really hard time making conversation with strangers. That was why the friendship connection I felt with him was so surprising. Then again, maybe it was all him, and I had little to do with it.
“So, I spoke with my mom briefly before she went into the office, and she said the next time she's showing the house is Monday at noon. If that's okay with you?” Ben explained.
It didn't really matter because I'd be long gone by then. But just to clarify, I asked, “So it's okay for me to be staying in the house during the whole selling process? I mean, obviously not while she’s showing it to people, but the rest of the time.”
“Yeah, until the house's settlement day it still belongs to your family.”
Interesting.
Maybe I could make this work for me.
“How long do you think it will take to sell the house?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A couple months. Houses around here go pretty fast, but even if someone wanted to buy it tomorrow, there’s a whole process which takes time. I’m sure my mom would be happy to explain it all to you if you wanted.”
The last thing I wanted was to see Ben’s mom. Ben and his sister hadn’t recognized that I wasn’t Lilly, but I had a feeling other members of the family might. It would be risking staying, but part of me really wanted to consider staying. A free, million dollar, possibly multi-million dollar, house to stay in until I figured things out—that sounded kind of wonderful.
Was it too good to be true?
I realized then, glancing down at my outfit, that I'd slept in my clothes from yesterday and these were the only clothes I had. I didn’t have a car, or a phone, or the first clue which direction the nearest store might be. I had one thing though, this person standing in front on me, who seemed very willing to help me for some strange reason.
“The food last night was delicious, thank you,” I told him. Because if nothing else, I needed him to know that.
“No problem. Was Ellie weird to you? Sometimes she can come off—what's the word?—abrasive. She doesn't have much of a filter.”
His sister had seemed completely normal to me. Part of me wondered why he hadn't brought the food over himself, but at this point, that was irrelevant. There were more important issues weighting on my mind. “Your sister was fine. But would you mind telling me which way is the nearest grocery store? And how far? I'm unfamiliar with the area, and I left my phone behind on the way here. Is it walking distance or is there a bus I can take?”
A small smile touched his lips, like he found my predicament slightly enjoyable somehow. “I could drive you.”
“No,” I said flatly.
Maybe it was a Southern thing to be super friendly. Yes, Virginia was a Southern state too, but in the part of Virginia I was from, close to D.C., we all lived by more of a Northern way of life. This sort of friendliness, ‘love thy neighbor’ crap wasn’t something I’d ever been accustomed to.
“Look,” he said, that inkling of a smile disappearing. “You wouldn’t believe what a shit-storm my life is right now. I literally can barely breathe in this town, and that has got nothing to do with the smell of salt in the air. My skin physically itches it’s so bad. So you should let me take you to the store. I have nothing else going on today. Nothing.”
Well, hello, Mr. Tortured Soul.
“Okay. Fine. Let’s go,” I told him.
I was intrigued by him now. His little outburst had won me over.
* * *
After that we parted ways, and I hurried to get ready. Thank God, I at least had a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some of my makeup in my purse. Once I was ready, I ventured over to his house. He was waiting outside, keys in his hand, and the moment he saw me he unlocked a black Jeep Cherokee in the driveway. “It's my mom's old car. She's letting me use it. They sold mine after—” He started to explain something, but abruptly stopped himself mid-sentence. After what?
We got in the car and he never finished his sentence. I didn't pry. But I did wonder how old he was...still living at home and still relying completely on his parents. I hadn't even spoke to either of my parents in almost a year.
He started to drive, and I just couldn't stop myself. “How old are you?” I felt a little rude asking, but curiosity kept me from being polite.
“Twenty-one.”
Damn. He was young. It hadn't really occurred to me that he was younger than me. He didn't look that young. He seemed like he was the same age as me. I guess at twenty-one, still living at home wasn't that big of a deal.
“What about you?” he asked. “You're twenty-one, too, right? I thought we were the same age.”
Fuuuuck! Shit. My heart started to race. On the outside, I tried to remain calm.
No, I wasn't twenty-one. I was almost twenty-seven. I sure as hell hoped I could still pass for a twenty-one-year-old.
You're Lilly Davenport, I reminded myself. And, apparently, Lilly Davenport was only twenty-one.
“I'm twenty-one, too. I forgot for a minute we were the same age.”
I sure hoped he thought I was just a little ditzy because, at this point, I felt like a moron. I squeezed my hands together in my lap, hoping I hadn't totally blown my cover. I tried to play it off by making more polite conversation.
“So, did you have a big night out drinking when you turned twenty-one?” I asked.
Way back when, almost six years ago, when I'd had my twenty-first birthday, my college friends at the time had had a huge night out at the bars for me. It had been fun, especially since I rarely drank. I figured, a good looking, preppy, outgoing guy like him... well, I figured he'd probably had exactly the same type of twenty-first birthday. But his response shocked the hell out of me.
“No, I didn't celebrate it,” he told me. “I was in prison at the time.”
Fuck, again.
You know, from here on out I was just going to shut my mouth and stop talking. If I kept asking the wrong questions and saying the wrong stuff, eventually I'd reveal that I wasn't this Lilly person.
Keep it together, I mentally warned myself.
I had just one more question I had to ask.
“Why were you in prison?”
I had to ask, even if that meant risking my identity, because if he’d done something super terrible then I needed to get out of this car immediately and away from him as fast as possible. I'd gone to juvenile detention as a teen, for my long list of petty crimes, so who was I to judge him for his past mistakes, but I needed to know because I had the safety of the baby growing inside me to worry about.
“Desertion from the military,” was his answer, direct and to the point. There was pain in his voice as he said it, too, like he was ashamed of it. I didn't know the first thing about the rules in the military, or what desertion truly meant, but I knew just from the way he said it that it wasn’t a good thing.
Still. Desertion wasn’t murder. So, it didn’t really matter to me.
He pulled into the parking lot of a Food Lion. Oh crap, I hadn't been paying attention while he was driving to know which way or how far of a walk it was from the house. I’d have to be a little more aware on the way home.
I climbed out of the car, shutting my door behind me, ready to get my shopping done.
“So there's a Starbucks not far that way,” he told me, as he joined me on my side of the car. He pointed off in some random direction that meant little to me.
“Okay?” Not sure why he was telling me this.
“Mind if I go get some coffee while you shop? Then we can meet back at the car.”
“Oh…sure.” I didn't mind but was a little disappointed he wasn't going to go in with me. Actually, maybe this was a good thing. Because this would give me chance to buy the prenatal vitamins I needed, and do some budget shopping without generating lots of questions from him.
“You want me to get you a coffee?” He'd already started walking off in the direction he'd pointed.
“Yes,” I shouted after him. Then I remembered coffee was a no-no when pregnant. “Um, no actually, no coffee. That's okay. Thanks though.”
“You sure?” he shouted back.
“Yeah.”
By now he was yards away, seriously, like he couldn't get away fast enough.
I tried not to be offended by it and hurried inside the store to do my shopping. Between the bus tickets and the sweatshirt, my money had been cut in half already. I bought tons of ramen noodles, boxes of pasta, canned soup, and cereal. I knew how to eat cheap. Before Quinton introduced me to his cushier kind of lifestyle, I’d always lived paycheck to paycheck. I could manage…at least until I found a job around this town.
On the way out, I asked the store manager if they were hiring. He told me no but to come back and check with him again closer to summer. That was when business would pick back up again. It made me wonder about my job prospects in general. It seemed like when it wasn’t tourist season around here, everything slowed way down.
Outside as I walked across the parking lot, a wave of nausea hit me. I wasn't sure if it was morning sickness or anxiety over what the store manager had just told me.
What if I couldn't find a job until summer? It should have occurred to me sooner that jobs would be scarce in the winter months here.
I found Ben waiting by the car. He had two drinks, one in each hand, a water and his coffee. “This is for you,” he said, handing me the water.
I set my bags down on the ground. They were pretty heavy. And I took the water from him. “You didn't have to get me anything,” I told him, brushing my hair out of my face. I opened the bottle and took a sip. “But thanks.”
“I felt weird not getting you anything, though. And sorry I kind of freaked out on you before.”
What? “When?”
“When I didn't go into the grocery store." He nodded off toward Food Lion. "I don't think I've ever gone in there once without running into someone I knew, sometimes several someones; I couldn't do it.”
“And Starbucks was the safer bet,” I commented, laying on the sarcasm. “Because no one goes there.”
That made him smile, almost. I saw it; the corners of his mouth moved a little. “I scoped it out from the window first. It was clear.”
He set his coffee on top of the car and moved to grab my bags. I let him. Because, frankly, I wasn't sure if I should be lifting anything heavy now that I was pregnant. Plus, he was a strong and capable man, he had it covered.
Once we were back in the car and on the way toward our houses, my nausea eased a little. Maybe the water had helped. Up until now, I hadn't really had much morning sickness. My best guess was that I was around six or seven weeks pregnant. Maybe I wouldn't get much morning sickness at all, or maybe this was just the beginning.
Staring at him out of the corner of my eye, watching him while he drove, I considered telling Ben I was pregnant. Then I decided against it. If I told him, he'd probably mention it to his family. Then what if his mom called Lilly's mom to congratulate her or something like that and this whole thing would be ruined. The less Ben knew about the real me the better. I kind of hated lying to him, though, and it made me feel queasy all over again.
We reached his house, he grabbed my bags again, and we both walked over toward the Davenports’. I'd left the front door unlocked since I didn't have a key. We went in together, and he brought the bags into the kitchen.
“Your mom is on my fridge, by the way. I noticed it this morning.” I pointed to the magnet on the fridge with the women I had to assume was his mom. It was an advertisement for her real-estate company—one of those calendar magnets. It said, “Susan Turner, Sandy Shores Realty Company,” in big bold letters.
“Oh yeah. My mom wants me to go to work for her, become one of her minions,” he told me, a small cringe in his voice.
I started unloading the cold stuff out of my bags. I'd done well at the store today. I only spent fifty dollars and had a lot to show for it. I'd be set for a couple weeks.
“One of her minions?” I asked, wanting him to clarify.
“That's what Ellie calls her employees. My parents’ company has expanded a lot in the last couple of years, and she has several other realtors, including my dad, working under her name now. She wants me to work in the office and then ultimately get my real estate license also. I owe my parents a lot of money so I need to find something soon, to start paying them back.”
Damn, I wish a job like that would just fall at my feet. I worked in an office as an assistant once, it had been a really great job. “You should do it,” I told him bluntly.
“What?” He sounded shocked. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at me while I stood there with the fridge door wide open. “You're not going to tell me to follow my dreams, do what makes me happy, never settle, etc.”
“No, I won't.” Maybe the rest of our generation had that attitude, but I sure as hell didn't. I'd been fighting for myself my whole adult life, it was called being an adult. “I guess I'm more of a drudge-through-the-shit and endure type of a person. If you owe your parents money, then worry about paying them back first. It sucks being in anyone's debt. You can follow your dreams later.”
“Wow. Honesty. How refreshing.” He stared at me rather hard, kind of making my insides squirm a little.
“Sorry.” I swallowed.
Were we having a moment?
“Don't be sorry.” He inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I've got to go. How about...same time next week? I take you to the store again? Assuming you'll still be staying here and all. Maybe then I'll actually be able to go into the store.”
“Okay. If I'm still here then, okay.”
“Okay,” was his answer. And then he left. And I finished putting away my groceries.