“I LOVE YOU. SEE YOU in a few weeks.” He might be saying the words but I don’t see or hear the sincerity in his voice or his actions. The man before me is a stranger. Nothing about him feels familiar. Maybe it’s me.
“Love you too,” I reply automatically to Donovan as he climbs into the waiting taxi. He’s heading back to L.A. for a few meetings. He didn’t give me the option to go with him, but that’s okay because I want to stay home. I feel as though all I’ve done this year is travel back and forth. I need some time out. Some time on my own to relax and unwind. But most importantly, to think, without any distractions.
Think about me for a change.
I stand on the front steps and watch as his taxi drives away. He waves, but there’s something odd about him today. No, it’s not just today. For the past few days he’s been on edge, distant, as though there’s something bothering him.
He’s probably just worried about some contract. That would explain why he’s had to rush back to the States. He was meant to be home with me for another few weeks. I’m sure he’ll tell me what’s wrong as soon as he sorts things out. That’s just the way he is; he likes to deal with things on his own.
I turn and head back inside when I see the taxi go through the gates and then they start to close. I should use this time to catch up with my friends, especially Julie. We’ve hardly seen each other the past six months with my schedule. But first I plan on tidying up this house, not that it really needs it, but it gives me something to do. Something to occupy my mind.
With music on and turned up loud, I find myself singing along as I work from one room to another cleaning downstairs.
My dad’s house keeper does a great job of keeping my house clean and tidy when I’m in the States, but when I’m home I like to do it all myself. I find it therapeutic.
The buzzing of the intercom distracts me as I work in the kitchen. I’m not expecting anyone. “Hello,” I say.
“I’m looking for Mr Bell.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve just missed him.”
“I have some papers I need to drop off that require a signature.” He continues to tell me his name and the company he works for so I can clarify it, which I do, before letting him into the grounds. He’s from the company Donovan bought his car from.
I pull the bobble in my hair tighter as I walk through the house. I open the front door to see what looks like a recovery truck. There are two men in it and they both get out. I cross my arms over the front of my body, suddenly feeling intimidated. I wish Donovan was here, or even my dad or brother.
I pull the door closed behind me and walk down the steps.
“What can I do for you?” I ask nervously. One man is wearing a suit, very smart looking and professional, while the other, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to mess with him. He’s big, very big, his muscles bulge in his arms and he’s scary as he stands looking at me. Reminds me of a good cop, bad cop situation.
“I’m here to recover Mr Bell’s car.”
“What do you mean?”
“His car is being repossessed. He’s not made a payment in the last six months.”
I hear what he’s saying but I still don’t understand. Repossessed? This must be some sort of a joke, although I’m not seeing the funny side. “Miss, I have all the paperwork here, but I do need the keys.”
“Oh,” is all I can say as I look at the papers now in my hand. “Does he know?”
“He should. He’s been sent letter after letter.” I nod, and with the papers still in my hand, I go inside to get the keys. There must be some sort of a mistake. I look at the time but it’s too late. I can’t call him; his flight has already taken off. I’ll give him a call when I know he’s landed.
With the keys in my hand, I walk back outside, and the guy I wouldn’t want to mess with is already lowering the ramp on his truck. I hand the keys over to the guy in the suit. I sign the paperwork that he sticks in front of my nose, glancing over it briefly. The paperwork confirms that Donovan hasn’t paid but this is all weird. It just doesn’t make any sense. He hands me over copies that I’ve to give to Donovan and I stand back and watch as they take away his pride and joy.
I run back inside. None of this adds up. Why would Donovan fall behind with his car payments? I find myself in his office, opening drawer after drawer. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
Then I find it in the last drawer of his desk. A pile of unopened letters, some addressed to Donovan, but some addressed to me. I start opening them one after another, quickly scanning each. The letters addressed to Donovan all say he owes different companies money; he’s behind in not just car payments, but his visa card payments.
With the letters addressed to me in my hand, my body shakes. What are all these? I open the first and try to take in what it says. I sink to the floor and tears fill my eyes. This can’t be right.
How is this possible? I’ve never heard of this company before. What the hell has he done to me? To us?