3

tabby

 

“Mrs. Worthington, you really don’t need to worry about Sandy,” I pleaded with the old woman as she bustled her way back to the chinchilla’s room.

I still couldn’t believe the damn chinchilla had its own bedroom. This is obviously what happens to old ladies who lose their husbands and don’t have grandchildren.

Is this my future?

“I’m just going to have a peek at him, Tabitha,” she called back in a sing-song tone that told me there would probably be kisses and cuddles involved in that peek.

Just then, a couple walked through the front door of the old Victorian property. Their gaze immediately soared to the vaulted ceilings, grins overtaking their young faces at the awe-inspiring dose of natural light that swept the room. They were the kind of people I kept an eye out for, not folks like the long-haired and tattooed Prince of Grunge that walked in earlier. People like that wandered in off the streets for the free coffee and doughnuts, but this couple? They had interest, and interest meant potential sale.

“Good afternoon!” I approached with a beaming grin, holding out a manicured hand. “Thank you so much for stopping in. I’m Tabitha Clarke, agent and owner at TC Real Estate.”

The young man gripped my palm in his. “Sam,” he responded with a friendly smile and my heart flinched at the name. He placed a hand at the small of his partner’s back. “This is my wife, Margo.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam,” I slipped my hand from his and nodded toward the pretty blonde, “and Margo. Are you looking to buy?”

She bobbed her head excitedly. “We just got back from our honeymoon in Belize, and we’re looking for a house in the area.”

Perfect. Newlyweds. “Well,” I enthused, welcoming them into the home with a sweep of my arm, “this is the perfect place to begin your new life together. The homeowner actually told me that she and her late-husband—”

“Excuse me,” Sam interrupted with a grimace. “Did you say … late-husband?”

Fuck.

Moistening my lips, I nodded hastily. “Uh, yes. They had bought the house—”

Sam reached out to grip the shoulder of his new wife. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Clarke. We don’t want a house that was owned by a dead person.”

Margo nodded apologetically, frowning and reaching for her husband’s hand. “We want a house with history, but not that much history,” she explained flimsily, and I fought hard against the roll of my eyes.

“The home was built in the late-1800’s,” I reminded them. “It clearly states that in the newspaper listing.”

Sam nodded. “Right, but … we just …” He looked to Margo for backup.

“We just thought everybody had moved out before they had passed away. I’m so sorry for wasting your time,” and before I could give them my card, they turned and walked out the door.

Son of a bitch. The day wasn’t going nearly as planned, and I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly I was doing wrong. The place was staged beautifully, the coffee was fresh, and the doughnuts were fluffy. Greyson was hanging out with Sandy the chinchilla, so I couldn’t even blame his less than chipper attitude for scaring potential buyers away.

I kept telling myself that it was just an off day, but dammit, I wanted to sell this house. I needed to. I was desperate for the boost to my confidence and I had no idea where else I was supposed to get it, if not from making this sale.

I tipped my head back and allowed myself a moment to groan. I ran my hands over my face, just as the pocket of my nicest black pants began to vibrate. My personal phone erupted with the chorus of the Foo Fighters’ “M.I.A.” and I pulled it out. The number was unknown, and I rejected the call.

“I swear, I get more spam calls than—” Just as I was pocketing the phone, it again began to ring. Same number. “What the hell?”

Clearing my throat, I accepted and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello. This is Tabitha Clarke. May I ask who’s calling?”

A throaty chuckle drifted into my ear and I narrowed my eyes. Before I could ask the no-name caller what exactly was so funny, they replied, “You know, in a world of bullshit callers who are just dying to phish for your information, do you really think it’s the smartest thing to answer with your name?”

It was a man’s voice. Warm and smooth. If I wasn’t too busy being taken aback, I might’ve marveled in the attractive quality of his tone.

“Excuse me?” I replied brusquely. “Who is this?” I certainly had no idea. I’d remember a voice like that.

“Right, I probably should’ve answered with that first. My bad. No filters.” He cleared his throat. “Here, I’ll give you a hint: You wrote me a letter.”

My eyes widened and I smiled with the realization that I was actually talking to Greyson’s father. “Oh my God, is this Sebastian Morrison?”

I couldn’t believe my letter had gotten there so fast. I mean, it’d been several days since I had written it and dropped it in the mail, but I never expected a phone call so soon. He must’ve only just received it.

“Well, it’s Sebastian Moore now, but yeah, that would be me.”

Sebastian Moore? Was he married and changed his name? I wondered if I should ask, and then thought better of it. It wasn’t any of my business. I didn’t know him and he knew even less about me. So, instead, I prepared myself to jump right into asking him when we could meet, when he started talking again.

“Yeah, you’re probably wondering about that. So, it’s nothing crazy or anything, just when I was younger, I went by Sebastian Morrison, but my manager thought I’d get more jobs as Sebastian Moore. Sounds better, right?”

Well, that piqued my interest, as I headed toward the kitchen. “More jobs?”

A moment of silence clouded the space between his line and mine before he answered, “Wait. So, you know nothing about me?”

“Not really,” I shamefully replied, kicking myself for not thinking to do a Google search on this guy.

“Hm,” he grunted, probably judging me for the very thing I was berating myself for. “I’m a drummer.”

Of course, he was a musician. Sam always had a thing for musicians, especially the drummers. “They keep the rhythm better,” she’d tease me, and I’d roll my eyes at her. And I rolled my eyes to the ceiling then, asking her why it couldn’t have been an accountant or a doctor.

“Of course you are,” I muttered, not intending to say it aloud.

Sebastian hit me with that throaty chuckle again. “What the hell does that mean?”

Laying a hand over my eyes, I winced. “Nothing. I’m sorry. Um, so you got my letter?”

“I did, and as you can imagine, I kinda shit myself when I read it,” he replied just as another young couple walked through the door.

Dammit. Professionally, I should’ve been running to greet them, but desperation was taking over and I wanted nothing more than to speak to Sebastian.

“One moment,” I said politely into the phone before lowering it to my shoulder. I approached the couple and quietly introduced myself. “Tabitha Clarke, realtor. I just need to take this important business call for a few minutes, but if you need me, I’ll be right in the kitchen.”

“Thank you very much,” the young woman replied with a pretty smile, hooking her arm around the young man’s before they took themselves on a tour of the house.

I ducked into the kitchen and put the phone back to my ear. “Sorry about that. I—”

“Real estate, huh? That sounds like fun,” he mentioned sarcastically, obviously having overheard. “I bet you’ve seen all kinds of shit.”

“Uh, what?” I stammered, laying a hand on the cool granite countertop.

“How many cat ladies have you dealt with?”

What the hell is this guy on? “I don’t—”

“Hoarders?”

“I’m sorry,” I interjected, pressing my fingers to my temple. “Can we please not talk about my career right now, and instead discuss the reason for my writing to you?”

“Right,” he replied, his voice gruff. “Sorry. So. I have a kid. That’s unexpected.”

I nodded. “I can only imagine how shocking this must be for you. I … I honestly have no idea why Sam wouldn’t have—”

I was interrupted by the sound of rustling and glass clinking on glass. “Fuck,” he grumbled into the phone, and then added, “Sorry. Can I call you back?”

“Uh, I—”

“Yeah, I know. Really inconvenient timing, I got it. But listen, I thought I could have this conversation without alcohol, but I really don’t think I can. I need to run to the store and grab some.”

Part of me wanted to roll my eyes at the interruption, but then, I couldn’t say I blamed him. “Yeah, sure. I should be getting back to work anyway. Maybe you can give me a call tonight, around six?”

“Oh, Tabby,” he chuckled lightly, using a nickname I hated and hadn’t heard since I was a child. “It’s a date.”

 

***

 

Mrs. Worthington held Sandy, all nestled in the crook of her arm as she stroked the soft fur along his back. “I’m worried I’ll never sell this darn house,” she sighed with a gentle shake of her head.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “Sometimes offers come in a day or two later. It’ll happen.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure who I was lying to more; her, or me.

Not a single person had expressed interest in the place. A few stragglers had walked in, searching for a free doughnut or a cup of coffee. A handful of couples showed up too, but not a single one approached me with a serious offer. A few took brochures but that was where the intrigue stopped.

Hope was dwindling.

Greyson grabbed for another doughnut and I held out a hand to stop him. “Hey, we’ll be eating dinner soon.”

Rolling his eyes, he reached over my outstretched hand. “I’ll eat doughnuts for dinner.”

“You’re killing me, Grey,” I grumbled with a sigh, laying my hands over my face. “Anyway, Mrs. Worthington, don’t worry. I will sell this place, even if it’s the last thing I do, okay? Trust me. I’ve never failed a customer yet.”

But wasn’t there a first time for everything?

The white-haired woman smiled and continued to stroke the chinchilla. “I trust you, honey. Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Collecting my paperwork, bag, and nephew, we left and drove home in silence. Silence was better than fighting, and when we got home, I offered to order a pizza to save us the inevitable dinner argument. Greyson grunted his agreement before running upstairs to get some drum practice in.

Dropping down to the couch, I ordered a pepperoni pie and laid my head back. Staring at the ceiling, I let myself slip into the painful place of missing my sister.

She had made life difficult on me by having Greyson. From the very beginning, I felt a responsibility to be the stable sister, to always be someone the kid could lean on when things got rocky with his mom. But even through the self-imposed pressure, I always loved her. We had a good time together, and she’d been my best friend.

My phone startled me, as Sebastian’s name popped up on the screen.

“Mr. Morrison,” I promptly answered, smiling politely. “Thank you so much for—”

“Okay, Tabby,” he began with a breathy chuckle, “can we drop the formal bullshit? I don’t know how to do this crap, let alone talk like I’m in a faculty meeting or whatever.”

Stunned by his abrasiveness, I blinked and sat up straight on the couch. “O-oh, uh, sure. Sorry. This is usually how I handle busin—”

“This isn’t business,” he interrupted.

“I guess you’re right,” I agreed softly, nodding. “So, um, what should we—”

“Why did you write to me?”

My lips pressed into a tight line at being interrupted for the second time. “I already explained that in my letter.”

“Right, I’m looking at it right now. You’re having a difficult time with the kid. He’s had a rough year, and so have you—I got it. But you didn’t explain it to me.”

My lips tipped downward into a scowl. “I wrote to you because I need help. I have nobody to turn to, and I’m sorry that you were—”

“Don’t apologize for it,” he cut me off again, and my fist clenched. “I’m just asking, what is he doing? Is he standing on the roof and screaming fuck the world? Is he setting the place on fire? Or is he just being a pain in the ass kid who lost his mom?”

Wiping a hand over my face, I shook my head. What the hell did it matter? Did this guy think he was some kind of teenager whisperer? “O-kay. Um, well, he’s having a really tough time in school. Kids are bullying him. He’s completely lost interest in everything other than his video games and music, he won’t listen to a word I say, we fight all the damn time, and he’s … I don’t know. He cries a lot. He’s never been an emotional kid like this, and—”

“Tabby, the kid lost his mom.”

“Can you please stop interrupting me? It’s incredibly rude,” I finally snapped.

“Sorry. You’re just saying all this shit to me and I think you think he’s acting fucking weird or something, but the kid lost his mom. He’s mourning. I mean, I’ve never dealt with a kid whose lost nearly everybody within a short span of time, but he sounds pretty fucking normal to me,” Sebastian prattled on with a nonchalant tone.

I had spoken to the man for all of a few minutes and I already couldn’t stand his casual confidence. “I’m not saying it isn’t normal,” I pushed through the phone. “I’m saying that I’ve been having a difficult time trying to help him and still maintain my position at work. I have …” I wiped a hand over my mouth, unable to believe that I was actually about to confess these things to a man I didn’t even know, but I continued. “I have had my life flipped entirely upside down in the past year, and I haven’t been given the fucking chance to handle shit myself, let alone for him. I am in over my head and I just need some help. I thought that, if you had any interest in being involved years ago, then maybe—”

“Yes,” he replied curtly and kindly, and I froze, my hand pressing against my heaving chest.

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ll help. What do you need?”

“Oh, uh …” The truth was, I hadn’t thought this far into it. I don’t think I expected him to be agreeable. “Well, um, maybe you’d like to meet, and we can go from there?”

“Definitely,” Sebastian replied enthusiastically. “You guys are in Hog Hill?”

“Uh, y-yes,” I stammered. “But we could come to you, if that would make things easier. I don’t know what your work schedule is like, or—”

“Nah, I have nothing going on right now. How’s tomorrow?”

Startled, I mentally ran through my itinerary. “Uh, tomorrow? Wow, that’s … soon. I need to talk to Greyson about … all this. But, um, I guess tomorrow could work. I’ll be in the office early in the day, but that’d be great, if you don’t mind the drive. How about you call me when you’re close and we can decide on a place to meet?”

“Sounds good, Tabby,” Sebastian replied. “What’s the kid into, by the way?”

I shrugged. “Um, video games and music. Drums.”

Sebastian chuckled, and I tried to ignore the way it made me feel. Warm. Almost good. “Well then. We’ll get along just fine.”