Accidental Love (16 page)

"Hi yourself." She turned her attention to Maria, who was picking up the cards that she and the young woman had been playing. "Thanks for staying so late."

"I didn't mind a bit. She's better at rummy than you are," the housekeeper remarked, drawing a smile from Rose. "I can stay late tomorrow too if you need me to."

Ronnie's first response was to say it would not be necessary but upon reflection of what had transpired today at the office and what was going to happen once Tommy found out about the audit, she reconsidered her answer. "Actually, I think I may have to take you up on that. Perhaps you could come in later so you don't have to work so long. I can make my own breakfast."

"Make your own breakfast and dirty every piece of cookware in my kitchen," Maria snorted. "I'll be here at seven like I always am. The only night I can't stay late is Thursday. Carrie and Monica will worry if they don't see me there by six thirty."

"Bingo night," Ronnie explained to her houseguest. "Well, since you're here now anyway, why don't you stay and join us for dinner? I'm sure you made more than enough."

The older woman chuckled. "You know your mother would have a fit if she found out."

"Why? Doesn't her mother like you?" Rose asked, her curious expression turning to a selfconscious frown when Maria gave a short laugh and shook her head.

"Mrs. Cartwright likes me just fine, child. But it is considered bad form to share a meal with the hired help."

"Oh," the young woman murmured, embarrassment tinting her face. She wondered if her friend's mother would disapprove of her as well.

"But my mother doesn't decide who I dine with," Ronnie said firmly. "Now do you think you'd like to eat in the dining room or in here?"

"Um…wherever you want is fine."

"I'll set some places at the table. It will take only a few minutes to heat everything up," Maria said, excusing herself from the room.

"Thanks," Ronnie said as the older woman brushed past her. Now alone with Rose, the persona she had kept in place all day long faded. Her shoulders slumped, her stockinged feet protested being stood on, and the headache she had been fighting made its presence known with full force. She crossed the room and all but flopped into her leather chair. "What a day." She lifted her left leg up, bracing it over her right knee, and began rubbing her aching foot.

"Did you confront Tommy?"

"No. He never showed up," Ronnie sighed. "I ordered an audit."

"Oh."

"Yeah. It's not going to be a pretty sight when he finds out." She began rubbing her foot with more force, using both hands to knead the sore muscles. "On top of that, I had a mountain of paperwork to get through. Laura took off halfway through the day."

"Laura?"

"My secretary," she clarified.

"Oh, she must have been the one that answered the phone when I called."

"Yeah, that's her." Ronnie reversed the position of her legs and began massaging her right foot.

"Oh great," she scowled, looking at the rapidly growing run moving up her leg. "You know, someone should be able to figure out a way to make pantyhose so they don't run the instant you put them on." She stood up, smoothing the dark gray skirt. "I'm going to run up and change. By then I'm sure dinner will be ready." Her eyes fell on the stringy strands of hair surrounding Rose's face. "After dinner I think we'll wash your hair."

"How are we going to do that? I can't take a shower."

"I've got an idea."

*******************

After changing into her sweats and sneakers, Ronnie grabbed a set of keys and headed across the snow-covered driveway to the garage. The original building had been torn down three years ago to make room for her idea of what a true garage should be. Capable of holding four cars comfortably, the garage sported multiple rows of fluorescent lights and a separate alarm system. The back half of the garage served as a storage place. Entering through the door on the side, Ronnie quickly walked over to the control panel and deactivated the alarm.

A quick flip of the switch and the four bays were bathed in a sea of white light. The first bay housed a car hidden by a canvas cover. Distracted for a moment, Ronnie walked to the back of the car and pulled back the cover. The white vanity plate sported the Statue of Liberty on the left side and blue letters announcing the car as "Rons Toy". She pulled the cover back more to reveal the gas cap with the familiar mustang logo. "Soon," she promised herself. Her prized muscle car had been painstakingly restored and the harsh salt of Albany winters meant that it had to stay in hibernation until the flowers started to bloom again. Her fingers trailed over the deep blue metallic paint and her mind drifted back to when she had first bought the car.

It was her senior year at Dartmouth. While she liked the Audi that her father had given her for her twenty-first birthday, she found herself always looking at the weathered Mustang that one of her sorority sisters' boyfriend owned. The paint had been chipped away, surface rust was the dominant color, but when the pedal was put to the floor, the car could blow the doors off anything put up against it. When Ronnie had asked her father for permission to withdraw enough money to buy one for herself, Richard Cartwright adamantly refused, citing that she had a perfectly good car and that the Ford was far too dangerous a vehicle. Ronnie was undaunted, however, and saved her allowance for the entire semester until she could afford to buy it on her own. She drove it home on spring break, much to the dismay of her parents. Her father called it a pile of junk and her mother insisted that she would only get herself killed in that 'death trap'. They tried offers of a new Mustang, threats of financial cut-off, even the old 'ladies of proper upbringing don't drive muscle cars', but none of it worked. By the end of the week all they had accomplished was to make Ronnie even more determined to keep and restore her blue speed demon. Although it was no longer her primary car, she still took it out for a spin occasionally and, the metallic blue beauty was still her favorite.

A slight chill went through her, pulling Ronnie from memory lane and back to the present. She replaced the cover over her Mustang and walked into the next bay. The red Porsche sat there. It was the first time she had seen it since the accident. The fourth bay was where she kept the Jeep and thus far she had made it a point not to go near the sports car. Now she slowly walked around the car, blue eyes taking in all the repairs. Green tape surrounded the edges of the new windshield, no doubt to allow the new rubber sealant to set. The hood, grill, bumper, and front right quarter panel were all gone, the dull gray metal chassis standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the vehicle. A rolling toolbox sat against the wall, evidence of Hans' visits. Ronnie turned away from the car and leaned her hands against the toolbox while she fought to keep her stomach in check. She knew right then that she would never be able to drive the Porsche again. She bit down the resurgence of guilt and took deliberate steps toward the storage room door, all the while telling herself everything would work out, that Rose would completely recover, the damage she had caused could be repaired. She tried three different keys in the deadbolt until she found the right one and stepped into the darkness of the storage area.

It took Ronnie a minute to find the light switch. When she did, she found what she was looking for immediately. In the corner, under a pile of drop cloths was a five gallon work bucket that once held quick-dry concrete. She took it to the work sink nearby and cleaned it thoroughly until the milky white water ran clear. Her task accomplished, Ronnie returned to the house.

*******************

"So what did you think of that last question?"

"I still say it was too easy. Everyone knows even numbered interstates run east-west and the odd ones run north-south," Rose replied, adjusting the pillow behind her head. Maria had left a few minutes before and they were now relaxing in the office.

"If everyone knows that, why do so many people get lost when they go traveling?" the older woman replied, leaning back in her chair and setting her bare feet up on the edge of the bed near Rose's left hip. Since the winter months were upon them and Ronnie had no reason to wear open toed shoes, she did not bother to get pedicures as often as she usually did. In the process of wiggling her toes, a nail scratched against the one next to it. "Well, no wonder I'm ripping up all my pantyhose. I guess it's time to call for a pedicure." She saw a faraway look take over the young woman's face. "What?" she asked softly. "Share with me."

"You were talking about a pedicure and I was remembering when I was thirteen." Seeing the expectant look on the chiseled face of her companion, Rose continued. "The State found a foster family for me for a few weeks and they had a girl right around my age. Stacey loved having me around because I was a willing guinea pig for her to practice cosmetology on. She loved to play with nail polish. She had rows and rows of bottles on her dresser in every color you can imagine." Rose absently reached down and put her fingers on Ronnie's toes. "Well, one night we got in a mood. We painted every nail a different color. I can remember that on my toes it went from plum to avocado to this hideous purple to…" As she spoke, her forefinger brushed across each of the long nails of the bare foot. "The funny thing is that we were up past our bedtime and we didn't have time to remove it. We went to school the next day and when we went to take a shower after gym class everyone saw our toes." She chuckled. "It really was funny. I mean, between the two of us there were twenty different colors on our feet. After that, Stacey deliberately wore different shades of polish on her fingers. That was the last time I polished my toenails."

Ronnie looked at her quizzically, then rose and went to the foot of the bed. Within seconds the oversized socks were removed to reveal Rose's toes. "When was the last time someone gave you a pedicure?"

"That was it, if you could call that a pedicure. I just use clippers to keep them short now. Ow, easy."

"Oh, sorry," Ronnie apologized, letting go of the little toe she had moved to get a better look at the one next to it. Can you feel that in your ankle?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't wiggle them. My legs hurt enough as it is."

"When was the last time you took anything?"

"No, it's not that bad right now. I'd rather wait until I really need it."

Ronnie looked up and remembered what she wanted to do that evening. "Are you ready to get your hair washed?"

"You figured out a way?" She sat up, prepared to get back into the wheelchair.

"No, you stay here. I've got it all worked out so you don't have to get out of bed." She looked at the adjustable bed, currently up in a comfortable angle. "You're gonna have to lay the bed flat, though."

A few minutes later Rose was lying on her back across the bed, her head hanging off the side. A towel braced behind her shoulders dangled down to protect the mattress from any soapy water. Ronnie was sitting on a stool taken from the kitchen, the white five-gallon bucket nestled between her knees. A large towel lay on the floor below to catch any spills. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Ronnie poured the water slowly over the blonde locks, using her other hand to help distribute the liquid over all the hair. She poured a generous amount of shampoo on her hand and worked it into a lather. Ronnie did her best to support Rose's head, taking some of the strain off the young woman's neck. "How's that feel?"

"Niiiice," she murmured, green eyes half-closed. "You have strong fingers."

"I work out. Am I pressing too hard?"

"Oh no, it's just right."

"Good." Ronnie continued to work her digits into the soft hair, thoroughly cleaning it. "Time to rinse. Keep your eyes closed." Using her left hand to hold Rose's head up, she gently rinsed the shampoo out. Once the majority was gone, she put another dollop of the strawberry scented liquid into her hand. "Round two."

"You're going to wash it again?" Rose asked with surprise.

"Of course. You know the directions. Lather, rinse, repeat." She worked the shampoo into the golden hair before the young woman could tell her not to. "I take it you only wash it once?"

"Yeah, it uses less shampoo that way. My hair always looks clean. Lots of people only wash it once." Rose leaned into the gentle but firm pressure of Ronnie's fingers. She was treated not only to a second washing, but to having conditioner combed through her hair. Twice the executive had to get more water but the results were worth it. The soft overhead light bounced off the various shades of Rose's hair, creating a golden aura around the young woman's face.

"Looks great." the dark-haired woman said, noting the smile that came to her companion's face upon looking at herself in the hand held mirror. "Doesn't she, Tabitha?" she asked the cat who decided the water was no longer a threat.

"Mrrow?" Two seconds later, the orange and white purring machine was perched across Rose's belly.

"Ooof, you are definitely gaining weight."

"I think Maria's giving her scraps but I can't prove it," Ronnie said with a smile. "I just know that every time she's cooking that furball comes out of the kitchen licking her lips."

Ding, ding, dong, dong
. The deep tones of the doorbell rang throughout the house. "Who could that be at this hour?" Ronnie asked, looking at the clock on the stand. "It's almost ten." The doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by furious pounding against the solid oak door.

"Ronnie? Ronnie, open the fucking door!" The shout followed by more pounding and tones from the bell.

"I'll be right back." She slipped her sneakers on and tucked the excess lace into the sides. Tabitha jumped off the bed, sensing something more interesting was about to happen in the other room.

"Oh no you don't. You stay here with your mother." Ronnie picked up the protesting feline and set her back on the bed, this time within reach of Rose's hand.

*******************

"Ronnie! Open this fucking…" The words died in Tommy's throat when he saw the outside light come on and heard the lock being turned. "Well it's about time."