Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (31 page)

Claire glanced toward the window, where water dripped down the pane. You could also hear the cold rain thumping on the roof. “You’re going to go out in the rain to cook them?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just toss the steaks in the broiler?”

“Hey, you know something,” Ashley gazed at the stove, “you’re right. I guess I could do that.”

“Why not,” her mother added. “There’s no sense in you getting soak and wet. You don’t want to wind up getting sick before your big trip. Plus, you still have other paintings you have to finish.”

That, for Ashley, was yet another reminder of how, even though she was an adult, her mother would always be looking out for her.

Suddenly she felt deeply ashamed of all of the stress she had caused her mom. From this point forward, Ashley hoped to change that. Hoped to become a much better person.

When the morning had finally arrived when Ashley was scheduled to fly from Newark to London, Stephen showed up at her cottage in a white stretch limo.

To Ashley he looked like a movie star.

The limo, along with the surrounding neighborhood, was blanketed with fresh snow, about an inch on the car and two inches on the ground. Giggling children, including Caitlyn and Brent, were ambling down the street, throwing snowballs.

The powdery flakes were falling steadily, and according to the weather report, the snow wasn’t expected to let up until sometime during the evening rush.

By then the prediction was that the New York tri-state area would have an accumulation of up to a half of foot.

Immediately Stephen and the chauffer helped Ashley load her suitcases into the trunk.

“Is this all the luggage you have?”

“Yes,” Ashley answered, handing Stephen, who wore a trendy black trench coat, another heavy bag. The digital readout on the dashboard indicated that it was eleven o’clock. Their flight was scheduled to take off at one.

“Where are your paintings?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the porch where the canvases were stored in attaché cases, to prevent the artwork from being damaged.

“That’s all of them?”

“Yep.” The larger canvases had already been Fed-Exed to England.

“All right.” Stephen walked over to get them.

That’s when Ashley’s mother and Troy, clad in winter jackets, suddenly stepped out the front door. Claire had the baby.

For a reason, which Ashley did not fully understand, Troy was still friends with her mother. So much so, he had even spent thanksgiving with her, as well as with Rachel and her husband Mark.

Stephen looked at them both in shock. He had never been introduced to either one of them.

“Oh,” said Ashley, also startled. In the excitement of the moment, she had forgotten that they were here. “Stephen, this is my mother, Claire . . . Claire Whittaker.”

Forcing a smile, the tall, well-dressed sculptor politely extended his hand. “Hello. So you’re this talented young lady’s mother. Wow! I can certainly see the resemblance. You too, Miss Whittaker, are an exquisite blonde beauty. So happy to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Same here,” said Claire, smiling, and adjusting her pink hat. “My daughter has told me so much about you.”

The snow seemed to be intensifying. Above, black crows cawed loudly and landed either on the telephone wires or in the sugar-sprinkled trees.

“And this is Troy,” Ashley acknowledged. A few weeks back when she had told Stephen about Kimberly, and how she was a widow, she had also told him about Troy.

Now it was apparent that Stephen felt threatened.

When Troy went to greet him, Stephen acted like a snob and ignored him. Rather than shake his hand, he addressed the baby.

“Hey there cutie pie. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

***

Troy could not believe how rude this man was.

Did it take too much of an effort for Stephen Sorbello to shake his hand and say hello?

Furthermore, what was up with that menacing stare?

Stephen was looking at Troy in a way that seemed to imply, if he could get away with it, he would take him out back and drown him in the ocean!

***

“I think Kimberly’s cold,” Ashley commented, noting how flushed her daughter’s cheeks were. The bundled infant also shivered and seemed to be dumbfounded by the falling flakes. “Mom, in a couple of minutes, could you take her back in the house.”

“Absolutely. As a matter of fact, as soon as you leave, I’ll give the baby some warm milk.” Claire kissed Kimberly on the forehead.

“Thanks. Gosh, what crummy weather this is.”

“It is nuisance.”

“I mean, jeez! Why couldn’t it have snowed tomorrow?” After brushing powder from the brim of her beret, Ashley began to help Stephen pack the rest of her things into the limo’s sizeable backseat.

The middle-aged chauffer stood watching. He was very dignified with a thick Bostonian accent.

“Need a hand, sir?” he asked, holding the door.

“No thanks,” Stephen replied. “We’ve got it, Richard. You can resume the wheel . . . We’re about ready.”

“Mr. Sorbello,” Richard said, now trudging around to the driver’s side. “If this snow picks up, I might need to stop at a gas station to have chains put on the tires.”

“You’re funny Richard. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

***

Not long after the limo had driven away, Claire, to her surprise, had discovered, in Ashley’s bedroom, that she had forgotten one of her paintings.

Hmn. I never saw this one before
, she thought, studying the canvases’ content.
This is so sweet and it might be the most realistic painting Ashley has ever done.

Right away Claire rushed into the kitchen and reached for the phone, to make her daughter aware of the situation.

As expected, Ashley was displeased that she had left the sentimental portrait behind.

What is more, based on the cadence of her voice, it was obvious that she did not want Stephen to know about her blunder. In a nervous whisper, Ashley had asked her mother if she would drive to the airport to drop the painting off.

Naturally, Claire said she would. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her daughter. That’s how much she wanted to see Ashley succeed.

“Okay,” Troy said, while feeding Kimberly the bottle of warm milk. “If we’re gonna head to the airport, I guess we’d better leave now before the storm gets worse.”

“We have to leave now anyway,” Claire told him, hanging up the phone. “I’m not a city driver so it’s going to take us double the time to get to the airport than it would for a normal commuter.”

“Hey, I’d offer to drive,” Troy said, grabbing, from the counter, his gloves and wool cap. “Except I’m not a city driver either.”

As anticipated traffic headed into the city of Newark was, slow moving, and just about every motorist driving along the slushy Garden State Parkway had his or her headlights on.

“This weather is a pain in the ass!” Stephen griped, as the limo passed a noisy Greyhound bus. It smelled heavily of diesel. “I hope the weather in England is more promising than this.”

“It couldn’t be much worse,” Ashley, joked, watching the limo’s small color TV. It was next to the mini-bar.

“No,” said Stephen. “Good point. It couldn’t be much worse. I had this problem a year ago trying to fly out of Denver. Don’t get me wrong, I like snow if I‘m going skiing. But I don’t like it when I have to travel.”

“I don’t like this weather either. I said that before.”

“And,” he elaborated, sliding his suitcase on the floor a little to the left to give his feet more room. “The way this storm keeps getting worse, we’ll be lucky if our plane even leaves the runway.”

Ashley frowned. “Stephen, must you be so negative?”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe the flight will be delayed or cancelled. But you bitching and moaning isn’t going to change the outcome. Why don‘t you just sit back and relax?”

The chauffer could not see what was taking place back here. He could not hear anything either. The tinted partition was shut.

Now, while Stephen indulged in a snort of brandy, it didn’t take long before he would return to the issue of Troy. As soon as they had pulled out of Ashley’s driveway, that’s when the complaining had started.

“Don’t you see what this guy Troy is doing?” he asked.

Ashley shrugged. “Not really, Stephen. Tell me, what is he doing?”

“He’s using your mother to get back with you.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? You don‘t need a guy like that trying to win you back.”

“Will you stop?”

“No. I will not stop. This guy Troy is a nobody, Ashley. He’s just some bum who works at the corner market. Why would you possibly want to maintain a friendship with somebody like that? C’mon, use your head. He can’t help your career.”

Ashley found the statement to be highly offensive.

“Excuse me, Stephen, where do you get off putting Troy down for what he does for a living? Don’t you remember, before you hit it big, you once worked in a shoe store?”

Stephen shook his head and looked at Ashley as if to imply that she was crazy to bring that up.

“Yeah. But there’s a big difference, I always knew I had a future. Back then, I was just paying my dues. I wasn’t like you. It took time for my talent to blossom. In those days I had to work at whatever job I could find to keep a roof over my head and to put food in my gut.”

Having heard enough, Ashley amusingly clamped her gloved hand over her mentor’s mouth.

“Mr. Sorbello, you should stop talking now,” she urged, trying to make him laugh. “Before you continue saying things you might regret.”

“How old is this guy Troy Young?”

“He’s in his mid thirties.”

“So he’s almost as old as me, about six or seven years my junior.”

“What’s the point?”

“There is no point. I was just wondering. Anyway Ashley, maybe you can’t seem to let this guy go because he saved your life.”

No. For Ashley that was only part of the attraction she felt for Troy. Mainly she liked him for the person he was. It was that simple. Either you clicked romantically with someone or you didn’t. She and Troy had chemistry, and Ashley could care less about what he did for a living.

“I guess what I’m getting at,” Stephen added, “is when we’re in London I don’t want you to be distracted thinking about this man. If you ask me, it seems kind of silly of him to be paling around with your sixty-year old mother, and helping out with your baby daughter.”

“Troy loves Kimberly.”

Stephen sighed. “I’m sure he does. C’mon, I’m begging you, Ashley please-”

“What?” She stared deep into his eyes.

“Focus on your art show, not on this guy.”

“I will.”

“You had better. I’m warning you right now, you don’t want to blow this opportunity.”

“I won’t.”

***

The snow had begun to come down harder.

What is more, it had become so dark out it seemed more like evening than nearing twelve-thirty in the afternoon.

“Do you think we’ll make it there on time?” Troy asked, as he and Claire in her minivan gradually made their way to the airport.

The traffic was horrendous and the visibility may have been a quarter of mile, if that! The high-pitched windshield wipers were also having difficulty keeping Claire’s line of vision clear.

“I hope. This portrait of you and Kimberly is probably the most compelling painting in Ashley’s latest collection. I can’t believe she forgot to bring it.”

Troy fiddled with the radio dial, trying to get an updated forecast. So far, he kept tuning in static.

“Ah. I just think your daughter has a lot on her mind. And that conceited brat Stephen doesn’t make it any easier on Ashley the way he’s always pushing her.”

“Are we getting testy Troy?”

“Hey, I apologize Miss Whittaker. Except I can’t hide my feelings. Look at the way that guy snubbed me. What a jerk. I don’t like him.”

Partially hypnotized by the plummeting snow and the squeaky windshield wipers, Claire uttered, “Obviously, I can see that.”

“And from what you’ve been telling me, it sounds like he tries to control everything Ashley does. I’m sick of that guy! If your daughter does make a name for herself, I hope she tells that egotistical control freak to go back to wherever the hell it is he came from.”

“Whoa! You really are upset.”

“How could I not be? Who does this Stephen Sorbello think he is?” The only radio station Troy could get in clearly was still playing music. Presently a song by Whitney Houston.

“Troy, please, try to be patient. I know it isn’t easy for you watching Ashley jet across the Atlantic with her mentor. But remember, this man is helping my daughter. Let’s not lose sight of that.”

Still quietly grumbling, Troy glanced out the window on the passenger side. The pine trees that lined the highway were not only covered with snow, also icicles.

“So what do you think of the portrait she did of you and Kimberly?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Let me take another look at it.”

“Remove it gently.”

“I will. I promise I won’t scuff it.” Troy reached into the backseat and then carefully withdrew the delicate painting from its protective leather case.

“Well?”

“I love it. It’s very impressive, as is everything your daughter paints. Her work always leaves me speechless!”

“Me too,” said Claire. “Ashley is a mastermind. There’s no doubt about that. And you can definitely tell in that particular painting she was attempting to depict you as the baby’s biological father.”

The airport in Newark was mobbed.

In addition, just as Stephen had feared, the snowstorm had caused several delays.

Including Ashley and Stephen’s flight into London, which was now scheduled to depart an hour late. Plows were doing their best to keep the runways safe and passable.