The Beginning of Always (14 page)

I didn’t answer. Alistair held my gaze. Silence stretched with nothing much besides the hums and honks of New York life vibrating up to us. We were on the edge of the world, secluded and isolated.

Just the two of us, unspoken words laced with understanding. Just like always.

I was the first to look away.

“I need to talk about the details of your business,” I said to my notepad.

Alistair didn’t answer, and when I glanced up, he was checking his watch.

“I have a meeting in twenty minutes. I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.” He began standing, so I took that as my cue to leave as well.

“Well, in that case, I’ll be going for the day,” I said as I hitched my bag strap over my shoulder. “I have to go back to the
Journal
building to type up my notes.”

Alistair reached into an inner pocket of his suit coat. He pulled out a business card and, without warning, he reached across the table to grab the pen from my fingers. Our fingertips brushed momentarily, and a shot of completely alarming heat burst in me. But Alistair didn’t notice. He flipped over the card to scribble something on the back.

“This is my personal cell phone and my address. I have a building Thomas wants me to look at tomorrow afternoon, but I’m free after five. Come over and we’ll continue this.”

“Where are we meeting?”

“My apartment.”

Meeting at his apartment? Warning bells sounded. I parted my lips to tell him how inappropriate that was, but he was already halfway to the golden gates.

And like before, I rushed to catch up.

The ride down was as dead silent as the ride up. I counted the floors as they slipped by, all in a bid to distract my racing mind. Soon we were in the blinding white corridor with the photographic trophies pasted up on them.

I leaned slightly to the left, ready to exit.

“Alright. Thank you for your time.” I reached my hand out, and Alistair grasped it. His handshake was strong, his fingers powerful.

Wall. Wall.

Emotional cement.

I stretched my mouth in what I prayed was an easy smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Florence.” He was already distracted, pulling away and thinking of something else. Someone else.

Good.

Right?

He held up his cell phone. “I have to make a call.”

“I’ll let you get on with your business. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for your time today.”

Alistair nodded and turned, his eyes on the screen of his phone, dialing whoever his meeting was to be with. He cradled the phone in between his shoulder and ear, pushing his way into his office. When he disappeared, I swiveled and nearly ran my way through the opposite pair of doors.

The rest of the office was already back from lunch, and the ladies in Contracts scurried over to continue our morning conversation. I indulged them as best I could and after twenty minutes, I fought to take my leave.

The women’s voices followed me as the elevator doors closed, yet I made no effort for the buttons. I slipped silently down. My reflection blinked back at me from those glassy walls. My hair was pulled in a tight bun and my outfit was perfectly acceptable. Not too tight. Not too loose. Shoulders covered, no cleavage to speak of. I wore simple jewelry and my heels were a conservative height.

And my entire being was quivering with the memory of Alistair.

I kept my gaze on the floor for the rest of the ride.

Chapter 8

I
jumped off my bicycle and wheeled it behind the woodpile outside. I was going to the bus station right after and needed to get there before my 4:00 p.m. ride. I told Bill and Sandra I was spending the night out at Kevin’s place and he promised me he wouldn’t snitch. I gave him some story about a girl and the pervert ate it up.

All in all, it should buy me enough time to get out of the state. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice I was gone until tomorrow afternoon.

I really needed to get going, but there was one thing I had to attend to first. It was illogical for me to waste time like this. I could have bought an earlier ticket if I hadn’t spent my night crawling through the forest. But it didn’t feel right to leave without accomplishing this first, and since I was here already, I might as well follow it through.

I slipped my backpack off and jammed it in between two logs. I rested the bike across the space to block the backpack from anyone’s view, and then I stooped to retrieve the paper bag I’d rested on the grass.

I trotted quickly over to the front door and deftly knocked twice.

Florence’s mom opened the door. I shifted uncomfortably. She always creeped me out. She had Florence’s eyes but they were light blue to the point of being this weird shade of off-white. She never smiled and hardly spoke. Bill told me she used to be pretty, and I was sure she was since Florence was gorgeous. But I supposed Mrs. Reynolds hadn’t aged well. Deep lines furrowed the spaces framing her ashen lips, and her cheeks and her eyes were sunken amidst yellow-gray skin. She always appeared halfway to wasting away to nothingness.

“Um. Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” I started awkwardly.

“Hello, Alistair,” she answered in a flat tone.

“Is Florence home?” I fidgeted in my spot. But this was normal. I came around and saw Florence all the time. Nothing weird or strange or different about today at all … it was just Mrs. Reynolds’s eyes that freaked me out.

Mrs. Reynolds nodded and gestured for me to come in. I entered their foyer as she closed the door behind me.

Nicolas was sitting in the living room playing video games on the TV. At the sound of the door closing, his small head swung around and his expression lit up.

“Alistair!”

He paused the game and propelled himself over the back of the couch with one arm. I gave an annoyed look, but to be honest, I was kind of happy to see the little idiot. This was to be my goodbye, and hell, he deserved one just as much as anyone. He was Florence’s shadow, her pint-sized entourage of one.

“Hey, Nic,” I said as he leapt over the threshold and skidded to a stop in front of me.

“Alistair!” he repeated with a small bounce. “I’m almost at level thirty-two, you have to help me beat this stage!”

“Maybe later.” I smacked my palm onto the top of his head.

Nicolas swatted at me with his hands. “Come on!”

“People got stuff to do, runt,” I said dismissively, ready for Florence to come down so I could get this over with and get a move on.

The silence hit. Nicolas’s brows had suddenly scrunched together and he was frowning.

“Everyone always has stuff to do,” he muttered, pushing my hand off him.

I sighed and cuffed the side of his head.

“Alright, I’ll play one level with you. But I have stuff to give Florence, so just one.”

At my words, he perked up again. He went on his toes and his small palms smacked my chest like a drum.

“Really?”

I shoved him backwards. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

Nicolas, grinning widely, was just turning to lead me back to the living room when his mom spoke.

“Go call your sister,” she said quietly. Her voice was faint, as if she was speaking through a sieve, barely there.

“But, Mom! The game …,” Nicolas said with a small whine, fingers desperately gesturing between me and the TV. But Mrs. Reynolds gave no indication that she’d heard. In fact, she barely acknowledged our presence, as if she was already pulling away. She said no more and drifted mildly into the direction of the kitchen and disappeared.

Nicolas and I watched her retreat. I didn’t bother to ask if Mrs. Reynolds was okay. That was just the way she was, for better or worse.

I broke the silence. “I’ll play one level with you, alright?”

Nicolas’s expression shifted. “Yeah! Help me beat this.”

Nicolas handed me the controller and sat by me, giving dumb pointers as I worked his character through the level. Once he was satisfied with the progress, he told me to keep playing while he went to go call Florence. Nicolas’s heavy footfalls thumped up the stairs. Banging emitted from the ceiling and soon two pairs of feet crashed down. I put the game on pause and craned my head backwards to the stairway.

Florence came into view. Her pale legs, just barely tan with early summer, emerged first and the rest of her followed. Torn jean shorts, a plain blue tank top. Her hair was down in messy waves and flowed over her shoulders. She searched the foyer, but as Nicolas bounded down past her, she glanced over to the living room.

“Alistair!” Florence kicked down the last step excitedly. Her breasts moved up and down with the force and I tried really freaking hard not to stare. Especially with Nicolas present, a dumb grin on his face as he scurried over to climb next to me on the couch.

“So did you beat it?” Nicolas asked, trying to snatch the controller away. I pulled out of his grip and faced the TV again, ignoring the weird thump of my chest.

Florence took in the scene—me on the couch and Nicolas draped over the armrest, waving his hands in my lap, attempting to snatch the controller away from me.

“Nic! Are you bugging Alistair with your stupid game?” Florence’s voice turned strict in the span of a second. She could pull the mom tone on a dime.

“No!” Nicolas insisted with a pout, but pulled his arms to his side.

“Yes,” I said at the same time.

Florence laughed. She rounded the couch and said, “Hey, you.” She sat down next to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders for a quick hug.

My game character ran into a ditch.

“Aw, Alistair! Come on, man!” Nicolas elbowed me and snatched the controller away.

The next ten minutes were spent in familiar comfort—Nicolas trying and dying, and I saving his little game avatar. Florence laughed and teased whenever our character fell into a hole or got smashed flat.

The front door opened with a squeaky thud. Dr. Reynolds rushed in, shedding his suit jacket. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his dark brown beard wasn’t as neatly trimmed as usual. I didn’t see Dr. Reynolds that often. He was always in town and rarely home, but every time I did run into him, his entire person, from his hair to the shine of his shoes, was completely together and in order. Today, he was a touch disheveled.

“Dad!” Nicolas exclaimed excitedly. He flipped off the couch and ran over.

“Hey, buddy.” Dr. Reynolds ruffled Nicolas’s hair. “Hi, Florence, Alistair.”

I waved and Florence stood up, her brow furrowed. “Why are you home so early? Your clinic hours are until seven tonight.”

Dr. Reynolds removed his hat to reveal his bald head. Nicolas jumped up and down to snatch at the hat and Dr. Reynolds dropped it into his waiting hands. “There was a gap between appointments, so I came home to make sure Mom took her medicine.”

Florence had told me a while ago her mom had recently started on antidepressants. Florence didn’t sense any difference. Neither did I.

But that wasn’t the point.

“Oh.” Florence’s shoulders slouched slightly and she began twisting her hair in between her fingers. “Okay.”

“Dad!” Nicolas had put the hat on his head, the brim nearly swallowing his features. “Alistair is helping me beat this game. Want to help too?” Grinning white teeth emerged from under the wool fedora.

Dr. Reynolds removed some loose change from his pockets and dumped it absentmindedly on the foyer table. The clattering and clinking of the coins echoed against the low ceiling. “Let me talk to Mom first, then I’ll come over. I only have half an hour, though.” Dr. Reynolds chuffed Nicolas on the chin, but his attentions were already elsewhere.

“Camille!” Dr. Reynolds called out and walked into the interior of the house. Three pairs of eyes followed him, and then Florence touched my arm gently.

“Come on.” Florence pulled at my elbow. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I was planning on talking to her in her room, giving her the goods, and then leaving.

“Anywhere.” Florence began yanking at my shirtsleeve. “Nicolas, you stay here. Dad will be back in a bit.”

Nicolas pushed the brim off his forehead and nodded mildly. The hat fell to the floor with a soft clunk.

After I grabbed the paper bag I brought, Florence and I slammed out of her house and trudged through the backyard. There was a very small grassy hill at the far left-hand corner, and Florence was walking in that direction. I followed, not saying anything.

Florence wasn’t ever happy with her mom, and all three of them, Nicolas, Dr. Reynolds and herself, spent a lot of time tending to Mrs. Reynolds. I couldn’t say what was wrong with their mom, but the distance she placed between herself and the family hurt Florence. Hurt everyone.

“Florence.” I jogged up to fall into step with her. Her lips were tight with emotion, the corners of her eyes shimmering slightly in the midday sun. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head without looking at me. “Just let me just walk this off.”

I walked silently along with her, the paper bag heavy in my hands, and my brain exploding with thoughts.

I didn’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t sure if I was coming back, or if I even could. Mom would probably turn me away and I only had five hundred dollars saved up from my summer job. That was only enough for a one-way bus ticket to Louisiana and a couple days of food. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, but I needed to get out.