Taking a deep breath, I let my body melt into the door. The office still smelled of mahogany, wood polish and the slightest hint of tobacco. It was as if the room had frozen in time the second he died. I could almost hear him talking loud and authoritative on the telephone.
I walked across the room slowly, noting the pictures of him with members of Congress, plaques, a coat of arms, and degrees adorned the walls. To my disgust, the large painting of my mother and me still hung between the two large windows over-looking Fleet Rink.
“That’s going to have to go,” I said, collapsing into Jack's large, black leather chair.
The stack of unopened envelopes was my first order of business, and then I read my company emails. Bored as I was, at least it kept my mind from Jared and the time. Just as the sun began to set, my cell phone chirped.
“Hey Bex,” I said through a yawn, “almost done.”
“Well that’s good news, Sweetheart,” Jared said.
“Hi!” I said, my voice far too high to feign anything but elation. In reaction, I leaned over to look out the window to the street. No black Escalade.
“You’re not coming home tonight, are you?” I said, deflated.
“On the contrary. I will be home at ten. Is that too late for dinner?”
The road noise should have given it away, but I had expected to be disappointed. “Where are you?”
“On the road,” he said.
I sighed. “Do I need security clearance for that answer?”
Jared laughed. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. Bex tells me you had a good night’s sleep last night. Is this true?”
“It is. No bad dreams.”
“I look forward to watching you sleep the whole night through, then.”
“See you soon,” I smiled.
My steps were light as I made my way out of the building, and I couldn’t contain my smile when I sat in the passenger seat of the BMW.
“You talked to Jared,” Bex said with a knowing smile.
“He’s coming home,” I smiled.
“We better go move his stuff around and hide his home gym,” Bex smiled, pulling away from the curb. “He’ll hate that.”
I laughed. “You’re in charge of the home gym. I’ll mix up the forks and spoons.”
“I got it covered,” Bex said with an mischievous grin. “You have dinner plans.”
“Oh. Right,” I said, sinking into the sink with a huff.
Bex sped to Cynthia’s faster and with more precision than any television car chase I’d ever seen, much less been a part of. He jerked the wheel, and let the Beemer slide, counter-clockwise, into the loft’s parallel parking spot.
“One of you will get pulled over one of these days, and I’m going to laugh,” I said, trying to steady myself once my feet hit the pavement.
“Our boss has plenty of money to bail us out,” he smiled.
“I won’t bail you out. I’ll laugh.”
“Even if it was Jared?” Bex said, escorting me up the iron steps.
“Especially if it was Jared.”
“I don’t believe you. And if Claire found out about it….”
“You’re right. I’d bail you out,” I nodded.
I changed clothes quickly, and then followed Bex to the Beemer once again, letting him drive like a controlled maniac to my parents' home.
Arriving within minutes, Bex jumped out of the driver's side to open my door. We traded small talk as he walked with me up the concrete steps, both of us hoping it would be one of our shorter visits. Just as I reached for the handle, Cynthia opened the door, startling me.
“Mother….”
“Agatha is ill today. I’ve barely been able to tend to dinner. Of all days for her to get sick….” Cynthia said, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. Her eyes targeted Bex.
“Good evening, Mrs. Grey,” Bex said.
She nodded politely. “Will you be joining us, Bex?”
“No, Ma’am. Simply covering a shift.”
Cynthia’s cold eyes narrowed at him as she held out her arm to usher me into the house.
“I'll wait here,” Bex whispered.
“Probably safer,” I mouthed.
She wasted no time. “And where is Jared?”
“Er…resting,” I said, cringing at my words. Surely I would be better at lying on the spot by now.
“Hmm….” she said, clearly unconvinced. She didn’t press the issue, I assumed it was because of the fact that I was safe. Beyond that she didn’t bother to question.
The table had been set, but I helped bring out the soup and salad, and entrée.
“I’m sorry I always have to ask,” I said, waiting for her infamous scowl.
“You're predictable,” she snapped. Her expression soon smoothed as she scanned the table. “I thought I would try something different. Chicken Coconut Soup, and wild mushroom fricassee over Polenta.”
“Whatever that is,” I said, overwhelmed.
“Nina, really. You act as though you were fed take-out your entire life. I have always enjoyed cooking.”
“And you never cease to surprise me,” I said, smiling.