He wondered more than once what Christy had been doing at Van and Vivian's the day he met her. Who was the older man she’d lived with when she was sixteen? The man who'd obviously had no skills in the bedroom.
The stories Christy shared had nothing to do with her, but more to do with her family and their over-the-top peculiarities and how her biggest resentment toward Van and Vivian had to do with Litzy. She explained how the Chapmans’ faithful nanny was let go the summer that Christy ran away.
"Litzy couldn't keep me from running away, so she'd outgrown her usefulness," Christy explained, her bitterness hard to disguise. "And let's face it, what sixteen-year-old still needs a nanny?" She looked away from Anthony and added, "What nobody knew at the time was that Litzy was pregnant. She was still rather young, only in her thirties, and Van and Vivian sent her away with a decent health insurance plan. It was probably the only humane thing they'd ever done."
"So, she had Abby," Anthony said.
"Yes. She got a job at a preschool and took Abby to work with her every day." Christy smiled wistfully. "I still like to volunteer there even though it's hard for me," she added.
Anthony could understand how Christy would've become so attached to Litzy and Abby. They were probably the closest she had ever gotten to a real family. It explained so much about her love for Nadine and her children. He couldn't imagine her devastation when Abby died.
"The house that I gave to Nadine," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I originally bought it for Litzy and Abby to live in. When Abby died, Litzy moved out. The house was too big for her. She eventually moved away."
"Have you lost touch with her?" Anthony asked as he stroked her cheek.
"No. She's up north, and we still talk, but not as much as we used to. I can't blame her. The Chapmans brought nothing but pain to Litzy."
"How's that?" Anthony asked. Christy hadn't shared any stories of the Chapmans treating Litzy badly, except firing her when Christy was sixteen.
She stammered as if not sure of her answer. "Well, um...they didn't treat her right when her daughter got sick."
"I thought you said they sent her away with health insurance. Do you mean they didn't help financially for what the insurance didn't cover?"
"No, Anthony!" she spat. They had been lying in bed, and she sat up to look at him. "That's not what I mean. This wasn't about money. This was about Van and Vivian not caring about a woman that had lived in their home for almost fifteen years! Since she was a teenager herself. Not caring about a woman whose only child was dying. They never asked about Abby, and they never once showed up at the hospital. Not once." She looked down at Anthony, tears starting to blur her vision. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."
As Anthony pulled up to the camp, he thought about how deep Christy's pain ran. She hated Van and Vivian so much he was certain she found fault in not just everything they did, but in everything they didn't do.
An hour later, he was home and found her at his desk talking on the phone. Apparently, all the talk about Litzy had made her nostalgic for the woman she cared so deeply for.
Christy laid the receiver down and looked up at Anthony with a wistful gaze.
"Litzy?" he asked.
"Yes." She smiled. "And she's doing good. Still dating the same guy."
"Abby's father?" he asked, not remembering if Christy had ever mentioned him.
"No," she answered as she stood. "She never told me who fathered Abby." She looked sideways then, noticing he held one hand behind his back. "What do you have behind your back?"
He smiled and handed her a bouquet of flowers. "It's Tuesday. I thought you might want to visit Abby's grave."
She took them from Anthony's outstretched hand. "They're beautiful, Anthony. Where did you get them?"
He chuckled. "I own a landscaping company, Christy. I know where to get my hands on flowers."
They carefully wrapped the bouquet, and she held it close to her as they made their way to the cemetery on Anthony's bike. After paying their respects, they rode to the beach, and she enjoyed the ride even more. When they'd ridden to the cemetery, she had to delicately hold the flowers between them. Without the worry of crushing them she was now able to lean against Anthony and wrap her arms around his waist. He made it a point to bring her hand to his mouth at every red light and she couldn't be certain, but she thought he whispered, "I love you" into her palm at the last stop. Her heart skipped a beat. If only she could believe it was true.
She leaned her face against his back and reveled in the feel of his long thick braid as it pressed against her cheek. He took her to dinner, and they watched the sunset from the restaurant window. Afterward, he drove her to a tiny stretch of private beach. He walked her down to the edge of the ocean and held her close. She took in his strong, masculine scent and pretended her circumstances were different.
Anthony pulled away from Christy and looked down. He had something to ask her, and for the first time in his life, he felt awkward with a woman. He was out of his element and would've called his sister to ask for advice, but wasn't in the mood to explain the details of how he'd come to fall in love with the woman he'd carried into his home two weeks ago. He knew that two weeks wasn't very long, but it seemed like an eternity since he'd met her. And he'd never been one to squabble with himself over a decision. He should've known the day he refused to let her buy her freedom that it would come to this. The absolute certainty that he needed to, had to, must possess Christy Chapman. And not just her body, but her heart and soul as well.
She looked up at him and realized she couldn't read his expression. He seemed almost nervous, unsure of himself. The total opposite of the Anthony Bear she'd come to know. As if sensing her scrutiny his demeanor changed. He was back in charge, and she read it in his expression as well as his body language.
"You know what I like to do in my shop, Christy?" he asked.
She blinked, not sure where the conversation was going. She nodded, then, "Yeah, you showed me, and I know what you're doing when you're out there."
"I've been working on some things for you," he told her. When she didn't respond, he added, "I know that even though you don't wear them, you're worth more than diamonds. More than any precious stone."
He saw the confusion in her eyes. He reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled something out. He took her hand in his and laid it in her palm. She looked at it and smiled. It was simple but beautiful. He had crafted a ring that was stunning in its simplicity, and she was in awe of the details she could see in the tiny present.
"It's beautiful, Anthony. The most beautiful gift anybody has ever given me," she said. And she meant it. The smell of the salt air and seagulls flying overhead added to the moment and she basked in the warmth of receiving such a personal gift from him.
"It's not just a gift, Christy," he said, his dark eyes serious.
She shook her head slightly as if to say, I don't understand.