Zenith Fulfilled (Zenith Trilogy, #3) Page 8

  Then he was inside and faced the four females, nearly lined up in a row in the living room and each one looking at him.

  He glanced around. The house appeared comfortable with the sun’s lingering rays highlighting the motes of dust through the windows. It had nice furniture that was big and cushy-looking, centered around a big, stone fireplace. The mantel was cluttered with knick-knacks and a large family portrait seemed to look out over the room.

  He swung his gaze back to Rebecca when she started to speak. “These are my daughters: my oldest, Kayla, the middle, Kathy, and my youngest, Karlee. Girls, this is Mr. Williams. I told you he’d be coming here to help me write my next book.”

  “Hello Mr. Williams,” Kayla spoke in a tone that sounded like she was trying to be very adult.

  “Hi Mr. Williams,” Kathy said, who was much shyer, hiding her head against her mother’s hip.

  Then Karlee spoke. “Hewwo Wob. Nithe to have you vithit uth.”

  Rob couldn’t help but laugh. She was funny kid and smiled up at him with big gums and twinkling eyes.

  “Karlee, call him Mr. Williams. Be polite.”

  “Aw Mom,” Karlee mumbled.

  Rob hesitated. “Nice to meet you girls.” With a hand on his bandanna, he pulled it from his head, took off the glasses and hooked them on his front pocket. Then he turned and looked around some more.

  The house was cheerful and bright. It was a mesh of lavender and purple “girl colors” with only brief hints that a man lived there: a framed picture of a deer, and an old gun hanging on a gun rack. To the right, he saw an office with a desk, computer, and the usual office stuff through the glass doors. There were also various toys scattered in different corners of the rooms.

  “Girls, why don’t you finish up your dinner? I’ll be right there.”

  Rebecca watched them leave, and turned towards Rob. “They’ll be going to bed really soon. Can you give me like… half an hour?”

  “They go to bed at seven-thirty?”

  “Karlee does. The other two can read for half an hour.”

  Huh. He didn’t know that. He never gave much thought about when little kids went to bed. He didn’t have a clue it happened before the night really began. His only question was what should he do for the next half hour?

  “Are you hungry? Did you eat dinner?”

  He shrugged like he didn’t care.

  “It’s lasagna. I’m a pretty decent cook.”

  He followed Rebecca down the hallway, trying to ignore the swinging of her butt in her blue jeans. And the way her blue t-shirt rode up her back when she stopped and bent over to pick up a napkin that fell to the floor. She had ultra-white skin. The kind that never tans. It looked soft and delicious, like vanilla ice cream.

  The perfect metaphor for exactly who she was: vanilla. The antithesis of him. She was his polar opposite in every single way: from her looks to her entire lifestyle.

  Her stray strands of hair slipped from the ponytail on her head. She looked good with her hair off her face, and had a nice profile.

  He shook his head. A nice profile? Walking into this happy nest of little girls and married bliss, why should he be thinking that she looked nice with her hair up? The scowl returned to his face. No need to get comfortable with her, or any of this.

  Besides, where was Mr. Rebecca Randall anyway? Friday night? End of the work week. Shouldn’t he have been home by now? And sure to take one fleeting look at Rob before telling Rebecca what a stupid idea her project was.

  The kitchen led into a large eating area. A six-person, square, oak table stood front and center. It was laden with salad, lasagna, rolls and plates that still had half eaten food on them. The girls were all reseating themselves and talking amongst each other.

  He stood back, just watching. Suddenly, the confidence that created the swagger that he used as he moved through life, whether at club openings, in large crowds, or on construction sites, totally vacated him.

  He didn’t know when little girls went to bed because no one ever put him to bed as a kid. He couldn’t remember his mother, even once, bothering to tuck him in bed, or insisting that he go there at a prescribed hour. He remembered he fell asleep wherever he happened to be. Usually, since he was hiding in his bedroom anyway, he woke up there. His parents were frequently passed out by seven o’clock every evening. He had no memories of meals served on square, oak tables with the family gathered around. His dinners were usually crackers and lunchmeat, which he made for himself. If his mother and father were even at home, they were always drinking. They didn’t do things like fixing dinner for him.

  He didn’t grow up being all that poor. Both his parents made good salaries at Boeing, although they each worked on different airplanes. Both held full-time jobs and were considered “functioning alcoholics.” But they couldn’t do anything beyond that. Specifically, taking care of Rob. They both drank themselves into a stupor every night. The only difference between Mom and Dad for Rob was Dad became an enraged, violent drunk and his mother simply passed out. So Dad had to beat up Rob, since Rob was in the way.

  His chest suddenly felt tight as the memories flashed into his brain. He couldn’t breathe, in this kitchen, with all these pretty girls. Where was Daddy Randall? And what was Rob doing staring at his family?

  “I’ll just grab a smoke while you finish up.”

  “Oh. Okay, sure,” Rebecca said, glancing up, and suddenly biting her lip. She probably was worried that he’d leave.

  Rob backed up. “Okay. Then…”

  He turned and retreated to her porch, pulling the cigarettes out from his pocket. He lit one, and nearly sighed at the relief. The property around him was now draped in darkness, appearing like a mass of moving arms as the trees morphed into one long shadow. As the light abandoned the landscape, it became a very peaceful, restful setting.

  Behind him, however, the lights pulsated, appearing warm, bright, and cheerful. The Randall house was such a contrast to the darkening May night. He glanced through the living room window and saw flashes of movement. Rebecca carrying the smallest girl in her arms. Rebecca carrying dishes to her sink. Water running. Then girls bounding up the stairs. Soon afterwards, Rebecca behind them. All the while, Rob waited.

  He leaned against the porch railing, looking into the yard, when he heard the door shutting behind him. Turning around, he found Rebecca coming out, and zipping up a jacket. He leaned his butt against the railing and watched her as he smoked. She came forward and sat down on the porch swing that was next to him, and drew her feet up against her before becoming quiet.

  He could see the top of head, her forehead, and her nose. Her face was down, as though she were looking at her own feet. Huh. What was this? Where was the obnoxious woman who nearly beat down his door to get him here? To convince him to work with her? Where was the audacity? The fight? Why was she so quiet now? Rob flicked his cigarette into the grass below.

  “Where’s your husband? Can’t imagine he’s gonna like me being here.”

  She laughed a bitter sound as she shook her head. “Trust me, he won’t care.”

  “Why shouldn’t he care?”

  Her head came up. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Rob straightened up in surprise and dropped the rude tone. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No. He’s not dead. He’s just gone.”

  Rob stared at her. Just gone? “He left you with three little kids?”

  “He did. He left me with three little kids.”

  “I had no idea.” Rob felt like a heel now as he remembered some of the comments he hurled at her before agreeing to this fiasco. “You take care of them all by yourself?”

  “Yes. Of course, I take care of my own children!”

  Rob didn’t like this. Not at all. He expected there was a husband involved here. A Mr. Rebecca Randall out there in the country who would keep all this from being... anything. Anything at all. Now, he was suddenly alone, in middle of nowhere, with a pretty, red-haired woman who
seemed sad and lonely, while raising three young kids all by herself. Not exactly a situation Rob wanted anything to do with. Much less this feeling of sorrow for the quiet, small woman he saw before him. Until now, she was anything but quiet, small or pitiable.

  He almost asked her how she did it. How could she raise three children all by herself? He could hardly take care of himself. How did she take care of not one, not two, but three freaking kids? He felt the urge to jump on his motorcycle and leave. Why would anyone want that much responsibility? That much of a burden? Who wouldn’t feel trapped? Or claustrophobic? Maybe Rob could see why a man would run from that.

  Then again, they were cute as hell. So was their mother.

  Rob didn’t like that thought. Not a bit.

  “I’m sorry you were bombarded when you got here. I intended for the girls to be in bed early so you wouldn’t have to deal with them. Or wait on me.”

  “It’s okay. Look, you were a pain in the ass about getting me to do this. You know you were. But I know I was an ass about it too. I’ve agreed to this, and just so you know, I won’t be such an ass while we’re doing it. I’ll try to behave. Having to put your kids to bed, well, that’s no big deal.”

  She looked up at him smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

  “Rob. Do I look like a Mr. Williams to you?”

  She smiled. “No. But I was raised that way.”

  “What way?”

  “To be polite even when I’d like to kill someone.”

  He smiled. “See? That is where you and I differ; I’d just kill them. So how do you do this thing? You ask me questions? What?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. First time around, I interviewed people I met through AA meetings. I spent months there before I approached anyone. I talked to them and made sure they had full knowledge of what I was doing. We just talked and hung out in way. It came naturally. Once they started talking, it was like they could finally be honest. Telling themselves and me the truth. So I didn’t have to ask a lot of questions. It was more like seeing how things went, and going with the flow.”

  Rob remembered hearing a story about how Nick and Joelle met. He thought that involved Rebecca, years ago.

  “When did you write the first book?”

  She sighed. “Four years ago.”

  “Why so long in between?”

  “I had another baby, my husband left me, and things stayed busy.”

  “And now?”

  “Now? I need to do something with my life. Why not this?”

  Rob paused. “I didn’t realize you had so much riding on it.”

  “You don’t need to know that. It’s not your concern. It’s mine.”

  “How old are your kids?”

  She glanced his way. “My kids? Ten, seven, and three-and-a-half.”

  “How old are you?”

  She frowned, looking puzzled. “Thirty-one. Why?”

  “Seems like you’ve had a lot of responsibility for most of your adult, and not so adult life. Jesus, you’re younger than me and you have a ten-year-old kid.”

  “I don’t regret it. Besides, this isn’t about me. There would be nothing to write about me. Girl gets married out of high school, has first kid, second kid, third kid. Gets a pretty house, and a nice life. Pretty boring.”

  She left out “then her husband leaves.” But Rob didn’t say so. And there seemed nothing at all simple or boring about what he witnessed there tonight. It seemed big, scary, busy and much more chaos than any one person should know what to do with.

  “Want to come in? Stay for awhile?”

  He hesitated. It was the “stay for awhile” that had him stumped. It meant nothing, she was thinking platonically, and strictly professionally. But to his ears, suddenly, it seemed like much more. It seemed like, “Stay for awhile. I’m an adult, so are you.”

  “Yeah. ‘Course. That’s why I’m here,” he said, straightening up to follow her inside. He quickly tossed his cigarette butt over the porch railing.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d obviously made a mistake, not to mention, a monumental, overestimation of her courage. Seeking out Rob Williams, and demanding that he come to her house, just so she could grill him about his not-so-happy life story, could have been her worst idea, to date.

  He was downright scary, now that he was in her house. He wore a thick, black leather jacket, which he pulled off, revealing the t-shirt underneath and his arms patterned like paisley sleeves in tattoos. Not a shock, she’d seen them before. But now that he was there, in her house, where she raised her kids, and sat up late, reading at night, where she cleaned, cooked, and threw the ball for her dog, and where she resided, he seemed almost terrifying.

  Rob rode a motorcycle, wore a bandanna, dark sunglasses, and big boots. He was not anyone she could identify with. And definitely was not anyone she should have invited into her home. His face had stubble, like he hadn’t shaved in days. His green eyes watched her, while his shaggy hair tumbled whenever he moved. Her stomach tightened. Really, this wasn’t her best idea. He intimidated her. His tattoos utterly repelled her, and his general bad boy attitude annoyed her maternal, focused, PTA-mother role that she now embodied.

  Except… his forbidden presence in her house thrilled her. It made her eager and excited, in awe of her own nerve, and the wickedness of it all, so much so, that she almost laughed. She didn’t ever do things like this. She was usually watching silly cartoons with her girls about this time. Or, when she felt frisky, in a hot bath, alone, after the kids were in bed. Or…

  “What the hell is that?”

  Rebecca turned at Rob’s exclamation and looked towards the door that Rob was peering at. She relaxed after she saw what Rob was referring to.

  “Oh, that’s Minnie.”

  “Minnie?”

  “Our dog. Minnie. Kayla named her when she was five after Minnie Mouse. You know, Disneyland? The big-eared mouse?”

  “That dog looks like a bear, lumbering against your slider, and you named her Minnie?”

  “She’s not really that big. I’m not sure what she is exactly, kind of a mix of several breeds. But a real sweetheart. And it’s time for her to come in. She doesn’t like to be out after it gets dark. Do you mind? Are you allergic, by any chance?”

  “No,” Rob said, eyeing the dog. Rebecca pressed her lips. Somehow, she didn’t quite believe his answer. Maybe bad-ass, Rob Williams, was actually a little bit afraid of her big, dopey dog.

  Rebecca let Minnie in and grabbed her collar, hauling her towards the office, and locking her in. Minnie sat on the chair and stared at Rob. Rob stared back, his gaze distrustful.

  “What more surprises do you have in store?”

  “Two cats: Mickey and Oz.”

  “Mickey, as in the mouse, I take it. But Oz?”

  “The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Right. Everything has its roots with Disney in this house?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said with a smile. She watched Rob walking through her living room, towards the dining room, examining the pictures she had hanging in frames along the wall. It was like a trophy wall dedicated to the girls, all three of them, from birth on: birthdays, school pictures, vacations, christenings, get-togethers, every possible moment of their lives was recorded on her walls. She noticed that he stopped in front of the picture of Nick and Joelle on their wedding day and she wondered if he still carried a torch for Joelle? Did seeing the photo twist his heart with jealousy? Could he get mad from seeing that picture?

  “You’ve got a pretty family,” he said at long last. There was something about his voice. She detected serenity and a serious tone that she’d rarely heard from him before. It also happened earlier, when he observed their casual Friday night dinner, and seemed almost like he’d seen a ghost, watching them. She wouldn’t have guessed that Rob Williams was a man who would look at a gallery of little girls, to whom he had no connection, with an almost sentimental longing in his voice.

  “Why do you keep this here?�
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  Rebecca looked at what Rob was indicating. Her wedding pictures. There she was, a decade ago, two dress sizes ago, so young, so hopeful, and so pretty. It was her wedding day. Her dress, a riot of tulle and lace, cascaded to the floor. Her hair looked tamer and was carefully pulled under the veil, hiding some of its stark, undeniable redness. She was smiling and without any worries. It was only ten years ago, but long before life turned real. Life turned hard. Life turned into the past, it was something she already lived, instead of something she was waiting to start.

  “I keep it there for my girls. And for me, too, I guess. I’m still married to him. It’s a long story.”

  “You mean like the long story you want me to tell you?”

  She smiled. He was sharper than she pictured. His witty repartee kept her on her toes, and his intelligence was far greater than she assumed, judging by his biker looks. “Yes. Like that.”

  Rob finally settled on her couch, across from where she sat. He sat down, and laid a boot over his other knee. When he crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles bunched and his tattoos moved like an animated cartoon. She didn’t mean to look, or stare, but even tattooed, his biceps appeared so masculine. And strong. They were so different from her husband.

  “So?”

  “Yeah, so I guess we should start.” She grabbed her recorder. “Do you mind if I record this? For later? To write from?”

  “You’re killing me here, Rebecca. Recording me? Really? Fine, but you’d better not ever play it for anyone else. It’s for your ears only.”

  Rebecca. He called her Rebecca. His voice sounded all masculine and deep. Why did it sound so different from the way her sisters said it? Why did goose bumps break out all over her skin at simply hearing the sound of her name from Rob’s lips?

  “I would never do that.”

  “You’ll just write everything I say?”

  “It won’t come across like that. Please, just give me a chance. If you hate it, you can scrap it. I’ll pay you anyway. I mean it. If you don’t like it, I won’t do anything with it.”

  “Why are you investing so much faith in the hope that I’ll treat you as honestly as you intend to treat me? It’s not like I’m known for that. Most drunks aren’t.”