Finding Gwen

Chapter Five

As I pulled up outside of the two-story brick house, I double checked the house number to make sure I was at the right place. Carol had come over this morning to the AirBnB so I could borrow her car. She didn’t want me to be at the whim of the Chicago Ubers. Plus, she had said there were plenty of things she and Ivy still needed to catch up on. I was feeling extremely grateful right now, not only for my best friend who flew with me to Chicago in order to support me every step of the way, but also for the friend I had found in Carol.

Looking at the clock on the dashboard, I decided knocking a few minutes early wouldn’t hurt too much. I left my bag behind, knowing I could grab it if needed and not wanting to carry it in with me. Making my way out of the car, I walked to the front door, taking note of the houses on the street. The address Carol had given me was in a little suburb just outside of Chicago. It hadn’t taken long to get here, and I could already picture all the things I could do with the little boy. Climbing the porch and finding the doorbell, I gave it a quick ring before stepping back.

It didn’t take long for the door to open, a woman who looked to be in her late thirties holding a crying toddler on her hip coming into view. The woman looked relieved to see me, and the toddler instantly stopped crying, more interested in the stranger standing in front of her. Remembering that Carol had said the dad was currently single after having gone through a divorce, I was curious to find out the identity of the mystery woman standing in front of me.

“Hi, I’m Gwen. Gwendalyn, but everyone calls me Gwen. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Marino.”

“Oh, thank heavens. Come in, please.” The woman stepped aside, letting me in, while awkwardly adjusting the little one from one side to the other. “I’m Katie, and this is Lucy. My husband and I live next door. Anthony, oh, um, Mr. Marino should have been back by now, but something must have held him up. Lucy here is running a fever, and I really need to go take care of it. Oliver is watching TV in the living room with a snack. Phone numbers are on the fridge if there is an emergency.” Before I could say anything, Katie had her bag slung over her shoulder and was out the door, the soft click of the lock quickly following.

I stood in the entryway, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Without questioning anything or even introducing me to Oliver, Katie had run out the door. If I hadn’t already had the weirdest week of my life, I may have actually been surprised.

Following the sounds of a children’s show, I found a little boy with brown curly hair sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bright orange bowl nestled in his lap. Every couple of minutes, his little hand would reach in and grab a goldfish, all while his eyes stayed glued to whatever was on the TV. At some point, he reached in, and upon not feeling any goldfish, jumped off the couch, stopping in his tracks when he noticed me standing in the doorway, his little body tensing up as he clung to his bowl.

Immediately, I got down on my knees. “Hi, Oliver, I’m Gwen,” I began in a calm voice. “Ms. Katie had to go home.” As he hesitantly began walking toward me, my mind swam with uncertainty. The normal reaction to a stranger being in your home would be to scream, yet he seemed more curious. The sound of his little feet padding across the carpet stopped directly in front of me.

“More, peas,” he said, holding out his empty bowl while looking up at me with wide eyes. I was speechless. I had never met a two-year-old who was unfazed by a complete stranger being in their house, yet here he was, more upset he was out of goldfish than me being here.

“Um, sure. Can you show me where they are?” He nodded before toddling off toward what I assumed to be the kitchen. Taking in my surroundings as we went, I followed along while he carried his bowl in his hand. The house felt bigger on the inside than it looked. Mr. Marino didn’t seem to be the decorating type–the walls blank, void of photos or decor. Wondering how long he had been doing this single dad thing, my heart broke a little for him and the little boy in front of me. When we made it to the kitchen, Oliver suddenly stopped before pointing to a cabinet near the fridge, then offered me his bowl.

Taking the bowl from his outstretched hand, I opened the cabinet and saw a makeshift snack pantry. It was stuffed full of goldfish, fruit snacks, and applesauce pouches. This dad had reached survival mode a long time ago, by the looks of it. I pulled out a bag of goldfish, filling up Oliver’s bowl before handing it to him.

“Tank you!” He grabbed a handful before shoving them into his mouth greedily. I chuckled as I watched him. He looked at me, curiosity in his eyes, as if wondering what would come next. “Trains?”

“Sure! I would love to see your trains.” A smile spread across his face as he put his bowl down on the floor and ran off. I bent down, picking up his bowl and putting it on the counter, then followed the sounds of toys hitting the floor. Oliver was leaning over a toy box that I hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked against the side of the simple gray couch. As I sat down next to him, he triumphantly pulled out a shiny black engine, holding it out to me. There was nothing but pure joy written across this boy’s face as he dug out a second train, bright red in color.

His excitement over the little things made me happy. Maybe the cruelty of the world hadn’t gotten to him yet. I didn’t know what had happened to his mom, but I did know that whatever it was, this sweet boy didn’t deserve it.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat there playing with his trains. I had found a container of train tracks, and we built an elaborate track that ran the entirety of the living room. Oliver was sitting on my lap, laughing as I narrated the train’s path in my best conductor voice, as if we were inside the train watching out the window.

“Now, if you look to your left, you can see the giant orange chair statue. The wooden legs are solid oak and can withstand even the strongest of hits. The upcoming couch tunnel is the first of its kind. Built in 1753, this gorgeous piece of architecture is one of a kind. You will never find another tunnel like this.” Oliver giggled from my lap. “Oh, no. Folks, we’re feeling some strong vibrations. Please hold on!” I made my legs jump, causing Oliver to bump around, and his giggles turned into laughs. It was contagious, and it didn’t take long before I was laughing with him.

In the middle of our laughing fit, I heard the front door open. Unsure of who it was, I stood up, putting Oliver on my hip. Before I could decide what to do next, a voice came from the front door. “Katie, you here? Oliver?” A man dressed in black slacks and a gray button-down shirt turned the corner, freezing in the doorway after making eye contact with me.

My breath hitched as I stared into his hazel eyes, a few stray pieces of his brown hair falling in front of them. His beard was neatly trimmed and was no longer than a couple inches. My eyes involuntarily roamed down his body. He was tall, and even from a distance, I could tell he had at least a foot on me. My heart skipped a beat as I once again met his gaze. As he looked at me, his face hardened, his brows pinching together.

“Who are you?” he snarled, his lip curling with anger as his eyes darkened. His hand twitched toward the gun attached to his belt, glinting in the light. My heart jumped into my throat and my stomach clenched in fear.

“I-I-I’m Gwen,” I quickly responded, my eyes darting to his hand that was hovering above the weapon. “Um, Gwendalyn. We had an interview scheduled today.” His eyes continued to burrow holes into me, the tension between us almost palpable. Slowly, the creases between his brows loosened and his hand returned to his side. Oxygen rushed back to my lungs as Oliver wriggled down from my arms.

“Daddy!” Oliver ran to Mr. Marino, his chubby hands stretched wide to the man who seemed to melt before my eyes. He squatted down and scooped Oliver into his muscular arms.

“Figlio mio, how’s my sweet boy?” Standing up, he pressed a kiss in his son’s hair while Oliver threw his arms around his father’s neck. Mr. Marino held onto him tightly, the veins on his forearms more prominent from the action. If I hadn’t already known they were related, there would be no doubt after seeing the two of them together. Oliver was a miniature copy of his dad, his wild curls and brown eyes an identical match. They both had small dimples that formed when they smiled.

“Play trains, Daddy! Trains!” Oliver pointed to the elaborate track set up covering the floor, and I did my best to keep my composure as Mr. Marino walked into the room, carefully stepping over the tracks in his path.

“This looks amazing, Oliver. Did you have a fun day?” Oliver nodded his head and Mr. Marino sat him down on the floor. Oliver started running along the track, following its twists and turns while giggling. Mr. Marino turned to me, reaching his hand out to me.

“Hello, Gwendalyn. I’m Anthony. I apologize for being late.” The softness of his face while interacting with his son was gone, replaced by the less than inviting scowl that seemed to be his natural state. His lips were pulled into a thin line as he looked down at me. Hesitantly, I accepted his hand, giving it a small shake.

“No apologies needed,” I mumbled. “Um, Katie had to leave. Her daughter was sick. I had just assumed she had let you know.” He pulled out his phone, tapping on it and letting out a sigh.

“Apparently she did.” I heard him mutter curse words under his breath, looking toward his son as Oliver grabbed one of his engines to run along the track.

“It really is okay. Um, do you still want to do the interview? I understand if things are a little hectic right now.” He met my eyes just as Oliver ran up between his dad’s knees, knocking him off balance. Reaching out, Mr. Marino grabbed my arm to keep from stepping on his son. The touch sent electricity through my body, the skin beneath his calloused fingers tingling. My eyes darted to the connection, shocked by the reaction, then up to find his eyes wide.

He quickly released my arm, shaking his hand as if trying to rid it of pain. He took with him an unexpected warmth that had me questioning my own sanity for a minute. After everything that had happened the last week, I shouldn’t be craving the touch of a man, let alone one who looked as if he could snap me in half like a twig.

“Hey, little buddy, you must be hungry. Why don’t we get some dinner started, yeah?” He turned away from me, grabbing hold of Oliver’s hand and leading him out of the room. I stared after them, unsure of what to do.

“Um, Mr. Marino?” I cleared my throat. He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Anthony, please. Mr. Marino was my dad.”

“It was a… pleasure meeting you. Maybe you can reach out to Carol and we can reschedule?”

“Shit, the interview.” He ran his hand over his face, then realized his mistake. Glancing down at Oliver, he put his finger to his lips. “Don’t repeat that, little man.” Turning back to me, I could see the wheels turning inside his head, trying to come up with a solution. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

I was seconds away from politely declining when Oliver let go of his dad’s hand, bounding toward me. Grabbing my hand, he urged me forward, looking up at me with perfected puppy dog eyes. “Ms. Gen stay?” I couldn’t say no. Allowing him to pull me along to the kitchen, I glanced at the clock in the hallway, making a mental note that it was nearly five in the evening now and that I should update Ivy. Though by that point, she and Carol may have been working on a second bottle of wine and not even realized what time it is.

When we reached the kitchen, Oliver let go of my hand, climbing up onto a chair stool at the kitchen island. Anthony rummaged through the freezer, pulling out a bag of chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Oliver was sitting on his knees, wiggling in his chair and clapping his hands. I quietly shuffled behind Oliver to make sure he didn’t fall off while Anthony placed the nuggets onto a baking tray and slipped them into the oven. Once he did, he returned to the fridge, pulling out a large orange and a bag of carrots and placing them on a cutting mat he pulled from a drawer in the island.

“So, Gwendalyn, how long have you lived in Chicago?” he asked while making quick work of the fruit and vegetables in front of him. I was mesmerized by the action, the movement of the knife in his hand making me pause before I answered his question.

“Well, actually, I don’t live in Chicago. I live in Pittsburgh. Born and raised in Pennsylvania.”

“So, what are you doing in Chicago?”

“Hopefully accepting a new job,” I answered. He stopped chopping, intently staring at me as if waiting for me to elaborate. I shrugged. Trying to keep my answers vague, I decided to offer him a small version of the truth. “I’m looking to start fresh somewhere new.” Confusion flashed across his face, and I could only imagine how many questions must be going through his mind. Before he had a chance to ask any, a ringing from his pocket interrupted him. Picking it up, he answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Marino.” His face tensed. “Sir, can Kruegler handle this by himself? I’m in the middle of something.” A pause, presumably as he waited for the response on the other end. “Of course, sir.” Hanging up, he shoved his phone back in his pocket, frustration lacing his features.

“Anthony, is there anything I can do?” It had only been a few hours, and I already felt a pull toward this family.

“I hate to ask, but that was my boss. I’m being called in for a case.” He must have noticed the confusion on my face, so he continued. “I’m a detective, Special Victims Unit. We got a call for an interview. I’m not sure how long it will take, but would you be able to stay with Oliver? If Katie’s daughter is sick, I’d hate to ask her, and I don’t have any family nearby. I wouldn’t ask if I had other options. I—”

“Anthony, I can stay.” Interrupting his rambling, I looked down at Oliver. “As long as it’s cool with you, buddy.”

Oliver nodded his head, reaching with his whole body on the island to get the cut up orange in front of him. Anthony chuckled, grabbing the knife before pushing them closer to him. “Only if you’re sure. Let me write down my number in case there is an emergency.” I nodded my head, reassuring him of my decision, as he scribbled down his number.

Once finished, he walked around the counter, planting a kiss on his son’s head before giving him a hug. “Be good, figlio mio. I love you.”

“Love you.” Oliver had a mouthful of orange, and the juice dripped down his chin. Quickly, I reached for a paper towel from the roll sitting in the middle of the island to wipe it as he and Anthony exchanged smiles. After Anthony walked out of the kitchen, I cleaned up Oliver’s chin as the oven timer went off. Before taking out the chicken nuggets, I shot Ivy a quick text about the situation, hoping Carol wouldn’t mind. If Anthony wasn’t home before Oliver went down for bed, I could run out and grab my bag. After setting the tray on the stove, I turned around to face Oliver.

“Well, kiddo, looks like it’s just you and me again. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He smiled at me with a cute, toothy grin, and I couldn’t help but return it with one of my own.