6.
Jonathan
Her breathing was deep and even, her features soft in slumber. Again, I felt that unusual tightness in my chest. The woman was obviously going through it, because I had a feeling she was typically far more put together. Or at least that was how she’d come across the first time we met. Her grief at our parents’ death was clearly taking its toll. I felt kindred to her in that sense because it was taking its toll on me, too.
Today at the office, I’d been so off my game I’d overlooked a detail in one of our larger clients’ portfolios, resulting in a loss of a significant sum of money. I could make it back, but still, I never made careless mistakes like that.
My attention returned to Ada, and not for the first time, I was struck by her beauty. She had a striking face, her features somehow intense and delicately feminine at the same time.
“Ada,” I spoke her name quietly after placing the mugs down on the coffee table. She jolted awake with a start, and I immediately regretted waking her. She looked like she needed the rest.
“Uh,” she breathed, her cheeks colouring as she scrambled to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no problem. Long day at work?”
She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Something like that.”
“Where do you work?”
“At Pinebrook Lodge, the care home in town. I’m the manager there.”
“Ah,” I said, impressed. “It must be a challenging role.”
“It can be at times.”
Leaning forward, she picked up her teacup and took a small sip, seeming to savour the warmth before placing it back down. Her eyes flicked to mine. “Thank you for the tea.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, remembering I had an apology to give her. “That day you came to my office to tell me about our parents,” I began. “I was a prick to you, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have refused to see you, nor left you waiting for so long.”
She straightened a little, taking another sip of tea before she replied, “You were a prick that day,” she confirmed, a hint of the attitude returning, and my mouth began to curve in a grin.
“Am I forgiven?” I questioned low.
She pursed her lips. “That remains to be seen.”
I chuckled and shook my head, plastering on my most sincere expression. “It’s my fault we got off to such a bad start. I may have misjudged you.”
She didn’t respond, only stared at me like she was trying to figure me out. Maybe she thought I was only apologising because I wanted something from her. And, well, I sort of did.
“Can you tell me a story about my mother?” I asked.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so vulnerable and exposed. The last time I’d felt like I needed something from someone so badly.
Her eyes widened in surprise before they softened in sympathy. I felt pathetic, begging for a scrap of her memories, something good to hold on to.
Ada kept the teacup clasped between her hands as though warming them. “What kind of story?”
My throat tightened. “Something good. A happy story.”
“Hmm, let me think,” she said, her eyes travelling across the room as she chewed absentmindedly at her full bottom lip.
I was unaccustomed to feeling so needy. In my life, people typically came to me looking for things. In this case, I was the one searching, and I hated the feeling. But I needed something to dull the raw pain inside me. My grief was something much worse than normal loss because it was mixed in with regret, guilt, shame and self-recrimination.
“One time, we found a litter of four kittens taking shelter in one of the bushes out front.” She motioned out the window. “Their mother was nowhere to be found, and they were really young, like, had literally just been born. Their eyes hadn’t even opened yet. They were so little and weak from malnourishment. We decided the mother must’ve died somehow, leaving them all alone. Your mam, as you might be aware, was allergic to cats, but she couldn’t abandon the kittens and knew that if she gave them to a shelter, they might just end up being put down. So, she dosed up on allergy medication and made it her mission to nurse the kittens back to health.”
Ada paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she let out a quiet laugh. “I swear I never heard someone sneeze so much in my life, even with all the antihistamines she was taking. But she loved those little kittens. After a couple of weeks, they were the healthiest, most beautiful creatures you’d ever seen. So much so that Leonora was able to find several people to adopt them from amongst her friends and acquaintances. The day the final kitten was taken she looked so happy, like she’d done a good deed for the world.”
That sounded like Mam. She had a heart so big it could sometimes be to her detriment. This story had a happy ending, though. There were times in my childhood when there wasn’t one. I sat there, picturing her with those kittens, loving them back to health, and it took everything in me not to break down. I still hadn’t cried even though my inner turmoil was almost unbearable at times.
“Thank you,” I said at last, lifting my gaze.
Ada was staring at me with kind eyes, and discomfort pinched at me. I didn’t want her to see the pain ripping through me.
“You might not know this, but I can understand a little of what you’re going through,” she said. “Up until a couple years ago, I hadn’t spoken to my father in a long time.”
Her confession distracted me from my agonised thoughts. “You hadn’t?”
“You’re aware of his alcoholism. His addiction created a lot of problems when my sister and I were young, and it came to a point where we cut him from our lives. Then, a few years ago, I was leaving work and discovered your mother waiting outside for me. She told me who she was and asked if we could grab a coffee. We sat in a café for over an hour, and she told me about my dad, how he was a changed man and all the work he’d done to get sober. She convinced me to give him another chance, and if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be in your shoes right now, mourning a parent I hadn’t seen in—”
“I should get those things for you,” I said, standing abruptly. The conversation was suddenly more than I could handle. I was torn between asking her to sit across from me all night and recount stories of Mam and asking her to leave and never come back.
I’d placed the photo albums and selection of other belongings in a carrier bag. It sat at the foot of the bed our parents had shared. Grabbing it, I swiftly returned to the living room and found Ada slowly rising from the couch. She used her cane to take the weight off her injured leg, and I didn’t like seeing her struggle. When she saw the bag, she reached out to take it, but I held it back.
“It’s heavy,” I told her gruffly. “I’ll carry it out for you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I said I’ll carry it,” I stated, my tone a little harsh, and her protest fell away.
Stepping ahead of her, I opened the front door and motioned for her to exit. She walked towards her car; her steps measured like she was afraid to overdo it. Then, when she was just a few feet away, she withdrew her keys and clicked the button to open the doors before turning back to me. Once again, she reached for the bag, but I moved past her towards the vehicle.
“I’ll put it in the back for you,” I said, approaching the small car.
“Wait, Jonathan!” Ada protested, something desperate in her voice, but I’d already opened the back door. When I saw how much stuff was in there, bags of clothing and possessions, not to mention a pillow and sleeping bag, a sick feeling gripped me.
“I haven’t had the chance to bring everything to my new place yet,” she said, but her explanation felt hollow. I didn’t even realise I was biting the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood.
Immediately, I turned back around, meeting her panicked gaze. She looked so humiliated, and that was what killed me. If I didn’t already hate myself, this was the final straw. She was sleeping in her car. It was probably why her leg injury was playing up. Christ, even a fit and healthy person would feel like shit sleeping in that tiny vehicle. How did she even have enough room to lie down?
“Jonathan, please give me the bag,” she said, but I held on tight, my jaw working when I said, “Ada, get back in the house.”
She blinked, seemingly in confusion. Then her expression turned steely. “Can you please just hand over the bag so I can leave?”
“Leave and go where?” I challenged.
“To my … to my—”
“You’re sleeping here tonight,” I cut her off. “Now go inside. I’ll bring your stuff.”
She stared at me, looking lost, and I thought for sure she was going to turn and walk back into the house. Instead, she stepped away from me and went to her car.
“Ada, come back.”
“You can withhold my father’s belongings if you want, but I’m leaving.”
Before I had the chance to stop her, she was sliding into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. I ran after her, trying the door, but she’d already locked it. Our eyes met, and I saw her refusal to accept my charity plain as day. For whatever reason, she was too proud, and I felt useless. A second later, she sped away from the house so fast I was surprised the tires didn’t squeal.
Frustrated at her departure, I went back inside and pulled out my phone. I found Ada’s number; the same one I’d gotten from Therese yesterday after finding her father’s belongings. I was about to hit “call” when I realised I had no idea what to say.
I couldn’t exactly open with “I know you’re sleeping in your car, and for some reason, that makes me feel like breaking things. Please come back and stay at my mother’s house. Stay forever if you want.”
Clearly, I was losing my sanity. My sister, Maggie, had lightly suggested I see a grief counsellor, and I was beginning to think she was right. I was emotionally attaching myself to Conor Rose’s daughter because, in my mind, she was my final connection to Mam. She was the one who could talk to me about her, tell me all the stuff I’d missed. I was still reeling from the kitten story.
At the same time, I simply couldn’t relax knowing I’d forced her into homelessness. Yes, I’d offered her cheaper rent, but maybe seven hundred a month was still too much. I’d been wealthy for so long I didn’t really know what was manageable to someone on an average salary. But perhaps it wasn’t merely the cost. I had experience with naturally prideful, stubborn people after two decades in the finance industry. I also happened to be one of those people from time to time. Give me an ultimatum, and I’d cut off my nose to spite my face. Was that what Ada was doing by sleeping in her car? She hadn’t found a new place to rent. No, she’d said that because she’d rather suffer than accept charity from a man who’d looked down on her from the moment we’d met.
I really was a thorough-going bastard.
In the end, I dialled her number but only received her answering message. Had she turned off her phone? Run out of battery? Panic gripped me at the thought of her parked on a random street where any scumbag or lowlife could break into her car, rob her or worse.
No, this wouldn’t do at all.
I needed to remedy the situation because I was the one who’d caused it. And as I sat there agonising, an idea sprang to mind.
The following morning, I tried calling Ada again, but like last night, it went straight to voicemail.
By lunchtime, I still hadn’t gotten through to her, and I began to worry that something awful had happened, like she’d frozen to death in her car during the night. I was short tempered and snapping at anyone who came into my office. The situation needed to be sorted for the sake of my employees’ mental health, if nothing else.
Lifting my phone, I asked Therese to have my driver, Ben, meet me out front in fifteen minutes and to reschedule my next two meetings.
“Where should I tell him he’s taking you?” Therese queried.
“Pinebrook Lodge,” I replied, resolute.