Chapter 51
51
S imon was exhausted. By the time he opened his door he’d forgotten that Kitten wasn't there. He'd expected her to run up to him, maybe even claw her way up his pants and onto his shoulder.
The flight had been miserable. The first leg had been delayed, which then, of course, meant he missed the second flight. He was lucky he was only three hours later than he expected to be.
He was hungry, and he needed to go face Carlisle.
Food first, he thought, throwing a cheap frozen meal in the microwave. While the plastic dish rotated behind the clear door, he messaged his mom that he’d made it.
She gave him the details. Darcy was still in the hospital. If they hadn't needed to stabilize her medication they would have let her go. They had treated her for dehydration and given antibiotics for a nasty cut she didn't remember getting. But the update was that they expected her to be home the next day.
Darcy’s portfolio was gone. She’d taken it with her to show the gallery owner. She stopped first at an office store to pick up prints of her best works. Then she’d headed to the gallery with those and pencil and ink pieces.
Aside from the three original pieces, she hadn't lost any of the actual artwork. Still, he hated that she’d lost them, and Darcy was heartbroken and furious at herself for having no idea where the portfolio was.
She’d been found in the woods by hikers. She was lucky they were good samaritans and had talked her into walking back with them. They’d seen the cut on her leg, and the rips in her clothing, and didn’t take advantage of her. She’d been dehydrated, mildly hypothermic, and not answering their questions clearly. They’d gotten back in cell range and started calling in.
Though she was dressed and still had her purse with her, she had no recollection of anything after leaving the gallery.
Simon had taken to social media, asking if anyone could help. He had no idea if the artwork was in a coffee shop, or floating down the river, or in the hands of thieves. He begged for anyone to report if they found the leather portfolio or even an individual piece here or there.
His mother had photos of most of Darcy’s work. He posted images of the sketches and used Darcy’s own photos to show what the portfolio contained. So far, his pleas hadn’t found a home. He wished he had Carlisle's skill online. Or better yet, Emma Kate’s.
But he didn't feel right reaching out to Emma Kate, especially not when he and Carlisle weren't doing well. Her cousin would not be friendly to him.
He was still mad at Carlisle for talking Darcy into that crazy stunt. His sister could have died. Each time she disappeared it was a crapshoot, and he never knew if this time would be the time she didn’t come back.
He’d wanted to stay in Nebraska until his sister came home from the hospital. But he couldn't. She needed more time and he needed to get back to his job if he wanted to keep it, since this may very well only be the first time this happened.
Now that he was working across the country, he couldn't simply go and visit her after work. He was using his vacation days for Darcy but he'd been saving it for her, expecting that she would need it. Now he counted out how many days he still had left in the first year. It would get better. The longer he stayed, the more time off he would have.
His mother had told him to head home, reminded him that they'd done this before. Once Darcy was fully stabilized, they'd release her from the hospital. He knew all that.
For the first time, on the flight home, it occurred to him this excursion would result in a whole new slew of medical bills. Fuck .
Between the move, and the furniture he'd splurged on even though it wasn't much, and the previous round of bills, he was going to need to open a credit card to cover these new ones. Several days in the hospital wasn’t going to be cheap either. He had to hit her cap where things were covered soon. Didn’t he?
He was moving the fork mechanically from the plastic dish to his mouth when he realized that it was coming up empty. Chucking the container into the recycling, he put the fork into the dishwasher, and stretched his shoulders. He couldn't put off the task of collecting Kitten any longer.
It was getting late, dark enough outside that it was clearly night, but at least early enough that Carlisle should still be awake. He sent a message — I'm on my way over to pick up Kitten and her things.
He didn't get a reply, but he’d seen the lights were on at Carlisle’s when he pulled in. Simon went out the back deck door and headed across the lawn. He walked past the trees where she'd hung her hammock, back when the days were warmer. When he’d first seen her long legs over the side, her face mostly hidden behind a book, he’d wanted to get to know her better.
His heart cracked but he kept walking. He loved her, but he couldn’t have someone in his life who put Darcy in danger. He realized his anger was as much at Carlisle for being someone he had to push aside—someone he couldn’t be with—as for the harm she’d caused Darcy.
Bracing himself, he knocked on the front door.
She opened it quickly, as if she’d been waiting. Kitten curled around her feet, tiny steps making a figure eight but not darting for the open door. That was good. The little puff ball didn't seem to have any desire to go back outside. Maybe the last outdoors experience of shivering on the side of the road was enough.
Carlisle reached over and handed him a full cardboard container. He could see the litter box lid and everything folded up. Kitten’s toys were in there, as well as the food bowls, several cans and more.
“I cleaned the litter out. I wasn't going to send you home with cat poop.” She paused. “Do you want me to carry Kitten back across? Or do you want to come back and get her yourself?”
“I'll come back for her,” he said. Hearing the brusk anger simmering just under the surface, he figured it was kindest if he simply turned away.
He still wanted her, and he hated that about himself. How could he be so mad at her and still have no good answers?
The walk back in the brisk air chilled the bare skin on his arms. He should have put a jacket on. It was getting later in the season. Though it was still plenty warm in Georgia, he wasn't used to it. The air had been a bit biting up in Nebraska.
Setting everything down, he thought he would set it up, but then decided he just needed to go right back and get Kitten before he could change his mind or get more angry or maybe more soft.
He was back on Carlisle's front steps in just a few moments. It used to be he didn’t have to knock, he could have just walked in. But she opened the door again, Kitten cradled to her chest. She gave his tiny orange puff ball a few last scratches to the ears as Kitten nestled up against her. Shit . He was taking the cat away from her favorite person.
Still, Carlisle didn't play it, she didn’t cause a scene. Simply lifted the cat up and held Kitten out to him. “Be good, Kitten,” was all she said.
He felt his heart crack, but he couldn't be with someone who could go behind his back like that. Someone who didn't understand, even when he told her that it would put his sister in danger.
“I'm glad they found Darcy,” Carlisle told him looking him square in the eyes.
Simon couldn't think of anything else to say, so he just nodded, turned away with his tiny cat tucked up against his chest. He hoped he was keeping her warm enough against the chill night air. Letting himself in through the back door again, he puttered around putting Kitten’s things together. He played with her for a little bit and crawled into bed, exhausted and angry.
Angry at Carlisle, but angry at himself, too.