21. Chapter Twenty-One ~ Chris
Chapter Twenty-One ~ Chris
Three days now.
Three days in a row Emma has been late for work.
And with no explanation about it. In fact, the last time I asked, she insisted that she got caught in traffic, but none of the other girls said anything about traffic.
Something is going on.
But I can’t quite put my finger on what.
She can’t be seeing someone else, right? I can’t imagine Emma as that type. But she’s definitely hiding something and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.
If I ask her outright, however, she’s likely to clam up again and that’s definitely not what I want. So I’ll have to try something different.
“Hey, Emma!” When she walks through the door I catch her immediately. But I can’t help noticing the guilty look on her face. The way she’s glancing around like she doesn’t want to be here with me right now. And I wonder if it’s just about her being late again, or if there’s something else going on.
“What’s up?”
“Tomorrow, you’re off, right?”
“Um, yeah.” She seems startled by the topic, like that wasn’t what she was expecting.
“I want to get the furniture for the baby’s room.”
“You want … tomorrow … we can …” Now she’s flustered but she gets herself back under control quickly enough, giving me a quick nod. “All right. Sure.”
Maybe that way I can figure out what’s going on. And we can get past whatever has suddenly made her so insecure.
But the next morning, when she comes to the kitchen in some cute shorts and a top that covers her belly, she looks confident. Comfortable. More like the Emma I know.
By the time we’re ready to leave I’m wondering if maybe I was just imagining things. Because now she seems back to normal.
“Where to first?” she asks, climbing into the passenger seat of the car.
“We’ll head to Olsen’s.”
“Olsen’s?” She looks confused and I’m sure she’s never heard of the place. Neither had I until I started looking up baby stores in the area. And this one seems to be the best of the best.
“We’ll be there soon and we can see what they have,” I tell her, instead of saying anything else. I’m sure they’ll have something that she will like. Though I’m not entirely sure what all we’re going to need.
Luckily, Emma seems to have an idea on that.
“Okay, so we’re going to need a crib and a dresser and maybe a rocking chair. And a stroller and some linens and things. Clothes. And diapers. But I think we can make do with that.”
I shake my head slightly but lead her into the store. We’re not going to ‘make do’ with anything, but for now I’ll let her think what she wants. Which is why I also let her take the lead at first when it comes to looking for the things we want.
“Hello … Miss,” the sales clerk says, walking over to us with a strange look on her face. She glances over Emma with a look almost like disdain and I clench my teeth together to keep from saying anything. But Emma just stands up straight and squares her shoulders.
“Hello, I’m looking for furniture for a baby’s room.”
“Well, you’re in the right place then,” the woman replies and her tone is almost sarcastic even while she’s pasted on a fake smile.
“Okay, great,” Emma says smoothly instead of responding. “I only need the basics, and we’re looking to make things as functional as possible.”
“Of course.” Again, that tone that I don’t like and it’s grating on me not to say something. But Emma looks like she wants to handle it and so for now I keep my mouth shut. “These are the most … functional pieces that we have,” the woman finally replies, leading us to what I’m sure is the cheapest bedroom set in the place.
Even still, when Emma glances at the price I can see her eyes go wide. And the smug look on the woman’s face.
“Is there a problem?”
“No. It’s just that you’re our first stop and so-“
“You won’t find anything better than what we have to offer,” the woman interrupts and I’m entirely positive that it’s a smug expression now. She’s enjoying tormenting Emma. Enjoying making her uncomfortable.
“Are you the manager?” I ask suddenly and both women turn to look at me.
“No. The manager isn’t working today.”
“Too bad,” I retort and the woman does the same once-over on me. But my shorts and buttoned shirt won’t be mistaken for anything other than a high-end brand, though she likely won’t know anything about it. Still, I get a slightly less judgy look. “You,” I point to a young man walking past us wearing a uniform for the store. “You are a salesperson?”
“Um … yes … I … yes, I am,” he replies, glancing nervously from the other woman to me and Emma.
“Great. You can help us. And you … you can get back to whatever you were doing before,” I instruct.
Emma looks shocked at the way I take charge, and the boy looks nervous still but steps up as the other woman scoffs at us and walks away.
“Better your time wasted than mine,” she murmurs to the boy as she walks away but he takes a deep breath, sets down the box he was holding, and glances from me to Emma before settling on her.
“Okay, well, I see you’re looking at this model, it’s-“
“We don’t want this one,” I interrupt though Emma shoots me a glare and shakes her head.
“Oh. Okay, well, I can show you some of the other options.” He glances around the room and seems to decide that the best course of action is to simply make our way through, which he does easily, getting more and more comfortable as we look at new items.
By the time we make it all the way around the room he’s definitely in his element and feeling a lot more confident. And he’s making Emma smile and laugh along the way. And keeping her from looking at the price tags.
“Now, this is the best that we have. It’s made with solid wood, a teak exterior with a solid frame under it so it’s beautiful and still sturdy. There are two dressers to go with it like you would find in an adult set, a tall one here and the lower one that can be used also as a changing table. Or there’s a separate changing table here.” He points out all of the features and I can tell Emma is impressed.
“This is the one.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to look at any of the others again?” He asks, his brow furrowed but I can tell he’s not concerned about us paying for it. He’s paying attention to what we want, and that I appreciate.
“This is the one. And we’ll take the entire set.”
“Great. If you’d like we can look at some of the bedding and other things …”
By the time we get to the register there is a huge pile of boxes and packages waiting for us. And the judgy lady is staring at us with a scowl on her face.
“I’m not going to be happy if I have to put all of these things back,” she practically growls and the boy looks embarrassed for her. Though Emma is staring at the mound of items with a mixture of shock and dismay as well.
“That’s not going to be a problem,” I retort, and when he’s finished ringing everything up, I hand over my card, which goes through without a problem.
She seems surprised then. Her eyes widen as she stares at us.
“And you, if you ever fancy a change of pace … we’re always looking for hard workers like you at the club.” I hand him my card and Emma laughs.
“You think he wants to go from working at a baby store to a nightclub?”
“You never know,” I tell her with a shrug and he glances down at the card, flipping it over in his hand.
“Christian Warren?”
The woman’s eyes really go wide now and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tries to think of a way to salvage what’s just happened here, but she can’t.
“That’s right. Think about it.” And with that, I lead Emma out of the store.
“I think you might have just about given her a panic attack,” Emma tells me, with a glance back over her shoulder.
“She deserved it, after the way she treated you.”
“You spent way too much on all that stuff. And we don’t really need half of it. We can make do with-“
“We’re not going to ‘make do’ with anything,” I tell her firmly. “This is my child too and they are going to have everything that they need.”
“This is more than just what they need.”
“Well, it’s what they’re getting,” I insist.
There’s something about the look on her face … pleasure and surprise, but a little trepidation, perhaps. She’s uncertain. Happy to have it, but the expense of it all throws her off. She still doesn’t say anything else.
“I … I have to go. I have plans this evening,” she tells me and I stare at her a little closer.
Things have been good all morning, but there’s definitely something different now. Still, I know better than to say anything so I just let it go, taking her back to the house and making out like I’m going up to the office to work on some things for the business.
But when she slips out of the house, I follow. It’s been long enough of this trying to figure out what’s going on and I’m not about to wait for her to tell me. The bag she’s carrying is strange too, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back, just tosses it into her car and heads out.
The fact that she never once looks back to see if she’s being followed annoys me. I’ll need to talk to her about basic safety. But the fact that she drives straight through town and all the way into the West End District is even more surprising.
What could she possibly be doing here? I know for a fact she didn’t live here. When I had her things brought to my house, they came from a small but functional apartment in the East District. So what is she doing here?
The house she stops at is shabby. There’s no getting around that. But they’ve definitely put work into keeping it as nice as possible, for what it is. There are a few flowers in the front and the yard is neat. And Emma is taking her bag and going up to the front door where she’s easily welcomed in.
But what is this place? And why is she here?
I’m already attracting attention with my car and the last thing I want is someone to tell Emma that I’m here, following her. At least, not before I’m ready to talk to her about it. Because I don’t want to give her time to think up a story before I confront her. And I intend to do just that.
Which is why I’m waiting in the living room when she gets back.
“Emma.”
“Oh! You startled me. What do you need? Did the things get delivered for the baby’s room?”
“They did. But I want to talk about something first.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, is it?” I counter and she gives me a confused look.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What were you doing in the West End District?”
“You followed me?” She looks irritated, but also … something else.
“You’ve been weird about where you go and why you’ve been late the last several days. I wanted to know what was going on.”
“That’s a huge invasion of my privacy. If I wanted you to know anything I would have told you.” It’s clear she wants to sound sharp but her tone is more like a nervous schoolgirl than anything.
“And what was that bag you took with you?”
“The bag? I just … there were some things I didn’t need.”
“So you did what with them?”
“I gave them away to someone,” she says reluctantly, but no matter how much I push she refuses to say anything else.
“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I need to go to bed.” And with that she practically runs out of the room.
There’s something there. Something she doesn’t want to talk about.
And I’m determined to find out what it is.