5. Quiet House
Quiet House
Sheridan
With as many apartments as I’ve had, I’d think sleeping in a new bed—especially one as comfortable as this one—would be easier. But it never is.
The sun is starting to peek out, and I can’t lie here anymore, but the house is way too quiet. There hasn’t been a single footstep on the stairs.
Neither Dahlia nor her husband is awake yet. It would be weird if I just wandered around their house, even though they gave me a tour yesterday.
What do I do until they wake up? Write…I always need to get more words in. But my brain feels too restless for that. If I were home, I’d go for a run. Is it safe to do that alone in Urbium?
There was a guard at the gate to the community when I entered. It’s probably as safe as it gets in this town.
It only takes a few minutes to dig through my bag and find my outfit and earbuds before I make it out the door.
The cold air smacks me in the face.
Do I get a jacket or try to push through until the activity warms me from the inside? Eh…Who’s afraid of a little chilly air?
The streets are silent and empty, which seems odd in a city that never sleeps. But it’s also really early, so the smart people are probably still in bed or stumbling over to their coffeepots.
As I pick up the pace, the world around me shrinks to the music thumping in my head and the ground in front of me.
There’s nothing else. No plotlines to work out. No marketing issues to solve. No weird Kissing Pact to avoid. No medical issues to solve. No lack of housing.
The pain in my side slows me down until it brings me to a stop to drag oxygen into my lungs.
Short, gasping pants lead to long, deep, cleansing breaths.
With that, the world returns, and with it a desire for situational awareness, which, according to the internet, is one of the most important facets in keeping yourself safe. Out come the earbuds. The sudden silence startles me, only to be broken by what sounds like a woman sobbing.
It can’t be. Everyone is asleep.
But that’s definitely a woman crying.
What do I do?
Call the police, idiot.
And say what? They’ll think I’m crazy. A smart woman would walk away. Tears could mean anything.
Those sobs aren’t happy tears.
Walk away.
Be safe.
Walk away. I can’t…I can’t just walk away, but I do set up a panic button to call 911 if things go south.
That’s smart. At least a little smart. This is dumb, but I follow the sobs down to the side of what is probably a boutique hotel or maybe a museum into a fenced garden…this isn’t a shoot-first state, right?
Please don’t kill me for trying to be a nice person.
Please don’t kill me.
The deeper I get into the garden, the louder her sobs get. This woman isn’t just hurt. She’s crushed. Her salt-and-pepper hair is sprawled across the wrought-iron table she’s sitting at. Her entire body shakes with each sob.
Thankfully, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else around.
“Excuse me. Are you okay?”
The woman’s head pops up and turns toward me. She’s only slightly younger than my grandmother but older than my mother would be if she were still alive.
Attempting to blink away tears does nothing to stop them from streaming down.
There doesn’t appear to be any visible bruising on her face or hands, but that doesn’t mean anything.
It’s so easy to hide pain from the world around you.
“Some days, I just need a good cry, but occasionally it helps to talk to someone about what I’m going through.
A stranger. Someone who can just listen without judgment.
A person who will walk out of your life as fast as they entered it. ”
The tears slow, but don’t stop. “My grandson was hurt.”
Oh no.
“It’s bad. They sent him to a special clinic. Just like my son. I lost my son. Then I lost my husband. Now I’m going to lose my grandson, and I just…I can’t take losing one more family member.”
“You can handle it because you have to.”
The tears stop in that moment.
“You don’t get a choice to fall apart, because you haven’t lost him. People think it’s the hardest to be the sick one…the broken one. They’re wrong. It’s always the people who have to hold it all together for the ones who need them the most that experience unimaginable amounts of pain.”
“How? How do I do that when he won’t see me?”
That’s something that I understand. “Do you have a bad relationship?”
She shakes her head. “He loves me. He’s always been a good boy.”
“Has he told the medical facility that you can’t visit?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“So, make him want you to visit. The food at those places is barely edible in the best circumstances. Terrible most of the time. Show up with food…his favorites. Bring a little extra for the nurses and staff.”
“Cook for him…”
“Or pick up food from his favorite restaurant if you don’t cook.”
The woman stares at me like she’s judging me. “Who was sick?”
What? “We aren’t talking about me.”
“Who was sick?”
Why not tell her? “My grandmother.”
“How long did you care for her?”
“Almost a decade.” And I still am, even though what I can do now is seriously limited. But that doesn’t seem to make it any easier mentally.
“Ahh.” She pats the cushion of the seat next to her. “Tell me about her.”
I sink down onto the surprisingly warm chair.
How do I explain a woman who I love as much as I hate?
“Grams was always the strongest person that I’ve ever known.
” She definitely wasn’t the smartest or the kindest, but she made up for that with sheer determination.
“When I was five, I moved in with her. She taught me all the things I needed to survive.” Never to thrive.
But she didn’t know what that word meant.
There was no point in her life that she did anything but make it through.
The woman smiles. “My grandson lights up a room when he walks inside it. I’ve never met anyone that just knows how to make people smile.”
Kids can be like that.
“Whenever he visits, he always runs up and gives me the biggest hugs. He’s such a good boy.”
Aww. She really loves the kid.
“Would you help me?”
Huh?
What?
“Would you help me make something for him and the staff, then bring it to visit him?”
Oh. She’s scared to try it on her own. To see the little boy she loves broken. “I’d be honored to, but I’m only in town for a week or two.”
The lady taps on the table for a second. “We could do it tomorrow, if you’re free?”
Dylan’s cake tasting isn’t for two days. I can make some time tomorrow. “Sure.”
“Around eight in the morning?”
“Sure.” That will give me time for a morning run and a shower. I stand up. “It was nice meeting you…” Oh, that was a little blunder, not asking her name but agreeing to help.
“Viola.”
“It was nice meeting you, Viola. I’m Sheridan. See you tomorrow.”
“Do you need me to ask my son or husband to pick you up?”
Do I? It would certainly be easier. “No, I can walk over.” I think. I can’t be that far from Dahlia's place. Next time, I should pay attention to where I’m going when I run.
The neighborhood starts coming alive as I jog back. It really wasn’t far at all. How many times did I circle the neighborhood? My body feels like I did at least five miles…a good morning run but nothing too wild.
Tomorrow, I need to see if the little park is open at that time.
Yeah, right. Like wandering through an empty park when it’s mostly dark, as a woman alone, wouldn’t be a recipe for being assaulted.
It’s so picture perfect, even in the winter, with all those cute little lanterns. What could possibly go wrong? Everything.
There are lights on in Dahlia’s house as I walk inside.
Glass clinks from the direction of the kitchen.
Should I say hello? Or should I just run up and shower?
A steaming hot shower sounds amazing.
Dahlia giggles.
My gut screams to hide.
They invited you to visit. Be a pleasant guest. Fine.
“Good morning!” I shout before entering in case the newlyweds aren’t expecting me.
“Morning.” Dahlia smiles at me from the island where she has two coffee mugs in front of her.
Try as I might, I can’t help staring at her husband, who is pan-frying a bunch of vegetables. That man is a beast. His body is covered in massive muscles…the kind that don’t just appear on a man’s body. Maverick isn’t a particularly handsome man, but there’s something about him.
“How was your run?”
Odd. Strange. “Lovely. The air was brisk and exhilarating.”
“There’s no way I could have dragged myself out of a warm bed to run in the cold. Though, to be fair, I don’t run at all. Would you like a cup of hot cocoa or coffee?”
Cocoa sounds amazing. Be a polite guest. “No. Thank you.”
She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. “Maverick is making a vegetable omelet, but if there’s something else you would like…”
Find something that doesn’t put them out…
There’s a bowl of fruit on the island with a bunch of bananas on top.
Perfect. Cheap and easy. “I don’t usually eat much for breakfast. One of these is all I want.
” That’s such a lie. But the banana will be good to add back some potassium into my body.
“Do you want to get a planning session in this morning? Or can I help with anything?”
“We’re all going to head out to the venue around twelve thirty. Then, we’ll start getting in-depth with the planning.”
“Sounds good.” My stomach twists a little. It’s shocking that it hasn’t let out a loud growl. If it were possible to stop your body from making any noises from hunger, mine would have ceased years ago. “See you later, then.” I dash up to my room, devouring the banana the second I’m safely inside.
How is my room already a mess? Food. I should have eaten something last night, but I was too hungry to dig something out.
One of the nice things about flying in a private jet is that there are no luggage fees.
My second suitcase is just as heavy as the first, but it isn’t full of clothes.
It’s got almost all the non-perishables into it from my old place, with the exception of soups that need to be cooked.
Though in a pinch, even those can be eaten cold.
A granola bar will be enough for breakfast.
Maybe I can sneak down and do some dishes to help out while they’re getting ready.