10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Ava
“Have you seen your front lawn?” He gestures behind him, clearly still a bit agitated. “The gates were breached, and the poor excuses for security guards we supplied for you slept and gamed their way through the incident.”
“A bit of vandalism and trespassing?” All the signs that have my name are actually really nice. Testimonials from people who work for me about how great I am and other flattering things. Can you even call that vandalism? “More of an inconvenience than anything.” Half the signs could stay, really.
“They tried the front door,” he says, his expression turning flinty. “I’m not taking any chances with your safety or Landon’s. Once your husband and his security team are back on the island, we’ll resume our normal schedule.”
“Are you saying you’re sleeping here?”
“For four hours after Datu shows up to relieve me.”
“Four hours?”
“All I need,” he says, stepping around me and into the house. “I can sleep in a closet if you don’t have a spare bed.”
“That’s inhumane.”
“To you, who needs ten hours in thousand-dollar sheets, it would seem so.”
“Ten hours is the bare minimum, and having standards is not a bad thing,” I say, following him inside. “Landon and I are fine. There’s no need to go to extremes.”
“You’re fine because the door was locked. What if whoever it is returns with something to force the door open?”
“They’re mad he’s being a dick about them unionizing. Do you really think they’d go to that extreme?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m being paid to consider all the angles, all possible threats,” he says. “We’ll stop at my house on the way home when you’re done with work. I’ll need clothes for the week.”
The idea of Stephen sleeping under the same roof as me, of him spending all day and night here, sends a shot of adrenaline through me that makes my heart tremble.
“We have spare rooms,” I say, trying to keep my outward composure. “I’ll have the maid make one up for you.”
“Thanks,” he says, and he barely offers me a glance when Landon comes racing out of the kitchen and flies into Stephen’s arms as though he’s been doing it for years instead of a few weeks. Without hesitation, Stephen flips Landon around, sending my son into squeals of laughter.
A chill of sadness seeps into me that Landon doesn’t get this kind of attention and affection from a man in this house more often, that once this unionization threat has been put down, Landon loses this connection.
When we leave my office at the end of the day, Stephen drives us to one of the few middle-class neighborhoods on the outskirts of Tucker’s Town. It’s a subdivision I’ve never been to before, but I can tell from the two-story houses and bigger bungalows that it’s not rich-rich or poor-poor.
The semicircle driveway he pulls into sits in front of a large, long, gray brick bungalow.
The landscaping leaves something to be desired with overgrown bushes and flower beds that need attention, but since Stephen works long hours, that makes sense.
If he’s bought into Owen’s business, I don’t know why he wouldn’t just hire someone to do his lawncare.
He turns around in the driver’s seat when I unbuckle my seat belt to get out with him. “You stay here with Datu.”
“What?” I let out a laugh of disbelief, but I don’t have time to protest before Stephen has left the car and is striding up the long accessible ramp to the front door.
Someone who needed a wheelchair must have lived here before Stephen purchased it.
I open my door, and I have one foot out before Datu turns around in the passenger seat, a look of panic on his face.
“Ms. Tucker,” he says, “Mr. Foster wants you to stay here.”
“Datu, I am not a dog. He cannot tell me to stay and I’ll wag my tail and sit around waiting for a pat on the head. Besides, he might need my help.”
As Datu is launching another protest, I get out and slam the car door, heels clicking quickly toward the front entrance. Unless Datu wants to get out of the car and tackle me to the ground, he’s not stopping me.
I give the faintest knock on the front door, knowing Stephen’s going to be pissed that I tagged along. Curiosity is definitely my downfall.
“Knock, knock,” I call softly as I open the door.
“Who’s there?” an older female voice calls.
“I’ll check,” another female voice says.
A chill goes through me that he might live with a woman. If that’s the case, of course he wouldn’t want me in the house. How awkward.
I’m stuck with one foot in the house and one out when a young woman dressed in scrubs appears in the entrance. “Can I help you?”
“This is Stephen Foster’s house, isn’t it?” I ask, straightening. He just entered. It has to be.
“This is the Foster residence,” the woman says. “Are you here with Stephen? He just went through to his apartment to gather some things.”
I step fully into the house, and I stand in the front foyer, calculating. “This bungalow is separated into apartments? Is this your apartment? I’m sorry.”
“Who are you, exactly?”
“Ava Tucker.”
“Did she say Ava Tucker?” an older male voice shouts from beyond the front foyer. “Invite her in. Come in. Come in.”
The woman steps back and waves me through. “It appears the elder Mr. Foster would like to entertain you.”
I slip past her into the living room, where Stephen’s parents, who I recognize from photos I saw in Stephen’s apartment a long time ago, are sitting in matching recliners. A wheelchair is off to the side, and suddenly, the ramp makes a lot more sense.
“Mr. and Mrs. Foster,” I say, entering the living room and going to each of them to shake their hands. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Foster says, “I wish I’d met you before my eyesight went all wonky.”
“You can’t see very well?” I ask, crouching in front of her.
“This MS business is the pits, I tell you. Steals so much joy.” She squints at me. “But I remember you were such a beauty when I’d see you around Bellerive.”
“You have MS?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
“Diagnosed a few years ago. Walter was looking after me until he was in that car accident and buggered his back. Can’t really walk much anymore.”
“Broke my heart that I couldn’t look after Lorraine,” Walter says. “And then Stephen had his accident. Poor Vanessa had it rough there for a while. All of us needing her, none of us any help.”
“Right,” I say, slowly. “Stephen’s accident. Sounds like he was pretty lucky.”
“Should have died,” Walter agrees. “I hate even saying that, but all the reports we got were bloody awful. That’s when the nursing started.” He gestures to the young woman who met me at the door.
“What—” I start to say when a door opens by the kitchen and Stephen enters with a suitcase.
He stops short when he sees me and lets out a huff. “Of course you couldn’t listen to a simple instruction.”
“I didn’t know I’d be barging in on your parents,” I say.
“I’m not sure why you think I’d tell a client anything about my personal life.” His tone is sharp.
“Oh, it’s no bother,” Lorraine says. “We’re happy for the company. You should bring your son around some time. We don’t get out much since it’s such a chore for both of us to go anywhere. Stephen and Vanessa try, but they work so much.”
The shape of Stephen’s life when he leaves my house is starting to form. “The full-time nursing care must help.”
“It’s not full-time, but it’s what we can afford,” Walter says. “Or rather what the kids can afford.”
“All right,” Stephen says, “Mrs. Santos really doesn’t need to hear all this.” He tries to usher me toward the door with his suitcase.
“It was so lovely to meet both of you!” I call to them as Stephen practically pushes me out the front door. “Why are you so rude?” I say, turning on Stephen the minute the door closes behind us.
“I told you to stay put.”
“I was not sitting in the car when I could be in there helping you.”
“That was helping? Seemed like prying to me. Invasion of privacy. Nosy bullshit.”
“I was going to help you pack. I had no idea you live with your parents.”
He leads us toward the car without confirming what I know to be true. He puts his suitcase in the trunk while I stand beside the car instead of getting in. I don’t know what I expect from him, but I want something more than his silence.
“To be clear,” he says, opening the door for me, “they live with me.”
“I’m really sorry that their lives have taken such bad turns,” I say, the car door between me and Stephen. I hold onto the top, and when our gazes connect, his annoyance with me is clear.
“My life and theirs are really none of your concern.” He gestures for me to get in. “We need to get back to the house so I can relieve Kiara and her team for the night.”
Reluctantly, I slide into the back of the car. Whether he likes it or not, this conversation isn’t over. Today, more pieces to the Stephen-shaped puzzle were added to the mix, and I will figure out how they all go together.