8. Ember
EIGHT
EMBER
We drove through hilly landscape covered in mixed forests.
Deciduous trees were changing their leaves, while the evergreens poked out between them.
The rain was constant and the temperature had dropped, so I was bundled up in a wool skirt, a sweater, and a jacket.
My boots were fleece lined and my tights were thick enough to be opaque, but I wished I’d brought my fleece-lined ones. It was chillier than I’d expected.
I’d gotten used to the fresh air in the days that I’d been here, and a part of me longed to walk through the forest. I realized with a start that I didn’t miss my small condo in Chicago.
I didn’t miss the sound of sirens and honking, or the smell of garbage day, or the clattering of the L trains on their tracks as they rushed through the city.
In fact, part of me dreaded the day I’d have to leave the pristine countryside and small-town charm of Marswood Harbor to go back to the city.
When had that happened? I swore just yesterday, I’d been telling myself I couldn’t wait to leave. Had I been lying to myself?
“We do security for a lot of the homes outside of town,” Jack explained. “Mostly remote monitoring, but we do hire a few people for on-site patrols.”
“I’m surprised there’s a market for it,” I replied.
Jack grimaced. “It’s a blessing and a curse.
A lot of wealthy folks have second or third homes out here.
It’s their getaway from the city. They stay a week or two a year, if that, but keep full staffs employed at all times.
Means a lot of resources get diverted away from the town, since those people have a lot of pull in local and state politics.
But my brothers and I wouldn’t have a way to make a living if they weren’t here.
And lots of other people are in the same boat. ”
I nodded, seeing glimpses of large estates down narrow drives, mostly hidden by the forest. “Your grandmother wants to fight back,” I said.
Jack was silent for a beat, then he sighed.
“The hell of it is, I think she’s right.
” He snorted, shaking his head as he slowed down to turn down one of the hidden driveways lined with encroaching trees.
“The town needs new people. And there are nearly twenty of us grandkids, and only one of us is married and actively having kids.”
“You’ve done your duty in that regard,” I noted.
Jack grunted, and then we didn’t speak as the trees opened up to a vast clearing.
The driveway arrowed through a gigantic lawn ringed with beautiful landscaping.
A huge stone home rose over the land, with peaked roofs and an imposing front door that stood at the top of a wide staircase.
If it had a few crenelations, it would’ve looked like an honest-to-goodness castle.
Beyond the house, I saw glimpses of silvery-gray water dotted with whitecap waves beneath the flat gray of the clouds.
Over the horizon, lightning struck. The property was jaw-dropping, and the inclement weather only added to the drama.
We drove around back and were met by an older man in a smart uniform bearing a big umbrella. He waved us down and directed us to park outside the huge garages, then waited for us to get out. We jogged toward the old man as he stepped out from under the eaves and extended the umbrella to shield us.
“Giles,” Jack greeted. “I hear you’ve been having trouble with your alarm system.”
The only evidence of the old man’s displeasure was a slight pinching of his lips. “We’re very grateful you’ve come so quickly,” he replied, then looked at me. “It appears we interrupted you.”
Jack moved closer to me, sliding his hand along my spine. Even through my jacket, sweater, and shirt, I felt every inch of his stroke. I hated when he did that. I loved when he did that. “Giles, this is my wife, Ember.”
And that simple sentence sent my stomach tumbling.
Giles’s white eyebrows twitched ever so slightly upward. I wondered if this marriage were real, and if I were here to stay, how long it would take for people to stop having that reaction to me. “Lovely to meet you,” he said as he inclined his head. “My apologies for interrupting your morning.”
“I’m curious about what Jack does,” I said. “I’m happy to come along. Your home is beautiful.”
“Oh, it isn’t mine,” Giles said with a polite smile. “But thank you all the same. This way.”
He led us across the asphalt and through a side door to what could only be described as the servants’ quarters.
We stripped our wet jackets and handed them over to Giles, who hung them in a closet for us.
From there, we walked into a utilitarian kitchen that was all stainless steel and industrial efficiency, with the three people in chef’s whites to match.
They looked up then quickly went back to work as we strode through to another room holding electronics and dark monitors.
“Everything’s offline?” Jack asked, moving to the computers to try jiggling the mouse. The screens came alive, but all they showed was a camera icon with a line through it. No actual footage.
“I got the alert an hour ago. I assume your people did too. Your brother told me he tried…” Giles waved a hand. “Something.” He gave me a self-deprecating smile. “I’m no good with this stuff,” he told me, indicating the electronics.
“The team tried restarting the system remotely, but we concluded that the issue was with the hardware on site. I’ll have to inspect it to find the fault. It shouldn’t take too long, but Ember, if you don’t want to stick around, I can give you the car keys, and—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Giles cut in. “You’ll have coffee, won’t you? If the weather allowed, I would’ve gotten one of the groundskeepers to give you a tour. I saw you looking at the ocean; the view is even better from up close.”
I straightened. “I would love that. I don’t mind getting a little wet. Could I borrow your umbrella?”
Giles’s eyebrows jumped. “Certainly. Mr. Mars, while you work, I’ll entertain your beautiful wife.”
I flushed. I knew I wasn’t beautiful—not really—but it was nice to hear it anyway.
Jack nodded. “Thank you. She doesn’t like coffee, by the way,” he told Giles. “Tea only. She usually drinks one called silver needles?” He made it sound like a question.
He’d noticed that? At home, I had two drawers full of different teas, but I’d only brought my favorites here. I’d tucked the three tins on a spare shelf above the spices along with my small yellow teapot. I hadn’t thought Jack even went in that cupboard; the spices were old, and he barely cooked.
“White tea,” Giles said as he inclined his head.
“We have a wonderful selection. Come with me.” The butler led me back to the kitchen, where I was plied with wonderfully floral tea, deliciously dense cake, and these perfectly tiny fruit tarts that I wanted to take with me and eat every day for the rest of my life.
When I was done, Giles led me out into the wet.
A man in green overalls appeared out of nowhere and told me he’d be happy to show me around.
He wore a big jacket with the hood up and nodded as I opened up my umbrella to step out into the rain.
A lot of people hated the rain, but I wasn’t one of them.
Something about the muffling quality of it made me feel safe.
As long as I had waterproof shoes and a jacket or an umbrella, I was always happy to be out in wet weather.
It made me feel like a voyeur of some kind.
Like I could observe the world without being seen in return.
It made no sense, but as I was learning, I wasn’t always as logical as I had previously thought.
The groundskeeper told me about the plants and the landscape design, waving his arm in a big arc, covering ground with huge steps while I scurried to follow.
I knew nothing about gardening—all I had were a few pot plants which I routinely killed and then replaced—but I was interested.
I inhaled the crisp, heavy scent of the rain and walked down to a small platform overlooking the water.
The groundskeeper left me there to enjoy the view and told me to head back to the house when I was ready.
He gave me a little salute and a smile, and he was gone.
The rain grew heavier as I watched lightning strike the ocean. Now that I was in it, the storm seemed angrier. Gulls huddled on rocks on the shore, feathers trembling. Waves crashed, and the scent of salt and brine filled my nose. Wind gusted, and I tilted my face to feel the full brunt of it.
It felt good, in a wild, windy, unfamiliar way. I wasn’t outdoorsy by any means, but there was something about standing here, on what felt like the edge of the world, watching the might of the Atlantic Ocean crash and recede against the shore under a stormy sky, that made me feel alive.
Yes, I would miss this, I realized. I’d been here six days, and the jagged coastline, the lush forests, and the smell of the air had already burrowed themselves under my skin.
Sure, there were rabid raccoons and way-too-charming men to contend with, but maybe…
maybe my life in Chicago hadn’t been as satisfying as I’d previously thought.
I was learning a lot about myself these days.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said behind me.
I turned to see a man with ink-black hair leaning against the side railing of the lookout platform.
He wore no jacket but held a big black umbrella.
He was tall—almost as tall as Jack—and had a kind of refined elegance clinging to the lines of his face and body.
He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
He wore a black sweater and dark jeans over a pair of sturdy-looking rain boots.
Though he was mostly dressed for the weather, other than a missing jacket, something about him felt out of place.
He looked from me to the view, and he surveyed the ocean like he owned it.
This was his land. His house.