I park out front in the circular driveway surrounding a tall fountain that my parents bought from their last trip to Italy. My mom said I’ll understand the importance of bringing back souvenirs from places that you fall in love with to enjoy when I’m older.
She doesn't talk like that often, but when she does, I see another side of her. Something not so severe, coarse, and detached. I see a person that I could actually have a close relationship with.
I use my key to get in. No one is home. My mom said that both she and Dad would be back later this afternoon, but I was expecting to at least have the housekeeper.
It feels almost surreal, walking on the marble tile and being in these thousands of square feet all by myself.
I drop my bag on the first of two kitchen islands, both in a complementary waterfall design. The room is spotless, almost as if it were a showroom.
My mom receives five bouquets of fresh-cut flowers every week to place around the house and a beautiful arrangement sits perched in the middle of the circular kitchen table. The arrangement has a few roses, but also a lot of leafy greens and pointy, spindle flowers that I do not know the name of. In fact, I'm not much of a plant person in general. I have a few at home that are holding on for dear life, but in the past, I have even managed to kill cactus.
I make my way to the living room and look out at the vast Pacific Ocean through the sliding glass doors that span the entire wall. It's weird being here again after what happened the last time. If this were not my parents’ home, I would think twice about coming back because the pain from my engagement party is still pretty fresh.
I remember standing right over there and pretending that everything was all right. I remember standing in that other corner when Alex and I talked in private and I tried to stop this whole thing from happening.
I slide the door open and step outside, the cool breeze of the ocean plays with my hair. The air is full of salt and moisture and my hair begins to curl and frizz. I have pretty straight hair naturally, but of course not sleek like it is when it is flat ironed. Though it's naturally straight, it does tend to get waves when the humidity increases, especially right at the nape of my neck.
I walk over to the spot where I first met with Liam and cross my arms across my chest. I reach up and grab a thick strand of hair that curls slightly. I run it up and down between my fingers, holding it with my thumb and index finger then curling it between my ring and middle finger. This is something of a habit of mine. It's something that I do whenever I feel lost, out-of-control, or uncertain.
My fears of being hurt dissipate with being home again, but it’s not so much being in the comfort of my parents’ home, but rather in the security of their gated home, long driveway, cameras, and the security system.
I walk around the back deck from one side to another like a caged tiger. I let my thoughts float freely from one subject to another, not focusing on any one thing.
The wind picks up and I button my jacket and hold it tighter against my body, but I continue to pace.
It's different being here than at home. I realize now that the safety that I felt in that apartment was just an illusion. Yes, I have bars on the windows, but it's not a particularly uncommon thing in any LA apartment, especially if it's not in a particularly nice area. The bars made me feel safe. There are a few buildings on the street that don't have them and, though they look much nicer, I know that it's also easier for someone to break in.
I don't want to give the impression that break-ins, robberies, and theft are a common thing. Maybe they are for some people, but not for anyone I know. In general, crime is way down and I've enjoyed living in the city as a single woman. I never had to take any more precautions than simply being careful about walking home late at night.
Of course, that all changed after I talked to Kristen. Liam never told me about his girlfriend or what happened to her. Of course, I know why.
We don't know each other very well yet, despite the attraction and the emotional connection that we have built for each other. He has secrets that he has to keep and Allison was one of those secrets, but maybe it wasn't a secret at all. Maybe he just never got around to telling me about her. There's so much about his life that I do not know and now, with my article being published, I'm afraid that I'll never get to know.
Though I never felt particularly safe living where I was living, after Kristen warned me about what might happen, suddenly all bets were off. Everything changed in that split moment. I never considered that anyone would be after me because of my connection to Liam, but if they’re still looking for him, and if they know that he cares about me, they could use me as a lure just like they did with Allison.
I read every single article that I could get my hands on about her case, multiple times, but they all left me no more convinced that that case will ever be officially solved.
The killers know who did it.
Kristen and Liam know who authorized it. The police? They may have their suspicions, but they're clueless.
It will be much more difficult for anyone to find me here or at least to get to me here. This estate isn't exactly a fortress, because my parents aren't into anything illegal, but it does have a lot of features that protect the privacy of the residence. I feel a lot better being here than in my own apartment, let alone walking the streets of downtown LA.
What happens on Monday? I have to get to work and with the traffic in LA being what it is, it's going to take hours.
Another gust of wind rushes around me, chilling me to my bones. It's not particularly cold, rather moderate and even warm for this time of year if you come from the East Coast, but I'm wearing a T-shirt, a light jacket, and shoes without socks. It's not enough.
I head back inside closer to deciding about everything that's going on in my life.
I grab an apple out of the refrigerator and plop down on the couch, wrapping the big lavish black and white throw around me. Warmth spreads through me and I feel a little better.
I pull my iPad out of my bag and instead of scrolling social media, I open an e-book. I haven't been able to focus on a novel for a long time, but something calls me to it and I open the latest book by D. B. Carter that I downloaded a few weeks ago.
This one is a standalone, something unusual for him. He typically writes in series, but I like the fidelity of the story and the lack of investment on my part. The blurb caught my attention and though I don't usually read these kind of novels, the romance angle draws me in and I decide to give it a shot.
Besides, I miss him.
If I can't talk to him and I can't see him, then I can at least be with him in his mind and his words. These are the exact words that he said when he wrote them and now, I say them, too, as I read out loud.
After a few pages, my voice gets raspy and I make myself some tea, get back on the couch, and continue to read. An hour passes and then another.
The best way to describe his work is that it's fantasy for people who don't like fantasy. It's not that the fantastical elements are particularly limited, it's just that it's written in a very straightforward and contemporary style, almost minimalist in its way, making it very accessible for someone who isn't particularly into elaborate language and detailed new worlds.
Another two hours later, just as the story is about to reach the climax, my mom walks up behind the couch, startling me.