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“You’re beginning to look so much like your father.” The soft words cut into my thoughts, and I turn to her. She looks wistful.
I don’t say anything. I turn back to the picture.
She leaves soon after. They are going out to a dinner party, and she has to prepare. I go downstairs to find Steve, he has an apartment over the garage, and sometimes if I plead enough, he teaches me some of his martial arts moves.
It’s while I’m walking across the lawn towards the garage that I hear the voices. I turn back towards the house and see my mother and Henry’s arguing through their bedroom window. I’m not surprised. They argue a lot. Henry is a jerk. I can’t stand him, he can’t stand me, and I have no idea how my mother can stand him.
I’m about to turn away, when he raises a hand and strikes my mother across the face. I stand there frozen as she holds a hand to her cheek. He turns towards the window, and seeing me, walks towards it and abruptly pulls the curtains closed.
That was the first time I saw him hit her, but it wasn’t the last.
Someone is trying to buy my company.
That’s what on my mind as Steve drives through the streets of Ashford, the small town where I came to do a friend a favor.
The favor is a community college drop-out called Rick Cruzman. He’s developed an innovative software for managing virtual money for online trading and has been trying to market it for months. He got a few minutes to sell it at a mediocre software conference at a business resort, Ashcroft Hills, and because my friend, who’s happily retired from business, asked me to look into him, I took a forty-five minute drive from my office in Seattle.
I was also curious, and restless, and desperately in need of space to clear my head.
The software was interesting. I offered to buy it, and I did.
I turn to look out of the window, my mind going back to my original thoughts. Someone has acquired a sizable amount of Preston Corp stock on the stock market. I shouldn’t be worried. With forty-five percent of the company stock, I’ll retain control even if they buy every stock they can find, as long as Carole doesn’t sell her twenty five percent, or as long as she sells them to me.
Carole.
I can’t control the small flash of irritation I feel when I think of her. Capricious, selfish, and vengeful Carole. We’re not currently seeing each other, and these days, I’m mostly regretful that we ever did, and I’m not a man who spends time being regretful.
Steve slows down to take a turn. From the back seat, I can see his smooth shaved head, the same as when he used to drive me as a teenager. He’s a little more bulky now, but still as taciturn as the day we first met.
I’m about to go back to reading the paper on my lap when my eyes go to the window again, and I see the girl.
Her hair is gold, pale and wavy, and held back from her face in a ponytail. Her figure is slight, yet curvy, and her eyes, as she gazes at the car passing by are a deep, innocent green. She looks lost. Beautiful and lost.
For a moment, I just stare at her, even as Steve picks up speed and I have to crane my neck.
“Stop.”
Immediately the car stops.
“Back.” I say, still looking towards the girl. She’s gone into the building where she was standing, but I can still see her through the glass front.
Steve puts the car on reverse and backs up until he’s parked by the spot where she was standing just a few moments ago.
I only pause for a moment before I follow my instincts and step out of the car.
Carver’s Gifts. That’s what the sign says. Through the glass, my eyes meet hers again. She is staring at me, looking frozen. I wonder what I’m doing, going to talk to her.
For a moment, I consider getting back in the car.
But I don’t, instead, I walk to the door and push it open, walking into the shop, and approaching her where she stands staring at me.
Her eyes are bright, her cheeks red, and her soft pink lips are gently parted.
Immediately I’m filled with an insane urge to take her in my arms and kiss those lips. It makes no sense.
“Good afternoon.” I say before I do something ridiculous.
She keeps looking at me, her eyes look strangely confused. “Good afternoon,” She replies finally. Her voice is breathy and light, like a soft breeze on a moonlit night.
