Page 63 of Ace

I knew the risk I was taking last night. I knew she could wake up this morning and regret it happened. That's why I let her sleep as long as I could this morning. I didn't want to see the contrition in her eyes when she woke up wishing she'd put a stop to things before they went too far.

"Left here," she says, and I turn the car onto a driveway so long most people would probably think it was a road if it didn't have the gate twenty feet from the main road.

"Thirty-four eighty-five," she says when I roll down my window at the security box.

"The last four of your social," I say from memory. "You shouldn't have such an easily accessible number as your security code."

She scoffs. "You shouldn't memorize my personal information."

I nod my head because she makes a hell of a point as I enter the code into the keypad, rolling up my window when I'm done as I wait for the massive gate to swing open.

"My car is still in DC," she says absently as I drive up the long driveway toward the house.

"I'll make arrangements for it to be brought back. I can have it here tomorrow."

"Thank you," she whispers but it sounds rote, as if a response is expected.

When the house comes into view, I see both the elegance and tastefulness in the design. I can tell from how deep it is that it looks more modest from the front, and I have no doubt that was purposeful. There's nothing worse for a politician than to boast and brag about his success while trying to earn the votes of people who are not as well off.

"You can park in the front," she says as I slow near the fork that leads to the right side of the house where I imagine the garage is.

I wonder as I come to a stop near the front if she's going to change her mind and ask me to go ahead and leave, but she climbs out of the car rather than speaking.

I watch her as I do the same, wondering what's going through her mind as she lifts her eyes to a window on the second floor off to the left. I know without asking that has to be Sadie's room, despite her not having lived here for years. I also imagine there haven't been many times, not counting the last couple of weeks, that she even thought to take a long look at her house. I can only guess she's seeing it differently now, possibly wondering how holidays will be spent in the absence of her sister, not that I know if Sadie even showed her face at such important times before.

I do my best as I follow her inside not to look all around in amazement, but this house is massive.

I've been in staged houses, ones meant to give off the appearance of being lived in, but they were fronts for illegal businesses and sex trafficking dens. Some of the ones wanting to draw in higher paying customers put on a show with expensive-looking furniture and shiny shit as decor, but what I see when I step inside isn't exactly what I'm expecting from judging the outside.

I can tell the place is substantial, but as she shrugs off her coat before holding out her hand for mine, I can tell the place is lived in. It isn't just for show. The abundance of winter coats clogging the small closet near the front door is proof of that despite it only being her and her housekeeper Faye who live here.

"Thank you," I tell her.

It's clear there are touches of her parents in the age of some of the decor, and the grandiose swirls and details around the doors. I don't imagine the place has been updated much, and I can't help but wonder if that's because she feels a connection to it or if she just hasn't bothered to get around to doing something to make this place more of her own than a memory of years past.

When I follow her deeper into the house, I see the transformation from the front part to the back. The room she takes me into seems different, and I feel like it's the first time I'm getting a glimpse at who she might be. The den is cozier. Despite the curves of wood in the design at the front of the house it still seemed to be sharper. This room is softer. The throw pillows on the sofa and the soft-looking blanket tossed carelessly over the back are comforts I imagine she'd never allow where just anyone stopping by for a visit to see.

I wonder if she has to keep things looking the way they do because of her brother's political career. I imagine he'd entertain here despite this not being where he lives. I grow increasingly annoyed with the man and the way he might insist on intruding in her life without care or concern of how it might inconvenience her.

I pull in yet another deep breath and hold my tongue, something I've been doing a lot in recent weeks, especially since shit went down with Hemlock back in Tennessee.

I make a mental note to check in with those guys although I'm sure the case manager working with them now has everything under control.

A meow from the other side of the room draws my attention, surprised to find a fluffy, fat cat calling out to Cora, but not being bothered enough by her appearance to make an effort to stand and come to her. Cats are funny that way. A dog would've met us at the front door, excited. Cats are entitled little things, having enough patience to wait until you're in sight to demand all of your attention. I haven't owned an animal since I was a kid. It's just not conducive to such a rambler lifestyle, but Kincaid got Emmalyn a dog decades ago, and I loved that little shit.

"What's his name?" I ask, thinking a conversation about a cat would be neutral ground as I walk closer to it.

"Her name is Petal," Cora explains, just as I reach out to pet the cat only to be met with a hiss and a quick swipe of her claws across the back of my hand. "And she doesn't like men."

"Clearly," I say pulling my hand back in time to watch three narrow streaks of blood bloom on my skin.

"She's actually Faye's cat. Well, she likes Faye better than anyone else," Cora explains. “Faye hates men, so it only makes sense that her cat does too."

"I never once said I hated men."

I turn toward the voice and smile at the tiny little woman as she shuffles into the room.

"Eddie Yarrow," I say, holding my hand out to her only for the woman to stare down at it like it's covered in dirt. "You must be Faye."

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