Page 4 of Her Surprise Protector
“You’ll be fine,” Payton encouraged me. “Look, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll come over for dinner and wine the evening you come back so you won’t be alone. Bree and Michael can play, and we can stay up and watch movies – quietly, of course, so we don’t wake the kids. How does that sound?”
“Pretty awesome,” I had to admit. It had been a while since Payton, and I had found time to spend together since we were busy single mothers. An evening with Payton might be just what I needed to feel comfortable in my home again. “Do you think I should call down to the police station one more time, though… check to see if they found anything else?”
“No. I think they would have called if they found something. You just need to get on with your life and not let some stupid tourists ruin it for you. You still like living in Montauk, right?”
“I love it,” I corrected Payton. Something about the untouched, natural beaches that stretched up and down the shoreline beyond my clapboard house inspired me to write some of my best poetry.
“Then it’ll be fine. And even if it’s not, you know you’re always welcome here, right?”
I smiled down at the lines of poetry in my open notebook. “Yeah. I know.”
We talked for a few more minutes. Then I hung up and traded my phone for a pen and lowered it to the paper, gazing around the lovely deck for ideas. This place inspired me, too, but in a different way from my own home, which had a more rustic vibe. This mansion belonged to a couple who were the perfect example for the old saying, ‘Everyone who lives in the Hamptons is filthy rich.’
Even though the couple who lived here appeared friendly on the surface, I had a feeling that they looked down on me for being who I was and not rising to their high financial standards. I could feel that superiority here in this house, and it was affecting the tone of my poetry.
That was okay, though. I liked to try and write many different styles of poems. Well-roundedness never hurt in any respect.
“Right, Chauncey?” I asked the labradoodle. He twitched an ear in response, and the rocking-chair I sat in creaked.
The white chair creaks on the painted porch
A single imperfection in a world of perfection.
Outside and inside, a paradise
Beneath, a place of judgment.
I regarded the lines I had just written. It didn’t really flow, in my opinion, just because of the varying lengths in the lines. Still, it adequately described my feelings for this place, so I decided not to change anything for now. There was always something to be said for raw emotion and feeling as opposed to constant editing and perfecting. I had a long way to go before I could see the line between the two that showed whether a poem was good or bad. I doubted I would ever share this particular piece with anyone, so I thought I might as well write from the heart. My heart had gotten me in trouble before, but I felt it was safe to let it express itself in my poetry.
My mind strayed from the words in the notebook to the most recent and most unfortunate trouble my heart had led me into – Bree’s father. He had been bad for me, even before he had gotten me pregnant. I should have been able to see that coming, but I had been naïve and convinced that he loved me, and what I felt for him was love too.
I had been very, very wrong, but honestly, I could never bring myself to regret the brief and tragic relationship. I had gotten something I loved very much from that train wreck – Bree. I wouldn’t give up my baby girl for the world, and her life would be better with her father as far out of the picture as he could be. I’d heard from him off and on after Bree was born. By now, though, it was safe to assume he had probably moved to a new state, gotten another unlucky woman pregnant, and moved on again.
My fingers turned through the pages of the notebook, flipping to the beginning. All of these pages were about love, trust and building the future I was hoping for with Oscar. I couldn’t bring myself to hate these poems, because there was no point. I had felt this way once, sure, but I didn’t anymore. I had become more secure with myself and living on my own. Oscar didn’t matter to me anymore. He hadn’t for a long time.
I closed the notebook. I had meant to spend a lot more time on poetry today, but the sun was already going down, and I needed to figure something out for dinner. Chauncey would be happy if I just scooped some food out of the bag and into his bowl, but I was a little more needy.Soup,I decided.Soup sounds good. Nothing fancy, just microwaved canned soup.The owners of this house would be horrified at such a cheap, unassuming meal, no doubt, but some simple soup sounded heavenly to me right now.
“What do you think, Chauncey? Dinner time?” The labradoodle lifted his head sleepily but jumped up to follow me when I stood to walk into the house. “Dog food for you, and soup for me? Sounds pretty good, right?”
Chauncey agreed with a wagging tail. I fixed our meals and sat down, watching the dog scarf up his dinner while I slurped at mine. “It’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’m going home in a few days, and it’ll be fine. I’m overreacting. I’m sure it was just some kids, like the police said. I’ll never see them again, and I’ll be able to live in peace with Bree.”
Food crunched as Chauncey chewed his way through the contents of the bowl. “Not your problem, right, buddy? Your mom and dad are going to come home, and they’ll fix the fence so you can’t run away again. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” I pulled a red hair out of my soup, finished the bowl and sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day as the labradoodle bounded across the kitchen floor, trying to play with a tiny piece of plastic that I hadn’t seen against the pale tile. “Guess you’re all wide awake again.”
I put my soup bowl in the sink and went hunting for the leash, avoiding the playful pup for a moment. Suddenly exhausted, I bent down slowly to pick up the leash and almost fell when Chauncey came bounding out of nowhere. “Chill. One second,” I promised.
A quick walk, then I could go to bed early. I had better enjoy this extra sleep while I could; I wouldn’t be getting much when I went back to the daily grind of raising a child and working.
Vacation was almost over, and I would have to return to my less-than-rich reality. That would be fine, though, as long as no one wrote poems about how my home made them feel uncomfortable. And I never became as mean as that man I had met on the beach.
Chapter Three
Riker
I had thought getting rid of the ring would be a step in the right direction, helping me finally put the past in its place and move on. After a week, I wasn’t so sure.
It might have been, but if it was, it was a slow process. The day after we had played poker at the Hampton’s Peak, I had woken up with no ring, a hangover, and more than a few regrets. Normally, I wouldn’t have been such an open book, wearing my feelings on my sleeve for my best friends to see. But I had gotten a few drinks in me after a rough day, and my feelings had just poured forth from there.
Nate and Zeke were as supportive friends as anyone could ask for, but they had a limit to their patience. I had lingered in a state of limbo for a couple of months now; twiddling my thumbs and half hoping Hallie would come back - saying she made a mistake and leaving had nothing at all to do with the prenuptial agreement. My two friends knew that was never going to happen. Finally, I had realized it too and come to the conclusion it was time for me to move on.
