Page 64 of Embrace
Just then, lightning streaked through the sky as thunder boomed. I could finally feel the wet grass soaking through my pants.
I shot to my feet. “Maybe not.”
Perhaps the thunder and the discomfort from being wet were signs that I should get as far away from Cherry Street as possible.
* * *
It was rainingcats and dogs. I sat in the seat, trying to compose myself as Greg called the charter service. After a lot of exclamation and groaning, Greg informed me that the charter service wouldn’t be able to clear our flight back to New Orleans because of weather conditions.
I fought the urge to shiver, holding myself tight. We were still on Cherry Street, not very far from my mother’s house. I had questions but was too defeated to ask them.
“The service booked us a room at the Baywater Hotel,” he said. “The presidential suite was all they had available.”
Finally, I sprang to life. “One room? Then let’s stay at another hotel.”
“No, Penina. I’m Greg fucking Carroll. I’m staying at the Baywater, and so are you.”
I realized when Greg whipped a U-turn and zoomed down the street that there was a battle to be had, but I had no fight in me. Or maybe I didn’t want to insist he drop me off at the airport so I could book the first commercial flight I could find back to New Orleans. If we remained in town, then I could return to Cherry Street, maybe later that night or early in the morning. Perhaps I would see her wrangle the kids into the car before they went off to church. Mom had never been religious, but she lived in a neighborhood of cozy, custom-built houses with pointed gables, aged trees, healthy lawns, and long driveways with cars big enough for full families. Those people went to church. It was what their parents had done and their parents before them.
On the way to the hotel, Greg seemed to regret speaking to me so harshly. He kept commenting on the bright side of staying at the Baywater Hotel, like the good food and how comfortable the beds were. He said he would give up the master and sleep on the pullout in the living room. I neglected to ask if he had stayed there before, feeling as if he was pulling all those upsides out of his ass.
But I couldn’t get the words on the green street sign out of my head.
Cherry Street.
Cherry Street.
Cherry Street.
* * *
It was after eight o’clock,and I hadn’t had a bite to eat since the turkey and cheese sandwich on the airplane. I was famished and dog-tired when we walked into the hotel room. It was definitely a stunner, tastefully decorated and modern. The comfy sofa was aqua and made of velour, and two cloth-upholstered sitting chairs faced each other, all on top of a dark hardwood floor. The décor was supposed to put me at ease, and it did. I was able to relax a hair, and I felt the void of not speaking to Asher since before takeoff. If he had attempted to call me, he wouldn’t have reached me because my cellphone was still in airplane mode.
I flopped onto the sofa and put my phone in regular-use mode. It buzzed, dinged, chimed, and rang. It was Asher. His ears must’ve been burning.
I hit the answer button. “Asher? Hello.”
“Where are you?” Even though he sounded as calm as a serene lake, I could tell he was seething.
Greg came out of the bathroom and clapped loudly. “This hotel room is nice. Come on, let’s go eat, beautiful.”
I closed my eyes, feeling dread. I had no doubt Asher had heard all of what he had said. And I wasn’t so sure what Greg had done was unintentional. I’d wanted to be the one to explain all that had happened before saying,And now we’re in a hotel room together, but I’m sleeping in the bed, and he’s on the sofa.
“Give him the phone,” Asher said in the same overly composed voice.
“Huh?” I asked, confused about why he would want to speak to Greg.
“Give Greg Carroll the fucking phone.” He spoke slowly and concisely.
I turned to see Greg standing in front of the alcove that led to the front door, looking bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to chow down on a feast.
“Come on. I’m a big boy. I gotta eat. Let’s go.” He sounded as if he were wrangling the troops.
I quickly got up, holding my cell phone out for him to take. “Um, here.”
He frowned but took the phone. “What do you want, Sparrow? Oh, I mean Christmas?”
I was right—he did know Asher was on the phone.
