Sea Cliff E-Book

Mary Deal

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Rachael Connor has great looks, money and a home of her own, but childhood abuse has left her fearful of men.

When Rachael meets Matthew, she begins to rethink her life. He falls in love with her, but Rachael rebukes him, living by the "rules" her father taught her.

She soon has an epiphany about how to overcome her father's grip on her life. The next time she falls in love, she will know how to deal with it.

But will Matthew let her get away so easily?

Leseprobe

Sea Cliff

A Love Story

Mary Deal

Copyright (C) 2018 Mary Deal

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For Doug and May Robinson …whose love endures

Chapter 1

Rachael stomped on the brake. The car jolted to a sudden stop with a sharp desperate squeal of the tires as the amber light changed to red. She nearly missed seeing it. “Whew!” She could have bought it just then as cars whizzed across the intersection of Lake Street at 26th Avenue in San Francisco's Richmond District.

That Matthew what's-his-name, if he comes onto me again, I'll…

She needed to concentrate on driving and not get preoccupied by that insistent guy in the park. She never sought his attention but saw something in him she could write about. Inadvertently, she had let down her reserve and allowed a conversation, somewhat. Her new novel and the hot lead character occupied her thoughts. She had secretly watched that guy in the park. Emulating some of his characteristics and mannerisms would help flesh out the love of her lady story character's life. Writing was something she could accomplish without the hassle of dealing with annoying people, like that Matthew what's-his-name.

Why are guys always hitting on me? I don't put out that kind of vibe. Dressing down in sweats and my old hoodie should discourage anyone's interest.

Rachael Connor was comfortable with her life, didn't need to be out showing the world what she was about. So what if men thought her aloof or reserved? The few men she had known were turn-offs. Men always made her feel the same. Hit on. Their comes-ons made her skin crawl, and that insistent Matthew with his easy flowing conversation distracted her.

What was it about him? Said his name was Matthew Knight. I didn't need to know his name to put him into my story.

A brown-haired knight with an inquisitive gaze, and wearing gray designer sweat pants and red tank tee came to her rescue. A man and woman arguing near the pond caused her to have an abreaction to her own tragic memories. Rachael loved visiting the pond and sitting inside the tree circle to work on her laptop. Then that ugly fight began, that couple almost coming to blows as they verbally sparred while walking in fits and starts along the footpath. Belligerent, like her mom and dad. Panic welled up and glutted in a lump in her throat. Her senses tingled in a warning of fight or flight. Then Matthew appeared by her side as she crouched behind a tree trying to hide.

In a few moments, he had shown more interest than merely wishing to calm her. He helped her nerves to settle down, but stayed longer on the pretense of wanting to make sure she was okay. That, she was sure of. She avoided looking at him but caught a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. Without hesitation, he reached over and picked fine pieces of tree bark out of her brassy red hair. Other guys were quick to comment on her hair and eyes. If he had mentioned it, and added that her eyes were green as emeralds, if she heard it one more time, she'd have walked away and left him with his mouth hanging agape. Red hair and green eyes were not that rare anymore since others dyed their hair and used non-prescription contacts. Her hair and eyes were natural. She wished people would stop calling attention to them. She also wished the guy who knelt beside her would have left, but his coaxing and conversation seemed inviting, trying to show he really cared. Yet, she wanted to be left alone to work.

Mountain Lake Park off Park Presidio Blvd, barely inside the Presidio grounds, was a place she spent many hours keying away, writing her stories. Days were becoming sunnier and warmer, perfect for being outdoors. Since seeing Matthew and his half naked body in a tank tee the previous summer, the main male character in her latest story was now graced with that fantastic physique. Rachael also wrote in her journal. That always helped her get clear of some of the lagging residual effects of old abuses at the hands of her mother and father. Actually, she considered herself well-healed, until something like that couple arguing set her off before she could stop herself from teetering into the abyss of fear.

Matthew had kept the conversation going. Rachael hadn't disclosed much about her herself though Matthew pried. She tried to nicely discourage his interest, yet he persisted, being friendly. He said he worked as a part-time counselor with troubled teens and understood more than just kids. He seemed genuine and caring, but her gut intuition kicked hard, advising caution. This guy could be using her abreaction as a pretext to get to know her. She wasn't dumb, had learned her lessons well, thanks to her tyrant father and domineering mother. After leaving their overly-protective shell, she had two relationships since moving to San Francisco; two that consisted of meaningless, juvenile conversations and hand-holding that made her feel like a high school girl. Had she not ended those fledgling relationships early, she'd have let herself in for more disappointment, like during her teen years. Those years were part of the past she wished to keep buried, yet tapes of old memories often times replayed spontaneously in her mind, uninvited.

After that first encounter with Matthew, Rachael changed the description of the secondary character's eyes in her novel. Hunter Lockwood would be graced with Matthew's amazing eyes. Rachael gave the auburn-haired protagonist, Melissa Turner, a couple of lines expressing the way she felt about Matthew.

Hunter's hazel eyes carried a look of knowing, like he was seeing into her soul. His eyes contained gold specs around dark pupils. The outer irises seemed sometimes blue, other times green. Depending on which way sunlight shined in, they turned a light teal color. His eyes were exquisite, but Melissa wasn't about to comment on them and encourage him to chat.

To her, he seemed gregarious, maybe too sure of himself, an in-your-face kind of guy, not a person to hold back when he wanted something. He exhibited one good quality, at least. He did not comment on her hair and eyes. Surely, he saw her as a person, not as a unique set of colors.

More alert to traffic, Rachael finally found a parking spot on 22nd Avenue near the corner of Lake Street's scenic neighborhood. Then she walked up to Tina's Italian Deli and Cafe on the corner of 22nd and California Street.

Chapter 2

“Going back again today?” Tina asked, teasing Rachael from behind the counter. “Sometimes I wish I had your schedule.”

“I work full days. I can take my office anywhere.” Rachael lifted her laptop above counter height and drummed it lightly with her fingertips. She carried the expensive computer in a flat brown leather envelope rather than leave it in the car.

“Ha! Every day, to the park? What keeps calling you back?”

“Do I need a reason?” Rachael asked, smiling and rolling her eyes.

Tina glanced quickly out the window. “The weather's warming up, but I'll bet spring's not the reason.”

“Thanks for the hot tea.” Rachael never ordered what she wanted. She was a regular and the counter crew knew her preferences. Tina was also a personal friend.

“Hm-m, Greta?” Tina asked. “Someone's drawing you out of seclusion.” She looked Rachael up and down. “You usually wear your grubbies to the park, with that thick head of hair pulled back in loose braids. Today you're all designer. What's his name?”

Rachael was always amused at the pseudonym Tina tacked onto her, claiming she was reclusive, like Garbo. Tina playfully nicknamed everyone and the names usually fit. “C'mon,” Rachael said, “I love working in the park when the weather's mild.” She rolled her eyes sideways at Tina and familiar neighborhood patrons within ear-shot.

“What's on your agenda today?” Tina asked. She was usually busy at the deli. She understood Rachael worshipped her seclusion. “I'm taking a breather. No catering orders today, just the usual cafe business, so I'm giving myself a day off. Wanna go somewhere? Shopping, stretch your legs?”

“Can't on Mondays. I go to my brother's to do his bookkeeping.”

“Oh, too bad. Guess I'll walk the neighborhood for some exercise.” Her disappointment echoed Rachael's feelings about not having a friend around during the few times she chose to do something other than work.

“Come with me,” Rachael said. “You can explore the fields around my brother's property while I do my work.”

“Go to your brother's house? No, I'd feel out of place.”

“You kidding? We'll be alone. He's never home.”

“I'll pass.”

“C'mon, you're always telling me to break out.”

Tina seemed pleased. “Well, it might be nice to do something different. I seldom get out of The City.”

“Can you go now, ready to leave?”

“Anytime, I guess. I'll change into my shorts.”

“Bring a sweater.”

Traffic on Geary Boulevard was start and stop till they connected to Hwy. 101, and then to Hwy. 80, which was a straight shot toward the San Francisco/Oakland Bay Bridge. She managed to get through the access section of freeway quite quickly. Some Mondays, the mid-morning traffic both in and out of San Francisco was as congested as any of the worst rush hours.

On the elevated freeway and skirting the downtown skyscrapers of the Financial District, Rachael glanced intermittently over the skyline. She smiled and let out a long sigh. This was her city. San Francisco represented transition, personal freedom, peace, and opportunity.

Progressive jazz oozed from the radio. Fresh salt air circulated through the sunroof of her two year old Porsche Carrera. The weather warmed passing through the East Bay. On the open road, and not having to think much about the mechanics of driving, Rachael's mind was free to wander.

“You get paid for doing this work for your brother?”

“That's the deal.”

“I know one reason no one sees you much. You're always working. That's how you can afford that house, your gorgeous clothes, and this dream car.”

“You have a lucrative business.”

“And huge overhead.”

“You live well, too.”

“I always wondered how you did it,” Tina said with a wry smile.

“I don't make that much.”

“But you buy expensive things.”

Tina became a friend from the first time Rachael visited the deli soliciting donations for Lisbeth House, a safe center for abused women and children. Rachael withheld telling anyone about her financial picture and Tina never pried. Yet, they had the kind of rapport that allowed them to confide in each other. “It was an inheritance, Tina, quite a while ago.”

“I didn't know.”

“When people know what I have, they think my father was some sort of swell guy.”

“Oh, the abuse thing, yeah, but to leave you an inheritance? Some little part of him must have been good.”

“I tried to get my brother to believe that. He thinks if Dad could have warmed up to anyone else, he'd have left everything to them.”

“No-o!”

Life changed when Rachael moved away from home. Before high school graduation, she went through a bout of depression. “Dad sent me here to stay with Amanda, a family friend, till I got my senses back.”

Tina leaned forward and lowered the volume of the music. “Your senses? Was your dad living in the dark ages?”

“He was so behind the times, had no idea what was going on with me.”

“I'll bet there was a high school sweetheart in the picture,” Tina said.

“I hid a two year relationship with a guy named Rodney that ended two months before graduation.”

“Oh, bad timing.”

“I went through graduation like a zombie.”

“What about friends, someone to talk to?”

“Never trusted anyone. If you knew the way I grew up…” Rachael shook her head while keeping her attention fixed on driving. “I wasn't allowed to date, lost out on friendships, school activities, everything.” She learned bookkeeping from her dad's business of hauling and drayage in the farmlands of the Sacramento River Delta. “I worked every evening after homework and most weekends.”

“Yuk. No social life. I can't imagine.”

Rachael laughed softly. “What are you saying? With your fourteen hour days at the deli, you're no gadabout.”

“While growing up, that's different. How did you manage a relationship that lasted two years?”

“Once in a while I got to stay at my best friend's house overnight. Her parents understood. Dad never figured it out. Celine and I went to dances and parties.”

It was then that Rachael would sneak away to be with Rodney. Painful memories of him flooded her mind as her sleek little sports car sailed in and out of traffic as if safely guided by an invisible hand.

“Hey, Rach, you're not gonna' go soggy on me, are you?”

“Sorry,” she said, though she kept alert to the highway signs that passed overhead. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her fingertips on her chic navy blue sweatshirt.

“Who was this Amanda lady?”

“Someone my dad knew for years.”

“His girlfriend?”

“I don't think so, maybe business related in some way.” Until Rachael told her about the abuse, Amanda never suspected anything like that. It hit her like a bomb blast. “She had the same perfect image of dad that others had.” What anyone knew was that her dad was a hard worker and a good provider for his family. “Wise soul that Amanda was, she took it in stride.” Rachael smiled again. “She'd do anything to help me. Even took me for a psychic reading.”

“No kidding. What did you learn?”

“Among other things, I'm supposed to have two, maybe three kids.” She chuckled in disbelief.

“You laugh?' She laughed. “That many kids, it'll take time for that prediction to come true.”

“Tina, I don't want kids, don't know if I have enough knowledge to raise them right. Don't even know if I want to be married. Relationships and me don't work.”

“You don't put much stock in the reading?”

“I'm sure Amanda wanted to lift my hopes.” She shrugged. “I'm not sure about marriage. None of the reading's come true.”

“Too bad. Amanda sounds like my kind of person.”

“Amanda was pretty much out there, you know? She wore this ring with a huge Marquis cut stone, must have been 10 carats. Said people thought it was a CZ because it was too big to be a real diamond.”

“And it was?”

“Yep, about the only thing in life I ever coveted.” Rachael snickered. “It was gorgeous.” She smiled secretly to herself. If she were ever to marry, she wondered if her guy would be able to give her a Marquis diamond, even half that size. “Long before I lived with Amanda, she and her guy got engaged. He owned a brokerage firm. He gave her the ring. Two weeks after that, he had a heart attack and died on the street.”

“Oh, poor Amanda. Poor guy!”

“Remember I showed you the little dangly diamond earrings I have?”

“Yeah?”

“They're from the 1940s. Amanda left them for me in her will when she died.”

“She must have loved diamonds. They're classy without being garish.”

“Such beautiful sparklers, but no chance to wear them.”

Chapter 3

Amanda was in real estate. She had taken a listing on a Sea Cliff house even though it desperately needed renovation. She knew that one day it would become a gold mine. Once renovated, the old building could easily sell for an exorbitant price because of its location on the cliffs behind the Richmond District. “Amanda told me to get my dad to buy the house. She convinced him in subsequent conversations that he needed the tax advantage that house afforded since his dependents would soon leave home. I live in that house now.”

“And the rest is history.”

“Not quite, but he bought it. Then, for the first time in my life, Dad thanked me for something.” Rachael was shocked when he let her stay in San Francisco with Amanda to oversee the renovation. “Me, he left the whole renovation to me,” she said, tapping her chest. “Made me promise to consult with Amanda on everything though.”

“Rachael, your dad did have a good heart.”

“No, actually without me there to thump on, he used my brother.”

“He abused your brother, too?”

“I didn't realize it then. I was ecstatic about being away from home.”

All her life, her father reminded that she didn't know how to do anything competently. He'd painfully flick her ears, or slap or kick her when he was frustrated. He's use a board if he had one in his hands. He destroyed what little self-confidence she had and denied her any opportunities to prove her abilities. In one way or another he'd convince himself he was right. Other than Amanda's coaxing, Rachael couldn't guess what motivated him to allow her to manage the renovations, let alone leave home.

“I'll bet you went to great lengths to win his approval.”

“I did. I worked hard on his books. Paper work was a burden he struggled with. The Sea Cliff house gave me the opportunity to do something almost completely on my own that would please him.”

“That was right after high school. How old were you?”

“Seventeen. I desperately wanted to prove I was more than just his dumb daughter.” Renovations were progressing well. Amanda organized a gigantic birthday party for her that October. Rachael felt vindicated.

“Did your dad follow your progress?”

“No, he didn't call on my birthday or Thanksgiving.” Rachael finally called Brandon. He wouldn't say much. His pretentiousness told her something was wrong. The week before Christmas, she took a bus home and experienced the saddest two weeks of her life. Her dad continued to gripe about raising two kids alone. He cursed her mother for having died, then mumbled something about it being better anyway because she was another burden to him. “He was vicious and self-serving. Brandon's grades were poor. He had a broken arm and made excuses about how it happened.”

“I can understand how everything would look normal to outsiders,” Tina said. “I'm guessing the abuse happened when no one was around.”

In the week that followed, Brandon admitted he was glad the Sea Cliff house was progressing well. All he wanted was for Rachael to come home. He admitted he wasn't good at doing her bookkeeping.

“Your dad made him do the books?”

Brandon wasn't yet sixteen but trying desperately to be the man their father demanded he be. Brandon cried when they spoke. He was planning to run away.

“Never did I think about moving back there.”

“Don't tell me you did.”

“A neighbor told me I could report my father to child abuse authorities. There were agencies in Sacramento that would investigate. She warned it could be a long losing battle.”

“After being away a while, were you emotionally strong enough to handle your father's wrath?”

“I left the Sea Cliff house sitting idle with Amanda to look after it. I hadn't done all the renovations I wanted to do. Dad wouldn't rent it out for fear someone would damage the upgrading I did. I mean, the kind of people who can afford to rent a house in Sea Cliff are not the type to trash it. I went home till Brandon completed high school, then planned to bring him back with me after he graduated.”

After she returned home, two miserable years passed. Her dad never laid a hand on her again. He yelled and complained and cursed. Brandon would have occasional bruises and make flimsy excuses. He was afraid to complain and quietly worked hard. His grades were failing.

“You know, Rach? This sound like reality TV. Where does it end?”

“Oh, that wasn't the end of it. Brandon refused to come back with me after graduation. He was bitter about my having left him behind in the first place.” She couldn't convince him of the impossibility at the time and he blamed her for the abuse he'd received.

“There's got to be a positive end to this. You're a different person now.”

“Maybe positive after a while.”

Just days after Rachael and Brandon had their talk, in an explosive argument with one of his drivers out on the loading dock, her dad turned to leave. In his rage, he walked right off the end of the platform. He hit the concrete hard, chest first, and sprawled out, disoriented, anger and blood pressure raging. They say he struggled to stand, and then suddenly thrust his shoulders back sharply several times before collapsing again as blood spurted out his nose and mouth.

Rachel and Brandon stayed at his hospital bedside. Past midnight, he went into cardiac arrest and expired. Later, the doctor said his flaccid respiratory organs were unable to supply his heart with life-sustaining oxygen. The diagnosis was that the shock of the fall made both his lungs collapse, possibly weakened from a life time of breathing crop pesticides and other toxic residues that permeate the croplands.

“I know that whole scene, Rach,” Tina said while squirming in her seat, as if the emotion of it made her feel as trapped as Rachael had felt. She gestured with her hands. “You and your brother standing at his bedside, trying to show your dad you loved him, and with his dying breath, he made no effort to repent.”

Tears welled up in Rachael's eyes as she reminded herself to drive safely. “When the heart attack came, he went into deep spasms and twitched till his wretched soul shook loose.”

“How did I know that?”

A will was found in a safe deposit box. They learned she and Brandon would each inherit half of a large double indemnity life insurance policy, and equally half of the business or half of the proceeds if the business would be sold. Money from their mother's life insurance policy, when she died, was invested in a broad stock portfolio. “We were to divide shares equally or liquidate and split the earnings. Brandon received the Walnut Grove house and I got Sea Cliff.”

Tina had tears in her eyes. “All bittersweet recompense for the years of battering and abuse.”

Brandon offered his share of their mother's stocks in exchange for sole ownership of the company. However, he agreed to pay Rachael a nice fee for doing the accounting in order to avoid more costly expenses from a CPA firm.

“So he'd picked up some business savvy.”

“More like selfish motivation. He'd allow me to do the bookkeeping, even though I can do more. A CPA firm would pull the monthly Profit and Loss statements. He was afraid I'd have too much control.”

Brandon wanted to keep the business alive in Walnut Grove. He hadn't been trained for anything else. His grades were barely enough to allow him to graduate. He had his special kind of emotional difficulties from growing up with a tyrant. With the help of the business, he saw the chance to make a reputation for himself by carrying on where his father left off. With his share of the inheritance, he should have been able to do it quite comfortably.

At the turnoff in Walnut Creek, Rachael headed south on Hwy. 280. The flow of traffic changed from expensive SUVs and sports cars to pickups, larger trucks, and other commercial vehicles glutting the road.

“You taking the long way to the Delta?” Tina asked as she noticed the sign.

“No, we're going to Lathrop, south of Stockton. Brandon only stayed in Walnut Grove through two crop seasons.” There was ample work servicing farmers who needed heavy equipment, truck motors, or spare parts and over sized tires transported. About every farmer in the Delta communities hired George Connor's Hauling and Drayage at one time or another. Moving cumbersome equipment, transferring of animals, even transporting of crop overloads to the processing plants in Clarksburg and Sacramento had to be done by someone. “But Brandon wasn't prospering. He had taken on Dad's temperament and abused the drivers so much, finding willing help was nearly impossible. When people spoke of his temper…”

“Like father, like son, right?” Tina glanced out the side window studying the open fields that flowed into the distance. “What made him choose that area?”

“The best work Brandon could get to keep his trucks running was by referral from Manchester Trucking out of Modesto.” Manchester couldn't come that far north in the Central Valley and make it a profitable trip at the same time. They pushed their overruns to Brandon because George Connor gave them referral business when they were a startup company years earlier.

“Sounds like your dad was a good businessman, at least.”

“Someone told Brandon about an old mansion for sale outside of Stockton sitting on six commercial acres that could house his equipment.” The isolated mansion was run down, being sold for virtually pennies. People in the area hoped a private party would buy and restore it, rather than see a developer demolish it. Selling the Walnut Grove house allowed him to purchase the old mansion and acreage. He'd have enough capital left over to pump fresh blood into his floundering affairs. The flood of images paraded through Rachael's thoughts as clearly as if they happened yesterday. She was thankful for Tina's friendship and understanding.

“And?” Tina asked, as if impatiently waiting for an update on a missed episode of a favorite reality show. “Did his business improve after the move?”

“He thought his trucks would stay busy being deeper into the crop lands. Moving was just another excuse.” George Connor built a hard reputation, managing to prosper right there among the farms on the Sacramento River Delta islands. Brandon chose to move away from bad memories.

“Rachael, your history, I thought I knew you.”

Rachael remained silent. The reverie took her to the days when she and Brandon were much younger. They would romp through the tall weeds and wild flowers that grew between the rows of pear trees near where they lived. After the orchards were flooded, when the water receded and the ground dried out, they'd walk in the powdery soil and feel the fading coolness of moisture in the dirt under their bare feet. Soft powdery dust would fly up between their toes as their feet slapped soft drifted mounds of top soil. They would laugh discreetly, without making noise, afraid of being accused of doing something wrong.

Rachael's memory slipped farther back, to one of the many times when her parents thought she or Brandon had done something wrong. Her dad taught her mom how to punish. She would rip a thin new branch off a pear tree, run her hand backwards over it to strip off the leaves, then use it to whip them as punishment.

Another memory flashed through her mind; her father holding her three month old brother's naked bottom over the kitchen stove to dry him out because he wet his diaper too much.

A car honked startling her. Rachael gasped, drew her attention back to driving. She looked up through tear-filled eyes, in time to catch a glimpse of the overhead sign for the junction to Highway 680.

Tina remained quiet for many miles, surely absorbing what she had just learned. Judging by the way she studied the countryside, she was thankful to be out of The City for a while. Rachael wondered if what she disclosed would affect their friendship.

Chapter 4

Occasional homes along Manila Road resembled the weathered way she remembered farm houses always looked. Farm equipment sat here and there on the properties. The shaded lawns beneath tall pin oak trees invited.

Rachael tapped the button to close the sunroof, dust being prevalent in the farmlands. Pulling into Brandon's dirt and gravel driveway, she eased to the right edge, as her brother insisted. Parking closest to the side door was his spot. He didn't appreciate having the space blocked. Brandon's pickup was gone.

Tina leaned down to see out Rachael's side window. “What a gorgeous old place.”

Rachael glanced around the property. The tractor and trailer rigs remained in the same spot where they stood idle for more than a month. Weeds grew tall under the beds and around the tires. Trucks not rolling out on a regular basis was a bad omen. Certainly, there was enough business in the Central Valley to keep each truck on the road.

A feeling of unrest came over her. Brandon would have to do something soon, if only listen to her or his financial advisor. Idle trucks meant bills would not get paid. Creditors might cut off the privileges they extended to Brandon on his father's reputation.

She wondered how much Brandon remembered of his father's work habits. If trucks are sitting for any length of time, they should at least be moved to rotate the tires. Over winter, they'd be driven onto planks of wood or onto concrete to prevent the tread from rotting in damp soil.

Rachael sighed heavily. “Brandon's suppose to renovate this house. From the look of things, it's not happening yet.”

They climbed out of the car.

Tina seemed awed by the size of the house. “What a decorator's dream.”

Rachael laughed. “Well, don't be too surprised when we go in. He hasn't done anything inside either. It's always a mess.”

“I'm not going in. I'm gonna walk about as far as I can see down this great country road.” She leaned forward against the car, stretching her calves.

“I'll be about an hour.”

Tina removed her sweater and tied the arms around her hips. “Don't hurry. I haven't seen this much open space in ages.”

Rachael let herself in at the kitchen entrance and her mouth dropped open as the smell of stale food assaulted her nostrils. Dirty dishes were left stacked in stale water where soap had gone flat. Pans used for food preparation, not even rinsed out, sat on the greasy stove. Fingerprints were everywhere. The black and white checkered floor desperately needed to be mopped and waxed.

She looked in the refrigerator for a bottle of cool water wondering if anything in the house would be safe to put to her lips. A few bottles were pushed to the back behind a large covered container that looked to have something growing inside. She twisted the cap off and wiped off the mouth of the bottle on a paper towel. She sipped as she made her way around the front of the staircase to the den on the opposite side of the house. Everything looked more unkempt than ever. In four years time, Brandon remained living in only two rooms of the sprawling old Victorian that once stood as a grand lady of the croplands.

Sighing, she sat down and booted up the old desktop PC. Brandon insisted on paper invoices and receipts because he hadn't learned anything about electronics. Putting a batch of invoices in order by date, she came across one from a florist for eighty dollars and another from a jeweler for one hundred twenty five. Who could be worth that much? Did he find a girlfriend? Brandon's frantic conversations about women led her to believe he'd settle for nothing short of a royal princess. What it looked like was that he was trying to bribe one.

Entering his checks and expense account items, she found more restaurant receipts than usual, tell-tailing expensive dinners. Various business meetings were scribbled on the backs, mostly with women. Having learned long ago not to ask questions, she shrugged and entered them. As more and more evidence turned up, and with vehicles standing idle in the field, it was plain to see Brandon was doing more playing than working. She wasn't going to question him. She had long ago grown tired of his excuses. She was there to update the books. Later, the CPAs could approach Brandon about anything that might be questionable. Hopefully, they could put some sense into his head.

Rachael paused. She really understood her brother. He was too far gone to listen to reasoning. He had grown paranoid and expressed no fear or remorse about lying to cover his actions and shortcomings. His attitude was that he owed no one an explanation. The business was his and his alone.

She sat quietly, lost in thoughts that drifted back to other men she knew, namely the two disappointing young men she once dated. Her mind flashed onto Matthew in the park. He arrived one day driving a white pickup loaded with construction equipment. He evidently had a job and worked out, judging by his physique. He seemed to have more purpose than any other guy she remembered. Brandon seemed having lost his.

She was about to shut down when she remembered she meant to run a check on the system. His old computer had little capacity and responded sluggishly. As far as she knew, the accounting program she'd installed was the only one on the system. Brandon was intimidated by computers and wanted nothing to do with them. If it was malfunctioning, he wouldn't know.

Keying up the directory, she found a word processing program added. The CPA or someone must have installed it for him. She brought up the directory found and numerous women's names appeared in a column. There must have been at least three dozen. Internet services were added and he had many bookmarks. Rachael's curiosity wasn't above letting her take a peek.

Dishes and pots and pans rattled from the kitchen. Brandon must have come in. Certainly he wouldn't come into the office for fear of having to explain his expenses.

Rachael clicked a link. A file came up revealing her brother's response to a girl who ran a personal ad to meet men. Rachael scanned it briefly finding it boastful, long and boring, typical of those ads. The rest of the files must have been the same. Rachael didn't bother to check further. Brandon's grammar was atrocious. In order to meet women, he was probably forced into learning the PC and keyboard because he hadn't learned to write well by hand. At least, he seemed to be learning word processing. She visualized him struggling pathetically through dyslexia to finish the emails. She sighed heavily. She loved him so much. She keyed out and shut the system down. If only Brandon could find a nice girl he could care for. In love, someone might get through to him.

After straightening the office, she went immediately into the kitchen to find Tina wiping down the cleaned counter. A lot of dish soap had freshened the air somewhat.

“You didn't.”

“I started as a waitress, remember? I own a restaurant.”

“Brandon's mess? I hoped I'd finish before—”

“Never mind. I'm not one for sitting around doing nothing.”

Regardless how her brother became more and more indifferent, Rachael would do whatever she could to help him. She'd have done the cleaning before leaving and was glad he wasn't home to know a stranger did it. Or maybe, it might have shocked him into remembering a little more self-respect.

During therapy, Rachael worked through the pain of losing the closeness she remembered sharing with her brother in times long past. Having to admit they were far from being as close now was a traumatic experience that brought a lump to her throat. “In that case, let me wet Swiffer before we go,” she said.

Tina went to sit in the car with the door open. On the way out, Rachael left a note hanging outside the back door.

Pausing on the back steps, Rachael glanced again toward the aging pickups, tractor-trailers, and flatbed trucks. She imagined her father puttering around his equipment, servicing or hosing them down. She remembered Brandon doing those same tasks beside him. How much his actions resembled those of their dad. While Brandon's hair and facial features looked like those of their red-haired mother, especially her green eyes, the rest of him was nearly a carbon copy of their father. While Rachael had sparkling brassy hair and clear skin, Brandon's thick hair was rust red and he had freckles. Kids in school use to bully him, saying freckles were for girls.

She wished she could get through to her brother. In therapy, she had worked her way clear of the effects of abuse, or at least understood their residual effects and how to deal with them. She could see that Brandon, not having help or understanding of any kind, was sinking more and more into assuming their father's belligerent personality. That alone would not allow him to submit to therapy.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

Rachael turned quickly. “Brandon, you startled me.”

“I never thought I'd see the day you got close to these old trucks again.”

“I didn't realize I'd walked over here.”

“Don't tell me you're missing Dad.”

“No, actually I was thinking how much you remind me of him.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.” Brandon said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“What I meant was that you remind me of him. You're thin like he was and you've got his height, and the trucks—”

“I'm six feet, and I've been taller than him for a long time.”

This seemed definitely not a day when Brandon was relaxed and civil. Nor was it a day for conversation. Sibling respect from him had dwindled to cautious apprehension. Each meeting proved another example of how far apart they had grown.

“Did you just get here? You aren't taking your friend inside, are you?”

“I'm ready to leave. I've finished.”

He glanced back toward the house, seeing the note taped to the handle of the screen door. “Something important?”

“I wanted to let you know the floor might be wet.”

“Again? Why do you do that? Why don't you let me live the way I live. I'm not part of your snobby upper crust city life.”

She didn't dare tell him Tina cleaned, didn't want to hurt him in any way, though maybe he needed a little shame. “Brandon, you don't need to live like that. We, at least, grew up clean. As long as you don't have help, I'm probably going to straighten up each time I come. There's no way I can walk away and leave you to—”

“Hey,” he said, interrupting and smiling suddenly. “I might have a new girlfriend.”

“Don't expect your girlfriends to clean up after you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you're right.”

“And maybe they won't go out with you again when they see how you live.”

“I never thought of that. Who's your friend?”

“She's too old for you. Brandon.” Rachael said, trying to smile. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don't think you're supposed to do anything.”

“You want to go to lunch with us? Let me treat you.”

He let out a sharp breath. “Why are you always trying to be one up on me? I don't need to be treated.”

“Oh, forget I asked,” Rachael said, blurting it out and then regretting it. “We don't get to see each other very often. I thought it would be nice to sit somewhere and talk for a while, like we used to when we were kids.”

“Kids? I don't care to remember much of that. I'm better off the way I am now. You live too much in the past.”

Rachael did not live in the past. She had gotten on with her life. He hadn't taken the brotherly courtesy to learn how she fared. There was no getting through to him. She turned to leave. “I guess I'd better be going.” She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Well, thanks, Rach. I hope the paperwork wasn't too messy.”

Hearing him express some appreciation was a surprise. She stretched up on her toes to give him a quick hug. He didn't respond and pulled away as soon as he could.

“You'll always be my brother, Brandon,” she said quietly.

Chapter 5

The next day, Rachael walked to Mountain Lake Park and stayed several hours. Thankfully, Matthew didn't show up. She was well-aware of his interest. What would it take to discourage him? Hopefully, he had other lady interests. At times, he sat with various girls in the park. He'd demonstrate a little yoga for them, seeming to like the attention of ditzy little loud-talking females hungry for attention.

Occasionally, a tall blonde would walk into the park and call his name. Matthew would hesitate, then walk over. She'd talk. He'd listen. At other times, that same blond would drive up to the end of 11th Avenue and honk. Sometimes she'd be in a Mercedes, sometimes a BMW. What it looked like was that they might have been a couple that broke up but she had more to say. It didn't look like he was too enthused, but he always went to have a conversation with her. Maybe she was his ex-wife. At other times, as Rachael discreetly watched, Matthew would walk back to his truck to leave and find a note on the windshield. She couldn't read his expression from the distance. His body language and tearing up the paper said it wasn't a parking ticket. Outwardly, Matthew seemed having himself together. That may not be the case. Rachael was settled in her life style with no thoughts of allowing intrusions.

While the thought of Matthew sometimes cause sudden sparks of excitement, she awarded the emotions to her story characters. She had written a new scene for Hunter, the character now more fully patterned after Matthew. The rest of the week passed without him gracing the park. She made great progress on her story by emulating his gregarious personality and speech. Her two previous novels were simple stories. Maybe what her characters lacked was meaningful descriptions and a little mystery to further flesh out their personalities. Her thoughts dwelled on Brandon and his crudeness. She thought of Matthew with his caring attention and sensibility. She would use whatever traits she could in her story.

Returning home from the park that Friday, she found a message on her office answering machine from ConverTech in Santa Clara in the South Bay. They warehoused and wholesaled electronics. The company offered a temporary position in response to her query for consulting work. Rachael wished to complete the refurbishing of her home that was left unfinished after her dad died. She could easily afford the cost but preferred to work temporary assignments and paying cash for any repairs or redecorating. In that way, she wouldn't have to delve into her savings or investments.

The message requested she fill in for a secretary taking a pregnancy leave of absence. “Duration would be two months and we are willing to pay your standard fee,” the woman's voice said. Rachael charged higher rates than the agencies for computer time. This firm was aware of the precision and accuracy of her work performance. “We prefer you instead of hiring an unknown we'd have to teach from scratch,” the speaker said. “If you want the position, we need you to show up this Monday.” Rachael left a message on her brother's cell phone message center saying she would be coming to Stockton on weekends for a while instead of Mondays.

That weekend, Rachael wrote feverishly. Her characters began to learn they must know themselves before they could know anyone else. They needed to know who they were, apart from their parents, siblings and peers.

Rachael was developing unique personalities in Melissa and Hunter as she maneuvered them through heart rending sequences toward resolving their deepest issues. She gave Melissa the same type of tyrant father and submissive mother she grew up with, and wove in about as much of that situation as would fit into her fiction. She endowed Melissa with the same confusion she possessed about relationships and how they didn't fit into the picture her father painted about life. Melissa was reclusive and needed to be drawn out.

Work on the book progressed rapidly despite recently rewriting many portions and nearly starting over from scratch. In a zealous fit of over-eagerness, she put together a query letter accompanied by the story outline and the first three chapters and sent them to Dennis DeBaer, her literary agent. She also mentioned two additional manuscripts which were in outline form in her computer.

“To keep me alive in their memory,” she said aloud in the solitude of her office. If they remembered her previous attempts to make a name in the book business, she wanted them to know they shouldn't count her out. So what if they were the people who have the last word? If they didn't like this book, publishers were plentiful. Yet, there was something special about this story. It was different from her first two with their simple plots. She could feel it and hoped they would recognize it too. Having accomplished a great measure of progress on her story, she felt ready to start the temp position at ConverTech.

The commute to and from Santa Clara each day was arduous. Thankfully, her car was dependable. Each day, she'd leave home at six o'clock in the morning and return home again around seven or even eight o'clock in the evening, and that would be dependent upon whether there were accidents slowing traffic along the way. Time to visit the park didn't exist. The two hour commutes each morning and evening left her dwelling on thoughts of Matthew and Hunter. Matthew consumed much of her thoughts and his book character much of her story line.

By the time she completed the two month contract, she had talked herself out of needing to see Matthew again for any last details she might glean for her story. Her muse would conjure anything else needed.

Two months of long commute hours had been productive. It gave her time to think seriously about the content of her novel. She had purchased a mini-recorder to make story notes so no brilliant bits of information would be lost. With the temporary work assignment behind her, she looked forward to catching up on transcribing those recorded ideas into story material.

Frustration had set in about not being able to write continually. Yet, though now she could, she found herself staring at the small bulletin board beside her desk. She had long ago drawn the features of the man in her story. He looked similar to a dashing young Sean Connery. Somehow that image no longer fit. More and more, she thought of how much the features of the man in the park should be thumb tacked in front of her. She needed to rethink her character. How had Matthew slipped into her thoughts to consume them and take over her plot? How had he become such an intrusion?

The next morning, the sun shone brightly. Rachael thought about taking her work to the park. If Matthew was there, he'd try to talk. Judging by the way he held on and tried to keep that first conversation going, he'd wanted more. She just knew it. If he approached her again, it would change her mood. She wouldn't get any writing done. Finally, she struck a key, opened the file, and started to work.

She stayed home the rest of the week, working straight through the weekend. With ample time available again, progress on her book happened rapidly. Her short simple novel had grown. When finished, it would become a longer, more intense story than ever imagined. This filled her with glee. The following Monday, she made the regular trip to Brandon's home. As she drove in silence, remnants of a vivid dream of ballroom dancing with the character in her story filtered in. They floated around the floor and as she looked into the man's eyes, the dancer became Matthew.

Chapter 6

The scent of the evergreens filled the air on the small hill at the park entrance.

“Where have you been?” The voice coming up behind her was Matthew's. He skipped around in front of her and walked backwards as she proceeded on.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, startled out of concentration.

His face took on a look of astonishment when he realized the accusatory tone in his voice. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I came looking for you and you haven't been here for months.”

“Oh?” she asked, smiling curiously and wondering how many times he'd looked for her.

He shook his head and smiled back. “You're late, too.”

He wore white painter's pants with a bib front and shoulder straps over a ratty white tee shirt. They were spattered with paint and other stains. He bent forward, slapping at his usually silky hair, shaking out powdery construction dust as they walked to the tree circle.

“Dad and I've been trying to complete these two jobs in the Sunset. We've gotten busy since the weather warmed.” He spoke casually, as if they had been friends for ages.

The least she could do is be nice till she could get him to leave her alone or herself leave. “I thought people were holding back on major expenses. You know, the sluggish economy and all.”

“Tell me about it. The market for new houses is depressed. People are remodeling existing homes instead of building new ones.

“What do you do when construction slows?”

“Hustle, I mean, really get out there and create some work. I've put my earnings away. I'm not hurting. Dad had some hard times a few years back, though. He was ready to sell his old boat. We might be looking at slow times again if we don't get some contracts.”

“Would you help your dad if he got strapped?”

“Goes without saying. Dad followed me here from the jobsite. He's on his way to Marin.”

“Here?” She cringed and looked around.

“He's getting us something to drink. I was hoping you could meet him.”

Meet his father? What for? She barely knew Matthew, had only a meager conversation with him. Now she worried about how much she may have disclosed about herself. Then his father arrived.

Matthew stood straight and proud beside his dad when he introduced him. Then he said, “Dad. This is Rachael Connor, the girl I told you about.”

Rachael nearly swallowed her tongue. Told his father…? She smiled nervously and offered her hand as she learned his name.

“We finally get to meet,” Cameron said with eyes searching hers.

Why did he look at her so seriously? His gaze was piercing.

“Let's rest here a while, Dad.”

Cameron motioned for Rachael to sit before he did.

How strikingly alike they seemed. They could pass for brothers with a few years in between. Matthew was slightly taller than his dad, and more muscular. In his younger years, Cameron must have been as fit as Matthew. The years had gently softened his angular build, but there was no doubt he remained strong and agile. Matthew's facial features were as his father's might have been as a young man, except his nose. Cameron's nose was a Roman type, more sharply pronounced. Rachael wondered what Matthew's mother must look like. Her genes must have contributed the gentleness to Matthew's features. She wondered how much of this new information she might use in her book.

“Did I tell you about our names?” Matthew asked. She simply waited, knowing he would explain. “Dad's name is Cameron Matthew. Mine is Matthew Cameron. Mom and Dad didn't like the way Cameron Matthew sounded so they switched names around for me.”

“Yeah,” Cameron said. “I kind of liked the idea of naming my son after me. I think my parents didn't say the two names together enough times before they settled on it. It didn't sound right, Cameron Matthew.”

These two men, near-strangers, talked and treated her as if they had known her for eons.

“That's a pretty fancy piece of equipment you've got there,” Cameron said as he studied the laptop.

“I had to buy this, or stay indoors night and day working on the desktop.

“You write that much?”

“Sometimes fifteen to twenty hours a day. Until I bought this, I could go days without stepping into sunlight.”

“My, my.” Cameron fumbled for his glasses and cocked his head back and leaned closer, studying her computer through bifocals. “You any good?”

“You mean writing or computers?”

“I'm interested in this gismo. You good at running these?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, come on.” Matthew said. “You ought to see her, Dad. She's so good—”

“You don't know that,” she said.

“Sure I do. I've been watching you since last summer.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She struggled to keep her composure. “A lot of people do what I'm doing.”

“Don't underestimate yourself.”

“Once you learn the basics, the rest is easy,” she said. She felt uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. Compliments for her were few and far between, not often enough for her to learn how to graciously accept them. “How's the home building industry?” she asked awkwardly of Cameron. Then she felt ridiculous again. People didn't build homes in San Francisco. Bare land in The City was nonexistent. People added floors atop existing buildings or they remodeled.

“We hit a slump a few years back. It was Matt who scared up some renovations. Kept the shirts on our backs.”

“Aw, Dad.” Matthew seemed both embarrassed and proud.

Cameron finished his soft drink and announced it was time to go. Rachael stood with them, offering her hand to Cameron to say goodbye. He looked deep into her eyes again with a stare that made her shrink inside.

“I'll be seeing you again, I guess,” he said. He sounded like he wasn't sure he liked the idea, had to make an effort to be accepting. She smiled weakly as he turned to say goodbye to Matthew, shaking his hand and walking away.

Matthew stood looking after his father with a proud expression. “He's so great, Rachael.”

“He seemed a little aloof.”

“He doesn't understand your situation.”

“My situation?”

“You know, the abuse part.”

“You didn't tell him, you didn't.”

“It's no big thing. Dad and I have no secrets.”

“Matthew, that's private.”

“He wanted to know about you.”