The Forgotten Child, Lorhainne Eckhart [bearly read books txt] 📗

The crazy morning passed in a haze. Now Katy was down for her afternoon nap. Trevor wouldn’t sleep. So while Emily sipped a cup of tea; Trevor ran his cars over the fringed doily on the end table by the sofa, back and forth, repeating the same circle over and over.

Her feet ached and she couldn’t shake the sense of unease. Even Brad had pulled her aside after lunch, before leaving with the men, and whispered in his sexy confident drawl. “We’ll talk tonight.”

And my oh my, when she looked up into his eyes, the heat and meaning was clear. Maybe last night meant something to him too, and she lit up with an easy smile. “Okay.” He lingered for a minute longer, until the heated meaning seeped into her stubborn worried head.

The front door squeaked and rattled. Emily jumped, spilling a few drops of her hot tea on the scratched oak. “Shit.” She hurried around the corner as she heard the soft click, click of unfamiliar footsteps. Fear climbed in Emily’s throat and threatened to choke off any sound. She skidded around the corner to grab Trevor and froze. Time went into slow-mo-zone, where everything stopped and her senses were magnified a hundred times. A tall, leggy blonde, who could have stepped out of a fashion magazine, strode into the living room. Behind her were two large red suitcases propped inside the door. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Emily had ever seen. Shapely, thin, curves in all the right places; a body that, at one time, Emily would have given her right arm for. She had the most magnificent, cat-like, blue eyes that took on an icy hue as she stared at Emily. She shed her expensive white leather coat, and tossed it carelessly over the easy chair. Her tight brown sweater and matching brown corduroys fit her like a second skin, in a tasteful way. Emily honed in on the salon-shaped eyebrows that didn’t quite match the fawn blonde hair. Her makeup was a skillful work of art. No contest who the beauty was, this woman, who Emily instinctively knew was Crystal, was Brad’s wife.

“Who are you, and why are you in my house?” Her words were sharp, cruel in a way that made Emily feel like the intruder. The good-looking blonde ran her eyes up and down Emily then looked away, dismissing her.

“My name’s Emily. Brad hired me to look after Trevor and—”

The woman cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. Displaying her meticulous manicured nails, painted a vibrant red, and the large square diamond ring set in white gold on her ring finger.

“So, where’s the boy?” She asked with no particular interest; an ice princess with no plans to thaw.

Emily couldn’t find an intelligent word to say, she opened her mouth, and then shut it. She sought out Trevor, who watched the space between her and this woman, as he held his car and rocked side-to-side making his whoop, whoop noise. Emily dashed to Trevor and squatted down, redirecting him back to his line of cars. “Play with your cars, vroom-vroom, park it here.” She scooted around, the icy woman hadn’t moved. It appeared she wasn’t too keen on coming any closer. “Get him to stop that dreadful racket; I’m going to put my suitcases away. I’d like a cup of coffee. Bring it to me when it’s ready, dear.”

Emily’s back shot up ramrod-straight. What unbelievable gall. I mean really, she didn’t work for her and she wanted to tell her. But she didn’t, and the woman didn’t wait around for a response. She climbed the stairs with one suitcase in hand to Brad’s room.

Emily choked back the lump wedged in her throat, and her heart ached as if pushed through a meat grinder. She watched in disbelief and she’d swear the floor softened beneath her feet. It took a minute to realize it was Trevor screaming. She turned around as he tossed his car across the room, screeching over and over, “da, da, da, da”. Emily gave herself a good dressing down and focused everything she had left on Trevor, and calming him down.

She hurried to the TV, popped in a Peter Pan movie, one of his favorites, and held him while he flailed his arms until the opening music filled the room. He stopped, pulled away from Emily and stood a few inches from the TV screen, swaying back and forth. Where was Brad? Her head throbbed, beating at the base of her skull. The tension lingering in the room had sunk into her shoulders and her neck, to the point she’d swear her muscles would soon snap. Emily wandered and circled the kitchen. Katy was still asleep, it was impossible to slip out to find Brad. She dialed his cell, but it kept going to voicemail. “Brad, it’s Emily. Please call me, it’s really important.”

Emily wrung her hands. Then forced to kick out her ego, she caved and made coffee. What would Brad do? What was going to happen? What about her and Brad? She gazed up at the ceiling and threw her hands up. The timing of this was unbelievable.

The coffee maker beeped, and Emily viewed the dark brew as if were a viper ready to strike. She lifted the pot and filled a pink floral mug, even though the muscles in her arms protested what she was doing. Don’t do it. You’re not a servant. Don’t let her treat you like this. Dump it down the sink and ignore her. Don’t let her treat you like this—stop. But she didn’t listen, she swallowed the heavy, hurtful lump that was chalked full of pride, and climbed the stairs while her heart broke a little more. She knocked softly on Brad’s closed door, and waited for the hateful woman on the other side to admit her.

“Come in.” The summons was light and airy from a voice that reeked of confidence. Emily pushed the door open. She didn’t seek out this rude intruder, but instead her eyes were glued to the large four-poster bed where less than twenty-four hours she’d lay sprawled naked for Brad. The floral duvet hadn’t been neatly made, but tossed in a heap in the middle of the bed, where a large red suitcase lay propped open, clothing strewn everywhere.

Crystal cleared her throat roughly. Emily jerked her head and spilled a few drops of coffee on her worn jeans.

“Here’s your coffee.” Emily extended the mug and dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Where’s the cream and sugar?”

So much for avoiding eye contact. “You didn’t say you wanted cream and sugar.”

“Oh, yes I did. Cream and one sugar and not that god-awful artificial sweetener. In the future be sure to remember that while you’re working here in my house.” The warning Emily picked up had nothing to do with coffee.

With shoulders hunched, Emily slunk down the stairs with the despicable mug, positive she could hear the wheel of fortune grind to a halt and reverse—from good to bad. Panic and worry began licking its way into Emily’s mind as she wondered what this meant for Brad, her, and the kids.