AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Getting in the vehicle occurs in silence as does the beginning of the drive across the property. The warm, late spring wind whips past us, pushing what I imagine to be the last batch of dead leaves into our path, needlessly reminding me once more that despite the fact I stay locked away, another winter season has passed since I buried them.
Since they should’ve buried me.
“Sir,” Clark gingerly begins, collecting my stare away from where it had wandered away, “I know I’ve already asked this; however, is there anything – anything at all – you’d like me to take the liberty of ordering for Ms. Lauren on your behalf? Is there anything you think might bring her comfort during her…seemingly steady state of decline?”
I adjust my hood as one of the newer yard workers trimming the green shrubbery attempts to steal a glance of me. “You know her as well as I do-”
“Better, Sir.”
“Yet you don’t know me well enough by now not to call me Sir?”
“Force of habit that comes when dealing with affairs that are about you as opposed to directly dealing with you, S-” the deep throat clearing causes him to correct, “Wes.” He momentarily allows desperation to cake his caramel beige complexion. “I know exactly what would bring Lauren the most comfort except it is not a what but a who.”
I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie in silent refusal.
No.
That rule will not change.
Cannot change.
For anyone.
“Wes-”
“No.”
“I understand your position, but-”
“There is no but.” Narrowing my gaze at him precedes our stopping in front of the one-story guesthouse I transitioned into a medical suite. “And there is no discussion to be had. Understood?”
He turns the key to kill the engine on a clipped, “Yes, Sir.”
Petty.
Yet I’ll let him have it.
This time.
Clark swallows his own annoyance to present me with a more professional expression. “Would you like me to accompany you inside?”
“Would you like to accompany me inside?” I slide out on my side. “Perhaps ask Lauren herself if there’s flower or tea or crocheting needle that might lift her spirits a bit?”
“She doesn’t crochet.”
“You’re right,” my tone does its best to become mirthful. “You do know her better than me.”
A small smirk is flashed prior to him escorting me up the cement paved path in silence.
I don’t want everyone to be as miserable as me.
I just can’t afford the price of their happiness.
To my surprise, Matt Hamilton, the concierge doctor for me along with the entire estate staff, is sitting on the entryway bench, tablet in hand, sandy skinned fingers frantically tapping on the screen. “Wes.”
“Hamilton.”
“Clark.”
