House of Fire (Unraveled Series) (9 page)

11

June 16 - 6:00 a.m.

Delaney bent down,
her hamstrings pulling as she pushed her fingertips toward her toes. She
exhaled, letting her ponytail drop to graze the concrete as she stretched
deeper in her running shorts. Splashes of water sprinkled against the driveway
a few feet behind her. The stain of water seeped toward her feet; the water
from the sprinkler shooting well beyond the muddy straw and sporadic shoots of
grass. She closed her eyes, the familiar pokes of straw stabbing at her legs.

The catalyst for the
fire that Evie had set. Delaney wiggled her toes, the tingling radiating
through the tips. The numbing and stinging sensations in her feet had lessoned
since the winter, but it was still a reminder of
him.
She sighed and
pulled her right knee up, feeling another deep stretch.

She swapped legs as
the next door neighbor’s SUV backed out of the garage.
Greg the IT Manager
.
He waved behind his shades and blue-striped collar shirt.
Khaki pants
underneath.
Greg was married to Regina who stayed home to raise their four
kids. Almost perpetually unshowered, Regina nearly always had a child on her
hip. It was exhausting just watching her.

Mark’s neighborhood
was filled with variations of the same couples. Judy, an independent consultant
for a brand new wrap thing that claimed to make you skinny and, gasp, lose five
inches overnight. Frank who always left well past nine a.m. and returned before
four p.m. in his shiny black Escalade. Regina had once told Delaney that he was
a pharmaceutical rep, barely working twenty hours a week and making over six
figures.
The problems with hospitals and health care today
, she had told
her. She had gone on, but Delaney had been distracted by one of Regina’s crying
kids behind her. Delaney tried to stay in the house as much as she could,
leaving only for class and her runs. But inevitably, Regina would catch her,
desperate for adult interaction. Delaney couldn’t really blame her.

Delaney put one foot
in front of the other, pounding on the sidewalk, headed left instead of right.
Her usual five mile route to the right included running past Regina’s house,
and she couldn’t bear the earful today. Mark had mentioned a set of trails last
week that were west anyway. She could use a little change.

She made long
strides, her tight legs carrying her forward to the edge of the subdivision.
Her toes began to loosen as the warmth permeated through her socks. Most of the
houses still slept, their silence and stillness bringing a reprieve to her legs
as she pushed them forward. A sweet smell flared into her nostrils.
Lilacs.
Wait
.
Roses
. Ann Jones had always tended to her flowers, the
swelling rose bushes pruned to perfection. Her mother in her oversized straw
hat and garden clippers popped into her head. Her brown waves cascaded past her
shoulders. Ann Jones was beautiful.

The sound of a garage
door opening turned her head to the right. A tall man emerged from his garage
in a suit and tie, his brown hair spiked to a painstakingly perfect amount. He
was in good shape, his body fit and muscular beneath his jacket. He bent down
to pick up a red tricycle left from the previous night and the suspended wheels
twirled in the air as he jerked it up. He gave Delaney a half-wave before
disappearing back into the garage.

She returned the smile,
thinking of James’s classic half-wave, which she had first remembered him by. A
small, insignificant gesture to most people, though to Delaney, it was comforting.
His infectious smile and toffee eyes always lit up when he gave the sideways
motion. The vision of James bending down to pick up a tricycle flooded through
her head. It looked natural, almost stunning. It was the first time she had
conceded to this thought, welcomed it with open arms. Maybe she could do this.
Maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like. She felt an ounce of luck
for the first time.

The silence of her
warm-up was ending as the houses disappeared behind her. Her breath began to
quicken as she inhaled the fresh morning air. The regular exhale reassured her;
a rhythm building as she pushed forward. Step. Step. Inhale. Step. Step.
Exhale. She moved onto the shoulder of the road to the small stretch of an
uninhabited street. Anxiety began to melt from her body. Running and painting
were her only two releases from Holston.

She plugged her
earphones into her ears, shuffling through the playlist on her iPhone before
she landed on Mumford and Sons. The rendering of Marcus Mumford’s raspy,
distinct voice belted in her ears as she neared the edge of a vacant plot with
a commercial real estate sign. The wooded park, according to Mark, was less
than a mile ahead and a well-traveled path for runners. Delaney spotted the
trees and the sign pointing to the right. She pulled the can of pepper spray
from the chest pocket of her running jacket and wrapped the handle around her
wrist. Holston had halted the target practice, but she still had her trusty
pepper spray from James.
Every city has its ‘crazies,’
James had said.
If
he only knew.

She turned onto the
paved path where the coolness of the shade provided by the trees reinvigorated
her as she pushed forward. Her legs were loose now, the stride easy and fluid
as she ran well into her second mile. The thick trunks of the trees repeated
over and over, the brush beneath littered with broken branches, logs and low
growing foliage. The chirps of birds intersected above her, echoing through the
trees loud of enough to be heard over the soft hum of the music in her ears.
The drilling sound of a woodpecker interrupted their chirps, demanding its
presence be known. Delaney inhaled the earthy smells of nature, letting the
sounds and smells transport her to an inner calmness that running could bring.
She needed this. In less than twelve hours, she would be at the gala,
face-to-face once again with Holston Parker. Ann and Holston - aka George Boyd
- would “meet” again. It would be anything but relaxing.

As the dense trees
began to thin out, Delaney caught sight of the backyards of expansive,
two-story homes. Elaborate pergolas, stoned walls and outdoor furniture
decorated the rolling, plush greenery. Perfectly tended yards and fire pits
were at every location. She wondered who these people were, what they did.
Their wealth was obvious from their impeccably maintained backyards and massive
houses. No one had time to keep all that up on their own.
Business owners.
Surgeons
. A black iron gate surrounding an extensive lawn and property
interrupted the backyards. Large boulders decorated the backside of the lawn,
water trickling down into a pool. Delaney pushed forward, admiring the sound
and peacefulness of the water when her eyes traveled up the boulders.
Red
.
She saw the same vicious red she had seen flash past her office the night
before.
Cherry.

Delaney froze, her
legs jolting as she pulled the headphones out of her ears. She ducked behind
the trunk of an oak tree just five feet in front of her while she looked up the
trail to see a couple jogging toward her.
Shit.
She bent down,
pretending to lace her shoes as they ran past her. They mumbled the polite ‘good
mornings’ that most runners in Appleton felt obligated to share and disappeared
down the path. She stepped onto the brush, the branches stabbing at her ankles
as she leaned forward to rest her hands against the scratching bark of a tree.
She poked her head around the tree, stretching to hear Cherry’s muffled voice.

The tip of a man’s head
emerged as he walked to the edge of the patio. The way his head curved into his
neck, his hairline perfectly manicured in the back. The elaborate and private
yard. It could only be his.
Holston
. The rest of his body emerged,
wrapped in a gray bathrobe as he put his hand on Cherry’s arm. Delaney’s flesh
crawled, her arm feeling his hand wrap around her own. She wanted to yell at Cherry
to run, to get away from him. Delaney wanted to run herself, but her legs
resisted.
They are passing Cherry around
.

Holston had warned Delaney
about her own
indiscretion
with Theron, yet here he was gallivanting around
with a prostitute. Cherry nodded her head in obedience before he moved in to
embrace her. The gray wrapped around the red, swallowing it momentarily until
she pulled away, a small yellow envelope in her hand.

Cherry’s head popped
up as voices sounded ahead of Delaney. Her emerald eyes flashed toward Delaney,
her mangled hair falling across her shoulders with a twist. Delaney bent down
again and replayed the fake tying of the shoelaces routine as the bouncing
heads of two women in their thirties came into view, their voices chatting back
and forth. A schnauzer led them on a black leash, the jingle of his collar
becoming louder with each step. Delaney pulled her head up, stealing a glance
at Cherry who was still looking into the woods. Delaney reluctantly moved her
eyes back up the path at the women coming toward her.

“Can you believe she
said that?” The small woman in spandex with a gaped mouth turned to her friend.
Her chest boasted breasts much too large for her thin frame, her nipples poking
through the thick lycra. They pointed out in full salute.
Implants.

“He deserved it. She
should dump him to the curb, but you know she never will. He’s a lying, cheating
chump. I figured that out our senior year after he slept with that slut the
night he brought
me
to the prom. We all knew, but she didn’t listen so I
can’t feel too bad for her.” The other woman bounced beside her friend, holding
the leash loosely in her hand. Unlike her thin friend, the woman’s
skin-suffocating spandex accentuated the fact that she bought a pair of pants
much too small for her.

The jingling stopped
as the dog sniffed Delaney’s foot. She looked into the black, glassy eyes of
the schnauzer before he reluctantly broke the gaze and followed his oblivious
owner. Delaney shot her eyes back to the boulders and waterfall. Gone.

***

“How was your run?”
Mark’s head appeared from the refrigerator, a bottle of orange juice secured in
his hand. He poured his glass full, taking a gulp as she kicked off her shoes
in the hallway.

“Fine.” Delaney
slammed the garage door shut. She tore off her running jacket and threw it in
the washing machine in the adjacent laundry room. Mark waited, hearing another
bang from the washing machine door.

“Doesn’t sound fine.”

Delaney strode into
the kitchen in her soaked sports bra and fell onto a stool, leaning her elbows
on the counter. Mark stared back. She thought about spilling it all to Mark; laying
it all out in the open, letting the tightness in her chest vomit the whole
thing out to him. Gunnar. Richard Rowan. Evie. Holston. Now Cherry. But he
wouldn’t believe her. On most days, she didn’t believe it herself. She had
resorted to living in a twisted world of denial. Her mother was safe. Mark was
safe. She stared back into his waiting eyes. She wouldn’t jeopardize Mark’s
career or her mother’s life. Holston Parker was the reason why she still had a
mother to call when she couldn’t get the recipe quite right or when she
couldn’t get a paint stain out of her best shirt. If Delaney had been a man, Holston
Parker would have her by the balls.

“How much do you know
about your boss?” Delaney finally asked.

“Holston? What do you
mean?” Mark grabbed a banana from the bowl behind him, stripping the peels with
a few quick pulls.

“Did you know he
lives just a few miles from here, on the other side of Plamman Park?”

“Yeah, Grand Shore
Estates. I’ve been to his house before. It’s ridiculous.” Mark bit into his
banana, his mouth full as he mumbled, “But what does that have to do with your
run?”

“I ran the trail that
you mentioned and his backyard faces the woods the path runs through. I saw his
backyard,” Delaney started, feeling the anger well up as she thought about
Cherry. She had to be prostitute, but somehow, Delaney felt like Cherry didn’t
have a choice. Cherry was doing it for a reason.
Money? Drugs?
If it was
money she wanted, Cherry clearly wasn’t using it for the right reasons. She
wouldn’t be wearing the same shirt from the day before. Her mascara wouldn’t
have been clumped from weeks of reapplication without washing. Cherry was in
trouble.

“Pretty amazing,
isn’t it?” Mark asked as he tossed the banana peel in the garbage.

“I guess,” she
replied, the embrace between Holston and Cherry replaying in her mind. The
yellow envelope. It was too small just to hold money. There had to be something
else that he had given her. “Have you ever noticed anything particular about
him? Anything that rubs you the wrong way?”

“Not really,” Mark
started. “He’s a pretty normal guy for the most part. He’s obviously incredibly
driven and motivated. He’s intelligent, quick about decisions. He goes to
church. Golfs. Does everything else a normal, single guy in his sixties would
do. He doesn’t exactly live like the billionaire he is, with the exception of
his house.”

“Does he ever have
any unusual visitors to his office?” Delaney asked.

“Unusual visitors?
No, but I don’t really know what you are getting at,” Mark said, finishing the last
bite of banana. “Did you see something strange at his house this morning?”

“No,” Delaney lied.
Mark had no idea about Holston. There was no inkling or indicator screaming at Mark
to stay away. Holston was his successful boss; Mark admired him. “What about
the whole weeding through executives thing? You’ve been there for almost a year
now. It seems like now is about the time that he throws you out and has someone
else come in.”