My father’s men took off to enjoy all that Boston has to offer, while I go back to business as usual.
Once we open the doors, paying members trickle in over the next hour to work on their techniques through practicing drills. I have some fish to fry, so I am out of there before Patrick wakes from his nap.
I push open the door, walking promptly to my car.
“Need us, boss?!” Garron jogs toward me, through the parking lot with Dax a few steps behind.
“No, I’ve got this on my own. You two… do whatever the fuck you both do when I’m not around.”
Garron salutes me as I slide into my white Audi.
As I’m driving, a text comes through.
Sis: Nice job making Daddy mad. Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?
At the traffic light, I write back.
Eamon: No. Stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong!
Immediately, a message comes through.
Sis: Whatever do you mean?
Followed by a smiley with a halo emoji.
I lobbed the cell phone down to the passenger seat’s footwell. Fuck.
I didn’t really know where I was heading, but I knew it wasn’t The Black Sheep. I didn’t want her to see me, not when I was wound so tightly. She wouldn’t be safe.
I find myself back in my living room overlooking the harbor. Yachts and fishing charters bob in the reflective water just outside my executive suite. The panoramic ocean and city views just weren’t as breathtaking anymore. I pull the floor to ceilingcurtains closed, encasing myself in darkness before making my way to my room. This bedroom is my favorite; it’s the only room I told the designer she couldn’t lay a fucking finger on. Unlike the rest of the apartment, it has gray wainscot walls, dim lighting, and a low-profile bed. I kept it simple, no wall art; allowing the dark moody vibe to take center stage. Small wooden dressers adorn each side of the tufted, upholstered headboard. The ceiling reflects the earthy tones covering the bed. That mirror sure did make for some fun times.
Without much thought, I find myself throwing open drawers and stuffing clothes into a duffle bag from my closet. Between family shit, business, and my quest for answers; I couldn’t stand to be here a minute longer. All those memories came rushing back like a wave and I’m tired of choking on the salted water. I’m going on a little trip and will only return once I have clarity.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
CINDEL
Three hours and sixteen minutes in a rental that smells like sourdough and menthols. I opt to drive with my hair up and the windows down. Thank my lucky stars this shit box has Bluetooth capabilities, allowing my temporary torture chamber to at least have quality tunes.
Living in the city, I’ve never had the need to own a car, but my parents were sure to teach my brother and I how to drive. Theo, of course, excelled at the task. He even had a short stint being a valet driver until he got fired for backing a Porsche into a light pole. I enjoy driving but know my skills haven’t flourished past automatic, base-model cars.
I wear my crimson, striped sweater, a pair of thick tights, and a pleated skirt. I really need to get to the laundromat because most of my clothes were beginning to reek like The Black Sheep. Hopefully, my parents don’t cringe at the odor of cloves and stale beer clinging to the fabric. They know I’ve had a lot of jobs since college and after a while, they kind of stopped keeping track. I’m sure my mom would havechoice words, if she actually knew the kind of place I worked at.
As I drive, my thumbs make themselves at home, forging a new hole right through each sleeve. My knuckles are covered, as I battle to stay warm against the chill that whips through the car. I refuse to close the windows and be imprisoned with this stench. My weekend bag sits on the passenger seat, overflowing with clothes, a charger, two books, and the materials I require to finish up a project for the Craft Bazaar, coming up next week.
Three hours and sixteen minutes morph into four hours and some change, when an overturned maple syrup truck blocks both lanes. Traffic piles up, and we are sitting ducks until a tow truck arrives, and the state’s road crew are able to scrape the road for one lane to pass. When I tell my mom, she becomes anxious to leave, since they would have to take a slightly different route. They want to arrive at Martha's Vineyard before dark.
So, with a quick,sorry we can’t stay any longer! Followed by a,love you, exchanged via text, they head out.
My karaoke skills are becoming fine-tuned over the long drive, as I sing along with Gwen Stephani and Shirley Manson. As I continue into the more mountainous terrain, a song comes on, I don’t recall adding to my curated playlist. It starts with a howl, then a tambourine joins in. Slow, eerie lyrics about a little girl in red being in the woods, all alone. The words scroll by the screen with the song name: “Lil' red riding hood.”Not bothering to change it, I focus on making the right turns, according to the GPS, so I don’t wind up in the wrong place. I did however plan to remove the ever so creepy song from my playlist, so I wouldn’t have to listen to it again.
The red marker off the side of the main road indicates I have arrived at my destination. I pause momentarily, since no one is behind me. Taking in the long winding driveway, lined with oak trees. Cautiously I follow the path up the side of the mountain, to a gravel parking area. A short stone wall separates me froma magical, single-story home. Ivy cascades down every surface of the structure; lattice windows hold wavy glass, while wooden arched doors made the charming home present as, cozy and inviting. My parents told me a little about the historical home. Originally built in the 1920s, it was the kind of place out of a storybook with a blissfully ignorant princess and a fleet of tiny grumpy men, obsessed with treasure.
After I park, I grab my bag and start down the lush path toward my new residence for the next few days. Trees shade the home from every angle. With moss-lining the cobbled path, it seems that even sunny days aren’t enough to warm the grounds.
My dad did a wonderful job maintaining the gardens. Even though the cooler temperatures slowed down a majority of growth, the foliage is still breathtaking. Purple ghost shaped flowers line the walkway in front, while a small garden along the side of the house, overflows with rainbow Swiss chard. It looks like nature's candy, although I don’t recall ever eating it. Surrounding the property and well into the valley below, is a canvas of fall colors. Shades of yellow, crimson, and pumpkin-orange cover the expansive mountain views.
