“Good, because I’m pregnant.”
That night, I checked into a motel as I had in my previous trips to Charleston, never staying more than a day or two before retreating to Ray’s mansion—my mansion. I hadn’t been back to the penthouse. It was the last step of my self-imposed mission to try to move on with my life. In the late hours, I tossed and turned in that hotel room, desperate for some much-needed sleep, my body exhausted from hours in the car, my mind racing with thoughts of a new future. Against all odds, my position was still safe with Scott Solutions, and my partner had made it so. Still, even with my brief visits, I always worried there might be someone lurking in the shadows, some circumstance that would prevent me from resuming my life, from making another transition into the rest of it. I’d had to fight that fear every day for years, and it was time to put it to bed.
I walked down Bay Street in the French Quarter with the key to the penthouse in hand. The garage was brimming with cars, a far cry from the deserted parking space of a year ago. Daniello and I had alone occupied the building. Even the elevator had a different feel. Opening the door to the penthouse, that feeling dispersed. The bed still sat near the fireplace, the sheets tangled. The stale smell of an unoccupied space drifted over me.
Empty.
I laughed at the irony. Through all the trials I’d been through in the last year, I was still inevitably alone.
“But you aren’t alone.” I smiled as I thought of the baby boy that fell asleep on my chest, of my sister’s plea for me to come back home. I had family. I had friends. I had a career waiting for me.
I walked over to the bed and stared at the sheets, the only sign that he truly existed. He’d left me nothing but his memory. I tried to shake my emotion away as rain began to pour down the large panes of glass in front of me. I gripped my arms as I stood at the window and spoke to a ghost.
“I won’t say goodbye to you. I won’t. I can’t. Not you.”
Taking a deep breath, I lay in our bed and stared at the ceiling as visions of my love danced around me, the way I knew they would if I returned to the only place that belonged to us, and finally drifted to sleep.
“Taylor Ellison speaking.” I moved through the penthouse as the movers set Ray’s desk in the corner. My door sounded again as I looked at one of the men who’d just finished hanging a painting on the wall. “Do you mind getting the door?”
“Sure, Ms. Ellison.”
My penthouse was a madhouse of workers. I dove into the task of creating some sort of semblance of a home once I decided to stay in Charleston. I needed order, and that would never change.
“Hey, partner, you getting set up?” Nina asked with syrupy sweetness on the other end of the phone. “I’m attempting to,” I said as I motioned to the men carrying the desk.
The man I asked to answer the door called out behind me, “Ms. Ellison, it’s a grocery delivery.”
I let out a sigh as I addressed Nina. “I may lose my shit today.”
“I just heard that southern twang,” Nina chuckled as she refused to let me off the phone.
“Get used to it.” I called out over my shoulder, “Money’s on the counter. Please have them unpack them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Nina pleaded.
“I’ll be there. Look for a six a.m. email.”
“Wait—”
I smiled as I hung up.
Careful what you ask for, Nina.
The truth was, I couldn’t wait to dive back in. I sat down behind Ray’s desk and spread my hands over the surface before I glanced at the two men exhausted from the haul. “Perfect. Thank you.”
One of the men pulled a towel from his back pocket and wiped his brow. “No problem. Need anything else?”
“I’m
all set.”
Within a few minutes, I was alone. My penthouse was full of décor I had handpicked, a new personal hurdle I’d cleared. There was nothing staged about my new house or my new life. And for the first time in a very long time, I was excited.
I still gave fuck all about shopping. And I’d actually purchased a floor of the garage for my cars and added a Studebaker to the mix. My stomach rumbled as I started to set up my office equipment, and I moved to make a quick trip to the fridge to temper it. I glanced around the nearly finished space with pride. Opening the refrigerator door, my smile vanished when I saw my grocery order had been royally screwed up. Rows and rows of pimento cheese sat on every shelf—in the butter box, in the door, in the vegetable bins. It was everywhere. In every available space.
“What. In. The. Hell!?”