The Problem with Peace (Greenstone Security 3)

Not when I changed colleges because of a boyfriend.

Or changed majors because of a different boyfriend.

When he had to loan me money because I’d loaned all of mine to a friend who had lost everything in a house fire.

Not when I’d dropped out of college and moved to L.A. and didn’t tell him.

My mother had something to say about that. Not much, but something, because she was a parent and she loved me, and she worried about what future I’d have without that piece of paper that somehow said I was ‘approved’ to operate in the world.

But there was nothing from my father.

Nothing but support.

And when I’d announced my marriage to Craig, there was a slight wary glint to his eyes, but he still smiled and promised he’d walk me down the aisle.

And he’d walked me into the lawyer’s office when I signed my divorce papers.

My mother had gotten me a cake. It literally said ‘Happy Divorce’ on it. And it was gluten-free and vegan.

Lucy had promised explosions.

“I have a very particular set of skills,” my father said into the phone, still yelling.

I continued to grin. “Well, as much as I’d like to see those skills, I’m actually back stateside, so you’ll just have to wait for the next great Polly adventure/disaster.”

“You’re home?” he yelled. This time I didn’t think it was because of the connection. “Claire! Stop fiddling with that damn bread and come and talk to your daughter, she’s home,” he called to my mother.

There was a rustling as I imagined my mother getting on the other handset. Of course they still had a landline. My father hated mobile phones. He thought the government used them to track us. I didn’t disagree with him. But I also knew I needed one. And he needed one to keep in touch with me and he’d begrudgingly bought it.

“Honey,” my mother breathed into the phone. “You’re home and you didn’t tell us. We could’ve picked you up from the airport. And we could’ve used the trip to visit your sister. Oh, I’ll cancel our plans this weekend and we’ll come. How does that sound?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Pete, what was the name of that place we stayed at in the city? That was nice enough, wasn’t it? We’ll book there.”

“No,” my father grumbled. “I didn’t like the pillows. Too soft. The mattress was too firm. The valet was too expensive.”

“It’s L.A.,” my mother sighed. “Of course it’s expensive. I’m booking there because I liked the chocolates they left on the pillows.”

“The soft pillows,” my father interjected. “I’d rather sleep on the chocolates than the pillows, they provide better neck support.”

“Oh stop being such a drama queen,” my mother hissed. “That’s your daughter’s job.”

It didn’t bother me, that comment, because it wasn’t made to wound. And also, it wasn’t about me, it was about Lucy. She was the drama queen, a lot more uptight than the rest of our family, but utterly insane at the same time.

I didn’t react to drama. I created it.

“Do you want me to call back after the pillow thing is sorted?” I asked dryly.

“Oh, no honey,” Mom said quickly. “The pillow thing is sorted. Your father will bring his own. Now, I want to hear about everything.”

She really didn’t want to hear about everything.

Neither did my supportive and kind natured father.

Because it would break them.

And they’d only just healed from almost losing Lucy. Healed in a way that a bone wasn’t set properly. It would always ache in those cold emotional climates that took us by surprise with the power of what could’ve been. You never healed from loss. Even when the person came back.

So no, my parents didn’t need to know everything.

I just needed to pretend that I was giving them everything.

I’d only ever given one person everything before.

And he hated me.

And he didn’t even know it all.

And he never would.

* * *

I wiped my palms on my skirt for the thousandth time since I’d parked. I’d been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes. It took all of my strength in order to get out of it. To walk down the quiet and expensive street where the Greenstone Security offices were. It taunted me, that peaceful quiet that money could buy.

Money could buy anything in L.A.

Even peace.

Especially peace.

If you wanted to live in tree-lined neighborhoods, with gates and security guards, manicured lawns and no litter, you could. For a price.

I wondered if it was by Keltan’s design to put the offices here. Because most of their clients were struggling with chaos. Violence. So he literally made the place they came to find respite somewhere outwardly peaceful.

I was sure he wasn’t that deep.

And I didn’t feel peaceful.

Because there were some kinds of chaos, of pain, that no amount of peace could quiet.

As I got to the top of the stairs that led to the double doors of the offices, I seriously regretted my decision to come here. But I’d already gone to Lucy’s newspaper to surprise her only to find her desk empty. They’d laughed at me when I asked where she was.