Applewild (2 page)

“If you trust your employees that’s good enough for me.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll give you a ride back to your place and someone from Applewild will pick you up at the airport tomorrow.”

II

Monroe lay in her bed in the dark. It was 12:15. She should have been asleep by now, but she just couldn’t close her eyes. An ear-splitting scream sounded from the next room—her mother’s. Then silence. Fear coursed through Monroe, paralyzing her. Her step-father shouted. Then he, too, was silent.

Heavy, booted footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor just outside Monroe’s room. Her heart beat hard against the inside of her chest. She wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t reach her lips. The door to her room creaked open. There he was, fresh blood dripping from a kitchen knife clutched firmly in his hand.

He came for her. Monroe couldn’t look away. He was too large for a fifteen-year-old to fend off, even if she could have convinced her paralyzed body to move. He raised the knife high above his head, aiming the tip of the blade at her chest, and then let it fly.

Monroe awoke with a start. She was in her bed, in the dark, in a different time and place. Ten years had passed since that night. She lay still for a long while, breathing slowly, trying to calm her racing heart.

Horses whickered softly in the stalls below, reminding her she was in a safe place. She clenched and unclenched her fists, the blanket bunching beneath her fingers in a steady rhythm. Her right hand ached slightly, as it did with any movement, but the motion calmed her. She looked at the clock by her bedside. 3:00am. She’d managed to get four whole hours of sleep. It was better than some nights, worse than others. But she sure wasn’t getting back to sleep now. She didn’t much want to.

Monroe sat up and flipped on the light, illuminating her studio apartment. She turned on the TV and coffee pot and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She lived in the hayloft, above the stable at Applewild Acres. She’d been in charge of the horses for seven years—five with her former foster family and two with the new owners. She’d met them a few times, mostly to hand off horses, but they spent most of their year across the country in Los Angeles. Madison Avery was an actress, a famous one, and her husband did something with computers. They had a two-year-old son. They’d just bought him a pony named Punky. They seemed nice enough. That was all she knew.

She ran a brush through her straw-colored hair before tying it back in a ponytail. She went to her dresser and pulled out jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and poured herself a cup of coffee. A celebrity gossip show droned in the background.

“…Tom Cruise looking good on the red carpet…surprised pedestrians when she hit a curb…biggest story is evidence Altie’s on the outs…photos of Sophie Desmarais and Alton Daniels…
People
magazine…”

Monroe glanced at the TV as she sipped her coffee and fried a couple of eggs. She didn’t follow celebrities closely, but she knew the basics—Blue Ivy, Robsten, LiLo. She’d seen this Alton guy in one movie—co-starring with her boss, actually—and on a few late-night talk shows.

Apparently, he and Mrs. Avery were so close, she had offered up Applewild as his place of refuge during this particular media offensive. Jamal, the part-time hand, was supposed to pick him up from the airport later that morning.

Monroe felt for Alton. As far as she could tell, he was just starting to come into A-list status. It was a shame his rising career had to be weighed down by a failing love life.

She flipped her eggs and changed the channel.

*

Monroe parked the farm truck in front of Airport Terminal C and glanced through the glass doors for any sign of Alton Daniels. According to a text from Ms. Hutter, the housekeeper, she was in the right spot. A quick glance at the airline website told her the flight was on time. Jamal had called in sick. Again. So now she had to pick up Mr. Celebrity and take care of eight horses on her own.

She looked up from her phone just in time to see Alton exit the terminal. A TSA officer hurried him through the door to avoid as many cameras and smart phones as possible. Monroe opened the driver’s side door and held up the sign she’d been instructed to make. White block letters on a black background spelled out
Daniels
, very distinctly, so he would know she was authorized personnel.

He nodded in her direction, and she hopped down to pull back the cover of the truck bed so he could toss his things in the back. He shook the security officer’s hand and let himself in the passenger’s side of the dented cab while Monroe slid in the driver’s seat. She put the truck in gear and left the curb immediately.

Her instructions were clear—get in and out as quickly and quietly as possible. Once they were in the flow of traffic, on their way back to the farm, they could relax. Or so she thought. One glance at Alton’s clenched jaw and rigid shoulders told her he was far from relaxed.

“I’m Monroe,” she greeted, holding the steering wheel with one gloved hand and extending the other to him.

He shook it, extending the expected courtesies but not much else. “How far is it to the ranch?”

“About an hour.”

He nodded and went silent, clutching his phone in a white-knuckle grip.

“Is this is your first time visiting Applewild?” she asked.

“No, I came to the housewarming party.”

“It’s been a while, then.”

Alton nodded and offered no more conversation. Monroe glanced his way again. The damage from his recent split showed. She was used to seeing images of him clean-shaven, with gelled hair and a stylist-approved outfit. Now his hair was mussed, he had a five o’clock shadow, and he wore a wrinkled v-neck tee beneath a faded black jacket. He smelled like alcohol.

“Are you done ogling?” he asked, even though his eyes remained on his phone.

Monroe felt the sting, and her irritation at even having to be here, doing Jamal’s job, sparked into anger. She wasn’t
ogling
. She hadn’t awarded him any more attention than she would to another stranger who left her with no one to interact with but herself.

“Now I am,” she muttered.

The next fifteen minutes were silent. She didn’t look at him again until he spoke.

“Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.”

He paused. He already had a cigarette and lighter out. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He paused again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just a bit on edge.”

“Understandable.”

Alton ran a hand through his hair. His leg bounced. Monroe felt the vibration in the bench seat, and she glanced over.

“I could pull over, if you like.”

“Someone might see.”

“It’s up to you. Risk it or wait.”

“What do you think Madison would have to say about this?”

“Mrs. Avery isn’t a big fan of smoking. I think the odds are in my favor.”

Alton sighed and twirled the cigarette in his fingers. “Alright, pull over. Just a few puffs.”

Monroe pulled off the highway and stopped the truck. Alton got out and leaned against the cab, facing the tree line. Monroe took a deep breath, trying to rid herself of the last threads of irritation and absently massaging an old scar beneath her collarbone. She tried to remember he was going through a very public break up, and he had to treat this vacation like he was in the witness protection program. It couldn’t be easy. She should try to be more understanding.

Alton got back in the pickup, smelling like the cigarette he’d just smoked, and Monroe guided the vehicle back into the flow of traffic. They drove for another ten minutes before she broke the silence, again, in a small effort to make peace.

“I’m not against smoking, exactly, I just—”

“Want to spite me?”

His words were tired, but one corner of Alton’s mouth lifted in a brief grin, and she caught a glimpse of that charismatic, late-twenties actor that made all the girls swoon.

“No,” she answered. “I had a collapsed lung once, and I’ve just never thought the two would mix well.”

“Really?” His seemed half-interested, and Monroe could feel his gaze on her, examining her, trying to figure out how a healthy twenty-five year old could end up with that sort of health issue. She kept her eyes on the road. She’d been vague on purpose; she didn’t like talking about it. “How does something like that happen?”

She shrugged. Alton raised an eyebrow but took the hint and turned back to his phone.

The whitewashed fences of Applewild Acres came into view before the swinging sign. She’d spent the last ten years of her life here. It was home—as much of a home as she could ask for since losing her parents.

Monroe punched the code for the front gate and turned the truck onto a long, paved driveway. It was another quarter mile to the Georgian-style farmhouse. A brick chimney stuck out at either end of the grey-shingled roof, and working black shutters contrasted the white stucco siding.

She parked the truck by the front door and stepped down to meet Alton at the tailgate. He already had his suitcase and carry-on in his hands.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“No. I carry my own bags.”

“Well, then, enjoy your stay. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He nodded, but his eyes lingered on hers just a moment too long.

III

              Alton watched Monroe drive away. The ride to Madison’s ranch had been an interesting one, almost taking his mind off Sophie for a few blissful moments. He was used to people either paying him far too much attention or acting absurdly casual. Monroe had almost made him feel like a person rather than a personality.

He had known the gorgeous, giggling girls who swore up and down they’d keep his private life private. As soon as their interactions ended, and sometimes before, he’d find his words and daily habits posted on Twitter. He’d had friends who just couldn’t turn down a thousand dollars for giving gossip blogs the inside scoop. A cousin of his had sold one of his old photos to
Wonder Wall
.

With Sophie, he thought he’d found a kindred spirit. Even she’d fooled him. Honest people like Madison were a rarity in Hollywood, impossible to find outside of the life. He’d felt utterly alone and empty since Sophie’s deception, and maybe even before. He wanted to believe in the idea that maybe all people weren’t backstabbing pieces of shite. Maybe Monroe wasn’t. Maybe she really was different. But he just wasn’t there yet. He might never be.

“I’m Samantha Hutter.” The housekeeper introduced herself, drawing his attention back where it belonged. She greeted him with a friendly smile, but her attitude was more business than maternal. That suited Alton just fine. She was in her mid-forties, wore a blazer and jeans, and had a key ring attached to her hip. “Did you have a good trip?”

“It was fine, thanks.”

“Great. I’ll take your bags up and give you a tour of the house, to refresh your memory.”

“I’ll carry them myself.”

“Of course.”

Ms. Hutter led Alton to a staircase in the foyer. He caught a glimpse of the dining room on his left and a closed door on his right before ascending the steps behind her. The house was smaller than Madison’s Beverly Hills abode, but he knew why it had appealed to her. The house was quaint, but the historic architecture was beautiful and rare. The stairs were sturdy, the banister polished. The floors were original hardwood.

“To your right is the smallest bedroom. This door is the laundry room, which of course you don’t need to worry about,” Ms. Hutter gestured as she spoke. “Straight ahead is the master bedroom, and here is where we’ve set you up. Same room as your last visit, if I remember correctly.” Ms. Hutter opened a heavy wooden door to his left, revealing a queen-sized bed on a plush area rug and a long, low dresser with a flat-screen TV. As he ventured further in and set his luggage down, he could see an open door leading to the private bathroom.

“Here is your key.” Ms. Hutter handed over the small, silver skeleton key. “Would you like to see the rest of the house now or later?”

“I think I’ll be fine on my own, actually. Thanks very much.”

“Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you need. You’ll find all of our phone numbers in the side table drawer. Leave your hamper outside the door if you need laundry done, and let Elsa know if and when you’d like your meals and any dietary preferences. She’ll be in until six-thirty today. After that, you can leave a message on her work phone or wait until she comes in tomorrow morning. The fridge is, of course, always open to you.”

Ms. Hutter turned to go, but Alton stopped her. “I do have one question.”

“Hm?”

“Is this the only key to my room?”

“I have a master copy. It never leaves my sight during the day, and I put it in a safe at night. Mrs. Avery explained why you’re here, and I promise you’ll have your privacy. If you have any concerns at all that your privacy is not being respected, I’ll see it’s taken care of. There is a zero tolerance policy for any type of intrusion.”

“Cheers.”

Ms. Hutter nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Alton alone for the first time since he’d arrived at Madison’s gate. He turned the lock and fell back on the white, down comforter spread across the luxuriously comfortable bed. He closed his eyes briefly, but all he saw behind his eyelids were images of Sophie with another man. His emotions were a roller coaster of hurt and anger—both at himself and at his ex.

His phone buzzed. He didn’t look. He was sure it was Sophie texting him yet again to say she was sorry. If not, it was somebody else with the same words on their lips. He’d returned to the apartment just long enough to throw a few belongings in bags and left Sophie there to pack her things and get gone. She had two weeks to vacate. With any luck she’d give him the gift of leaving without any trouble.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and released a frustrated sigh before shoving his cell phone under a pillow and standing to look out the window.

Alton’s room overlooked the side yard, which consisted of a small garden and trees. The property was bordered by a natural forest. He couldn’t see anything of the horses. For reasons he didn’t want to analyze, he was a little disappointed about that.

He opened the bedroom door. He was itching to move, to not be so alone with his thoughts. He headed downstairs and passed through the dining room to the open, well-lit kitchen.

Elsa, who he hadn’t met during his last visit, was seated at the breakfast nook, scribbling in a spiral-bound notebook. She stood when she saw him and put her hand out with a warm smile. “Mr. Daniels,” she greeted. “I’m Elsa. I was hoping we’d get to meet soon.”

Alton shook her hand firmly. He would put her in her mid-sixties. She had white hair, but there was nothing frail about her. Her grip was as sure as his.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said.

“I’m just putting together a menu for the week. I usually do breakfast at eight, lunch at one, and dinner at six. Dinner is served by Ms. Hutter. But of course the schedule can be adjusted to your preference.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Do you take coffee in the morning?”

“Tea.”

“Great. I’ll slip a copy of the menu under your door when I’ve finished, and if there’s anything you want to change, just come on down or give me a ring.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything you’d like to add to the shopping list?”

Alton bit his tongue to keep from rattling off every alcoholic beverage he could name. “A six-pack of London Pride and a bottle of Jim Beam.”

“Any snacks?”

“Toaster Strudels.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Elsa gave him a glance he couldn’t quite read, but he imagined she was struggling to keep from looking and sounding like a disapproving grandmother. “That should all be available to you by lunch tomorrow. In the meantime, help yourself to whatever is in the cabinets or let me know if I can make you a sandwich.”

“Cheers.”

“It was good to meet you, Mr. Daniels.” She gave him another smile and shook his hand one more time.

He nodded and left her to her work while he rooted through a cabinet and settled on a granola bar.

He continued through to the back of the house, where a set of double doors led to a large, pillared veranda overlooking the barn and training arenas. The same white fencing that ran along the main road stretched out along the pastures to the right of the expansive property. He ate his snack and pocketed the wrapper before pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it.

Monroe had been right. Madison hated smoking, and she probably would have sided with the stable hand. But he was free to do whatever he wanted out here, so he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He could already feel his body relaxing as the cloud slipped back through his parted lips.

His thoughts drifted to Monroe again. What was her story? A car accident? A birth defect? The fact she’d worn gloves on a warm day hadn’t escaped him, either. She’d shown up ready for work in a flannel shirt and jeans with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The driving gloves just didn’t fit in.

And why did he care?

He told himself it was because pondering someone else’s history kept his mind off his own. But the pure and simple truth was that she had him curious. She had all the physical attributes of a young Marisa Miller, but she used none of them to her advantage. Not on purpose, anyway.

The rhythmic thud of a horse’s hooves broke Alton from his reverie. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a paint horse loping past, blond hair streaming out behind its rider. He watched them for a while. He couldn’t make out any of Monroe’s features from where he stood, except for that hair. But he could picture her as if he’d always known her—smooth skin, green eyes, full lips. He felt a slight tug at his tired heart and a much lower part of his body. He sucked down the last of his cigarette and flicked it into the bowl of water acting as an ash tray.

“Stop it,” he muttered, turning on his heel and letting himself back inside.

He knew exactly what this was. He wanted—maybe even
needed
—a distraction. This was prime rebound time. He’d met a half-way attractive female who didn’t throw herself at him, who didn’t constantly remind him of who he was, and now his shattered self-esteem was hoping to put itself back together using her as the device.

But Monroe couldn’t erase his memory. She couldn’t fix this. He’d chase after her, maybe even get her into bed, and then he’d wake up the next morning with the exact same problems and a new self-loathing.