Hidden Hearts (4 page)

“No, um, what time do you get off work?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I should stay at least until seven thirty to make a good impression.”

“Well, if you still have it in your car because you play it
all the time
, then why don’t we meet at Kinkaid’s around eight?”

Yes,
automatically jumped from her throat but she caught it, and Alicia only received a garbled sound of indecision.

“Was that a yes?” she asked confidently.

“I don’t know, Lish.” Her heart was still in pieces, and she’d only begun to move on, beginning with her month-old job at Hartford and Burns.

“Just one drink,” she coaxed. “I’m dying to see you.”

She seemed so sincere. CC had loved her most when she was earnest. “Um, okay,” she said hesitantly before she hung up.

She threw the car into drive when the robotic voice coaxed her onto SR-51. She hesitated, remembering that she’d seen construction on the other side of the freeway yesterday, but she decided to listen to the computer over her common sense.

She sighed. She’d made a mistake. She should’ve insisted on mailing the CD. No, in fact, she should’ve insisted it didn’t belong to Alicia. Yet she gave in, just as she had throughout their relationship.

Sure enough as she approached the exit, she saw the cones and signage.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, smacking her palm against the steering wheel. She couldn’t drive five miles anywhere in the valley without hitting construction. The Droid announced it would recalculate her route again, and she stuck out her tongue.

Her phone rang and she welcomed the distraction. “CC Carlson.”

“Are you there yet?”

She instantly sat up straighter when she heard Blanca’s voice. She was a senior associate and her boss.

“No, I’m stuck in traffic. I missed the on-ramp and I’m paying for it.”

After a long pause she said, “I understand. You’re still learning your way around the valley, and this is the first time we’ve sent you out in the field. Would you like me to Google the best route?”

“No, I’ve got it now. I’ll be there in another five minutes.”

“Good. Make sure you obtain a clearly legible handwriting sample, one that is written in cursive. Despite her advanced age, Ms. Battle is quite savvy, and she may offer up something inadequate, thus prolonging this case.”

She couldn’t decide what she hated more—her condescending tone or being treated like a five-year-old.

“Don’t worry. I have it under control.”

“Good. Seth Rubenstein is one of our most important clients. And don’t forget you have the Morgans and the mediator at three o’clock.”

Blanca hung up, and she felt sick to her stomach. The mediator was known around law circles as the Sweatinator because every time he lifted his arms to make a point, the attorneys got a great view of his sweaty pits.

Ding!
Another reply to the personal.
She’d have to check it later.

She changed lanes and watched for the exit. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d earned her law degree, and she’d never planned on moving to Phoenix.
What we do for love.

“Some Enchanted Evening” burst from the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello sweetheart, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just had to call. I’m sure you’re in the middle of something terribly important.”

“Not really. I’m just driving. What’s up?”

There was a pause and then, “Honey, you’re driving
and
talking on your cell phone? Is that okay?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Well, your father is set on you coming home for Thanksgiving, and he’s found some flights that are quite reasonable. Do you think you could get a week off?”

She took a deep breath. Her mother would never understand the life of a junior attorney.
“Probably only a couple days.
I’m working eighty hours a week right now.”

“Well, he’ll be disappointed but he’ll understand. It’s just part of paying your dues.”

“Yup,” she said. She didn’t have time for one of her mother’s lectures about how hard she’d worked to become a certified C.P.A. thirty-two years ago when few places hired women.

“So the week is out, huh?” she asked again, but more matter-of-factly, as if she was coming to terms with her announcement.

“Can’t pay my dues if I’m not here, Mom.”

She regretted saying it the minute it came out of her mouth. She shouldn’t have conversations with her mother while she was driving. It was dangerous to her health and their relationship. Her mother said nothing, and she knew she’d hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’d love to come home, but I can’t.”

“I know, sweetie. I know you work hard. I just wish you were doing it here in Bloomington, especially now that Alicia’s out of your life—”

“I know.”

They had circled back to the same issue as always—CC moving with Alicia to a foreign place that was fifteen hundred miles away from her family and friends.

“Is there anything else, Mom? I’m on my way to see a client.”

 “Just know how much we love you and how proud we are of our daughter,
the attorney.
”

“I know, Mom. I appreciate everything you did to put me through law school. I’ll talk to you this weekend, okay?”

“All right, honey. You’re okay, though, aren’t you? I mean you’re enjoying your life?”

She phrased it as a question, but CC knew it was a statement, one that she had to agree with or her mother would worry and call her every day. It was one of the consequences of being an only child.

“Of course, Mom,” she lied. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

She clicked off and sighed. It was a lie. She wasn’t happy at all. After she and Alicia had moved to Phoenix, it had taken five months for her to find a job, and, apparently, Alicia had found another girlfriend in the meantime. New city equaled new opportunities, at least for her. So Alicia had moved out of their ridiculously priced apartment to live with Nadia the
bartender,
and CC was left with no social life and a job in probate litigation, which the seasoned junior associates ironically referred to as the
deadly
assignment. And after just one month she understood why.

There was nothing pleasant about estate planning. No one wanted to think about the inevitable death of a loved one, and CC’s clients usually emptied an entire box of tissue each week as they sobbed over a recent death or planned for someone’s eventual departure.

And doling out the assets was always a nightmare. She’d become quite cynical as people often disappointed her with their fake sympathy or greed that seemed to squat toad-like in her office. The minute a beneficiary realized he’d received less than expected, he turned into a victim demanding more and questioning the validity of the will. She’d called for security more than once when fists started flying during a meeting of beneficiaries.

The Droid sent her north on Seventh Street, where she stopped at practically every light. She glanced at the buildings around her, unimpressed by the stucco strip malls, disturbed by the amount of shuttered businesses and saddened by the lack of trees. It was as desolate as the landscape of her life. She’d found it was difficult to cultivate friendships. Everyone was so cliquish. She missed her Bloomie friends terribly, and every Sunday when she spoke with them they all begged her to come home. But she knew if she quit now it would be difficult to get work anywhere. She needed to stay for a reasonable amount of time to make a good impression—at least a year.

She made several turns until the street dead-ended, and she sat in front of a large retaining wall.
This must be the backside of the freeway
. She punched a button and the Droid indicated it was rerouting her again.

“Continue east on Colter Drive,” the voice said. She looked around. She was on Colter Drive, and it was impossible to head east. “Continue east on Colter Drive,” it repeated.

“I can’t!” she yelled. “There’s a damn wall right in front of me!”

She threw the phone on the passenger seat and decided to travel the old-fashioned way—with her common sense. She found a bridge that crossed the freeway and entered a quaint subdivision of post-World War II ranch houses with enormous eucalyptus and pine trees lining the streets and providing ample shade. 

She pulled in front of a row of orange trees that formed a lovely natural fence. Two brick columns stood side by side, each supporting one-half of a black wrought-iron gate. A long brick walkway led to a unique two-story colonial that looked nothing like the rest of the neighborhood tract housing. 

She pulled her briefcase onto her lap and coated her dry throat with a swig from her water bottle. This was her first meeting with an adversary—alone. She hated confrontation, and she’d called Blanca into three difficult meetings to help smooth the waters when she felt she was drowning. Even at twenty-seven, she still felt like a child playing dress-up. Her law degree had done little for her confidence.

She reapplied her lipstick and ran a brush through her auburn hair. At least she looked the part. She checked her briefcase and headed through the gate. It squeaked horribly, and she wondered if it had been opened in the last decade. An orange cat darted in front of her and she jumped off the path, her Kenneth Cole pumps landing in the soft grass.

“Shit,” she said, noticing the heels of both shoes caked in mud.

She took a deep breath and circled around a plastic birdbath, wrinkled and parched from lack of use. A stone wraparound porch shaded the expansive windows that stared toward the street, and a white chimney peeked over the back of the house. An old swing rested in the far corner of the porch, and a claw-foot bathtub served as a flower planter next to the front door, absorbing as much sunlight as possible.

She pressed the bell several times, but no one answered.

Not surprising. This is why you’re here.
Because no one will return your calls.

She rang once more and decided to follow a fork in the path to the south. It arced away from the house, and she found herself sandwiched between colorful foliage and a row of orange trees that ended at an expansive patio and inviting crystal blue swimming pool. The backside of the house boasted twice as many windows, suggesting at least three or four bedrooms on the second floor that sat above a sun porch that provided a lovely view of the pool.

She knocked on the back door but still received no welcome. To return to the office without the required handwriting sample would be a career defeat, one that would count against her. Formulating a new game plan, she tapped her foot nervously.

The plush green yard extended past the pool. There was no fence, only trees, bushes and tall hedges that split at a southern point, providing a clear entry and exit into the backyard. She slipped through the opening and found herself standing in a large expanse of grass facing four cottages that curved around the border. She realized that the cottages and the large brick house formed a circle.

At the center were two palm trees, their trunks angled outward in a V-shape, a hammock secured between them. Redwood deck chairs, a chaise lounge and a free-standing swing surrounded a long concrete prism, the sides covered in bright mosaic tiles that formed hearts, suns, dog faces, flowers and words.
I choose
was spelled out in royal blue, red, green and yellow
in several places. She assumed it was an art piece, until she stood close enough to see the granite slab top with an embedded backgammon board. 

She turned a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, realizing that the hedges were so tall, the trees so mature and the foliage so dense that she couldn’t see any of the nearby ranch houses that comprised the neighborhood. The four cottages and the brick house were completely closed off from the rest of the world except for the driveway that cut between two of the cottages and disappeared. She followed the blacktop back to the street and a set of locked mailboxes. A sign clearly stated that No Solicitors were allowed. Twelve foot oleanders hid the buildings from the front, and she’d unwittingly driven past the entry. She smiled at the thought of living in an area where access was limited. In the midst of a major metropolis these five homeowners had created their own little community.

She returned to the interior and noticed a long carport to the side. Only two vehicles were parked underneath the metal awning, a sleek BMW convertible and an ancient pea-green Chevy Nova in mint condition.