knew that there would be a new plague and a new epidemic to report next month. Bird flu, malaria, HIV/AIDS, cholera, drought, hurricane, tidal waves, starvation. Take your pick. War and disasters were a never-ending cycle and a constant employer. On any given day there was a new breakout of disease, or if not, some little dictator, terrorist leader, or Boy Scout gone bad, was going to start shit somewhere on the planet.
During a two-hour layover in Chicago he got a bite to eat in a sports pub and pulled out his laptop. As he’d done hundreds of times in the past, he pecked out an opening while he ate a pastrami on rye. He struggled a bit, but nothing compared to what he’d gone through with the piece he’d written on homegrown terrorism.
On the flight from O’Hare, he caught up on some sleep, waking just in time for the Boeing 787 to set down at Sea-Tac. Rain pelted the runway and strings of water streamed from the wings of the big aircraft. It was ten A.M., Pacific time, when he deplaned, and he maneuvered easily though the airport toward his Land Cruiser parked in the long-term lot. He couldn’t recall how many times he’d walked through Sea-Tac over the years. Too many to count, but this time was different. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he knew this would be his last international flight. Flying halfway across the globe to report a story didn’t appeal to him as it once had, and now he was thinking about Ben Landis and his pregnant wife.
As he drove up Interstate 5, an irritating little peck of loneliness nagged at him. Before the death of his mother, he’d never been lonely. He had male friends. Women too, a number of whom he could ring and who’d meet for a drink or anything else he wanted.
His mother was gone, but life was fine, just the way he liked it, just the way he’d always envisioned. But with every silent swipe of his windshield wipers, the feeling scratched a little deeper. He figured it was the jet lag and once he got home to his condo and relaxed, the feeling would go away.
He’d purchased the condo two years after his book had hit number one on the
Sebastian pulled his SUV into his parking space, then moved to the elevator. A woman in a power suit and a boy wearing a lizard T-shirt waited by the doors and stepped into the elevator with him. “What floor?” he asked as the doors closed.
“Six, please.”
He pressed the buttons for six and eight, then leaned back against the wall.
“I’m sick,” the little boy informed him.
Sebastian looked down into the kid’s pale face.
“Chicken pox,” the woman said. “I hope you’ve had them already.”
“When I was ten.” His own mother had turned him pink with calamine lotion.
The elevator stopped and the woman gently placed her hand on the back of her son’s head and they stepped into the hallway. “I’ll make you some soup and a bed in front of the TV. You can curl up with the dog and watch cartoons all day,” she said as the doors closed.
Sebastian rode the elevator two more floors, got out, and entered the condominium on his left. He dropped his carry-on suitcase in the entryway, the sound inordinately loud on the tile floor. There was nothing to break the silence that greeted him. Not even a dog. He had never had a dog, not even as a kid. He wondered if he should get one. Maybe a beefy boxer.
Sunlight poured through the huge windows as he walked from the great room and set his laptop on the marble countertop in the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee and tried to explain away his sudden interest in a dog. He was tired. That’s what was wrong with him. The last thing he needed was a dog. He wasn’t home enough to take care of a plant, let alone an animal. There was nothing missing in his life and he wasn’t lonely.
He moved from the kitchen to the bedroom and thought perhaps it was the condo itself. Maybe it needed something more…homey. Not a dog, but something. Maybe he should move. Maybe he was more like his mother than he’d ever guessed and had to try on a dozen or so homes before he found one that felt just right.
Sebastian sat on the edge of his bed and took off his boots; the dust from the streets of Rajwara still clung to the laces. He kicked off his socks and took off his watch as he headed to the bathroom.
Several years before, he’d tried to talk his mother into retiring and moving into a nicer house. He’d offered to buy her something newer and fancier, but she’d flat-out refused. She’d liked her house. “It took me twenty years to find a place that feels like a home,” she told him. “I’m not leaving.”
Sebastian stripped naked, then stuck his hand into the shower stall. The brass fixture was cool to the touch as he turned on the faucet and stepped within the glass closure. If it had taken his mother twenty years to find a comfortable space, he figured he had a few more years to figure it out. Warm water rained down upon his head and over his face. He closed his eyes and felt the tension wash away. There were plenty of things to stress about. At the moment, where he lived wasn’t one of them.
He had to sell his mother’s house. Soon. Her best friend and business partner, Myrna, had moved all the beauty supplies out of the salon and taken all the plants. She’d donated the canned and dry goods to the local food bank. All that was left for him was to figure out what to do with the rest of his mother’s things. Once he got that off his shoulders, his life would get back to normal.
He reached for the soap, lathered his hands and washed his face. He thought of his father and wondered what the old man was up to. Probably pruning roses, he supposed. And he thought of Clare. More specifically, of the night he’d kissed her. What he’d told Clare had been the truth. He would have done just about anything to get her to stop crying. A woman’s tears were just about the only thing in the world that made him feel helpless. And, he reasoned, kissing Clare had seemed like a better idea than hitting her or throwing a bug in her hair, like he had as a kid.
He lifted his face and rinsed away the soap. He had lied to her. When he apologized for kissing her, he hadn’t been all that sorry. In fact, he hadn’t been sorry in the least. One of the most difficult things he’d ever done was turn away and leave her standing in the shadows. One of the most difficult-but the wisest. Out of all the single women he knew, Clare Wingate was not available for kissing and touching and rolling around naked. Not for him.
But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her. About her round breasts and dark pink nipples. Lust churned low in his belly as he closed his eyes and thought about making her nipples hard as his fingers followed the pink string of her thong across her hip to the triangle of silk material covering her crotch.
His testicles ached and he turned rock hard. He thought of her using her beautiful mouth on him, and sexual need pounded through his veins, but there wasn’t anyone to slip into the shower and take care of that need for him. He could call someone to come over, he supposed, but he didn’t feel right having one woman finish something another woman had started. With the thought of Clare in his head, he took care if it himself.
After Sebastian’s shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed into the kitchen. He felt a little ridiculous having just fantasized about Clare. Not only was she the weird little girl from his youth, but she didn’t even like him. Usually he tried to fantasize about women who didn’t think he was a dickhead.
He poured a mug of coffee and reached for the phone sitting on the counter. He dialed and waited as it rang.
“Hello,” Leo answered on the fifth ring.
“I’m back,” he said, pushing thoughts of Clare from his head. Even after the time they’d spent together recently, it still felt a bit strange to just dial up the old man.
“How was your trip?”
Sebastian raised the mug. “Good.”
They talked about the weather, then Leo asked, “Are you going to be heading this way anytime soon?”
“I don’t know. I have to pack up Mom’s house and get it ready to sell.” Even as he said it, a part of him shrank from the thought of packing his mother’s life in boxes. “I’ve been putting it off.”
“It’s going to be tough.”
That was an understatement, and Sebastian laughed without humor. “Yeah.”
“Would you like me to help?”
