She averted her eyes to keep from staring at the stranger who had invaded her home, and turned her attention back to the bath water. “Adam, if you leave your clothes on the floor, I’ll put them into the wash for you.”
He didn’t reply, so she turned off the taps and dried her hands on a towel. “There’s everything you need…soap, towels. If you need anything else, just call.” She walked around him and out of the bathroom.
In the kitchen, Lizzie turned on the kettle to boil, and reached for a box of blackberry tea to make a cup for herself and her unexpected houseguest. She had always been taught growing up to be pleasant and polite to anyone who crossed her path.
Although it was the twenty-first century, her father and brothers still thought a woman’s place was in the background, smiling and making tea. Even Adam thought she was his new “lady assistant.” What they didn’t know, or never realized, was that she was just as good, if not better than they were in the embalming room.
In truth, it was a lonely life. She craved a connection with someone, a family of her own. But at the very least, owning her own funeral business would be more fulfilling than being ignored in her family’s business.
Her thoughts turned back to Adam. What was his story? Where had he been all of this time? He didn’t seem to have a clue that the funeral home and flat had been sold. He was coming home, or more precisely, he was coming home to where his home once was. It was almost…sad.
When twenty minutes passed by without even a single sound, Lizzie crept along the hallway on tip-toes and stood very still, her back pressed against the wall near the open bathroom door. She strained to hear a sign of life, but there wasn’t even the sound of a single splash of bath water.
Concerned he might have drowned, she swallowed hard and turned to the open door and hoped to remain unnoticed. She peeked into the bathroom.
Adam remained in the bathtub. His head was lulled back, his face pointed up to the ceiling, eyes closed. His arms extended out of each side of the tub, palms upward. Water dripped from his fingertips and his hair. Steam rose upward from the water.
Unable to tear her vision from his bare body in the water, Lizzie continued her voyeuristic stare. Suddenly, he sat up so abruptly that the water spilled out of the sides of the bath and onto the floor. With a very slow and deliberate motion, his face turned toward her.
She jumped and stumbled. A hot blush started in her belly and crept up to her face and settled there. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay…and to get your clothes to take downstairs to the laundry,” was her attempt at a quick recovery. She reached down and scooped the pile of discarded clothing into her arms.
Unfazed, Adam laid back and assumed the same position within the tub, and closed his eyes once more.
Lizzie opted for a quick escape from both Adam and her embarrassment. She hurried down the stairs of the flat and into the funeral home. Opening the heavy door at the back of the home, she flipped on the light switch and descended the stairs into the basement where the prep and embalming rooms were located, as well as the laundry room.
Once inside the laundry room, she felt around in the darkness for the chain that turned on the overhead light. Once she located it, she pulled downward and light flooded the room. She quickly went about turning the pockets of his trousers inside out looking for anything she could find to glean some knowledge of the stranger who was above her in the bath.
There was no wallet. All Lizzie could find were a few old coins and a piece of paper that looked to have been unfolded and folded hundreds, maybe thousands of times. She unfolded the battered square of paper and strained her eyes trying to read the faded writing on it.
The elegant, scripted handwriting hinted at another time long ago. Although barely readable, it was clearly an address: 503 Pointview Street. The address of the place she now lived and called her own. Just how long had Adam been trying to reach his old home?
She quivered just then, but reminded herself that it would all be over soon. In a few short hours, she would call her real estate agent and ask for advice. She would then show Adam the deed that proved she was now the current owner of the funeral home and the flat. If afterward he still wasn’t convinced, she would be forced to call the police and have them send Adam on his way.
She took a cautious sniff of his shirt. The fabric didn’t exactly reek, but it smelled stale, like it had been stored in some musty old closet for an extended period of time. She loaded the clothes into the washer, added a capful of detergent and softener, closed the lid and pressed the start button.
She pulled the chain to shut the light and hurried back up the flights of stairs to the flat. A quick glance into the bathroom showed nothing but a bathtub of tepid water and a towel neatly folded and left on the floor. The smell of sandalwood soap filled the steamy air. Adam was somewhere in the flat.
The kitchen was empty except for the two cups of tea she had prepared earlier. Lifting a
