Sitting in her car unable to leave the office parking garage, Lisa stared at her cupholder. More specifically the balled up torn pantyhose stuffed inside.
What the actual hell happened today?
The more she thought about it, the more panic rose in her throat. Lisa leaned against the headrest. She didn't dare close her eyes. Every time she did, she was consumed by the memory of Roseanne, the taste of her still on her lips, her body still tingling where she'd touched her. She was marked, like the angry marks left after a jelly fish sting. Running her fingertips over her mouth, Lisa could still feel Roseanne's kiss and smell her perfume all over her clothes.
After an hour, Roseanne still hadn't come off the elevator. She hadn't strode toward her car in the navy-blue suit that gave her that cold, poised look Lisa found so irresistible.
Defeated, Lisa turned the key in the ignition and after its usual stall, started her car and began her journey home. When highway traffic stopped as she neared the airport, Lisa watched a plane take off and wondered where it was going. She pictured a passenger staring down at the rush hour parking lot grateful to be hundreds of feet above the congestion.
The image of Roseanne's smudged lipstick hit her like a truck. Desire throbbed through her body again, but this time it was tinged with fright.
Kissing Roseanne was better than she'd ever imagined. In all the times she'd been kissed in her life, no one had ever robbed her of her ability to think or breathe.
But a new memory was forming. Roseanne had messed with her before. Flirted with her to get a reaction or as part of some head game.
Lisa's stomach sank as it soured. After years of rivalry, she just didn't trust Roseanne. They'd crossed too many lines, attacked each other too often and without provocation.
By the time she traveled a dozen miles in an hour and pulled into her apartment complex, Lisa was exhausted from overthinking. Fear had squeezed every ounce of exhilaration from the afternoon mauling. She was left with the severe sinking feeling that it could never work. That Roseanne was a fast-track to jeopardizing her career at the prosecutor's office . . . and her heart.
Lisa grabbed her shredded pantyhose before getting out of the car. As she passed the dumpster area on the edge of the parking lot, she tossed them away along with her hopes.
When Roseanne finished her meeting with the cop, she was hoping to find Lalisa waiting in the office. Not only was she gone, but she'd cleaned up the scene of the crime. All the evidence of their romp on the desk was gone. The pen holder was upright and full. Swallowing her disappointment, Roseanne grabbed her things and headed home.
The drive was a haze. All she could do was relive their kiss over and over. It was as if Lalisa cracked open the locked door of her cage, releasing her from some prison. Roseanne touched her lips. They still tingled, sending a jolt straight to her chest.
As she approached her house, Roseanne furrowed her brow. A large box-truck was parked across the three-car garage blocking her entry. Cautiously, Roseanne stepped toward the double glass doors hanging open and followed the path of thick tarp taped to the floor to protect the marble.
"What's this?" she asked one of two men in blue uniforms standing at the foot of the stairs with a mess of metal pieces and parts.
The one not squatting over the disassembled mess turned toward her. "Hi. We're installing the chair lift."
Roseanne's eyes widened. "Chair lift?"
"Yeah, it's a device that allows a person in a wheelchair to go up and down the stairs—"
"I know what it is. I'm sorry. What I meant was, what's it doing here? Who ordered it?"
The guy scratched his patchy beard before reaching for a bag of tools near the other man. After a little digging, he pulled out a tablet. "The order was placed by Katherine Park yesterday. Paid up front for the rush install too."
Mom?
Roseanne's heart soared, but she maintained her composure. "Do you need anything from me?"
"This will take a few hours because of the curve in the stairwell and electrical work, but when we're done, we just need someone to sign off after we show them how it works. The nurse said she wasn't authorized."
Roseanne nodded, still shocked that her mother called them. "I'll be in the guest house out back. Just come grab me when you're done."
The guy smiled. "Great. Oh, and we took measurements for the ramp for the side door. No need to alter the front entrance."
"Fantastic," she replied, stunned by the sudden changes as she went to the kitchen to grab the techs something to drink.
When she was finished, she started toward the back, eager to shower and change. She didn't make it beyond the sliding glass door before her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Despite herself, she hoped it was Lalisa. If odds could be trusted, it was probably her mother. It was always her mother. She was proud of her first steps, but she wanted to refresh and recharge before heading up to her.
Glancing at her phone, Roseanne was surprised to be wrong. On both counts.
Alice: Have a few minutes? Talked to Mom. Coming for Thanksgiving. Want to coordinate.
Roseanne stared at the text, her eyes wide. Well, I'll be damned. She hadn't seen her sister in over a year. Alice certainly hadn't given a shit about family functions before. Does the sudden interest have something to do with the wheelchair lift being installed? Roseanne accepted the gift for what it was.
Roseanne: Free at 9.
As soon as Roseanne stepped into the guest house, she stared at the luggage neatly piled in the corner of the living room. The black tower was a dark anomaly in the otherwise light room, a marred picture of modern coastal living.
Deciding it was time to get rid of some clutter, Roseanne rolled one of the bags to the walk-in closet, empty of anything but her business attire, and propped it up on the luggage stand.
As she reached for a cedar wood hanger to hang the black leather jacket she'd rarely need in Miami, thoughts of Lalisa invaded her mind again. The tingle that started at her lips crept down her chest before trickling low in her belly. Everywhere the sensation traveled, it left an exquisitely painful ache.
It had been so long since Roseanne felt alive. And even longer since she felt like herself, not just a projection of what someone expected her to be. She and Lalisa had spent so long being at each other's throats she had no right feeling comfortable around her . . . and yet. Roseanne closed her eyes. Home was starting to feel possible.
