Among The Roses

Chapter 18: Moving on Up

What Chiara really wanted to do was just grieve for her father. She felt utterly alone and adrift, untethered and liable to simply float away. She was very weak from her bout with the virus; it took all of her energy to walk to the bathroom and back to the bed. And while she was beyond grateful to the boys for caring for her, she knew that it would be all too easy to simply let them, to just lie back in the lovely, comfortable, fluffy bed and let them tend to her every need.

But she couldn't. Real life intruded on her every waking moment, and it was very difficult to keep it from the two young men, especially Drew. Ned was clueless, a cheerful fellow who believed everything he was told, but Drew was hyperaware of everything, it seemed, including who called her and how often.

"Chiara?"

"Hm?"

"Who's Lester Associates?"

She looked over at him, lips pursed. They were involved in a very serious game of Scrabble, which was set up on a tray on top of the bed.

"Where did you hear that name?"

Drew shrugged. "Don't remember."

"Then I don't remember who they are," she answered.

"Oh, come on."

"What?" She blinked at him. "I don't remember exactly, like I said. They're some business associates of my father's, that's all."

Drew sat back, crossing his arms. "So you do remember who they are. They do seem awfully interested in reaching you, judging by how often they've rung you."

Chiara sat back as well. "So you remember where you've heard the name, then, I guess."

Drew huffed out a breath, all pretense of playing Scrabble gone. "They've rung you every day for the past week, C.C. What do they want?"

"Who the fuck knows? Maybe they just want to offer condolences."

"Wouldn't they have come to the funeral, then?"

"How do you know they didn't?" she challenged.

"I checked the visitor's book," Drew responded, eyes narrowing.

"You what? How's that any of your business, then?" Chiara gasped. She took a deep breath to say something else, but a volley of coughing exploded out of her, instead. She reached for her water, taking a long drink, trying to get the coughs under control.

Drew rose and came to pat her back, feeling terrible for his part in bringing them on.

"God, I'm sorry."

Chiara shook her head. "Not your fault," she managed to croak out.

"Shh, don't try to talk," he soothed, switching to a rubbing motion on her back.

Chiara leaned into him, enjoying the smell of him, and having him close.

"They're our landlords," she finally said when she knew she could talk without choking or coughing.

"Hm? They're your what?" he asked, his voice soft as he leaned his head closer so he could hear.

"Our landlords," she repeated in a hopeless voice. "Be careful," she reproached as his leg moved the board. "You'll upset our game."

"I don't give a fuck about our game, CC," Drew informed her. To prove his point, he reached out and upended the board, scattering the tiles all over the coverlet. "There. You win, okay? You always do.

"Now," he said as he settled down next to her, putting an arm around her. "Tell me why those Lester people are so keen to speak with you?"

"They've been trying to get us out of our house and off that property for the last fifteen years at least," Chiara told Drew, her voice still the soft, dejected one of before. "They own the parcels to the east and west of us, and they want to do something with all of it, but they need our little sliver that sits right in the middle or it won't work. Something like that, I don't really know." She shrugged.