Where Life Takes You Read online

  Where Life Takes You

  by Claudia Y. Burgoa

  ©2013 Claudia Y. Burgoa

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Published by:

  Literally Alpacas Illustrations, LLC.

  Centennial, CO 80111

  Cover Art

  by Danielle Fine

  Dedicated to:

  My family

  Paulina, Andie,

  Sebastien

  & Luis

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back to Top

  Chapter 1

  “With Christmas around the corner, they need more than one cashier,” the old lady ahead of me, with the pixie silver gray hair and sweet smile, commented. She held a basket with children’s books, as well as a few classics. “Roger—my late husband—would’ve yelled at the poor young girl. He lacked patience, but I loved the man. He died three years ago; he had a stroke.”

  With a weak smile, I checked my iPhone. I didn’t want to be rude, but twenty minutes of small talk, plus troops of last minute shoppers, equaled a massive headache. My head had been pounding since I’d arrived at the bookstore. The bookstore manager wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten Christmas would hit us soon.

  Crowds and I didn’t mesh—my condition bordered on demophobia with a splash of agoraphobia. Yet another kink of mine.

  No one called me a procrastinator, though I did practice it when necessary. For example, if I had to buy groceries, clean my apartment, or get my work done, I’d never use it. But I owned the title at moments like this, when a therapist had ordered me to buy things I thought useless: a journal, and a self-help book apparently necessary for my recovery.

  Canceling the appointments two weeks in a row didn’t resolve the issue. I had to complete this task before Tuesday at five. Two miserable days. The kind doctor had threatened me. One more appointment canceled and she’d give away my perfect spot.

  “After that, the only time I could give you is Friday, at seven.” Dr. Mackenzie stated in her quiet voice. The woman never raised her voice above the necessary, but her words made a statement without fault.

  Really, Friday night? I didn’t have a social life, but I loved my Fridays. Snuggling in front of the television to watch movies, read books, or just hang out with my best friend. I wouldn’t trade any of that to rehash my issues. Hence, I stood next to Roger’s wife inside a bookstore filled with last minute shoppers. These people needed to start Christmas shopping earlier next time.

  Well planned, Becca. Think about online shopping next time, instead of shoving things under the carpet. Six-thirty on a Sunday. Shouldn’t these people be at home with their families?

  My breathing became ragged but kept a steady rhythm as I pondered the thousand ways I would dispose of my therapist. I would’ve rather been at home in front of the fake fireplace. A pair of fuzzy sweats and a horror book would guarantee a few nightmares that didn’t revolve around Lisa or Ian.

  “Becca, is that you?” a familiar voice called.

  Oh please, kill me fast. The pit of my stomach hurt at the thought of who owned the voice. Not him, not now. I took a deep breath. Don’t overreact, Rebecca. It’s someone from college, visiting all the way from California. A guy from work?

  No such luck. Magically, a ghost from the past appeared in front of me. Something that happened in nightmares—not real life.

  In six years, the guy could’ve disappeared from the face of the Earth, like everyone else. Well, technically, I’d run away from my past life. He could’ve—

  A strong yet gentle hand touched my shoulder, and the steady breaths became rapid gasps. I turned and stared. Could I fake deafness, or amnesia? No. The tall guy with sandy hair, piercing green eyes, and quirky smile insisted I pay attention to him.

  Connor, my one time next-door neighbor and Ian’s older brother, grinned at me. He looked different, in a grown-up kind of way. But before I could categorize all the changes time had made, a movement around my feet grabbed my attention. Clinging from Connor’s leg, a toddler played peek-a-boo with me. Rosy cheeks and a killer smile that looked so much like his uncle’s—and his father. The munchkin had difficulties hanging on to his father’s leg while balancing a couple of picture books. I tried to smile but failed.

  “Hi, Connor, I didn’t expect to see you…” Ever again.

  Keep your filters working, Becca. You’re doing great.

  Thankfully, they kicked in before the words left my mouth. Never seeing Ian’s family again would’ve been too soon for me.

  Breathe, Rebecca. Remember what happened the last time you had an attack. Dan won’t like it.

  “Ever since you went to college, and your mom moved, we’ve lost track of you. Mom’s anxious to see you, and she misses your mother.” He smiled genially. “How is she?”

  Funny story. I haven’t seen, talked to, or acknowledged her since I moved out. Dwelling on the past is so nineteen hundred. Not worth our time. Let’s move on and forget we ever met.

  My lovely filters helped me to avoid any severe damage, but I bit my tongue in case they failed. The only times I talked about my mother was when Dr. Mackenzie made me. I refused to discuss Mom and our issues with anyone else.

  “Who’s this handsome gentleman?” I kneeled to be at eye level with him.

  He was gorgeous, and looked so much like Connor and Ian had when they were little. My heart shrank, thinking about the happy times. When grandma had baked cookies for us, and we’d played until dinner in the backyard or in the tree house. The innocence we’d lost when we grew into teenagers. My eyes prickled with tears, but I contained them.

  “Ryan, say hello to your Aunt Becca.” Connor unlocked the little guy from his leg and squatted. “My son.” I checked his ring finger, but nothing occupied the important spot. “No, I’m not married. There’s no big drama. One night led to another and he came on board.” Connor lifted him and kissed the top of his head. “I love him.”

  The synopsis grabbed my attention, but the content never followed. I didn’t push for more information. My nosy side needed the details, but exchanging information would be an open invitation into my life. Connor Patrick and his family didn’t belong in my new life. The old ties were cut. They didn’t care about me, or my side of the story.

  I stood up and turned to look back at the register. The line appeared infinite and unmoving―the manager hadn’t realized we intended to go home soon. Great, a crossroad—I hated them. Either I talked to Roger’s wife, or I dealt with Connor. Door number one had blast from the past written all over, while number two implied socializing with a stra
nger. My shoulders lightened up, and when little Ryan pulled on my sweater, road number three appeared. Children were my specialty—I worked my first two years of college with a family as their part-time nanny. I engaged in conversation with Ryan, learning a few details about him. He went to preschool with Miss Annie. Woody—his best friend, and toy—waited inside the car next to his chair. But he played with Tony at school.

  “The line is moving,” Roger’s wife announced to everyone around her. “They’ve finally added a second clerk.”

  She was right. Promptly, I reached the register. Hopeful, I handed my two items to the clerk. If things turned out right, then I’d leave before Connor. Out the corner of my eye, I saw that Miss Young-Perky Clerk had finished his transaction too fast. Not wasting time, I sped toward my car, but when I reached it, a little voice yelled, “Aunt Becca!”

  “You’re fast,” Connor gasped. “Thank goodness we caught you in time.” He carried the books, and a bundled-up Ryan. “Becca, you weren’t planning on leaving before giving me your phone number, were you?”

  I was, Connor. But that didn’t work. Here’s the thing, I’d fake amnesia, but my memory works perfectly. Can you remember that incident, the one that made you people hate me? I was the ‘selfish bitch’ that didn’t bother with other's issues, guilty because everyone said so. “Boston’s a big city, Becca.” Dan, my best friend, had said. I wish he was here so I could prove him wrong.

  “We’ll catch up; get reacquainted.” He joyfully saved my information on his phone.

  Not in this lifetime.

  I bitterly chewed my cheek. I’d dump Connor, his family, and memory lane as soon as possible. I kissed Ryan’s cheek and he smiled. My awkward smile, followed by a shrug when Connor hugged me, ended the meeting. It seemed Dr. Mackenzie wasn’t the only one who thought I should face my past—the world apparently seconded the motion.

  “I’ll call you soon.” He stopped and faced me. “This was great, Becca. Meeting you again. I need to take Ryan back to his Mom, but we’ll do coffee soon, have a nice talk, and go from there.” He walked a few steps back and gave me yet another hug. This time he whispered, “You have no idea how amazing I feel after this reunion.”

  Ryan’s eyes never left me, even when his dad secured his seatbelt. For my part, I couldn’t stop looking at the car. How was it possible that Connor had traded his 1969 Mustang for a mid-size SUV? What had happened to the rebel? He seemed like a different person. The angsty college boy I’d left behind years ago had disappeared. I took a deep breath, climbed into my car, and drove away. Anything to keep the memories from spilling.

  Facing Connor hadn’t killed me. Confronting Lisa wouldn’t be a mortal blow either—only painful.

  I got home fast, but didn’t go in for almost half an hour. My purse had eaten the keycard to my floor. And I really didn’t want to ask the doorman to swipe his for me, again. The landlord needed to change the system and implement a passcode. I would’ve bet my brain wouldn’t get lost in my purse, or forgotten in the apartment.

  When I opened my door, I heard a voice. Dan leaving a message.

  “Pick up, you can make it… Run, princess,” he encouraged me, like a little kid, putting a smile on my face. “Bex, the outside camera caught your car entering the building a half hour ago. You swiped the elevator key five minutes ago. I timed my call… Answer. And I think your cell ran out of battery again. Come on, babe.”

  He made me grind my teeth, with the nickname. “Don’t call me babe,” I growled, when I picked up the receiver. “You make me sound like one of your cheap dates.”

  “No, you’re not a cheap date, baby. Bet you’re close to perfection on a date.”

  Snorting, I answered truthfully. “I wouldn’t know, Dan. Just don’t call me that, please.” I cut the conversation and pushed him to get to the point.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Bex. But you picked up the phone. Why weren’t you home? It’s Sunday.”

  I vaguely explained my journal expedition, with Connor’s encounter excluded. I lied by omission, but I hated worrying him. For the past few years, he’d been my best and only true friend. We’d become each other’s family. When he traveled—which was often—I missed him every moment.

  He asked me to grab my iPad so we could Skype. I declined because I didn’t want him to see me on the verge of break down. “I forgot to charge it yesterday, after our long conversation.” Hunger wasn’t excuse enough to terminate our call. He insisted on keeping me company over the phone while I prepared a sandwich and pulled out some chocolate cookies. My fake yawns finally caught his attention, and we said our goodbyes. We didn’t lie to each other, in theory. Dan knew me so well that the truth of how crappy I felt would eventually come out.

  “Good luck with your journal.” Dan’s reminder made me want to cry; he wouldn’t be here if the nightmares came back. “Are you sure you don’t want to connect? We can talk until you fall asleep.”

  “Goodnight, Dan.”

  * * * * *

  Dear Lisa,

  Where shall I start? We never talked, yet I’m expected to communicate with you through a piece of paper and some ink. Will a simple letter give me closure? You ruined me.

  Funny thing, I saw Connor today. Remember him? He has a son, Ryan, who called me Aunt Becca. Cute little boy. You would’ve made sure to inform the boy we weren’t related, wouldn’t you? Destroying my life was always your favorite hobby. I should’ve told everyone about your life. I wish for so many things, but there isn’t a magic lamp, a wishing well, or a genie around to fix everything. It’s too late.

  I have so many wishes, but perhaps I could undo the curse you cast over me with only one: I wish your father never met my mother. Or if he did, that he’d dumped her, like my Dad did. Then he wouldn’t have brought you with him. Your brother wasn’t a problem, until your little finale. His few appearances were manageable―except the last one. Actually, he hated your father, and couldn’t handle you. Wonder why?

  You didn’t like Mom, yet within months of the wedding you became the daughter she’d always dreamt of. The one she took to the spa, went shopping with, and did all those other MAD activities. The first summer was endurable, but after you took over the entire school, living with you became unbearable. You were the bombshell that hit Highlander High School by surprise. No one stood a chance, not even him.

  In the beginning, Ian understood me, but slowly you took over, and by the time I noticed, you’d infected him. Why did you snatch my life… my happy ending? I’m glad the martyr act dropped when your condition came to light. Mom might not talk to me, but everyone knew the real you by the end.

  Are you and Satan best friends yet?

  Rebecca Trent

  Chapter 2

  While entering the code for the parking garage, Dr. Mackenzie’s nagging voice replayed in my mind. “And how do you feel about that?” Physically? Queasy, my limbs shake by the memories, and I can’t seem to regulate my heart. Mentally? Drained, worthless, tired of the past and… is the hour over yet?

  By the twentieth time she repeated the question, I wanted to strangle her. I was there trying to make the memories and feelings disappear, not analyze them with a mental woman who enjoyed human torture.

  “You need closure.” A loaded word, one she enjoyed reciting at least twice each session.

  On top of my therapy session, this particular Tuesday had sucked so much, it should have been Monday. I had clients to visit before my doctor’s appointment, so instead of taking the T, I drove around town. Traffic, my number three enemy, won the match. People drove along the shoulder above speed limit, while in the regular lanes no one moved.

  Driving ahead towards the underground garage, I got into Dan’s own garage floor. The perks of being the landlord—he occupied an entire floor underground and above ground. A smile appeared on my face when I spotted his Land Rover next to his baby—a hot Bentley. The weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. He’d been my rock since college. No, actually, he’
d been my person since before the Lisa incident. In the beginning we had no clue how to function together. But he’d given me the hand I’d needed to start a new life. The essentials to start college.

  We’d filled out the applications together, and searched for grants that complemented his company’s scholarship program—a program which, coincidentally, began the year I needed the money. I worked as a nanny for a friend of Dan’s during my first two years. In my junior year, Dan hired me part time. Together we began a non-profit conglomerate, which turned into a success within a year.

  The salary, grants, and scholarship gave me enough money to cover my tuition and living expenses. I lived well, and in the end, had a social work degree with a minor in child development, and no debt. After I finished, I moved back to Boston, though I should’ve stayed in L.A. where no one reminded me of my crappy past. But Dan—my only family—had an empire to run, and convinced me to move close to him.

  Would I see him today? Mentally I crossed my fingers, hoping it was a yes. Once I entered the elevator, I turned towards the camera, hoping he was snooping in the security room or on his laptop.

  The shiny doors opened to our floor, and I spotted his tall, well-built figure at once. He leaned against the door frame. His gray eyes smiled at me. His damp hair meant he hadn’t arrived long ago, and he wore a pair of worn-out jeans and a black t-shirt—his lazy day uniform. In another world, I would’ve pulled on a pair of sweats and joined him for the rest of the week.

  “Hi, Dan.” Smiling at the sight, I walked into his open arms. The soapy fresh smell, combined with his musky natural scent, welcomed me. “You came back early.” He nodded, and kissed the top of my head.

  Dan pushed the front door open, and we walked into his penthouse. I took my heels off and left them inside the foyer closet, next to his fancy loafers. He linked our fingers together and pulled me to the kitchen, where a few Chinese cartons sat on the counter. He’d ordered my favorite—shrimp with cashew nuts. Dan snagged a beer for himself, and a cold bottle of water for me from the Sub-Zero.