CHAPTER EIGHT

Alan Bestwick pulled up in front of the old Victorian and left the motor running. He stared at the for sale sign and took a couple of deep breaths. This just kept getting better. The U2 song finished on the radio, and he switched off the ignition. He locked the five-year-old Mazda and made his way slowly to the front door.

Inside the house was dark, the curtains and blinds drawn, cutting off the afternoon sunlight. He slipped off his shoes and walked silently in his sock feet through the house to the kitchen. Taylor was sitting on the window bench in the bay that overlooked the tiny backyard. A closed hardcover book rested in her lap. She was staring into the yard as he entered. She glanced up, then looked at the clock.

“You’re early,” she said.

He sat beside her and put his hands on her knees, which she tucked up to her chest so he could sit. “Gus is shutting down the company,” he said. “I’m laid off, effective immediately.” Angus Strang owned the corporate security company he worked for.

Taylor stared at him. “What?” she said, her voice a whisper. “When did this happen?”

Alan swallowed. “Gus has been talking about retiring for about a year now. He decided that this was as good a time as any.”

“But the timing . . .”

“He apologized. He feels really bad about it, but if he doesn’t shut operations down now while we’re between jobs and he takes on another big contract, it could be a couple of years before the opportunity comes up again. He wanted to come and talk to you personally, but I told him it was okay.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“He paid me out for the rest of September and cut a severance check as well.”

“How much?” she asked, not believing she actually said that.

“Fifty thousand.”

“That was nice of him.”

“It’ll help.”

She looked out the window again. “There’s a showing this evening. The Realtor says the people who are interested are serious buyers. They’ve looked at a few houses in the area, but he thinks this could be the one. If the house has to sell, let’s hope nice people buy it.” She forced an upbeat tone into her voice. “It’s a wonderful house, Alan.”

He held her as she cried, feeling her body tremble. She was a strong woman, but even strong people had their limits. She had worked so hard for so many years to build G-cubed, and then to lose it overnight had been devastating. The house was equally as stressful. He knew Taylor was a nester, not a wanderer. She needed roots, and without that anchor she was a lost soul.

For ten minutes they sat silently on the window bench, just holding each other. Finally, she said, “I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead.

Taylor forced herself to walk down the center of the swaying hallway. Her equilibrium had been getting worse in the last week or so, probably a combination of low blood pressure and an iron deficiency. She’d always had problems with low blood pressure and had had a few instances of light headedness, but nothing like this. The bouts were almost constant now, and she was having trouble functioning. She didn’t want to alarm Alan and had seen the doctor without telling him. Her doctor had prescribed iron supplements and told her to rest. She was trying to do as she was told, but her rebellious nature kicked in and she often missed her pills.

She sat on the side of their bed and stared ahead. Her eyes were drawn to the night table and she opened the drawer and opened the book on Picasso to page 108. A four-by-six photograph of Alan on a street corner stared back at her. It was her favorite picture of him. Every part of him was laughing, especially his eyes. The background looked European, but she had never asked him where the photo was taken. She just loved the man in the moment. It was her private piece of him, and she cherished it. She tucked the photo back in the book and closed the drawer. At least she still had him, she thought. How bad can life really be when you have the person you love?

Not bad, she decided as she slipped under the covers. She was asleep in seconds.