The Lost Daughter. Diane Chamberlain
tall, stately brick mansion surrounded by manicured lawns and boxwood hedges—was in the moneyed, historic heart of Chapel Hill. Once inside, CeeCee stifled a gasp. Tim obviously had someone to care for the grounds, but if he also had a housekeeper, she hadn’t worked in a very long time. Clothes, dirty plates and pizza boxes were strewn on the small antique tables and chairs in the otherwise elegant foyer. She spotted an overturned chair in the dining room on her left and a broken vase in the living room on her right. The odor of marijuana drifted down the curved staircase, along with the sound of the Eagles singing “Hotel California.”
“Maid’s day off,” Tim joked. “Hope you don’t mind a little clutter.”
A man, straggly haired and barefoot, walked into the foyer from the living room carrying both a beer and a cigarette. He stopped short when he saw them.
“What’s up, bro?” Tim asked.
The man looked at CeeCee, and she took an involuntary step backward toward the door. His eyes were bloodshot and he wore several days’ growth of beard. He looked like some of the homeless guys who sometimes hung out on Franklin Street.
“Who’s this?” He nodded toward her.
“This is CeeCee.” Tim put his arm around her. “And this is my brother, Marty.”
Marty’s nod was curt. “How old are you?” he asked. “Twelve? Thirteen?”
“Give her a break,” Tim said.
“I’m sixteen,” she said.
Marty let out a whistle and walked back into the living room. “Tim, get your ass in here,” he said over his shoulder.
Tim looked at her apologetically. “Kitchen’s in there.” He pointed toward one of the arched doorways off the foyer. “Help yourself to something to drink and I’ll be there in a second.”
The disaster in the kitchen made the foyer look like something out of Good Housekeeping. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes. The long blue granite countertops were littered with pizza crusts and beer bottles and dirty ashtrays. Gingerly she opened the refrigerator, expecting to be greeted by the stench of rotting food. It wasn’t bad, though. There were bottles of condiments, a few blocks of cheese, a shelf full of beer and a single can of Coke. She took the Coke, popped it open, then tiptoed toward the door, straining to hear Tim and Marty’s conversation. Their voices were muffled, but she heard Marty say, “You don’t have time for this shit now. You gotta focus.”
Was he talking about Tim’s schoolwork? It seemed bizarre for someone as clearly out-of-it as Marty to lecture Tim about anything.
“… mess up the plan,” Marty said.
“Up yours,” Tim responded, and she heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. She leaned back against the counter and sipped her Coke.
“Sorry about that,” Tim said when he came into the kitchen. “Marty can be a little paranoid sometimes.”
“That’s okay,” she said, but she wished Marty would go out and leave them alone. She didn’t feel comfortable with him in the house.
Tim took the can from her hand and set it on the counter. Then he put his arms around her, smiled his green-eyed smile and bent down to kiss her. She’d stood like this with a couple of boys before. She’d kissed them and even let them touch her breasts, but that had been it. Tim, though, was not a boy. This kiss was a first for her—a kiss linked by delicate electric threads to her nipples, and that made her instantly wet.
Tim seemed to know the effect he was having on her. “Let’s go upstairs to my bedroom,” he said.
“I’m not on the pill or anything,” she said.
“I’ve got condoms. Don’t worry.”
She took his hand and they walked back into the foyer and up the curved staircase, past the room that was the source of the blaring music and the sweet herbal scent of marijuana, and down the hall to Tim’s bedroom. It had once been a lovely room, she was sure. The wallpaper was a masculine blue stripe. The double bed and dresser and desk were all made from the same dark red cherry. But it was hard to notice the details with clothes and books strewn on every surface, and she didn’t let herself think about how long it had been since he’d changed his sheets. She didn’t care. He closed his door and locked it, then drew her down next to him on the bed, and she let the electricity in her body take over.
They cuddled together afterward. He’d left his closet light on, and she was just able to make out his features on the pillow next to her. He ran his fingers down her cheek and wound them in her hair.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you sore?”
“I’m better than okay,” she said. As her mother had warned her, the earth hadn’t moved. At least not when he was inside her. He’d already made her come three times by then with his expert fingers and amazing mouth, but once he was inside her, she didn’t feel much at all. Maybe it was the condom. If she hadn’t loved being so close to him in whatever way she could, she would have been disappointed.
There was a knock at the door and she tightened the sheet to her chest.
“Going out,” Marty said.
“Hold on.” Tim got up, the closet light catching the long line of his body. He unlocked the door and walked naked into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. “Did you take your meds?” she heard him ask Marty.
“You know, if you need to get laid, you’ve got the van to do it in,” Marty said. “You don’t need to …” The rest of his sentence was muffled. CeeCee thought of getting out of the bed and dressing quickly, but her body felt frozen beneath the sheet. Could that be all she meant to him? An easy lay?
After a few minutes, Tim came back into the room, lying down next to her with a sigh that told her the mood was broken and unrecoverable.
“He thinks I just want you for your body,” he said. “And I want you to know that’s not it. I like you. I liked you the first day I met you in the restaurant when you spilled coffee on me. I think you’re … adorable and I love being around you because you have such a great attitude. You’re a little naive when it comes to what’s happening in the world, and maybe that’s why you’re so upbeat most of the time. Ignorance is bliss and all that. I don’t care.”
She listened until she thought he was finished, relishing the compliments and embarrassed by the allusions to her naiveté.
“You’re right,” she said. “I hardly know anything about Vietnam, for example, except that there were a lot of protests about being there. And it messed up some guys. Like, what happened to Marty. What kind of medication is he on?”
Tim lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. “You heard our conversation?” he asked.
“Part of it.”
“He’s paranoid. He thinks every sound is something coming to get him. And he doesn’t trust people much. If you could’ve known him before, you would have liked him. You’d understand why I care about him. I’m just glad he came back alive. So many people didn’t. And he’s still smart. Smarter than my sister and me.”
“You have a sister? Does she live here, too?”
“Nope,” he said in a way that told her the subject was off-limits.
She sat up, hugging her knees through the blanket, and surveyed the dimly lit trash heap that was his room. She had to face it: she was in love with a slob. An idea popped into her head. A way to put a smile back on his face.
“I’d like to clean up your house for you,” she said. “I’m a fantastic organizer.”
“No way,” he said.
“I want to do it. Please let me.” It was the least she could do for someone who’d, in all likelihood, given her five thousand dollars.
He