The Spark by Vi Keeland
CHAPTER 9
Donovan
“Everything go okay?” my assistant asked when I finally strolled into the office midafternoon. “I thought you’d be back in a couple of hours.”
I sighed. “Yeah, so did I. Judge O’Halloran denied the plaintiff’s motion for a continuance, so we wound up starting the trial. I’m lucky my opening argument was ready to go.”
“Oh, wow. Yeah, good thing.” She pointed toward my office door. “Your messages are on your desk, but a woman called twice. I don’t think it was a client because I didn’t recognize the name, and when I asked her what it was in reference to, she said it was personal.” My assistant winced. “She sounded sort of upset and frustrated, so you might want to call her back first.”
My forehead wrinkled. I hadn’t pissed any women off lately, at least that I knew of. “What was her name?”
“Autumn Wilde. Her number is on your desk.”
Shit. What did Storm get himself into now? And here I thought I’d gotten through to him a little bit yesterday.
I took off my suit jacket and tossed it over the back of my chair. Before I even had time to look at the stack of messages on my desk, my assistant popped her head into my office. “Umm…you have a call on line one.”
I shook my head. “Tell them I’ll call them back. I need a minute to get organized.”
“It’s Autumn Wilde again.”
I nodded. “I’ll take it. Can you shut the door behind you, please?”
Sitting down at my desk, I grabbed the receiver and pushed line one. “Autumn, what’s going on?”
“Why haven’t you called me back?”
“Because I was in court all morning and afternoon. What happened? Did Storm get in trouble again?”
“No. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he does considering you have him hanging out with drug addicts.”
My head reared back. “What?”
“Why in the world would you think taking a troubled twelve-year-old kid to an abandoned building filled with drug addicts would be a good idea?”
I held my hand up, even though she obviously couldn’t see me. “Hang on a second. I think you only have half the story.”
“Really? So you didn’t take Storm to an abandoned building last night? One that was boarded up?”
“I did, but—”
“And the building wasn’t filled with drug addicts and homeless people? Oh, and one guy calls himself Jesus and offered to have Storm join his disciples?”
I shook my head. “Artemis is harmless. He’s a little mentally ill, but he’d never hurt anyone.”
“Seriously, Donovan? A little mentally ill? What the hell?”
“Listen, I know it sounds bad. But you’re getting everything completely out of context. Did Storm tell you why we were there, or about Bud?”
“Storm didn’t tell me anything. When I saw him earlier today, I asked him how his weekend was, and he just shrugged and said fine. But apparently he’d been bragging to some kids about hanging out in a crack den, and one of the younger boys was smart enough to come tell me—mostly because he looks up to Storm, and the kid’s mother died of a drug overdose, so he was worried.”
Shit. I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Okay. It’s really not what it sounds like. I took Storm to meet Bud—a local who serves a nightly dinner in the community. I’ve known him for more than twenty years. He’s a good guy, and Storm was never out of my sight. He was never in any danger. I swear.”
“If he was never in any danger, and where you took him was such an upstanding place, then why did you lie to the house manager?”
“I didn’t lie. I said I was taking him to dinner.”
“Don’t lawyer me, Donovan. Omitting information is as much a lie as telling an outright lie—because you’re not divulging the true story. It may be perfectly acceptable in your line of work, but it isn’t in mine, or in life in general.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I really think Bud can be good for Storm. I’d planned on calling you today, but court ran long. Bud offered Storm a job, and I think—”
“A job? Doing what? Selling drugs?”
I sighed. Autumn had a picture in her head, and I wasn’t going to be able to change it unless she saw the real story for herself. I looked at my watch. It was a little after five. “Did you eat dinner yet?”
“No. But what’s that—”
I interrupted her this time. “Good. Don’t. I’ll pick you up in an hour. We can discuss this over a meal.”
“I’m not going out to dinner with you!”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not a date. Bud gets insulted if you visit him and don’t eat his cooking. So you’ll need to eat in order to check out where I took Storm. You need to see it for yourself. Text me your address.”
***
“And then when he was thirteen, he stole a Cadillac and crashed into a police car.”
I held up my hands. “I did not steal the car. Jimmy Lutz’s brother bought it for a hundred bucks.”
Bud shook his head. “He bought a one-year-old Cadillac in pristine condition for a hundred bucks, and he and his dumbass friend thought it was on the up and up, so they took it for a ride. Made it three blocks and crashed right into the back of a police car.”
Autumn laughed. She’d pretty much had a smile on her face since the minute we sat down with Bud. I’d forgotten what a charmer the old man could be. And I hoped he kept telling stories—I didn’t even give a shit if they made me look like a total idiot—because staring at the smile on Autumn’s face trumped my need to look cool by a landslide. Autumn caught me watching her, and her eyes narrowed for a second—as if she was trying to figure out what was going on in my head. I’d happily tell her, but I’d probably get smacked. It was her own fault, though, really. Because how could she expect me to watch her lips curve up in delight and not remember how they’d done the same thing when I’d gone down on her the weekend we’d spent together?
Some women make weird-ass faces as they orgasm—eyes squeezed closed, mouth contorted like they’ve just sucked on a lemon. I’d been with a woman who right before it hit, all the color would drain from her face and her eyes would go wide. Then her mouth opened for a silent scream. The first time I saw it, I thought there might be an axe murderer above me about to chop into my skull. But not Autumn. She smiled her way through orgasm. And it was fucking phenomenal.
After Bud told a few more stories about what a rotten kid I was, he excused himself to go talk to someone else.
I nodded toward the long-haired, hippie-looking guy wearing ripped jeans, who could have passed for one of the homeless who came to eat. “That’s the pastor at the local Episcopalian church. Bud doesn’t allow anyone to come in and preach—whether that be an addiction counselor or a member of the clergy. But he keeps in contact with all the local church leaders. If there’s anything going on in this community, that crew knows about it.”
Autumn watched Bud greet the pastor, and the two men walked outside together. “He’s pretty amazing. I can’t believe he’s only missed four days of serving dinner in twenty-six years. Doesn’t he ever get sick?”
“I honestly can’t remember him ever being sick, at least not sick enough to keep him down. Though I’m not sure anything could keep that man down, except maybe a rope and some chains.” I scoffed. “Even then, he’d find a way.”
“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about you bringing Storm here. I had no idea so many lessons could be taught in a place like this.”
“It’s fine. I should’ve given you the heads up. But I’d only planned to take him to meet Bud, not bring him to dinner here. I’m not even sure what I expected to happen by bringing him to Bud’s place. I guess I just feel like Bud saved me, so maybe some of that might rub off on Storm.”
Autumn smiled warmly. “I guess your mom had you volunteer with Bud because you got yourself into trouble as a teenager?”
I pushed the corn on my plate around with my fork. “Volunteer? Not exactly. I started working for Bud because I was hungry.”
Autumn’s smile wilted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed…”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m not ashamed of where I came from or the things I had to do to eat. Not anymore, anyway. I just don’t talk about them often because once people know your mother was a prostitute and sometimes disappeared for days or weeks at a time, leaving an eight year old to fend for himself, they look at you differently.”
Autumn’s face softened. I pointed at it with my fork. “Like that. They look at me exactly like that.”
She smiled. “Sorry. Do you have any other family?”
“Just Bud. My mother’s still alive—at least the last time she made contact to ask for money she was. My father was a John. My mother had no idea which one and didn’t seem to think it was important anyway. Both my grandparents died before I was born. They had my mom late in life, and as far as I know, she was an only child. Although, half the stuff that comes out of my mother’s mouth is lies, so it’s possible I have some blood relatives somewhere. I could be related to the Queen of England, for all I know.”
Autumn was quiet for a moment. “It’s funny. You’re sort of like an onion. The first time we met at that coffee shop, I thought I had you pegged.”
“Pegged as what?”
She shrugged. “I assumed you were like most of the men I grew up around in Old Greenwich, Connecticut—smart, educated, well-off, a silver spoon of sorts. You know, with going to Harvard and wearing custom-made shirts and cufflinks. Though the thirty mini bottles of shampoo and conditioner and other stuff that were in your suitcase really confused me.”
“That makes two of us, then. I was confused as to why you needed four giant vibrators in your bag.”
Autumn’s cheeks turned bright pink. She covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God.” She laughed. “I can explain that...”
“I sort of figured it out once we had coffee and you mentioned that you’d just come back from a bachelorette party and had some embarrassing decorations in your bag. Unless you just usually carry those around with you.” I lifted my chin toward her purse. “Is there one in there right now?”
“No!” She laughed. “God…I’m glad at least we were both snoopers, then.”
“I actually hadn’t gone through your bag until you were so adamant about me not going through it. Then I had to.”
“Alright, well...” She shook her head. “You know why I had some odd stuff. So I think it’s only fair that you tell me about the stuff in your bag. Did you pass an unattended housekeeping cart on your way out and feel like a rebel or something?”
“Nah. Just an old habit. When I was a kid and my mom didn’t come home for a long stretch, I’d run out of most things. So I’d sneak into a hotel, find someone from housekeeping, pretend I was a guest and ask for a few extra of everything.” I shrugged. “I travel a decent amount for business, so I haven’t paid for shampoo or toothpaste in years. I usually don’t ask for extra anymore, unless I happen to see a person from housekeeping in the hall. On that trip, when I passed the room next door, a woman was cleaning. I asked if she could leave an extra or two in my room. She said no problem and told me I looked just like her son. When I came back, she’d left a shitload.”
Autumn smiled. “See? You’re an onion. I never would’ve guessed you had all those tattoos hidden under the crisp dress shirt you wore when we met at Starbucks either. When I asked you about them, you said you went through some wild teenage years. So I assumed you’d rebelled against your uptight, wealthy family for a while. Then there were the plants all over your apartment. Those really threw me, for some strange reason. You said you just liked plants, but I assumed there’d been a woman in your life at one point who’d left them behind.”
I smiled. “Bud got me into plants. I work too much to have a dog or a hobby, so they’re pretty much it.”
“I see that now.”
“Plus, they don’t talk back.”
“Talk back? As in, you talk to them?”
I shrugged. “Usually I just practice my opening or closing for a case on them, but sometimes they catch the brunt of things when I’m pissed off.”
Autumn smiled. I couldn’t help but stare at her lips. When she caught me, I pointed down to her plate. “You want more?”
She rubbed her stomach. “No, thanks. But it was really delicious.”
I nodded. “So what’s your story? You know so much about my life now, yet I don’t really know much about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. How’d you get into social work? Did you always want to help kids?”
“No, I pretty much took the long road to get here. I went to undergrad school for business and then started law school at Yale. But I did my first year and decided it wasn’t what I wanted to do.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. You already know my father is a lawyer. Yale was his alma mater, and he’d always hoped I’d go there.”
“He’d always hoped, not you?”
“I know this sounds silly, but I don’t know if I ever considered what I wanted before I started school. Since I didn’t have a passion for anything else, and that was what I was expected to do, I went through the motions.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Autumn looked down. “Everything.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for more, but she didn’t elaborate.
“So how did you get into social work?”
She sighed. “It’s sort of a long story. But I met a young girl who’d gone through some tough times, and I wanted to help her in some way, except I didn’t know how. That got me thinking, so I audited a class that was part of the masters in social work program to see if that might be what I wanted to do. By the third week in, I decided to enroll in the full program. I’m working on my PhD in counseling psychology now. I take part-time classes. I took the summer off, but I should finish next year.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. It’s not easy to jump off a path once you get on. I give you a lot of credit for backing up and figuring out what you wanted to do. Most people would’ve just finished law school and been miserable practicing.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “What about you? Did you always know you wanted to be a lawyer?”
“I knew I’d either need one or be one. I just wasn’t sure which way things would shake out.”
She laughed. “Is it a coincidence that you grew up struggling, and you’re in a profession that pays well and you deal with wealthy clients? Whereas I grew up in Old Greenwich, Connecticut, pretty much spoiled and surrounded by wealthy people, and I’m in a profession that pays crappy, and I deal with mostly people in poverty all day?”
I rubbed my chin. “I guess we both learned what we didn’t want out of life.” I paused. “Do you still keep in touch with her?”
Autumn’s brows drew together. “Who?”
“The girl you met who you wanted to help, but didn’t know how?”
She smiled. “I do, actually. Skye turns twenty-two next month, and she’s become my best friend over the years.”
Bud walked over and pointed to his watch. “Time to close up shop.” He motioned to two guys standing a few feet behind him. “I got Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to help me break down and load everything in the van. Why don’t you two kids get out of here before it gets too late?”
I raised my hand to my ear and cupped it. “What’s that? I must’ve heard you wrong. It sounded like you just offered me a free meal.” I looked across the table to Autumn. “No one eats for free more than once on Bud’s watch.”
Bud waved his hand at me. “Watch it, smartass. Or I’ll make you sand the rust off some pipes I have in my basement.”
I shook my head. “Is it time to do that already? Feels like just yesterday you had me doing that with a piece of sandpaper that had been used so much it barely had any grit left on it.”
Bud winked at Autumn. “I had fresh sandpaper in the drawer all along. I don’t remember what he’d done that time to piss me off, but I’m sure he deserved it.”
Autumn laughed. “I believe you.”
“Besides,” Bud said, “I got some holes in my walls that can use spackling, if you haven’t lost your touch with a Spackle knife. I know manual labor isn’t your thing these days. I can tell by your soft-looking hands, pretty boy.”
“My hands are not soft, old man.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Then you can pay me back for dinner when you bring the kid to start earning that bike.”
I looked over at Autumn. “Is it okay with you if Storm does some work for Bud?”
She nodded with a smile. “I think that would be really good for him.”
We said goodbye to Bud, and I told him I’d see him the following weekend. Autumn was quiet on the drive back to her apartment. So was I, but that was mostly because I spent the time debating kidnapping her and dragging her to my place to remind her how incredible our weekend together had been. A few buildings away from hers, I parked and cut the engine.
“I’m going to walk you up,” I announced.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
I jogged around to her side of the car so I could open the door and offered my hand to help her out. She hesitated, but took it. Way too soon, we were at her door.
She turned to face me. “Thank you for tonight. And again, I’m sorry for jumping down your throat without understanding where you had taken Storm and why.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. He needs someone to protect him. I’d rather you get pissed off than no one giving a shit at all.”
Autumn nodded but looked down. When she looked back up, I could see hesitation in her face. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Shoot.”
“Was social services ever involved when you were younger? I mean, you found Bud because you needed a place to eat. Didn’t they intervene?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly when I got in trouble. But I’d call my friends and have them go to my mother’s usual places, and they’d pay her twenty bucks to go down to the police station and pretend she gave a shit, like I was just an out-of-control kid. Social services didn’t really look deeper since someone had come to pick me up. Guess there’s too many kids like Storm who have no one to even pretend.”
She sighed. “The system is far from perfect.”
“It all worked out in the end.”
“I guess.”
“Can I ask you something personal now?”
“Of course. It’s only fair since I’m so nosy.”
“What’s the reason you don’t want a relationship and only date guys who want the same?”
She frowned. “You really cut to the chase, don’t you?”
“Sorry. Occupational hazard, I guess. But I’d like to understand what I’m missing here. I know it’s something.”
Autumn nodded. She looked away before she started speaking again. “I was in a relationship that…ended. And I’m just not ready for that again.”
I could see she was uncomfortable talking about it, but she’d let me in a bit, so I gently pushed. “How long ago did it end?”
“Six years.”
Wow. That was a long time to get over things. But it dawned on me that maybe she’d suffered a loss. That could definitely make it take longer than usual to get back on the horse, so to speak.
Before I could ask anything more, she turned to go in.
“Goodnight, Donovan. Thanks again for everything.”
