Chapter 6

I upload all my pictures to my tablet and peruse, deleting the few I can’t use. I’ll have to get a lot closer to the Battleship, all my shots are so far away the pristine lines of the vessel are blurred. I am however, in love with the shots of the trees dripping with Spanish moss around the Burgwin-Wright house. The fountain at the center of downtown was difficult to shoot without a car passing through. I have maybe three usable shots. The church with its massive steeple in the background is lovely. I have other various shots, an old cemetery, shop fronts and a corner building that caught my eye by the waterfront; reminding me of home with its veranda and balcony tables, French doors flanking them.

I don’t realize the time when I hear the front door open, “Oh, good evening Babet.”

“Hi.”

“It’s late, why are you still up?” Lars asks, almost scolding.

“I didn’t realize the time. I was uploading my pictures to my tablet…” he cuts me off.

“Please go up to bed, you need your rest if you are to be one hundred percent for Soren.” This he says as an order.

“All right. Good night.” I say with a hint of attitude behind it. I don’t look at him as I pass, but I feel his eyes boring into the back of my head.

I don’t let it phase me, once I’m up in my room I continue looking over my pictures. I hear distinct female laughter outside. I peek through my blinds and see Lars ushering a tall brunette into the house. I hear him shush her because she’s clearly intoxicated. Even though this is none of my business, my speculation of drama is overly confirmed and I see why Lars didn’t want me downstairs when he came home.

I listen for the closure of his bedroom door before I sneak down stairs and out to my car. I grab the joint concealed in the visor and walk around the side of the house to waterfront. I always keep a lighter in my pocket; I sit on the sand and light the apparatus. In no time my entire throat is hit with the actual potency of Teacup’s latest batch. I blow the smoke and repeat multiple times before I hear the Adams boys on their deck. I hear one of them say, “Smells good out here!” I roll my eyes and suffocate the joint in the sand.

I wait until they retreat inside before I sneak back into the house. I try the door to the deck, but it’s locked. I can see inside the house is still clear so I round back to the front. By the time I open the front door I hear giggling coming from the kitchen. I pull the door enough to make it appear closed and I watch through the glass as the naked brunette slinks back to the master area. Once she is out of sight I crest the door and bound up the stairs. I hold my breath the entire time and release a gust of wind when I’m safely inside my room.

The following day begins just as yesterday but the difference is today I’m taking Soren to the Battleship, and it’s a day for both of us. After yesterday’s crappy shots I am looking forward to taking the tour and shooting it closely. We are on Batteship Rd when Soren calls out at the sight of it. He is a ball of energy to tour the vessel. He pulls me all over that ship, in complete bliss as he does so. I get very few shots of the vessel, but some is better than none. Luckily I talk Soren into leaving for a bite of lunch at Jester’s Café. Afterward he and I walk down to the Arrow Fine Art Supply store. I purchase four portrait sized canvases and one of the attendants helps carry them out to my car. I secure Soren in Henri’s car seat before we head back to Wrightsville. The house is quiet when we arrive and it is after Soren’s nap time; Henley is already gone for his break. I take Soren upstairs and he lies down without question; I definitely tuckered him out today. I go back out to my car and retrieve the canvases. I assessed the lighting in my room and place one canvas on the easel while I lay the rest on the floor by the window.

Tonight I would be able to do some painting; a gush of elation rushes over me at the thought. The same rush I feel when I think of Cian and of course the two coincide and I double over when my sex clinches and the same result as the last. I erupt in erotic fervor; my eyes close so tight I can almost see checker board print in front of them. I feel the sensation ripple my body and I grab for something to brace against. My hand lands on one of the plastic tubs I put on the bed. It topples over and all my tubes and brushes scatter everywhere.

This one is more powerful than the previous and I can only wonder if my body is telling me to hit the road. What will happen next time? Where will I be? This could prove to be dangerous but I have no choice, I’m committed until I’m relieved of duty. I can’t conceive of making a conscious effort not to think of Cian, which only leads to constantly thinking of Cian. Constantly saying, “Don’t think of Cian.” His name alone spirals me when I hear it out loud. I gain composure more quickly this time, taking deep breaths to regain my vision.

Henley returns and Soren wakes. We all eat dinner together, Henley included. Sweet and spicy seared salmon, asparagus and homemade mashed potatoes are on the menu. I bathe and read to Soren, he falls asleep after three books. I’m free and spend the rest of the evening scaling and painting the Burgwin-Wright house from the pictures on my tablet.

The rest of the week is monotonous and I actually welcome the arrival of the infamous Justus Gunnar. After Soren goes to bed at night, I stay holed up in my room painting, taking the occasional smoke break. I hardly ever see Lars. I either see him coming or going; he never stays. Henley and I are pretty close at this point and I have become quite accustomed to the “Schedule”. I talk to my kids and Mamma every so often.

Friday morning I leave my room to wake Soren and on my door is a note, “Please pick up Justus from Wilmington airport at 3:00 pm, Gate 6. Thanks, Lars.” I pull the note off my door and stuff it into my shorts pocket. I would need to make arrangements with Henley. Soren is awake and playing, we count down the stairs and he takes his place at the table. While he eats I discuss the note with Henley.

“This was taped to my door this morning.” I say pulling the paper from my pocket.

Henley takes the crumpled piece of paper from me and sighs, “Yes, I’m sorry Miss Babe. I was supposed to pick him up but my granddaughter is pregnant and she needs a ride to her doctor’s appointment. I am so very sorry; I’m leaving in an hour and I’ve taken the whole day. Can you handle Soren’s meals?” He is overly sincere in his apology but becomes serious when talking about Soren.

“Of course, any rules to the kitchen? And its fine Henley, I just didn’t know if I was taking Soren with me, I guess I am.” I stop and stare at the paper, “Besides it might be nice to have Soren as a buffer. I mean he can’t move on me of his baby brother is in the car.”

I look to Henley; he is wide eyed and smiling like I have no clue, “No rules, just clean what you mess up. And don’t underestimate Justus, Miss Babe. Here, take this.” He hands me a white board and marker from the refrigerator.

“He doesn’t know what you look like and vise versa if you don’t watch television. Write his name on this and wait for him. Easy as pie.”

I take the whiteboard and write his name on it, Henley watches me, “What?” I ask.

“You have beautiful penmanship.”

“Oh, thank you. Part of the package I’m afraid.” I say and I smile thinking of the turned phrase.

“What package?” Henley looks confused.

“Normally I’m an artist by occupation. I would have refused this job had I not been able to take some time off to head north up the coast and paint.”

Henley is surprised, “I had no idea. Mr. Lars didn’t tell me you were an artist.”

“It’s not my main purpose for being here, but the opportunity is a bonus in my opinion. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you; I’m supposed to paint Soren and Justus’ portraits.” I say and I see the light bulb go off over Henley’s head.

“Ah, it all makes sense now.”

“What?”

“I think Mr. Lars is throwing you, someone Justus’s own age, at him. Hiring you to come all this way made half sense, now it makes perfect sense.” Henley says and the half sense I assume is the lack of cooperation with nanny services in the area. The whole sense I assume is the hiring of someone his own age, in his fetish position, might keep him out of trouble. I really don’t appreciate being used this way, but two can play this game.

“Does my father know this?” I ask and I make a serious mental note to call my Daddy as soon as the sun is down. But by then Justus will be here and I’ll have Soren all to myself, no Henley buffer. I don’t dwell, after 8:00 pm is my time; regardless of pompous philandering actors.

“I don’t know Miss Babe, I talk to Mr. Lars, but not about everything, obviously…” He trails off, and looks over at the wall clock, “Oh, I got to go. You sure you’re okay?” He asks and his facial expression is fearful.

“I’ll be fine Henley, take care of your family, but can we talk more about this tomorrow?” I say as Henley rounds the counter and kisses me on the cheek. I’m suddenly excited because that “Schedule” goes out the door today!

“Of course, bye!” Henley’s voice echoes the foyer.

I make Soren’s breakfast; toasted croissant with honey and a fruit salad. I accompany it with a glass of orange juice. He devours it and we head down to the beach, he doesn’t argue. I slather him with sunscreen before he plops down in the sand to build his next creation. I keep a close eye on the time and after fifty drip castles we head inside for lunch. I make Soren a turkey and cheese sandwich with fish crackers. There is enough time for him to take a short nap before we leave to pick up his brother from the airport and Soren does just that. He sleeps from the time he finishes his lunch until I wake him to get in the car. I secure him in the car seat and but I have to run back inside for the whiteboard and pen. I leave the driver door and Soren’s passenger door open while the car runs, the A/C on full blast. My car is pretty decent at cooling down quickly and by the time I return the temperature is already significantly lower.

I put on my aviator sunglasses when we pull into the Wilmington airport. It is busy, but not busy with travelers; the paparazzi are circling Gate 6 like sharks. My guts wrench at this possible scenario. These vultures are here to photograph Justus and Soren and I will be caught in the middle. I crane my neck to watch until the last moment, I pull around and park my car. I place the ticket on my dashboard, like I’m used to doing at home. I get Soren out of the car while he calls out “Broder” over and over again. I assume this is Swedish for “brother” so I respond as so. I have the white board resting under my other arm; my keys firmly tucked into the front pocket of my shorts. I check the board as we walk and my bag, while in the car, has erased half of Justus’ name. I get to a side walk and place Soren on the ground. I tell him to stay put while I re-write the invisible letters.

I hand Soren the whiteboard and ask him to keep it safe. He takes this very literally, holding the written side away from his body as I carry him. I smile, thinking this is something Henri would do. Instead of going to the Gate I avoid the camera people and head toward the baggage claim area. I don’t look their way and they don’t look mine. I have no clue how famous this family is and God forbid one of those cretins recognizes little Soren. I quicken my pace to baggage claim; which is also busy, but with the proper; travelers.

Soren and I go stand with a group of other people with signs; most of them dressed like chauffeurs. There are one or two regular clothed folks around also. I mix in between the two.

“Okay Soren, hold the sign up so broder can see.” I tell him and he holds it out proudly. The entire plane piles out and collects their baggage. Soren and I are left standing with two chauffeurs before his broder comes strolling over. At first glance, yes; I can see what all the fuss is about.

Justus Gunnar is luring, seductive and enticing in his gray pencil suit which has obviously been specifically cut for him. He is luminary in his own aviator sunglasses, Ray Ban no doubt. There is a flock of photographers behind him as he glides over to me and Soren. The closer he gets to us the taller he becomes, like father like son. His sandy blonde hair is coifed to a perfect mess and when he removes his sunglasses, I see the difference in Justus from the rest of the family staring into my eyes.

“Babet?” He says, his voice is raspy and deep.

His blue eyes are not just blue; they are green and have hints of hazel. I’m surprised at my own lack of tongue, but I will give it to Autumn; Justus Gunnar is magnificent. I’m pulled from my daze by the flashes of cameras and Soren yelling “Broder!” in my ear. I immediately put my sunglasses back on. An airport attendant is assisting Justus with his bags as I cover Soren’s head and duck through the crowd out the door.

We’re followed until we are under the parking deck when a nice large gentleman suggests they leave us alone. I press the key less entry button and quickly secure Soren in the car seat. Justus says nothing but watches me until I round my side of the car. I feel uncomfortable, but I was warned and like I said, two can play this game. I smirk at him before I get in; this throws him off, he takes a moment to slide in and when he does I’m reminded of Cian riding in my car for the first time.

Oh Christ; I feel it mounting but I can’t! Not here, especially not now! I turn my head away and look out across the parking deck. The photographers are still itching to get another shot but I can’t let them. Thankfully this thinking drags my desire for Cian away and I focus on the task at hand. I barely have my hand on the key to start the ignition when he speaks.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Justus.” His slightly Nordic tone is more diluted than his father’s but I still detect it and his own name rolls of his tongue delightfully.

“Babet.” I say backing out of the parking space but I don’t look at him until he realizes we won’t be passing the paps again. I smile and drive in the opposite direction.

“You could have picked me up outside baggage claim.” He says, I can hear the sex ooze from his voice.

I keep it very lighthearted, “I’m not in the habit if picking up celebrities at the airport. The only person I ever drop of or pickup from the airport is my Mamma.”

“Hmm.” He hums. He turns around to engage Soren, “Hi Pojke!”

“Broder!” Soren shrills from the back of my car.

Justus turns back to look at me and in my peripheral I see him smirking arrogantly before engaging me in conversation again, “You’re older than the others.” His bold statement I let slip in and out of my brain but behind it his tone is inquisitive.

“Well I don’t usually cross state lines for a babysitting job, but your father has offered me proper work while I’m here, so I took it.” I look in my rearview at Soren and smile.

Justus is watching me and it’s almost as if he is sizing me up behind his sunglasses, “You are the artist then, I assume.”

“You assume correctly. Your father wants me to paint you and Soren while I’m here.” I keep my attentions on the road.

“I have some ideas…I just don’t know if I can sit for hours on end.” He chuckles at himself.

I begin to laugh and I try to hold it back, but I can’t. Both brothers are staring at me, “I’m sorry; no one sits for portraits anymore.”

“Oh.” His tone is slightly disappointed.

I explain, “I will take your picture, over and over in different places. From there I will upload it to my tablet and paint it.”

“I see.” This time his tone is overly disappointed. He changes the subject, “What is Henley cooking tonight?”

“Oh, um…Henley is off the rest of the day and evening. We are on our own.” I smile at him before going back to the road.

“Well, I came in on an off day, didn’t I Soren?” He inflects his voice to gain Soren’s attention, but it doesn’t work. Soren is on the verge of passing out in the car, the airport can be a stressful place.

It’s nearly 5:00 when we arrive back at the house and this is supposed to be my break time but with Henley gone, I seriously doubt Justus will keep an ear out for his brother while I do my own thing. I relent and come to terms with my lack of a break today.

I get Soren in the house and up the stairs to his room. I tuck him into his bed; a little second nap can’t hurt. I want to go in my room and finish the shading on the Burgwin-Wright house but the hospitable southern girl in me says I need to entertain the boss’s son. Downstairs Justus is bringing in his own bags and thankfully hands me my linen sack but makes a comment about its scent.

“Something smells interesting in your bag.” He holds it out for me to take but draws it back to himself when I go for it.

“Really?” I say snatching it from his hand. I sling it over my head and flop into the kitchen.

Justus follows me, “So what are you cooking for dinner tonight?”

I pull out a bottle of sake I had Henley pick me up earlier in the week and crack the seal. I decide to play with Justus Gunnar while I pour a shot, “Well, I was only commissioned to prepare Soren’s meals, so…” I take my plum flavored liquid to the head.

“May I?” He asks, I pour him a shot of sake. He takes it and grimaces, “Ooh. That’s…smooth.” In his face I see the progression of taking a sake shot; the initial bite then the soothing plum aftertaste. “So, we should finish this bottle. Call a taxi, take Soren out to dinner and buy another bottle on the way home. What do you say?” His offers are a lovely thought, but I’m wary of taking Soren out for the evening without Lars permission. “Don’t worry, my father won’t mind. Besides, Vilma won’t be coming into town, especially not while I’m here.” He rolls his eyes at her name and smiles devilishly at the reason she is staying away.

“I heard Henley mention that. It’s a shame, I would have loved to have met her.” I pour another shot for myself. Once I shoot it back I pour Justus another; I slip up and a little trails down the side of the glass.

He picks it up and licks the escaped liquid before shooting the rest back. I have to admit it’s a seductive move, but it’s been done and I may have subconsciously spilled to see what he would do. Match point –Babet! He slides the glass at me and I stop it to pour another and another. The bottle is almost empty when I think I may have gotten Henley in trouble.

“What else did Henley say?” He places the tiny glass down on the granite counter.

“That was all, I asked when I would be able to meet Soren’s mother. Moder.” The Swedish I say under my breath but Justus calls me out and begins to speak in full on Swedish, “Whoa, whoa. Hold up; I only know that and Broder. He’s been spouting it all day.” I laugh and rinse the empty glass.

“Apologies; I assumed…”

“Yeah. No.” I laugh again.

“So?”

“So?”

“Dinner?” He says and the condescending tone isn’t flying with me.

I decide it isn’t a terrible idea, “Sure. Yeah, let’s do it.” I straighten from my crouch against the counter. “No more sake though.”

“Fair enough, I obviously need to change my clothes.” He says and begins to unbutton his suit jacket; beneath it is a crisp white dress shirt tucked into flat front gray pants. He removes the jacket slowly and I watch him watch me as he does so. I don’t back down and with Henley’s warning clear in my mind I continue my ruse of interest. He is smiling and turns away from my gaze to drape his jacket over Soren’s favorite eating spot. I don’t take my eyes off him and this catches him off guard. That whole move was as rehearsed as I have ever seen. I cock my eyebrow up and have one hand on my hip when he looks back at me. He quickly regains his swagger, “Where would you like to go?”

“Uh uh, your idea. Your choice.” I ooze a little of my own seduction.

He takes a deep breath, “Has Soren had Vito’s yet?”

I smile and nod.

He rolls his eyes, fidgets and looks uncomfortable because of it. He reaches into his pants pocket, his suit is cut so precise the indentation of his manhood is clear as day. I have to keep my ruse and I don’t look away while he pulls a cell phone out. He pokes and prods the device before looking up smiling.

My tone is serious, “Find something?”

“Maybe, have you been downtown yet?” He asks like its some great adventure.

“Yeah, I took Soren down there twice this week.” After the Battleship tour, later in the week I took the little guy to the Wilmington Railroad Museum.

Justus says something in Swedish I don’t understand but I don’t let on that I care, even though I do since it sounded like a curse. I walk over to him and I’m eye to eye with his chest. I can smell him; the scented aura around him is heady and intoxicating; like musky lavender treated leather. I don’t take it in anymore than I am now. I peek up at him and push the phone away. He seems to take this as a move and lowers his hand slowly while watching me.

I see him slightly bend as if to kiss me but I turn away from him and head toward the refrigerator, I pull it open, blocking Justus’s gaze, before taking a deep breath inside the cold container. I move some bottles and jars around as if I ‘m searching for dinner options but in reality I’m trying my best not to wrap my head around the Nordic Adonis. And I know it’s not really Justus making me react so ridiculously; its Cian. It’s Cian I want, I so desperately I miss him. I pull myself out of these thoughts because they only lead to unexplainable trouble.

“Well, there isn’t really anything in here besides sandwich stuff, fresh fruit and veggies and Soren’s juice. Henley made mention of going to the grocery store before he left.” I lie, Henley said no such thing. I honestly want to see how far he is going to take this rehearsed seduction.

“We either go out or you can make me a sandwich.” He says smiling deviously.

“Or you can make us sandwiches.” I say and I can tell no one has ever suggested such a thing. His brow furrows and he turns on heel out of the kitchen. “Was it something I said?” I say to myself and giggle a little because I just scored another point. I see him disappear up the staircase.

I mill around the kitchen and great room before checking the time. It’s nearly 6:00. I go upstairs to wake Soren and when I pass the first uninhabited room on the left the door flies open. Justus is standing in the frame and he nearly has to duck to stand under it. He has changed from his suit to a pair of khaki cargo shorts and black v-neck shirt. His long legs are extremely long and I see he has opted for no shoes. His feet are massively huge. “You like?” He asks; his arms out as if to say, “ta-da!”

“It’s more fitting than that suit you had on.” My tone is sarcastic but I smile to soften it. He mirrors me. “I need to get Soren up; maybe he will have an idea for dinner.” I walk away but Justus is hot on my heels.

Before I can open the door to his brother’s room Justus says, “What did you mean, fitting? These are loose clothes?” His accent sneaks through.

““Fitting” is a southern term for appropriate or proper. Your suit wasn’t proper or “fitting” attire for the beach; understand now?” I explain as we stand in the dark hall, I swear all the light in this house is either in the bedrooms or downstairs. This hall is a windowless black hole.

“I understand now.” His tone is deep and wanting and again he leans into me. But I have my hand on Soren’s door.

I pop the door open and see Soren is still sleeping; I maybe should have kept him awake. I can only hope this doesn’t affect me finishing my latest painting of the “New Orleans” like building close to the Cape Fear Riverfront.

I saunter through toys. Justus is right behind me as I lean down to wake his baby brother. In my peripheral I see him pick up the picture frame of Soren’s mother Vilma. He scoffs and replaces it before smiling at his waking sibling.

“Hi.” I say sweetly.

“Hi.” Soren is rubbing his eyes; he focuses and says, “Broder!” He jumps up to hug Justus. The elder Gunnar embraces Soren and spins him around. It’s a sweetness I don’t expect from the pompous actor.

He places Soren on the floor before dropping to his level, “What would you like for dinner pojke?”

“Pizza!” The little boy shrills.

“You already…” Justus cuts me off.

“Vito’s it is!” His tone is that of a superhero, saving the dinner day.

I smile but roll my eyes when Soren’s light up. He hugs his brother again and the two walk out the room hand in hand. I follow before ducking into my room to grab my camera. If we are out I may be able to get a few good sunset shots. I descend the staircase but I stop because Justus has Soren sitting on the bottom step tying his shoes. He looks up at me, catching me watching them and he smiles. Every time he does so it’s devious and devilish. I’m beginning to think it’s something he can’t help; it’s just the way he’s put together. But I do think, no; I know he uses it to his advantage, be it sexual or not.

“There, all tied.” He says, placing Soren feet down on the floor. I step down and fish my keys out of my bag. I look up and Justus is shaking his head, “We’re taking the Rubicon.” His tone is authoritative and I welcome being chauffeured.

Before I drop my keys back in my bag I make sure Justus is able to drive after sake shots, “You able to drive?” I ask with a snarky smile.

Justus picks up Soren but as we head out the front door he retorts, “If you can handle it, I can. Look how tiny you are compared to me.”

“Touché.” I say as I make my way over to the Jeep.

As soon as the doors to the Jeep are open, Autumn from next door steps out to retrieve her mail, “Hi Babet! Hi Soren!” She looks to Justus and freezes; she grips the letters in her hand and drops her head before retreating quickly into her house.

I look over at Justus who is smiling that smile. This outing is going to be very similar and I’m almost sorry I agreed to go out in public with a moderate celebrity.



http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...

See who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany on Pinterest!!

http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...

Augusta Fern