Page 19 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)

G EMMA

Saturday

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk up the street.

I’ve bought food for my cat––yes, he’s officially my cat––and some groceries to cook dinner.

The late afternoon light slides at an angle, glowing over the concrete while distant buildings peek through the trees.

A soft breeze moves around my ankles, blowing my skirt up.

I push it down as I inch closer to my home and get ready to enter the building when a voice drifts through the air.

“Miss… Miss?”

I turn around. One of the women I noticed yesterday in front of my building now waves at me from a window across the street.

I glance at her twice as a small orange fur ball is curled up against her chest.

“Your cat,” the woman says. “I think he got lost. I’ll bring him to you.”

I give her a wry smile while waiting on the sidewalk.

“This cat…” I murmur under my breath.

Cross my heart, this cat introduced me to more people this past week than I’ve met the entire year.

The door opens, and the younger woman wearing blue leggings and a white tank top rushes down the stairs.

She might be about my mother’s age, but she’s way more sporty than my mother.

You wouldn’t catch Mom in leggings and a spaghetti straps top on the street under any circumstances.

She’s always going for flowing skirts and dresses. Long shirts that fit loosely and are comfortable to wear.

She loves to be comfortable as much as she likes new men in her life, and it shows.

“Where did you find him?” I ask, glancing at my window and then at her.

“He jumped off the windowsill and crossed the street.

Panic swooshes through me.

“I can’t believe him,” I say, taking him from her. “I thought I’d left the window closed. He almost never does that. Even if he walks out of my apartment, he usually settles for a branch.”

I point to the tree.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I got him. We had a cat like that. He’d be anywhere except where he was supposed to be.”

“Please don’t tell me something bad happened to him.”

She flashes a smile.

“Nothing bad happened to him.”

“You’re not saying that just to say it.”

She laughs.

“No, no. We had him for over eighteen years. So, no.”

My eyes linger on him as I remember Mason’s quest for a young woman about my age, and then my neighbor’s story about this house and family. About the older woman, who I suspect is her mother.

Can it be the woman from Arizona?

Sandy?

I stretch my hand out.

“I’m Gemma. I live across the street, as you very well know,” I say with humor.

Her hands connect with mine.

“I’m Issa. My mother and I live in New York. She just moved from Arizona.”

My ears perk up.

“We came here,” she says, pointing to the house behind it, “to sell this property. Let us know if you know anyone interested in purchasing a house like this.”

She doesn’t take pride in the property––I can tell––not that there’s something bad about that.

People have mixed memories of the places they spend their lives in. Not all memories are good.

Sometimes it's a big relief to get rid of a place that stirs up horrible memories.

“For sure, I will. What makes you want to sell it? It’s not a bad place to live in. You can raise a family here,” I say, flicking my chin toward the house while waiting for her reaction.

She turns her head in that direction as if trying to see what I’m seeing in that building.

It’s not a bad place.

The building has obviously been well-maintained.

She slides her hands to her hips.

“Well, to be honest, I wanted to sell it since I could remember. I never liked it. But it’s my mother’s, so it was up to her. I finally convinced her to put it on the market.”

“What tipped the scale?” I ask casually, hoping to find out more about her and her family.

She shrugs.

“Nothing in particular. She just got tired of me always nagging her. She always said she wanted this place for me and my family, and finally had to accept the reality. I’ll never move here. I love New York. Plus, there is no big family to speak of.”

I’m about to ask about her kids when she drops the next sentence.

“It’s only my husband and I, and we don’t have any kids, so truly, there’s no point in holding onto this property.”

I suddenly fall silent and go back to my conversation with Mason.

“So you’ve never had any kids?” I murmur.

I sound weird, and she notices but doesn’t seem bothered by my comment.

“No. Why are you asking?”

A smile clings to her lips.

I ponder for a moment before I speak again.

“I met someone a while ago, and that person thought a young woman about my age lived in this house. He also thought they could be related. More like members of the same family…” I continue, amazed at how direct I am with a woman I just met.

She shakes her head.

“It must be a mistake. This house belonged to my grandfather, and the last girl who lived in this house was me, briefly, when I was five. And I’m not your age.

I could probably be your mother,” she says, flashing a warm smile.

“Anyway…” she adds, signaling that she is ready to wrap up our conversation.

“We’ll be here for a few more days. We could go out for coffee and chat more about this. ”

“Yeah… Sure. We can do that. Thanks for the cat,” I say, lifting Gizmo while she waves at both of us and makes the trip back.

My eyes are still trained on the door she’s vanished through as I think about what Mason said.

What was he talking about?

Could he be that wrong?

Did he have the wrong address? Or did he invent the whole story so he could talk to me?

It makes no sense to me.

Eventually, I spin around and enter the building, convinced I might never find out what the story about his stepsister was really all about.

GEMMA

The house smells like broiled tomatoes and spices, and Gizmo sleeps on a pillow by the window as I indulge in the delicious food I cooked for myself while scrolling through social media.

A notification pops up on my screen as a payment has just been deposited into my account.

My favorite kind of notifications.

I put the phone down, eat my food, and then drink water from the bottle.

I’m next to the refrigerator, my hand on an ice cream container, when my phone rings.

“Of course…” I murmur, taking my hand away from the dessert and moving back to the table.

My aunt’s name flashes across the screen, putting a smile on my face.

“Hey,” I say as soon as I take the call. “Is everything all right?” I add just as quickly, sliding back into my seat.

We talked on the phone right after my mother called me, and talking to her twice in the same week is a little bit unusual.

“Yes. Everything is fine. What are you doing today?” she asks, just as fast.

“Uh…Why are you asking?”

A smile tugs at my lips while she stays silent on the line.

“I was wondering…” she finally says, a smile warming her voice.

“Please don’t tell me this is about my birthday.”

“It kind of is…?”

“What?”

“Yeah. Well, this is supposed to be a surprise party, but there’s no way I could get you to come to my place without telling you what’s all about. So, sorry for spoiling it for you, but we have a gathering at my place tonight, and you’re the guest of honor.”

A wave of warmth rises in me.

“Why?”

“It was your mother’s idea.”

“Huh? She didn’t say anything to me about this.”

“She didn’t do it because she knew you’d be against it. She wants you to celebrate your birthday for once.”

“What is wrong with her? She also wants me to get a boyfriend.”

“You can’t blame her. She’s happy with her new man and wants everyone around her to be happy. What’s wrong with that?”

“Who’s coming?” I ask, a bit suspicious, hoping that my mother's desire for me to celebrate my birthday and find a boyfriend aren't somehow connected.

The last thing I want is for them to try to set me up on a blind date.

“It’s mostly family, unless you want to bring someone over.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Friends or something.”

“My friends are all away.”

Maybe that’s the reason why I never liked to celebrate my birthday.

People are on vacation this time of year, and it’s always been like that.

“Okay. You know better. You’re free to bring anyone you like.”

“So no blind dates are waiting for me over there.”

She chuckles in response.

“No, there aren’t any. It’s going to be us, your cousins, Martha, and her husband.”

Those are her neighbors.

“And some of the girls I work with.”

Charlize owns a store, and I know most of her employees.

“Okay. Sounds good. What time?”

“Seven.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. Anything else?” I toss at her casually, already thinking about what I’d like to wear.

“Hmm… There is something else,” she says, her voice a little different, and I snap out of my head.

“I’m listening,” I say as she seems to take her time.

“Christopher has stopped by,” she says and turns silent abruptly.

I pull upright in my seat.

We all know who Christopher is. We rarely talk about him. Okay, almost never. My mother set the tone on this.

She’s usually not very chatty about her past.

And in particular, about the men.

As I said before, she always likes to focus on the positives.

And whatever positives must’ve been in this story, they didn’t matter that much to make him the topic of our conversations.

All we know is that he never got over my mother. But he never came close to us either. I never met the man, so that’s what makes me raise my eyebrows.

“What?” I ask quietly. “Why would he stop by?”

I swiftly realize he knows where my aunt lives.

She hasn’t moved her whole life, so she is easy to track.

I understand that, but why would he stop by her place now? For what?And why is she telling me all this, like it has something to do with me?

“He knew it was your birthday, so he brought you a gift.”

My mouth falls open and stays like that for a few good seconds.

My mother’s first husband brought me a gift?

Like twenty-something years later?

In what world does this make sense?

“Is there a particular reason why he’s doing that now?” I ask, not knowing what to think.

The real question is… Is he still angry with my mother?

No matter how hush-hush this story has always been, it doesn’t take a genius to realize the man might have an ax to grind.

My mother left him while pregnant with another man.

My father.

But Christopher always suspected he was my real father. He liked to think that.

Although my mother adamantly said that wasn’t the case.

But we all know how good she is at putting a spin on things once in a while, especially when it matters, so that wouldn’t be a first.

She never wanted me to meet Christopher.

In fact, he married someone else, didn’t he?

Someone from the Philippines?

“What happened to his wife?” I ask before she has the chance to answer my previous question.

“Nothing. They got divorced.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He only came to drop off this gift. You’ll see it when you get here. Nothing special, he said. Just some stuff he wanted you to have. It belonged to your mother.”

A shiver races down my back.

That can’t be good.

“Like a journal and stuff. Some pictures, and a little gift from him.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes. What else?”

“I don’t know. Did he say why he popped up out of nowhere?”

“He said he traveled here for work, but he knew about your birthday.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He probably knew it from back then. Tina didn’t keep in touch with him. But they probably talked sometime before you were born. I don’t know how he knows your exact birthday date. Maybe he bribed someone at the hospital,” she jokes.

“Eww. Creepy.”

“He’s fine,” she says in a calm voice, although I feel differently about it.

“All right. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you later.”

With that, we end the call.