2. Cleo

2

CLEO

I pull into parking space number twenty-two and stop well short of the charging port before I put any more dents in my banged-up blue Honda. Ethan usually parks his Tesla here, but they’ve left it in long-term parking at the airport so I can have a covered parking space.

My boss is the best.

Hauling my bags out of the trunk, I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and pull up the handle for my suitcase. I’m only house sitting for a week, but I like to be comfortable. Besides, it gave Lisa more room to spread out at my place.

She contacted the charity I volunteer for needing temporary accommodation for a few days over Christmas, and I was happy to offer up my place. It made sense since I’m house sitting for Ethan.

I think about my tiny studio apartment above a laundromat as I step inside the elevator that will take me up to the penthouse apartment in Fitzpatrick Place.

As the doors start to close, a spindly arm in a leopard print sweater slides between them. The doors halt and jerkily reopen. Fitzy fixes me with a warm smile as she steps into the elevator.

“Are you staying with us again, dear?”

She makes it sounds like Fitzpatrick Place is a hotel I’m visiting and she’s the welcoming committee, which isn’t a bad thing. Fitzy’s as old as the building, and she’s been nothing but kind whenever I come to housesit.

“Just for a week.”

Fitzy’s eyes shoot into her hairline. “Over Christmas?”

I hear the implied question. She’s wondering why I don’t have a family to go to. But as nice as Fitzy is, I don’t feel like explaining my situation.

“Yup.”

She gives me a wily look but doesn’t push. “Where have those boys gone away to this time?”

She’s referring to my boss, who’s pushing forty, and his older husband as if they’re wayward children and not high-powered executives.

“They’re in Barbados.”

Fitzy sucks in her breath. “Ohhh, Barbados,” she practically squeals. “I almost got married there.”

I try to hide my surprise. But I suppose the white-haired woman with a penchant for leopard print and fluffy slippers was young once.

“He was a local diving instructor. I met him when our ship docked on his island. I was snorkeling on one of the naturalist beaches.”

My eyes almost pop out of my head as an image of Fitzy snorkeling naked fills my brain.

“Oh, I had quite a figure back then,” she says wistfully. “Full hips, boobs for days.” She eyes me up and down. “Like you, dear. All curves and no edges.”

If anyone else but Fitzy commented on my appearance, I’d tell them where to go. But the old lady is so endearing that I don’t mind.

“We met on a Tuesday, and he proposed on the Friday,” she says. “I was all ready to give up my job as an entertainer on a cruise ship and stay with him.”

The elevator dings, and the door opens. Fitzy turns and starts to go out, completely forgetting she’s in the middle of a story.

“What happened?” I blurt out, stopping the elevator with my hand.

Fitzy turns around, a vacant look on her face.

“What, dear?”

“What happened to the man you almost married in Barbados?”

She looks confused, making me wonder if she’s already started drinking for the holiday, then realization creeps across her face.

“Oh, his family didn’t approve. Thought it had happened too fast, that he was only after my bazoombas.” She grabs at the air in front of her chest and mimes jiggling them up and down. Fitzy giggles, then looks wistfully into the distance, her eyes glazing over.

“So, you gave up on each other?” I’m more invested in the story than I’d like to admit, but it only confirms what I already know. Love is fickle and people always let you down. “He didn’t fight his family for you?”

Fitzy looks confused again.

“It was lovely speaking with you, dear. You enjoy that apartment while you can and call down if you need anything.”

She walks off, and I let my arm drop. The elevator door closes. I’m left alone. Fitzy’s a great neighbor, but it’s useless to try to get a story out of her.