Under Dust Painted Skies
Chapter Two"So . . ." Isaac began from his place on Zac's sofa, but he didn't continue the sentence. Instead, it hung there heavy in the air, and Zac unconsciously held his breath in anticipation.
As much as Zac loved this eldest brother, Isaac's visits were rarely ever pleasant. They usually started out nice enough, but before it was over, an argument of some sort would ensue. Isaac's impromptu visit didn't leave Zac feeling optimistic about how things would end today either.
He felt tired, which in turn made him cranky. It had been a few days since his last nightmare, but the subsequent nights had not been restful. While he couldn't actually remember dreaming, the heavy unsettling chill that seemed to seep into his bones and leave him feeling frozen from within was as much confirmation as he needed. Despite sleeping closer to five or six hours instead of his usual three or four, his limbs felt heavier each morning Zac crawled out of bed.
The weight pushed and pulled at him, tugging him every which way. He couldn't count the number of times he'd apologized to Remy for his behavior over the last few days. She hadn't seemed overly impressed by his apologies either, which was probably due to the fact that not five minutes after apologizing for snipping at her, he found himself doing it again.
When she hadn't stuck around for more than a couple of minutes this morning, he found he couldn't blame her in the least. Even Luca seemed wary of him. He knew something had to give. He just wasn't sure what was going to happen. It wasn't like he had a lot of options.
He was sure he still had some prescription pills stowed away in his cabinets, but he hated resorting to medication. Somehow that only made it all worse, as if it confirmed just how weak he truly was.
He'd been trying to relax by listening to his favorite Foo Fighters song when Isaac showed up. Zac might have been more annoyed by his brother's presence if not for the fact that even "Everlong" couldn't relax him from his rigid state. He only wished his hardening could be channeled into other more productive avenues instead of this displaced anger that seemed to repel the only people he actually wanted around away from him.
It was an odd predicament being so mentally exhausted while being so physically full of restless energy. If only he could pour the rage that seemed to bubble beneath the surface into forcing himself to be stronger, to push past his fears and not wake in a panic each night after knowing he'd subconsciously revisited the death of his wife.
When the knock came at the door, Zac had jumped, tugging the buds from his ears hastily and tossed his iPod aside. His laptop sat open on the coffee table. Before giving music a try, he'd attempted to surf the web for something to occupy his mind, but that had been fruitless. He glared at the screen before snapping it shut.
Another knock at the door had snapped his mind back to attention. He'd stood slightly unsteadily. He was certain the head rush was from a combination of exhaustion and lack of food. His appetite had disappeared, and he'd been running on little more than coffee despite his recently restocked refrigerator. Once upon a time, he'd been able to eat any time without pause. Kate had always called him a bottomless pit. Now he truly felt hallow from head to toe.
Shaking his head to clear his fuzzy mind, Zac stumbled away from the couch, nearly tripping over his Wii on his way to the door. He felt mildly annoyed that Luca had left it out after playing with it the day before, but he found himself unable to get too worked up over it. As grouchy as he was, he didn't think he'd ever really be able to get angry or act unkindly to Luca.
Once he finally reached the partition between the hallway and the foyer, he paused to take a deep breath. Zac cringed at the idea of entering the foyer because there was no buffer between him and the outside other than the heavy oak door.
After several seconds of working himself up to opening the partition and several more knocks at the door, Zac was finally able to force his hands to move the partition door aside and make his feet step forward into the foyer.
He peeked through the curtains to see who was there. He recognized his eldest brother in profile, but that did little to abate his nerves. He took a couple more deep breaths before he began to unlock the multitude of locks that adorn the door. He knew he'd gone overboard when he installed them, but somehow their existence set his mind at ease.
He knew Remy hated them. She teased that he was going to owe her a new alternator after the heavy bulk of keys that resided on her key chain tore up the one in her. He sometimes wondered if she had any idea just how privileged she was to be in possession of those keys. Not even his brothers had a copy. Only her, his parents, and himself could come through these doors uninvited.
When Zac finally turned the last lock, he spoke. "Give me a minute and I'll step away from the door."
"Yeah, I know the drill," Isaac sighed.
The sigh grated at Zac's nerves, and he had half a mind to tell his brother to just leave. On some level it probably would have bothered him, sleep deprived or not. Isaac always seemed so exasperated whenever he came by, and Zac knew it stemmed from the fact that he couldn't understand the reasons why Zac chose to live his life in isolation. He'd long since given up on trying to make his brother understand. He only hoped that Isaac never had to find out for himself.
Zac then stepped back and into the next room, shutting the partition door between the foyer and hallway. He took a deep breath, preparing himself, before he called, "Okay, come in."
He heard the door swing open without hesitation and then click shut a second after. He waited, about to remind Isaac, but then he heard the locks being clicked back into place. He sighed in relief and peeked around the corner. This was a section of the house he typically didn't spend much time in. The door seemed like an ominous presence to him. His heart always seemed to pound just a little faster whenever he was near it.
It made no sense, of course, but then what about being agoraphobic did? He felt his reasoning was completely sound, but the dynamics of the condition were somewhat skewed. Though the wood at the front door was heavy and strong and the glass panes of the window were fragile and easily shattered, opening the front door to the outside world nearly sent him into a panic attack while gazing out the window felt completely natural.
He knew it was irrational, and whenever anyone - typically a family member - asked about it, he could never quite frame an answer. Why looking through a window was less bothersome than standing just inside the house before the front door was just another odd facet of his neurosis.
"Hey," Isaac said in greeting as he stepped away from the door and into the next room with Zac.
"Hi," Zac answered. He tried to muster up some enthusiasm for this little meeting, but he suspected there was an ulterior motive involved. "You want something to drink?"
"Sure," Isaac shrugged. He too seemed slightly uncomfortable. It was nearly impossible to believe that a few short years ago, a day of kicking back and talking had been as natural as breathing. Zac could have sat in a room with either of his brothers, shooting the breeze and talking shit or simply watching hours of mindless television shows without a worry in the world. It was strange how quickly all of that had changed.
With Taylor it seemed slightly easier to carry on the pretense of normality, but that was only because Taylor generally chose to overlook Zac's eccentricities while Isaac preferred to attempt talking him out of them; as if he could talk the fear out of him and make everything normal again. Of course, Zac supposed it was just in Isaac's nature to try to fix things. It was unfortunate that his big brother couldn't see that he was likely broken beyond repair. He was a lost cause he needn't waste another moment of energy trying to reassemble. The brother Isaac wanted back no longer existed. He couldn't. Everything he was shattered right along with his bones and leaked out, mixing with Kate's spilt blood. The part of him that still existed was only a shadow of the man he'd once been, and he was sure that was because his soul had left with Kate's. That only made sense. She had been the one for him. His heart belonged to her, and his soul had no choice but to follow her wherever she went.
The moment he'd awoke in the hospital, he'd felt barren and lost. That feeling had only worsened as his memory of what happened flashed through his mind. He'd known just by the looks on his family's faces that while his life had been spared, Kate's had not.
He'd been a broken mess at the funeral. They'd held off as long as they could, and the doctors hadn't wanted Zac go leave the hospital. The amount of blood he lost had weakened him significantly. It was odd how that hadn't even registered at the time. He'd felt the pain, but he hadn't been able to focus on it. Kate had been the priority. With his ribs taped up nice and tight and his arm in a sling, Zac had been wheeled into the funeral home. People had offered their condolences and wished him the best, but he'd barely noticed.
Shaking himself from these thoughts, Zac told Isaac to have a seat in the living room while he went to retrieve something to drink. He rifled through his refrigerator, pushing hot sauce, mustard and other condiments to the side to grab them each a can of soda. He also grabbed the package of no bake cookies off the counter. By now he normally would have devoured them, but his absent appetite had prolonged their life. He figured he'd need the sugar to work up the energy to deal with whatever Isaac had to say today.
Now seated in the recliner across from his brother, Zac waited for the onslaught. Isaac seemed at a loss for words, so Zac decided to throw him a bone. "So, what's up?" he asked as he popped the top of his soda.
Isaac sighed, which was a signal to Zac that small talk wasn't going to be the preamble today. "Taylor's birthday's coming up, you know," he said.
"I'm aware," Zac nodded, sipping his drink to wet his parched throat. "Twenty-seven. Getting to be a bit of an old man. Of course, not nearly as old as you, you old fart."
Isaac cracked a smile at that. "Thirty isn't that old," he argued. "Besides, they say with age comes wisdom."
"I suspect whoever they were just told themselves that so they'd feel better about growing old," Zac commented, snagging a cookie and chewing it greedily.
Isaac shrugged, but the smile remained on his face. "Maybe," he conceded, opening his own soda and taking a drink. Then he said, "After all, you tell me I'm full of shit just about every chance you can get."
"It's my job," Zac answered.
Isaac's smile faltered slightly at that. "Speaking of jobs," he said, "how's the painting going?"
"It's good. Keeps me busy," Zac replied, shifting in his seat. He hated talking about his art. He also knew it was a sore subject for his brothers. He supposed their resentment for his new career stemmed from their slight feelings of abandonment with the band. They'd understood at first, but once Zac stopped leaving the house and continued to refuse to even discuss making more music, they'd grown upset. They hadn't spoken for a couple of months after that.
Eventually they both began coming around again, but it was definitely a source of animosity that still remained despite both Isaac and Taylor pursuing other avenues in the music industry. Zac had basically given them free reign to do with their record company, 3CG, as they pleased. Since then they'd signed a new band, and they'd both been doing some songwriting on the side. Occasionally they tried to bring up how things were going, but Zac continued to shy away. It seemed Isaac liked to make it a point to ask Zac about his new career every time they spoke. It was either out of morbid curiosity, spite or hopes that he might ask the question in kind. Whatever the reason, Zac gave a short, succinct answer each time and the subject was quickly dropped.
"So, you were saying something about Taylor's birthday?" Zac asked, bringing the conversation back around to the original topic.
"Yeah," Isaac sighed. "We're having a dinner at mom and dad's. She's making enchiladas."
Zac's empty stomach gurgled a bit at the mention of his favorite meal. He hoped Isaac couldn't hear it but grabbed another one of the no bake cookies from their package and took a bite. "That sounds nice," he said as he chewed.
"Yeah," Isaac agreed, but his voice held no conviction, and Zac could already see where this was going. "It would be really nice all around if we were all there together, ya know."
Zac nodded because it was true. It had been quite some time since the whole family had been together. In fact, the last time had likely been at his parents' house for someone's birthday. Zac couldn't really remember. After Kate died, everything seemed to blend together for a time. Any time things seemed to become too clear, the panic seemed to set in. The attacks had started off slowly - in the middle of the clothing store or while he was putting gas in his car, but then they began to grow in frequency to the point that any time he opened the front door, he could feel it beginning to well up inside of him.
At first, Zac was certain his family thought it was just a phase that he would grow out of once the shock of what had happened dwindled, but he figured they probably realized the true severity of the situation the first time he missed a family get together. His mother had been upset when he declined the invitation, saying he didn't think he could make it. His father had called shortly after, trying to talk some sense into him. When that didn't work, he tried using the fact that he'd made his mother cry to guilt him into changing his mind.
At the time he hadn't yet been ready to explain to his family that it wasn't that he didn't want to come, but instead that he simply couldn't. The day Isaac and Taylor dropped by and tried to force him outside had ended badly. Zac had gone into a panic the moment they got him out on the front porch. The panic sent him into such a tizzy that he wound up passing out.
When he woke - thankfully, back inside the safety of the house - he'd demanded his brothers leave. He hadn't answered the door anytime they came around for almost a month after that. During that time, though, his parents had spoke with a doctor that, since Zac wouldn't leave the house, agreed to come to him.
Zac had only agreed to let the doctor see him to prove to his parents that, despite his fears, he was not crazy. The doctor assured his parents that his health was in tact but did recommend a psychiatrist for him to speak to about his anxieties. He'd refused at first simply out of spite for the way his family was treating him - like he was incapable of making decisions for himself - and also because he thought, at the time, that this was something he could overcome on his own.
Eventually, he'd given in - not because of his desire to leave the house but instead because his dreams were only getting worse. The doctor had come to his house once a week and prescribed something to help him sleep, but while he asked his mother to take the prescription to be filled, he rarely took the pills. His sessions with the psychiatrist dwindled after a couple of months. Zac simply didn't feel like he was in a place to really talk about things yet. The doctor had wanted to talk about Kate and Brielle Jensen, stating that they were the roots of his problems. Zac had scoffed, saying he figured that out for himself without shelling out an ungodly amount of money.
The doctor, though obviously annoyed with Zac's sarcasm, had given an extended prescription for the sleeping and anxiety medicine before they parted ways. He knew his family was disappointed, but that seemed to be the turning point with them. They finally seemed to see that this situation was more permanent than they had anticipated.
For the most part, they let the subject drop, but occasionally one of them would try a different tactic to coax him out of the house. Apparently, it was Isaac's turn to give it a try.
"Isaac," Zac sighed. He hoped that Isaac felt as aggravated with his sigh as Zac had with Isaac's. He doubted Isaac would ever realize that this was only fair since he liked to huff and puff around and annoy Zac in turn, but juvenile as it was, Zac felt a small sense of satisfaction. As they say, turnabout is fair play. Zac leveled his eyes on his brother, and Isaac stared back. "As nice as that would be, we both already know it's not going to happen."
Isaac was silent for a moment, but Zac could see the anger broiling beneath the surface. He mentally counted down, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before the dam would give way and he'd explode.
5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1
Right on cue, Isaac jumped from his seat. "You won't even try!" he exclaimed, his face turning red. "You just say no, like it's no big deal. Don't you even care?"
As annoyed as he was, Zac remained seated. He couldn't keep the glare from his face, though. "Of course I care," he answered tersely. "And I wouldn't get too self-righteous if I were you. You've never tried to see things from my side. Never. You just always acted like I should push everything aside and be normal."
Isaac glared at him for a moment. It was obvious that neither of them were going to back down. "I shouldn't have even bothered," he muttered mostly to himself, but Zac was still able to hear.
"Yeah, that's right. You shouldn't have," he agreed. "I'd say I'm sorry you wasted your time, but I'm not. I doubt anyone asked you to come around and try to coax me out by guilting me about Taylor's birthday. I'm sure you took that upon yourself."
"Well someone had to. This has gone on for far too long. What kind of life is this?" Isaac exclaimed.
"Mine!" Zac shouted, finally rising to his feet. "It's my life. Shitty as it is. It's all I have, okay?"
Isaac shook his head, holding his hands up. "You say that, but you know it's not true," he said. "It's only shitty because you choose to live this way."
Zac growled slightly, hating that they were coming right back to this same old argument. He knew it would come back down to this, though. It was always the inevitable conclusion. Before he could answer Isaac's accusation, the phone began ringing.
"Great," Zac muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He and Isaac glared at each other for another moment before Zac finally said, "I need to get that."
"Fine," Isaac huffed. "I'll let myself out."
"Good, you do that," Zac replied, crossing the room to grab the cordless phone. By the time he'd reached the phone, Isaac had vacated the room. After another moment of listening to him fiddle with the locks on the front door, he heard it slam shut behind him. Zac had to swallow several times at the thought of the door being left unlocked, but this, at least, was something he could overcome.
He focused his attention on the ringing phone. Glancing at the ID before he answered, he was prepared for what awaited him on the other end. "Hello," he said, working to keep the annoyance from his voice.
"Zachary!" He cringed slightly at the sound of Nanette's nasally New Yorker accent combined with the use of his full name. He used to correct her, saying it was "just Zac," but he'd given up some months ago on ever getting through to her on that point.
"Hello, Nanette," he replied as his anger toward Isaac was replaced once again with exhaustion. He could only imagine how he'd feel once he was off the phone. These talks with Nanette always seemed to take a lot out of him, but only because she spoke so quickly and with such authority that he often had to all but yell just to get a word in edgewise let alone his point across.
"Hi, dear," she said. He kind of hated the endearment, but, again, it was something he chose to let go. "So, I just handed that last painting you sent my way to its new owner. They loved it, of course." Zac smiled slightly. Despite her forcefulness, Nanette was not shy about handing out compliments. Of course, they were usually part of the ruse to butter him up before broaching a topic she knew he wouldn't like. At least her tactics were more pleasant than his brother's. He glared slightly and his anger bubbled, thinking again of his argument with Isaac.
"That's good," Zac replied but his tone was a little rough. He cleared his throat, hoping Nanette would write it off to lack of use or being awoken. It wasn't as if he'd get into talking about what happened with his brother, but he'd prefer the question not even be asked at all.
"You got anything new finished?" she asked. "The buyer was interested in seeing more."
"I've got a few works in progress," Zac admitted. In fact, he had several paintings that were in various states of being finished, but he preferred not to show anything until it was completely done. Only people who were allowed in his studio in the basement were allowed to see the partially finished works. The only people with that access happened to be Luca and Remy. Isaac, on the other hand, usually pissed him off before he got to the point of feeling charitable, but sometimes if he was feeling generous, he'd let Taylor take a look.
"Anything you could send over some pictures of?" she asked.
"No, not yet," Zac admitted. "I should have something in a couple of days."
"Ah, well, I suppose there's no rush," Nanette sighed, but Zac could tell by her tone she'd been hoping for more paintings to shop around and try to sell. Of course, he'd finished several about a month ago. Within a couple of weeks, they'd all been sold.
That was when he started the Sun series as he often referred to it in his mind. Those had come slower, and at Nanette's insistence, he started sending her photos for her to show before the whole set was finished. Typically, he liked to finish the set first, but his inspiration had dwindled over the recent weeks. It was most likely because of his lack of sleep, and coffee only got him so far. He'd been pleased with the paintings he'd done, but they had certainly taken more time than the previous set.
"Anyway, I also got a call from a friend of mine," Nanette went on. "She's a literary agent. She saw some of your paintings when we went out for lunch the other day. She was intrigued, and after she found out they were by you, she was really interested."
Zac knew Nanette was waiting for him to ask what exactly this literary agent was interest in, but he had a pretty good guess. They'd visited this topic once before shortly after Nanette had talked him into picking up painting as a career and letting her steer the wheel. At the time they'd only known each other a couple of months, and when someone in the office, who had been a Hanson fan, mentioned that he should write a book, she'd brought up the topic. He'd told her no so firmly that even fearless Nanette hadn't pressed it further.
He wondered why she would broach the subject now. He felt it was pretty clear his feelings hadn't changed since then. After all, he'd only agreed to do the paintings if he had no interaction whatsoever with any of the clients. This had mostly been because he knew some of the more obsessive fans would likely snag up the paintings like they were precious gemstones.
Even though he knew all fans weren't on par with Brielle Jensen, he wanted nothing to do with that world anymore. He also didn't want his work to go to a bunch of overzealous fangirls that would likely sell their first born in order to get to as little as one-third of the band, even in such an abstract way. The whole idea of it sickened him. He knew the fans made him who he was, and at one time he had appreciated them for that. However, it was also a fan that had destroyed him, and he was sure there were more girls just like her out there. Part of him was waiting for the day when they would destroy his brothers' lives, yet he hoped against all hope that they would not meet the same fate. Even when he was angry with them, he could never be so spiteful as to wish this sort of dreary existence upon them as well.
"Nanette," Zac sighed, "no."
"What?" Nanette cried, indignantly. "Honey, I didn't even ask anything."
"You didn't have to."
"Zachary, come on," she said. "It was a great deal. A tell all, and you wouldn't even have to write it."
"I'm not interested." He didn't even bother to keep the coldness from his voice. Nanette should have known better than to pursue this idea. It didn't seem to resonate with her that he had no interest in a great deal. Money meant very little to him. Thanks to his parents, he had secured more than enough money by the time he was an adult to ensure that he'd never have to work another day of his life if he so wished.
He owned his house and had plenty of money in savings. Even the record company he co-owned with his brothers was doing well, despite the indefinite hiatus, as his brother had called it, from their band. He lived a simple life. His only expenses were for the utilities, food and Remy's paychecks. Nanette's cut always came from the sale of the paintings. He could walk away from his short painting career now without a worry in the world. Zac wondered idly if Nanette's desire to get him to agree to the book deal was because of the hefty pay out that would be attached. He was sure whatever her cut would be was enough incentive to broach the subject even if it meant aggravating him to the near point of firing her.
"Zac . . ." Nanette sighed. Just from the single word, he could tell she was about to lay it on thick. That was the only time she only ever called him Zac.
"I have to go," he said, cutting her off. He didn't bother to say goodbye. Instead, he simply turned off the phone. It was rude, but he thought it would get the point across just as well.
He felt the urge to hurl the phone across the room, but he was sure he would regret it later, so instead, he simply dropped it to the table beside the sofa. Running a hand through his hair, he moved to attend to the unlocked door, but before he could even take a step, he heard the door swing open and bang against the wall. Luca, he thought.
"Luca!" Remy shouted, confirming Zac's thoughts. His irritation with his brother and Nanette was temporarily abated as the blonde child in question scampered into the room, calling out an apology over her shoulder to her mother.
"Zaccy!" she exclaimed, bouncing over to him. She wrapped her thin arms around his legs, and he patted her head.
Remy entered the room a moment later, a frown upon her face. "Your front door was unlocked," she said. "Did you . . ."
"Isaac stopped by," Zac said by way of explanation as Luca extracted herself and moved to turn on the Wii he'd almost fallen over before.
"Oh," Remy nodded and then looked around. "Well, nothing's broken, so it must have gone well."
Zac rolled his eyes. Remy's heavy masked sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but some of his annoyance returned at the mention of Isaac. "Nanette called while he was here," Zac confessed.
"Oh, well, saves us both from cleaning up a mess, right?" Remy shrugged. "I'll have to thank Nanette for that."
Zac scoffed, thinking of the infuriating woman he'd just spoken to. "I wouldn't bother," he scowled.
"Now what did Nanette do?" Remy asked. Though worded as an accusation toward Nanette, Remy's tone suggested that she didn't actually hold the woman responsible for whatever had upset him. Zac resented the sentiment but decided against confronting her.
Two arguments in the span of an hour were plenty; Zac didn't need a third. He wasn't sure his mind or furniture would survive it. Besides, Remy was a force to be reckoned with. She didn't take any shit, and the only reason she hadn't decked him yet was probably because he hadn't yet written her check for the week.
"She brought up the book thing again," Zac sighed.
Remy narrowed her eyes at this. "I thought you made it pretty clear the last time you weren't interested."
"I did," Zac sighed, "and, of course, Nanette decided not to listen."
"And Isaac?"
"What about him?" His brother's name alone made him clench his fists angrily.
"What did he want?"
"The same shit, different ploy." Remy glared at him, but Zac didn't understand the look right away. Then she cut her eyes down and to his right. Zac glanced over his shoulder where Luca was playing with the Wii. He understood the look now. It said, watch your language. Zac sighed, "She's not even paying attention."
"I don't care." Remy's voice was strong and firm. It didn't matter how many times they went over this. She wasn't willing to budge.
"Sorry," Zac muttered. He imagined they'd be having this discussion again tomorrow, and Zac knew, logically, she was right. He should watch his language around Luca, but it was just so easy to make a slip - especially when his temper was out of check.
Remy didn't acknowledge his half-hearted apology. Instead, she turned wordlessly and headed back toward the front door. He didn't bother to ask where she was going. Instead, he took a couple of steps back and fell back onto the sofa. He sighed at the softness beneath him and took a moment to watch Luca as she zoomed right through playing Mario Kart. He smiled slightly. He taught the kid everything she knew about video games. The day Luca beat Remy at Mario Kart was a proud day for Zac. Not so much for Remy.
"What are you smiling about?" Remy asked as she reentered the living room. She tossed a bag at him, and, reflexively, Zac reached out to catch it.
"What's this?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"Mail," she shrugged.
Zac wrinkled his nose and tossed the bag aside, telling himself he'd look through it later. It was likely either junk mail or bills. Remy sighed but didn't nag at him like she usually would when he'd put off his responsibilities. Instead, she stepped over his outstretched legs and sat at the opposite side end of the sofa.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about something."
Her soft, almost reluctant, tone piqued his attention. He drew his eyes away from the Mario filled screen to look at Remy. She pushed her hair back away from his face, and the faint scent of coconut wafted his way. For a moment he had the urge to lean toward her and inhale the exotic scent, certain it was from her hair.
He shook this thought away as quickly as it came. It wasn't the first time his mind and body were at odds where Remy was concerned. He'd have to be blind not to see that she was not only intelligent but also an incredibly attractive woman. The first time he noticed he wrote it off, telling himself that it was only because Remy's dark eyes and hair reminded him of Kate, but he'd come to realize that wasn't true. The two women looked nothing alike. Their personalities were also at opposite ends of the spectrum, but he tried not to compare the two. It felt like something of a betrayal to his wife's memory, and he was fairly certain Remy wouldn't take too kindly to be compared and contrasted to his late wife.
They rarely ever spoke of Kate. Zac figured Remy probably knew more than she let on, but she was good at that sort of stuff. She knew he didn't want to talk about it, so she didn't press. However, he was certain his various family members had no qualms about filling her in. He'd watched Remy chat with everyone ranging from his brothers to his mother to his father and sisters from the confines of his house. When it had first happened, he had fretted over what was being said, afraid his family was trying to persuade Remy into joining their "repair Zac" cause.
In the year she'd been working for him, outside of her complaints about his lack of cleaning and unhealthy eating habits, Remy had never tried to force her opinion on his living situation onto him. He was sure she did have an opinion, but she either needed her job too much or didn't feel inclined to share.
Sometimes he did wonder what she thought of him, though. He knew he was a mess in the broadest sense of the word. Did she think him pathetic? He never noticed the pity he often recognized in his family's eyes reflected in hers, but maybe she was just better at hiding it? Or maybe he just wasn't looking at the right moment? He felt pitiful, so it seemed impossible for her not to think him so.
"Zac?" Remy said tentatively, and he realized he hadn't yet acknowledged her request to talk.
"Yeah, sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. "What did you want to talk about?"
Remy took a deep breath and fiddled with a loose thread on the afghan that hung over the back of the sofa. "It's about next fall."
Zac raised his eyebrows, trying to wrack his brain for where this was going, but he came up with nothing. "What about it?"
"Well, Luca's going to be in kindergarten all day," she began. Still, Zac was clueless, so he waited for her to go on. "Well, I won't have to worry about running back and forth to pick her up from preschool in the mornings, so I was thinking of trying to take on some kind of a day job."
It took a moment for this to sink in, and when the words finally did permeate, Zac's stomach lurched uneasily. "You're quitting?" He meant to speak at his normal volume, but the words came out as a whispered accusation.
"No, no," Remy said quickly. "I would still help out around here whenever you needed me. I just . . ."
She trailed off, and Zac looked away, uncomforted by her words. Instead, hurt seeped into his veins. He knew it wasn't rational. Of course Remy would want to look for a normal job. Why wouldn't she? Playing personal assistant and go-to girl for the resident freak had worked in her favor while toting Luca around, but with her days freed up, why shouldn't she go back to the land of the normal folk?
He wanted to be angry, but he knew this feeling of abandonment wasn't justified. Remy owed him nothing. In fact, he probably owed her. If not for Remy, he would have likely starved to death months ago. He wouldn't have been able to work on his art because she bought all of his supplies. Considering he could barely stand to unlock the front door for his brother, deliveries were dicey business at best.
He swallowed, hard, and shifted his eyes back to Remy. She was watching him from the corner of her eyes. He was sure she was bracing herself for some kind of a fit. As foul as his mood had been the last few days, it could only be expected, but instead of angry, he only felt the sadness of loss.
Remy and Luca were his biggest link to the outside world. They were in and out of the house several times a day. If not for them, he could go for days without speaking to another human being. Even his mother only called about once a week. Once Remy left him, he would have nothing. However, he knew a life of solitude was not for her. Besides, she was too smart to be stuck catering to him.
"Should I consider this like your six month's notice then?" he finally asked, trying to make a joke, but it fell flat.
"Zac, I'm not quitting," she assured him. Zac nodded even though he didn't believe it. "I swear I'll still be around. I'll do everything I do now. We just may have to shift some things around for scheduling, but . . ."
"No," Zac said firmly.
"No?" Remy's echoed word was colored with confusion. "What do you mean no?"
"I don't want you to have to shuffle things around on account of me," Zac said. "If you're working, then I doubt you'll want to run around doing sh-stuff for me. I'll figure something out for myself. Don't worry about me."
"Zac," Remy said. Gone was the soft, uncertain tone. She spoke now sternly and firmly in the tone Zac was most familiar with. "Don't be petulant."
"I'm not," he argued. "I'm just telling you not to worry. You'll have your hands full between Luca and work."
"Yeah, and you think I won't worry about you starving to death?" Remy retorted. Zac didn't answer, and she sighed. "Listen, we have plenty of time to work things out. Six months, like you said. We'll make it work. It will be fine. I promise."
Zac didn't answer.