Victoria.

Later that night.

It was near eleven by the time I was almost ready for bed.

Charles and I hadn't had more then two minutes alone. It was almost sad, had we not been so busy. By the time he got home Gabriel was ready for a real swimming lesson. Then there was homework, which I left Charles in charge of while I took Lola to the vet for her spaying. When I got home I had to make sure all the lunches were packed and the boys were bathed, not to mention spend a good forty minutes on the phone with Kim. There was my homework to deal with while Charles chased off raccoons and rigged our garbage cans.

Then someone from B-Team came over to borrow Charles's .50 cal rifle to – and I quote - clear trees on his property.

Then our neighbors came over with a Quiche, Donald and Bobby, they ran the B&B across the lake. Nice couple.

It was around ten thirty when I got my teeth brushed and face washed, then grabbed the clean pj's from the drawer. A small tiny teddy top and little knickers.

I collapsed on the bed, "Ok, just have your way with me and make it quick. I'm exhausted."

Charles laughed from across the bedroom.

Laundry had to get done.

It'd get done later.

He spat something and I heard water running, he was brushing his teeth. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Like I knew.

"You," I guessed.

Another laugh, the light in the bathroom turned off and out he came. Had I been capable of movement, I would have made a move on him. I was too tired. But not too tired to not notice the rich contrast from his navy sweatpants, to the bronze of his stomach and feet, arms and back. Or the accented peppering of dark hair on his chest.

He hopped on the bed, "Saw your Dad today."

I made an unhappy face.

"Did you tell Sarah he know's she back?"

I nodded unhappily, really not wanting to talk about it. So when the pitter-patter of feet went down the hall, and the kitchen light came on, followed by the fridge opening, I sat up. "I'll put him back in bed."

Anything to avoid this chat.

Charles made a face, but I was already off the bed and in the doorway. He collapsed on the bed. Probably thinking of a way to broach the subject more diplomatically.

Which so wasn't happening.

On the way down the hall I pulled the scrunchie from my hair, shook out the waves. I turned the corner in the hall and into the well-lit kitchen.

Where some teenage guy in a Che Guavara t-shirt was making a sandwich.

I screamed.

Which made him jump, at the sight of me he screamed and dropped the head of lettuce. His scream reached a higher pitch then mine. Scary.

He then looked me over with appreciation, "You're the new maid? Dad did good."

Maid?

"Who the hell are you?" I kicked the fridge shut and began to shout for Charles, but I heard him coming down the hall.

"And who are you?" Carrot Top demanded of me, picking up the lettuce from the floor, and continuing work on his sandwich. He gave me another look, "Nice tattoos by the way."

I glared and Charles appeared by my side, shoving me aside.

Carrot Top dropped the lettuce again when he saw Charles gun. Both his hands went above his head, "Whoa dude, take whatever you want. My parents are down the hall and have lots of old shit."

This was confusing.

But Charles wasn't having any of it, "Come on, out of the kitchen, now."

Carrot Top listened.

Charles pushed him against the wall, checked him over as the young college student asked, "So, are you like the gardener?"

When Charles was satisfied, he motioned to the kitchen table. I told the young man, "We're the new tenants."

Confusion filled his face but he sat, "What?"

Unimpressed, Charles motioned to the empty boxes, "We just moved in."

Carrot Top looked around, "Wait…so my parents moved out?"

Indeed they did, I nodded to the young man.

It was almost funny.

His parents left and didn't leave a forwarding address. How often had Ryan joked about that with me when I briefly dormed it at college.

A look of absolute shock crossed his face, "Can I use your phone?"

6AM…

The front door slammed.

Someone hopped down the hall, slipped, fell and swore. I rolled slightly over and Charles mumbled, "It's your turn."

Why was it my turn?

But it was, so I kicked Charles in the butt as I slid from bed. Sleepily walked from the bedroom and spotted Sarah on the floor, holding her ankle, and looking pretty messed up.

"Oh My God! Charles!"

I ran over to her and smoothed her hair back from her bloody forehead. She glared at me, "We have to kill Layla."

It didn't take a doctor to see her ankle was swollen to the size of a softball. There was plaster in her cheek and blood on her cast. What appeared to be road rash along her thigh. She was in small PT Shorts and a t-shirt.

There were funky marks on his thigh.

"Layla did all of this?"

The look Sarah gave me was deadly, which she nursed her ankle, "The bitch hit me with her car while I was running." She was seething mad. I wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't feel any pain. She then looked me in the eye, "You have to clean me up and help me get my boots on. If Ryan sees me like this, I'll be out on sick leave and that won't work."

Was she serious?

The hall light came on and then Charles ran back in the bedroom. Likely to get the "Goody Box" from the bathroom.

Sarah was dead serious.

I looked her over again.

No obvious signs of a head injury. Her ankle looked badly sprained, but was in a sneaker. She was scratched up and had gravel in the wounds. What was a grill was indented in her thigh. "Sarah, your ankle is going to swell to a larger state."

To which she replied, "It can swell in my boots. I'll elevate it at my desk. You have to help me get ready for work."

There was no arguing with her.

So I unlaced her sneaker and opened it as much as I could. She must have bounced over the roof of the car. "Is it broken?"

She shook her head as Charles came back, "I can walk on it and put weight on it. It just aggravated my old muscle injury."

Charles dropped an old ammo box on the floor. I pulled the boot off and asked him, "Could you carry her in the bathroom? A hot shower will relax the muscles." I found some Motrin and opened the bottle, gave her two which she downed without water.

"I can walk," she spat, but was ignored. To which she then added, "Damn Charles, you had the worst taste in women! If you hadn't met my sister, you would have been married to this loser. She's crazy!"