Come Back to Haunt You

By Veronica Susalla

Jessica Johnson's life takes a dramatic turn when she meets Eric Baxter....charming, wealthy, taking Jessie into a whole new world full of opportunities and new love. As she welcomes a new, wonderful chapter in her life, a startling revelation from the past nearly brings Jessie's world crashing down around her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Susalla
• Release date: Apr 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301806522

Veronica Susalla

Michigan native, outdoor enthusiast always looking for a new adventure and a new picture to take. Throw in a love of music, cooking, gardening, nice vehicles and fast driving (yes, there are nice vehicles), a passion for life and a little imagination......you can find me on Google+ too +Veronica Susalla

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Come Come Back to Haunt You

Veronica Susalla

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 Veronica Susalla

Published by Veronica Susalla at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to those who keep their mind open, willing to experience what life has to offer, ready to accept people as they are.

Chapter 1

Jessie, it’s going to be terrific.

Stacy was right. The sun was just coming over the horizon. The mountains, that were so dark—nearly ominous an hour ago, woke with a brilliance of yellow, orange and red as the sun crept up in the sky. Stacy slowly turned her camera on it’s precarious perch and took pictures as she scanned the valley around us. The fall colors were at their peak and this morning there was not much blue haze.

We had been at Clingman’s Dome the last four mornings. Stacy had plenty of pictures of the blue haze that gives the Smoky Mountains their name. A freelance photographer, Stacy was hoping to sell some calendar photos. She was also taking pictures for a coffee table book about the Smoky Mountains. We spent most of our vacation driving and hiking the mountains. Stacy had taken roll after roll of film and she was hopeful of catching clear skies this morning. She wanted to relax before we went home.

I sat back and enjoyed the spectacular colors. It was absolutely breathtaking. Occasionally a light breeze passed through the valley below us—the colors rippling like waves on the ocean. In comparison to the other mornings on our trip, it was warm—about fifty-five degrees. Most mornings it had only been about forty degrees when we arrived before dawn. The sun felt warm and my mind wandered as I leaned back against the rocks.

I loved the mountains. They were so vividly different from the generally flat terrain of Michigan; it was always a pleasant escape for me. I had enjoyed the beauty of each season in the dozen or so times I had visited the Smokies. Last winter I had come here on a ski trip with David. Damn it. He had intruded on my thoughts again. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to think of him on this trip and had been successful—until now.

We dated for a couple of years, meeting just before graduating from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. After graduation he kept his apartment in Ann Arbor, while I moved back in with my Aunt Pat. I’ll never forget the day I broke up with him. I was shopping in Ann Arbor and I decided to drop in on David, something I normally would not have done. I had my own key. It was a small studio apartment and I opened the door to find David with his pants around his ankles standing in front of a very surprised young woman. I was mortified.

Jessie, he had said, struggling to pull up his pants, it’s not what you think. God, I couldn’t believe he was standing there saying those words.

I turned and stormed out of the apartment. He was supposed to be doing some work with another graduate for a series of magazine articles. Halfway home I slowed down—it would not improve my frame of mind to get a ticket or wreck my new Mustang. The little green car was only six months old and I loved it. I always had a fascination with muscle cars. I would have liked to have had a classic muscle car, but wasn’t mechanical enough for the upkeep it would need, so I settled for a new one.

Jessie, you’ve got that look on your face. I broke from my daydream. You’ve been thinking about David again.

I know.

You promised.

Okay—change the subject while I help you pack up your things.

Well, Stacy said, now that my work is done and we don’t have to get up before dawn I thought we might check out some night life.

There was that bar we passed last night-supposed to have live rock and roll.

Sounds like fun to me. Let’s eat those cinnamon rolls now.

Neither of us was ready to have breakfast when we left the hotel, so we stopped at a bakery and bought fresh-baked pastries and a thermos of coffee.

These are great.

Aren’t they. Honestly, Jessie, you may have to bring me the latest weight loss book from the library when we get home.

I reassured her (and myself) that she had nothing to worry about. I had been a librarian for two years. It was not unusual for people to call on me to pick them up some helpful information.

By the time we got back to the hotel it was almost three o’clock. Stacy changed into her swimsuit and headed down to the indoor pool for a swim, a blue two-piece suit that accented her short dark hair and bright blue eyes.

I’ve just got to burn off some of these calories. Especially if we are going back out tonight.

Take your key; I’m going down to the gym. I want to do some aerobics and use the free weights.

Okay. See you later.

See ya.

I dressed in my workout clothes and pulled back my hair in an attempt to contain the mass of chestnut curls before I went down to the gym. I was sure before I finished that the hair band would have given up it’s battle against nature. The curls were from my father. My mother was a beautiful Irish red-head aptly named Rusty and my father Bill was madly in love with her. When she died from cancer eight years ago, my father was devastated. He never got over her death. Two years after she died he took his boat out on Lake Michigan—they found him a couple of days later. Accidental drowning. I believe he was so overcome by grief that he just swam away from the boat never intending to come back. Everything was in order. He was a florist and partner with Aunt Pat, my mother’s twin sister. I knew she was part of his unending grief. Although Aunt Pat’s personality differed greatly from my mother, she looked just like Rusty. When my dad saw her, he saw his beloved Rusty—a Rusty he couldn’t have—in this life. He often told me that my personality was very like my mother’s—warm, caring, compassionate, always wanting to help others, my expressions were much the same as hers. Tears would well up in his eyes.

I didn’t go back to school that semester. An only child, I had a lot to attend to. I sold the boat and the house and Aunt Pat insisted I stay with her when I wasn’t at school. Though she had never been married, I believe she had many opportunities to do so. She was a warm, out-going person with a vivacious personality. Her home in Dearborn was not far from where I grew up. A sprawling ranch style home on a large treed lot with plenty of room for the greenhouse she had built off the kitchen. One of her specialties was the beautiful and sometimes exotic plants she grew. Some were for the shop and some for her own collection. People came to her for advice about their own plants, as well as looking for the special plants she grew with loving care. She spent hours each day taking care of her greenhouse plants, pruning them and coaxing blooms. She traveled extensively and always brought plants back; divided them, nurtured them. One trip to Japan heightened her interest in Bonsai. She corresponded with a gentleman that I suspected was more than a teacher in the art of Bonsai. He, however, was more of a traditional Japanese man and Aunt Pat strayed too much from those views.

I had been on the stepper for about ten minutes and was beginning to perspire profusely. I hopped off and took a couple of slow laps around the indoor track before I went to the weights. I watched myself in the mirror as I lifted—my hair was in complete disarray.

When I got back to the room, Stacy was watching television—a towel wrapped around her head.

Where should we have supper tonight?

Well, the bar is only two blocks down; it would be silly to take the car out for dinner. How about the hotel restaurant?

Okay by me.

We got to the bar around nine o’clock. It was about half full and the music was loud. We sat in a small booth near the dance floor and ordered glasses of wine.

It was a fun evening and we had our fill of music, dancing and conversations with vague innuendos. Still stinging from my own failed relationship, I was in no mood for a smooth talker looking for some vacation action.

Sometime around noon we went down to the restaurant for a late breakfast.

Are you still game enough to do the Chimney Tops?

I think so. Hopefully the fresh air will knock some of the cobwebs out of my head.

We had planned to hike the Chimney Tops for our last hike. It was a three mile hike, but the guide book recommended allowing four hours for the rather strenuous climb. We took our time and as usual were presented with many spectacular views. I never tired of the views and couldn’t resist putting my car through it’s paces as we drove those winding mountain roads.

The drive home took about ten hours. Aunt Pat wasn’t home when I got there. She left me a note telling me she had gone to dinner and a movie with her dear friend Roger—not to wait up for her. I was very tired. My head barely touched the pillow and I was sound asleep.

I woke to the smell of fresh coffee. I looked at the clock—ten o’clock. Much as I had enjoyed our trip, I was glad to be home. I glanced around; it was a cheerful room, books filling the bookcase against the wall. The morning sun streamed in through windows framed with lemon colored curtains. I swung my feet into my slippers and plodded across the gold carpeting.

Aunt Pat was in the kitchen having a cup of coffee and a doughnut. How was your trip?

A lot of fun. I never tire of going to the mountains. How was your evening?

Aunt Pat had been dating Roger Wilson for about six months. He was a distinguished-looking man with graying hair and a charming personality.

We chatted for about an hour. Well, I said, getting out of my chair, play time is over. I noticed I had quite a pile of mail on my desk and I have a lot of laundry to do.

I’m going to the grocery store as soon as I get dressed. Is there anything you need?

Not at the moment.

I’ll see you later, dear.

Okay.

I went back to my room. I made the bed and carefully put my quilt over it. It was a quilt my mother had made for me. It was a pattern of interlocked circles of gold, brown and yellow. It had taken her a year to finish; it was one of the last things she did. I took the greatest care handling it, lest something should happen to it. I unpacked my suitcases and knew I’d better start some laundry before doing anything else. I sat at the oak roll-top desk that belonged to my father and went through my mail. The usual—a couple of magazines, several bills and a bunch of a junk mail.

After eating a sandwich, I tackled the job of cleaning my car. It took me most of the afternoon to vacuum and wash that Smoky Mountain dirt away.

Sometime around four o’clock Aunt Pat came outside, What do you want to do about supper? she asked.

Hadn’t given it much thought, I replied. Something light. Stacy and I did not scrimp on our meals.

How about Greek salads?

Sounds good to me.

The sun was shining warmly on the white marble of the library. When I drove past the building on my way to the parking lot, I saw people stopping to take their picture by the fountain in front, not an uncommon occurrence. On my desk was some mail and publishing magazines. I poured myself a cup of coffee. I wasn’t due to work on the Reference Desk till eleven o’clock; I had plenty of time to see what I missed.

I was busy catching up and the day passed quickly. Aunt Pat was working late, so I cooked dinner for myself. After dinner, I went to the greenhouse. It was comfortable there. The greenhouse itself was eighteen feet square. Along the wall against the house was a workbench with all the tools any gardener might need along with various fertilizers, potting soil, mulches, pots, and stones. There was also a large sink with a small hose for gentle watering. I wandered among the plants enjoying the earthy smells mixed with the fragrance of Jasmine that was blooming profusely.

When I went to my desk Tuesday, Michelle Murphy, who had the desk next to mine asked, Mary, Phil, Don and I are going to Ruby Tuesday for lunch—wanna go?

Sounds good. What time are you going?

How does twelve-thirty sound?

Okay.

Ruby Tuesday was at the mall and after lunch I went to buy a Jade colored sweater I had seen before—it was now on sale. I had just enough time to pick it up before I had to get back.

It was a quiet afternoon. Aunt Pat was going out with Roger, so I was in no hurry to go home. I checked out a movie and took my time going to my car, chatting with a couple of people on the way. I stopped and got my sweater out of the trunk and began putting everything in the back seat. I had not paid attention to the dark blue Grand Prix parked in front of me, so I was startled when I heard David ask, How are you Jessie?

I turned to him, bristling, Come to do some research?

I could see that stung. What can I say?

There is nothing to say.

I… he paused.

I think I deserved better than that.

You did, he looked very remorseful. I don’t know what got into my head; I was caught up in the moment. Couldn’t we go somewhere for coffee?

I don’t think so.

Jessie, please. I was hoping we could be friends or…

Or what, I looked at him incredulously. Good-bye, David.

Good-bye, Jessie.

I started my car and drove away. In a way I was almost glad I had encountered David. I felt cleansed. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day in his apartment. It felt good to respond strongly, I had been brooding about it until now. I smiled and decided to stop and see Stacy.

I parked behind the shop and went inside. Stacy was at the counter helping someone. I went in the workroom and waited for her to finish.

She came in back a few minutes later. "Guess who was at the library today—or should I say lurking about in the parking lot?

Who? she asked.

David.

She raised her eyebrows. No kidding. What did he want?

He said he was hoping we could be friends or…

Or what? she asked.

That’s what I asked. My best guess is that his young friend has moved on and now he is feeling sorry for himself. Actually, I’m glad he came by, it gave me a chance to truly finalize things.

She shook her head and looked at her watch. It was about six-forty. Twenty minutes to go.

Got anything going after work?

No, what do you have in mind?

I was thinking—wow. She gave me an odd look. I was looking past her, out to the front counter. Cathy was waiting on an incredibly good-looking man. I could see a tan shirt, open at the neck with a brown tweed sport coat that contrasted his very blonde hair. He looked up and I was embarrassed that he caught me staring. I looked back at Stacy. You should see the guy Cathy is waiting on. He’s gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. But—I’m sorry—want to go to Buddy’s when you’re done?"

Sure. I’ll pick you up a little after seven.

Cathy came into the workroom. Excuse me, Stacy. This gentleman wants to see Pat. Could you come out for a minute?

Sure.

I followed Stacy out front. I’ll see you in about half an hour.

Okay.

I walked past the counter and smiled into brilliantly blue eyes.

Stacy picked me up around seven-fifteen and it wasn’t until after we ordered dinner that she said, He asked who you were.

Who?

Eric Baxter, the gorgeous blonde.

What did you tell him?

I didn’t know how much I should tell him, so I told him your name and that you worked at the library. He’s a regular customer. He was buying a flower arrangement and made a point of telling me it was for his mother.

Interesting…I wonder if he’ll come to the library.

When Stacy dropped me off I assured her I would let her know if I heard from Eric Baxter.

Thursday was my evening to work. I was coming out of the workroom and he was standing by the computerized catalog. Hello, Jessica, my name is Eric Baxter. He extended his hand.

Hello, I said, breaking into a smile.

I hope you don’t mind that I asked for your name at the florist the other night. I thought it might be interesting to see what was in the mind behind that sweet smile.

My response was a smile.

He smiled, May I take you to dinner tomorrow?

Sure, let me give you my address and phone number. I quickly wrote it down on a note card and handed it to him.

I know the street; shall I pick you up at seven-thirty?

That would be fine. I’ll be looking forward to it.

He took my hand again. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jessie.

I was a little apprehensive Friday. Other than the fact that Eric was incredibly handsome, I really didn’t know anything about him. I had asked Aunt Pat if she remembered him. She said she did, she thought he seemed very pleasant and was devoted to his mother. He sent her flowers and plants regularly. That did little to calm my nerves.

I stood in front of my closet for the longest time, trying to decide what to wear. I had no idea where we were going. I finally chose a little black skirt and that new jade-colored sweater. I brushed my hair; as usual it went wherever it wanted. I looked at my reflection—the clothes looked all right, the skirt wasn’t too short and there were enough curves in all the right places. I smiled—that was better, took away that look of doubt. Some of the best looking men have the personalities of slobs, the type that generally has one thing in mind—make his conquest and move on. Use you while it’s convenient and forget about you. David had been like that. Very good-looking, smooth talking—I stopped myself from thinking about him. It still angered me. I took a couple of cleansing breaths to help me relax. The doorbell rang at seven thirty-five. Eric stood there; gray slacks with a black shirt. One hand was in his pocket; the other held a single white rose. Hi, Jessie.

It’s beautiful, I said.

His eyes held mine for a moment. I thought of you when I saw it.

He knew the right thing to say. Come in, I said. I took the rose from him. Make yourself at home while I take care of the flower.

When I came back to the living room he was looking at a picture of my mother and Aunt Pat that was taken a couple of years before my mother died. I’m sorry to be so nosy, but isn’t this Pat O’Brien?

Yes, this is her house; my mother was her twin sister.

Was?

Yes, she passed away about eight years ago.

I’m sorry.

I’ve lived with Aunt Pat since my father died.

I’ve done business with Pat often.

I know, I smiled. I inquired about you also.

He smiled back. Ready to go? I made reservations for eight o’clock.

Let me grab my coat.

His fingers lingered on my shoulders as he helped me with my coat. My eyes widened as he unlocked the door to the bright red Porsche 911 Turbo. I wondered what he did for a living. What a beautiful car, I exclaimed.

So—you like my little toy.

Very, very nice, I commented sliding in.

If you like, we could go for a drive after dinner.

Sure.

We had dinner at a very trendy restaurant. We received personal attention from the head waiter, who knew Eric by name and made recommendations from the menu. Dinner was excellent and we lingered over our coffee. He was involved in real estate. His father, a land developer, had gotten him started in the business early. He must have made some lucrative deals if his car, clothes and restaurant choice were indicators of normal spending habits. Not that I was hurting financially. I was satisfied with my salary at the library and my parents saw to it that I was well taken care of financially. The money from my father’s share of the business and the sale of the house gave me more than enough money to buy a home of my own and have a little cushion in the bank.

He talked a little about his mother, his expression softening. He was an only child also and it was apparent they were very close. I talked about how difficult it had been having my parents die within a couple of years of each other and how glad I was Aunt Pat had been there to help me through everything. There was still pain in those memories. I think he sensed that and changed the subject. We finished our dinner conversation talking about the library.

I was a little after ten when we left the restaurant. Eric thanked the waiter and left a generous tip. I turned to him as he opened the car door and said, The dinner was wonderful, Eric.

He leaned over and kissed me. Let me take you for a ride now, Jessie.

My heart was beating a little faster. Was that desire I saw in his eyes? The powerful car roared to life as he put it in first