CHAPTER TWELVE
The majority of Rosa’s commute along Pacific Coast Highway One, from Los Angeles to her and Alex’s beach house in Malibu, hugged the Coast. The blower inside her Land Rover forced cold air out at a gale, prickling goose-bumps along her arms, adding to the chill of driving alone. Turning off the air-conditioner, she lowered the driver’s side window. Her black hair whipped in all directions before a steady stream of balmy California summer air funneled it back. She freed strands of dark hair from the joint of her sunglasses and leaned into the sun.
Close proximity to the cliff’s edge made her feel like she glided on air. The rhythmic crash of the surf below and the odorous sea embraced her in a euphoria. Her smile praised the glory of God and of all the things He provided His children.
The past six years exposed her to the good life. She embraced the blessings. Her current purse, watch and sandals came from designers. However, humble roots nourished her personality more than the reach of her bank account. She continued to wear jade, topaz, and onyx. The idea of spending six, seven, or eight figures on a piece of jewelry bedecked with diamonds still bulged her eyes. Yet the world expected a certain decorum from the wife of Alex Cutler.
Especially when said wife occasionally hosted fundraisers attended by A-listers, politicians, and the affluent. These events unearthed her innate talent for smiles, coos, and the casual banter that opened checkbooks for noble causes.
Her goals extended beyond raising money. She aimed to instill a specific morality in her new peers. New money or not, she wed the infamous Alex Cutler. Her efforts sparked a benevolence race with pretentious wives and eager entrepreneurs that benefited thousands.
Slowing to turn into the driveway broke the controlled flow of her hair. Strands flicked into her slightly open mouth. The driveway slopped drastically down. The placement of their beautiful, stilted beach home kept it hidden from the roadway, but produced a marvel of architecture when viewed from the sea.
Seeing her mother’s and sister’s vehicles added happiness to the wonderful day. Aggregated with Alex’s refusal to join her made it bittersweet. She knew with all her soul he needed to spend more time with her; at the beach house; in the real world in general.
His increased time in the Lobby came as a byproduct of Roy Guillen’s diminishing health. For that reason, she never pressed the issue. Having a husband who spent the majority of his free time immersed in a supped-up video game hindered her ambition of starting a family.
On more nights than she cared to admit, she stalked past a room inside her own that housed what amounted to a living corpse.
Shortly after globalization, vacations in the Lobby offered two-week visitations. Alex once vowed to never utilize the full length. Shifting the SUV into park, she wondered if he remembered that? In the last year, it seemed to be the only length, he, Charles, and Roy every selected.
Roy would inhabit Heaven soon enough. As always, anticipation invaded her mind. Being eager for someone’s death, for her own selfish reasons, always led her to prayer. She muttered a request for forgiveness, killed the engine, and glanced at her four overflowing beach bags in the back seat. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to haul them into the house herself—wealth had its advantages.
Gathering her purse, she climbed out and stopped.
Her breath hitched.
The bright sun dimmed behind a cloud.
Glen Daniels exited the multi-million dollar cottage with his head down. Alex hired Glen a year ago. Average height, wiry, a minor bout of acne, and the only person whose presence made her queasy.
Why would he be here? On this weekend?
Alex knew her opinion of the sullen teen.
Trudging past her without a word of greeting, he opened the rear door of the Land Rover.
Glen’s father committed suicide a few months before his hire. Being that the man worked under Alex—meaning they exchanged words a few times a year—Alex somehow blamed himself for the self-inflicted affront to life, and hired Glen at an exorbitant salary.
She empathized with the young man. Particularly at the beginning when she’d attempted to counsel and guide and encourage. He replied to every attempt with dull eyes and single word, monotone replies. She believed the young man carried inner demons. She also felt asking Alex to keep him away, so she could be comfortable in her own house, marked a reasonable request.
Her sister’s boisterous laugh poured from an open window, thawing some of her anxiety.
“Glen,” she said. Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat.
Pausing his maneuvering of the luggage, he poked his head around the side of the vehicle.
“Did Alex ask you to come out here?”
“Victor.”
Speaking of uncomfortable things living in her house, she thought.
“Well, I appreciate your help, but when you’re finished with the luggage, you can head back. We’ll be fine.” She forced a smile as genuine as a blue rose. “It’s too nice out for someone your age to be cooped up with a bunch of old folks.”