Not a Flower - A Novel

Chapter 1

Duval and Elizabeth had been only married for a few short years when suddenly she fell ill. Soon after she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. The following year had been spent fighting a helpless battle against her sickness.

Grace had nearly lost her mind during that time. After Elizabeth's death, she had to cut all ties with Duval. Carrying the double burden of horrible grief compounded by a deep guilt for still being in love with Duval had taken a harsh toll on her. She couldn't do it anymore and so she had left.

Sure, maybe there were still some unresolved issues. But she wasn't about to admit that to him. Especially not right now.

"Grace, I...." He gave a harsh exclamation. "Damn it. I can't forgive myself. Why should you?"

She stared blindly at her kitchen wall. "Please, I don't want to talk about it."

"You were my best friend, Grace. My family." He said roughly. "I've missed you."

"I--" She shut her mouth, unable to say the words back to him. Not because she didn't miss him, but because she did missed him.

"Grace..." He sighed deeply then said softly. "We do need to talk. Do you still live at the same house? I'll come over."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sorry, I have to go to work Duval. Goodbye." She gently pressed the dial tone and hung up.

For a moment she just stared at her phone, unable to believe that she had just hung up on Duval, almost expecting it to ring again immediately. After about thirty seconds, she walked over and pulled the cord. She didn't want to talk to Duval anymore.

* * *

Grace woke up the next day with a pounding headache. Squinting at her alarm clock she groaned when she saw that it was only six in the morning. Pulling a robe from the back of her chair, she put it on over the thin tee-shirt and cotton shorts that she had worn to bed. Quietly she padded over to her kitchen to start some water boiling for tea. Her eyes felt sore and her throat was dry.

Passing by the large windows in her living room, Grace caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. Slowing down, she came to a stop at the other window. Cautiously pulling a corner of the curtain aside, she peered out. Her eyes widened and she gasped.

Parked in her driveway was a shiny jet black Lamborghini, a vehicle that she had only seen on television before. It had dark tinted windows that reflected the pale dawn sky like a mirror. Letting the curtain slide back into place, Grace debated what she should do. Should she call the police? What if it was just one of her neighbors? She tried to remember if she had ever seen any of her neighbors driving a Lamborghini. Not likely. Her neighborhood was filled with mostly young middle-class families who drove moderately priced mini-vans, not an expensive luxury vehicle in the six figures.

Somebody knocked on the door. Grace didn't know what to do. While she stood there frozen with indecision, her phone began ringing. Without taking her eyes off the door, she grabbed the phone from the kitchen.

"Hello?" Grace answered cautiously.

"Will you open the door?" It was Duval, his voice sounding as if it was still slightly husky from sleep.

"Open the door?" She asked in confusion. "Are you here?"

"I've been in your driveway for most of the night."

Grace's jaw almost dropped. He had spent the night on her driveway? The Lamborghini must be his car.

"Why are you here?" She asked warily.

Instead of answering, she heard more knocking. Taking a deep breath, she hung up the phone. Mentally preparing herself, she jerkily walked to the door and opened it.