Unexpected Adventures

Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2018 Laura M. Baird

ISBN: 978-1-77339-704-7

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my baby sister, once the wild child of the family, now caring for a family of her own—and doing beautifully. Thank you for all your encouragement, love, and support, and for reading my stories and giving me feedback. I love you so much!

UNEXPECTED ADVENTURES

New Adventures, 1

Laura M. Baird

Copyright © 2018

Chapter One

What’s this party all about? And why am I just now hearing about it?

Because I knew you’d protest, Abby. And guess what? You are!

I’m not really protesting, Denise. I just thought we were going to have some quality sister-time. You know, you and me … just the two of us?

My baby sister reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze. Just sit back and relax, and I’ll tell you all about it. It’s going to be a blast!

Uh, huh, I half-heartedly grumble.

I am a twenty-eight-year-old introvert, who’s constantly being nudged to try new things and break out of my shell. Well, this shell has protected me just fine so far, and I’m perfectly happy with my life. That’s not to say I don’t have my share of fun––I just prefer that it not be in the company of dozens of people.

Being the oldest of four siblings, I guess I’ve always had this inherent trait to be the responsible one and make sure everyone toed the line. Especially me. Lead by example, and all that. And even though I’ve been out on my own for a while, I still feel that pull. I’m a meticulous planner who likes control, order, and routine. Denise, on the other hand, being the baby, was always somewhat of a wild child who threw caution to the wind. She could practically get away with murder. Okay, maybe not murder, but darn close.

Between us are the twins, Beckham and Claire. After a stint in local theater—where they did quite well, I might add—they left for the bright lights of Broadway in New York City. A few successful productions unfortunately didn’t outshine the many disastrous choices over the years, and no matter how much positive mojo I tried to send their way, their situation didn’t seem to be improving. But that’s another story for another time.

So, here I am visiting Denise down in Mountain View, California, to celebrate her promotion at Google. Yes, she works at Google, of all places. Promoted at twenty-four, she has surprised us all with her maturity and drive. Being a brainiac and a real go-getter has brought her great accomplishments, so kudos to her.

After arriving at Denise’s condo, thinking the celebration was going to be just the two of us chilling with some drinks, she quickly proceeded to redress me and shove me out the door. It wasn’t until we were in the car––after cleverly saying she’d drive, as she knew the way––did she then explain about the party. And apparently a tank top, yoga pants, and my well-worn Asics weren’t appropriate apparel for this shindig. It being August, I wanted to dress for cool comfort on my drive. Now I’m wearing my capris, one of her peasant blouses, and a pair of her sandals.

So, my co-worker, Sherri, decides just today to throw a party, Denise starts. And she’s got a killer home in the Los Altos Hills. She’s been with Google for five years and does marketing. She’s got a great husband, Jeff, who’s a pilot. No kids, but the most adorable dogs. She does a lot of her work from home so she can devote time to them. Every once in a while, she’ll bring them into the office when she has to make a quick trip. Distracts us to no end. Jim doesn’t mind, though… Jim, he’s the boss of our division.

I marvel at how Denise can rattle on and on, not missing a beat while negotiating through the traffic. I live in San Francisco, a very busy place for sure, but normally I walk or take public transportation. Navigating it myself is an entirely different animal. I’m certainly glad she’s driving through the twists and turns of these hills and neighborhoods. Although I should be paying better attention, because I know I’ll end up becoming Designated Driver, it’s impossible to keep track of it all. Thank goodness for the map app on my smartphone. Which, wouldn’t you know it, is powered by Google.

We’re celebrating not only my promotion, but a few other people’s as well, Denise continues. "And when she announces a party, no one wants to miss it. Tons of great people will be there. Sherri’s the most gracious woman. I promise you’ll have a great time."

I should’ve known better than to think my visit would be low-key.

Uh, huh, I repeat. If not, I’ll run off to play with the dogs.

"Abbs," Denise whines.

Kidding. Well, maybe not. I often do much better with animals than with most people. Anyway, tell me about your promotion. What is it you’re doing now?

"I’m Jim’s assistant, actually. He’s head of marketing and online sales. Sherri has been grooming me for this job under Jim. I mean as Jim’s assistant, she quickly adds with nervous laughter. He’s a great guy! You’ll meet him tonight."

Are you okay? You seem nervous. Does your boss make you nervous? Is this Jim a demanding ogre of a boss?

Oh no! He’s great. Really, really great!

Alrighty then. I continue to watch her driving, trying to keep my bearings in this unfamiliar territory. So, you really like what you’re doing? You’re happy, Denise?

She smiles at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road. I’m happy, Abbs. I’ve found my direction and it is full-steam ahead.

Good for you.

"And what about you? Are you happy? Doing anything new lately?"

I took a second job as a dog walker.

Whoa, sis. You’d better slow down. Are you sure you can handle all that excitement?

I look to her as she grins, causing me to laugh. Smart ass.

Denise teases me mercilessly about my reluctance for putting myself out there. Like I said, order and routine. And while I never had the academic drive she did, I drifted through community college and did a decent job with my studies. During my quest to find my purpose, I came across an advertisement for becoming a Visiting Angel. No, I’m not a Heavenly being sent to Earth to complete a mission of epic proportions… or am I?

Ha-ha. As if. Hardly. I provide living assistance to seniors in their homes.

One of my favorite clients for the past year, Sylvia Montgomery, comes to mind: Spirited, honest, caring. She’ll tell you how it is. Yes, sir, she’s one tough lady who is set in her ways. And who wouldn’t be, after seventy-six years of living? Three husbands. Seven children. Countless grandchildren. Sylvia lives in the Nob Hill neighborhood in the northeast corner of San Francisco. She’s currently widowed. Again. Lately, she too has been hounding me in her loving way to branch out in life, seek new activities, and explore the world.

As if living in San Fran wasn’t exciting enough.

Yes, but all you do is tend to us old folks. Sylvia’s words from our earlier conversation, prior to me leaving for the weekend, come to mind. Life was meant to be lived, not to mundanely trudge through day after day. Maybe some of Denise’s spirit will rub off on you.

As if my mom and dad need another wild child to worry about! I joked with her.

Oh, now, Abby, you know Denise has done well for herself. You said so yourself. And I know you’re very proud of her. But it wouldn’t hurt to take a page out of her life and live it up a little. Go for what you want!

"Who said I’m not doing exactly what I want? I happen to like this job."

"Yes, because it’s so thrilling, she said in her amusingly, snarky way. Cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, and running errands for those of us who can’t. I don’t know how you contain yourself. She sipped her tea and nibbled on the strudel I brought from her favorite bakery. And now you’re walking other people’s dogs? Has society gotten so lazy that one needs to hire a person to walk their pet?" She’d harrumphed.

I’d tried to stifle a giggle, which earned me a bit of a glare.

Sylvia is ever the refined lady who is never seen in anything less than slacks and a blouse, with make-up done, and jewelry on. Even if it’s only to sit in her condo. Her once-raven hair has succumbed to Father Time and is a brilliant white with no strand out of place.

Warm brown eyes still filled with intelligence and spark continued to assess me.

You were made for so much more.

And how do you know, Sylvia?

Because I just know, she’d said, exasperated. Now, Abigail Josephine Carter, what are your dreams?

Uh oh, use of my full name. I thought only mothers did that?

Dreams? As in more than one? Why do you make me think so much? Goodness, I need a Diet Dr. Pepper. And why are you trying to get rid of me? I thought you liked me? I teased.

I adore you, dear child. I’m just trying to get you to realize there’s a better calling for you in life.

As I snagged my soda and took a healthy drink, Sylvia continued on about adventure and risk-taking. I only half-listened, as she sometimes had a tendency to go on and on.

She usually means well. For the past month, she’d been talking nonstop about the subject. And truth be told, it had got me thinking about a few things…

Abbs? Denise’s voice draws me back to the present, and her question of me doing anything new.

You haven’t been talking to Sylvia, have you? Denise knows all about Sylvia and her intent on me finding my purpose in life beyond being a caregiver and a dog walker. No! Denise chuckles. Why? She still hounding you about your life?

Every day, in her loving way. I chuckle as well. Just today, our talk consisted of me finding my Prince Charming, taking up skydiving, and getting a tattoo.

"All in that order? You wouldn’t want to find your Prince Charming only to go splat as a result of a skydiving misadventure."

I know, right? I told her I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself, that I had no desire to skydive, and that she just wants to see me tortured with needles. Or, something like that.

You two must have quite the conversations.

You have no idea, I say as I roll my eyes. Worse than Mom.

Ah, but you love her just as much.

I sigh as I realize the truth in that statement. I adore all of my clients, but Sylvia holds a special place in my heart. She’s something else, all right.

Well, I can point you in the direction of a great tattoo artist if you’re feeling brave. Just think what Sylvia would do if you came back sporting some ink.

I’m sure she’d be thrilled. Me, maybe not so much.

Oh, I don’t know. They’re pretty addictive.

And Denise should know, seeing as she has four of them and already has plans for her fifth.

After making a sharp turn up a hill, Denise suddenly slams on the brakes, sending me forward into the dash. "What the eff? You don’t stop on a blind corner!" she yells, glaring at the car in front of us.

I wince at her shrill voice, my arms already aching from bracing myself. Pretty sure he heard that. How could he not? I, on the other hand, am now deaf in my left ear.

Sorry, Denise said, still looking out the windshield. She lays on the horn. What a doofus! We’re not that far from Sherri’s.

Jeez, calm down. Maybe he’s having a problem. Let me go see what’s up.

I start to open my door when she grabs my arm, startling me. No! He could be some deranged person, luring unsuspecting women into a trap!

"Uh, huh. Watch Dangerous Minds much? How she could stand to watch shows like that is beyond me. It’s no wonder you’re paranoid. I grab my phone out of my bag, reaching for the door handle again. I’ll be fine. It’s broad daylight. I’ll approach the passenger side and see what’s up. Maybe he needs directions. Or his car is having problems."

Well, let him call for help himself. I’m sure he has a phone. Everyone has a phone!

Denise, relax. If you hear gunfire, put it in reverse and get the flock outta here.

"Very funny, Abby. Not! Let me just drive around him. We can call for someone when we get to Sherri’s. Her house is the next one up at the end of the cul-de-sac."

Well then, maybe he’s a guest. Call Sherri and see if she’s expecting anyone driving a maroon Honda Civic. I’ll wait, if it makes you feel better.

Fine, she huffs. She puts the car in park, then fishes her phone out of her bag. As Denise is waiting for Sherri to answer, I see the driver open his door and reveal himself. Now I’m starting to get all paranoid thanks to my sis. What are you doing? I whisper, knowing full-well he’s going to make his way over to us.

Uh, Abby, he’s coming for us! What do we do? Sherri? She realizes she’s connected. There’s a guy coming at us! Oh my God!

Calm down, I say without any effect. Denise is getting hysterical, blabbering on the phone while the guy’s walking to my side of the car. Why my side? I mumble. Don’t you always go to the side opposite of traffic?

"You were going to go to the passenger side!"

Yeah, well you can’t be too careful, I say to her. He doesn’t look menacing, I now say to myself. No, he doesn’t look menacing at all. In fact, he looks down-right relaxed as I track his casual movement. He’s wearing flip-flops, board shorts, a tank top, and mirrored glasses. Sandy hair blows across his forehead and pearly whites shine from between his luscious lips as they part in a smile.

Why am I thinking his lips are luscious? What is wrong with me? He could very well be a deranged lunatic in disguise.

Somehow, I doubt it with a look like that. A player? Possibly. A lunatic? Nah. One look at those tan, muscular arms and those perfect legs, and I’m convinced. What does he do to stay in shape, I wonder?

I’m barely able to make out what Denise is saying to Sherri when the stranger leans over and raps on my window. I open it just