by D. L. Wood
“Chloe! Hey Chloe!”
It was Reese’s daughter, Emma. Her…sister.
“Hey, it is ‘Chloe,’ right?” she asked. “Dad told me about you.”
Wish I could say the same, Chloe thought. “Yeah. That’s right,” she replied.
Emma wasn’t alone. Two teen boys flanked her sides. The one on her right was tall, red-haired, fair and freckled, dressed in jeans, a ball cap and dark sneakers. The one on her left, wearing khakis and a red button-down, was sepia skinned and a bit shorter and stockier.
“You’re not staying,” Emma said bluntly.
Chloe sniffed, trying to decide whether to be honest or not. She settled on the truth. “No. I think it’s better if I go.”
Emma scoffed. “It’s him, isn’t it? He chased you off already.”
“It’s complicated,” Chloe answered.
“Because he didn’t tell you about us.”
Chloe hesitated. This girl was smart. “That’s part of it.”
“Chloe!” sounded from behind her, as the barista placed a logo-emblazoned paper cup on the pick-up corner of the counter.
Chloe stepped back over to claim her drink. “Look, it’s just not the right time,” she said over her shoulder to Emma, then moved to the counter housing the sugars and cream. She ripped open a packet of cane sugar. “Maybe I’ll try again sometime. Just tell him I said goodbye, okay?” she said, smiling sadly at Emma before turning to head out the rear exit.
“I can tell you about him.”
Chloe stopped walking, but didn’t turn.
“You came all this way,” Emma prodded. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
* * * * *
The bomb had done its job well. They were still fighting the flames, with the whole street still watching. Though only twenty minutes had passed since the explosion, more than enough damage had been done. The better part of the third floor was scorched, black burn marks streaking the metal girders. The scaffolding near the blast point was destroyed, the pieces of its support frame shooting off at odd angles and its temporary wood plank flooring either irredeemably charred or completely missing. Partially melted orange construction netting that had been ripped to shreds flapped soundlessly in the wind above the throngs of onlookers.
Maybe now the message will get through, the bomber considered, as yet another fire truck pulled up. Maybe not, though, considering the spectacle Donner was making in front of everyone.
If not, that’ll leave only one option.
* * * * *
Chloe stared at Emma from across the table that they had commandeered in the front corner of the shop. It faced the street, giving them an up-close view of the chaotic scene outside.
Chloe blew on her latte. The swirls of rising steam told her it would be several minutes before she could sip it without scalding herself. “What exactly do you want to tell me about Reese?”
“What do you want to know?”
It was a loaded question. And her answer now wasn’t the same as it would have been a couple of hours ago. “I’m not sure you’re the person I should be asking,” Chloe replied, “and I’m not sure this is the place.” She smiled thinly, casting a quick glance at Emma’s friends.
“Don’t worry about them,” Emma insisted. “They know everything. This is Jacob,” she said, gesturing to the red-shirted one, “and this is Trip,” she said, gently elbowing the redhead in the arm.
“So you’re Emma’s sister?” asked Jacob tentatively.
“Half-sister,” corrected Trip.
“I guess so,” Chloe admitted.
“He,” Emma said disdainfully, jerking her head towards Reese in the crowd beyond the window, “didn’t even tell her about me. Or Tyler.” Reese was still in the thick of it, standing beside the man in baggy jeans wielding the picketing sign as he argued animatedly with Donner.
“You know,” Chloe started, nodding in Reese’s direction, “he was really worried when he got your call. Practically flew down here.” As the words left her lips, she was already asking herself, Why am I bothering to defend him? Why do I care?
“Whatever.”
Chloe sighed. Apparently, Reese’s relationship with his second daughter was just as screwed up as the one she had with him. Or didn’t have, rather. As she considered whether she ought to get up right then and go, she watched as the man with the picket sign raised it above the crowd and shook it, causing Donner to explode into another fit. Reese stepped in, apparently trying to talk Donner down. “It looks like Reese has his hands full with that picketer,” Chloe commented, as two police officers cleared some space between the arguing men, who continued yelling at each other.
“That’s Jacob’s dad,” Emma explained, her voice a bit softer. Jacob said nothing, but somehow suddenly seemed to take up a little less space.
“Emma’s dad is his lawyer,” Jacob explained vaguely.
An uncomfortable silence hovered over the group. “Well, I hope he’s okay,” Chloe said kindly. “He looks pretty upset.”
“He’s mad about that guy,” Emma pointed at Donner, “and the building that just blew up. Before he started building it, Jacob’s dad was trying to buy the site, but Donner ended up with it—”
“Stole it out from under Dad, you mean,” Jacob muttered.
“Yeah,” Emma conceded. “Stole it and built that building. Jacob’s dad hasn’t taken it well.”
“Whoa,” interrupted Trip, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look at the firefighters in the cherry picker hosing down the building. “Did you see that? The fire is kicking up again on the second floor!”
“Hey, hold on,” Emma said, whipping out her cell and handing it to Chloe. “Can you take our picture before they put it out?” she asked, leaning back and kicking her feet up on the table and putting her arms around the boys, who were on either side. Squeezing in against Emma, the guys leaned back and kicked up their feet like she had.
A wave of discomfort washed over Chloe. Something didn’t seem right about snapping a selfie in front of a dangerous fire endangering lives and causing what was probably millions in damages. But she didn’t feel she could refuse and keep things amicable. “Okay,” she said, raising the cell and counting, “One, two, three,” before snapping the photo.
“Thanks,” Emma said, reaching for the phone. “Lemme see it first.” She examined the shot, then, apparently dissatisfied, shook her head. “Nope. I don’t like that. Lean in more guys, and put your feet down. They’re blocking too much of me. One more time,” she asked, handing the phone back to Chloe as they all sat up, rocked forward and leaned over the table, trying out the different pose. Chloe groaned internally. If this was any indication, Emma appeared to be exactly the kind of selfie-obsessed teenager people believed all teenagers to be.
“Great, thanks,” Emma announced after scrutinizing the second photo, then tapping the screen a few times, ostensibly uploading it to her social media accounts.
Chloe changed gears. “So you guys were nearby when the explosion happened?”
They all nodded. “We were headed here, actually,” Trip offered. “We were almost to the door when this huge ‘boom’ went off.”
Chloe’s gaze drifted back to Reese, who was still talking with Jacob’s dad. They must have finished with the police officers, because they had managed to pull him away from the site, and now stood just outside the Starbucks. The dark-haired man, the one who had walked up with Donner, was there too. Chloe nodded in his direction. “Who’s that with Reese and Jacob’s dad?”
Emma glanced over, and a knowing smile erupted. “You mean Holt?”
“Oh, man,” Trip groaned. “Do not get her started.”
“Who’s Holt?” Chloe asked.
“Holt Adams. I think he looks like McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy. Best hiring decision Dad ever made.”
“He works for your dad?”
Emma nodded. “He’s an attorney in his office. He’s over a lot, meeting with Dad at the house. I don’t care
, though. Tyler loves him, and as long as he looks like that, it’s all good.”
“Ugh,” said Jacob, rolling his eyes. “Girl, I do not want to hear that.”
“You’re just jealous,” teased Emma.
Chloe zoned out for a second, watching the three men, when suddenly Holt’s eyes flashed up to meet hers. He cocked his head, as if intrigued by her attention. Chloe quickly turned back to Emma.
“So,” Chloe started, “you said you could tell me the truth about Reese. What truth?”
Part of her felt guilty for talking to Reese’s child behind his back and indulging the teen’s obvious desire to malign her father. But another part cared more about the information than the guilt. She was curious about what it was like to have Reese McConnaughey around as a father and wasn’t sure if or when she would get the chance to ask Emma again.
Emma snorted. “You saw us out there. It’s a nightmare,” she replied emphatically. “He’s a complete pain. Overbearing, doesn’t trust me. Not to mention he’s always busy with work. The only time he manages to carve out is when he wants to lecture me.”
“It could be worse,” Chloe said, fighting back shades of bitterness. At least Emma had grown up with a father. However flawed he might be. “He could be gone all the time.”
“If only. I wish it was him that had left instead of Mom.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you that she left?” Chloe’s blank expression gave her the answer. “Yeah,” Emma sniped. “I’m not surprised.”
So Reese’s wife—Andrea—the mother of Emma and Tyler, the woman Reese had left Chloe’s mother for, had left him. Yet another fact Reese had chosen to keep to himself. Had Andrea left him in the same abrupt manner in which Reese had left Chloe, Tate, and her mother? Or was it a slow parting, an increasingly wider separation until she just disappeared altogether? The irony of the contrast between Chloe and her half-sister wasn’t lost on her. Chloe had spent her whole life wishing Reese had not left. Emma had apparently spent much of hers wishing he would. But the similarities were also undeniable. They had both been abandoned by one parent, then lost the other: Chloe losing her mom to alcoholism and death and Emma apparently losing Reese to his work.
Emma watched Chloe as she processed. “You know, I can’t blame you for wanting to go. If I came all that way and met Dad I’d be disappointed too.” She shuffled in her seat, glancing off to the far side of the room before speaking again. “But you know…you haven’t met Tyler yet.” She paused for a breath. “You really shouldn’t leave without meeting him. He’s only eight and he’ll just die if he finds out he has a sister and didn’t get to meet her.”
Emma’s plea was for her brother, but something in her tone, the way she held herself, suggested that maybe something more was riding on Chloe’s answer. There was a hopeful expectancy shimmering somewhere behind her eyes as she waited, a hint that maybe she wanted Chloe to stay for herself, but didn’t trust her enough to expose her emotional jugular by asking.
When Chloe didn’t object, Emma seemed to sense weakness and pressed. “I’ve got school tomorrow, but I’m not scheduled to work after so I could show you around and everything. You don’t even have to see Dad if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said hesitantly. She could stay and meet the boy. Only, what if that made it harder? Wasn’t it less complicated to just leave now, before she got entangled in this second family drama that Reese had going on?
But something in Emma’s eyes pulled at her. It wasn’t a physical familiarity. The girl, with her sweeping black hair and vibrant blue eyes, bore no resemblance to Chloe and Tate. But something else, something in her gaze, something in her voice—a longing, maybe—that was something Chloe did recognize. An all-too-familiar flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you might not be completely alone in this world.
“Hey,” said Trip. “Something’s happening over there.” He was pointing in the direction of the site, where a number of police and firefighters had converged on an area towards the back of the lot. “What are they are looking at?”
A dull buzz spread amongst the patrons in the shop as the activity on the construction site grew a bit more frantic, culminating with a paramedic from a nearby ambulance rushing into the middle of the gathered emergency personnel. Emma and the boys stood, moving to stand against the glass for a better look, at the same time a teenaged boy stuck his head in the front door.
“Hey!” he shouted, his face ripe with macabre excitement. “They found a body! Somebody’s dead over there!”
SIX
Chloe crawled between the crisp, white sheets and the fluffy toile duvet, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. “I swear, Jack, she doesn’t want me to go. It’s the weirdest thing. It’s like she wants me around so she can complain to someone who understands how awful he is.” To Chloe’s left, a fire flickered merrily in the white brick fireplace of the little second-floor room of the Victorian bed and breakfast just a block off Franklin’s town square. Its quaint guest rooms were like something out of a magazine, which they would be after Chloe’s article on the town.
“Sounds like a typical teen daughter. Maybe she figures she’s found an ally in you.”
“Maybe.” As she answered, Chloe squirreled further into the bed, nearly getting lost in the down pillows.
“I still can’t believe you’ve got siblings you never knew about.”
“I really don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, I’ve got this instant family—well, at least in name—and after Tate died, I figured that I was pretty much alone in the world as far as family went. So maybe it’s nice to realize I’m actually not. But on the other hand, accepting them feels like I’m betraying Tate. He was my family. For my whole life. Now I’m supposed to just accept these strangers that my father considered more worthy of his devotion than me and Tate? I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’re doing the right thing by staying. Just take it one day at a time.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she conceded, rolling over towards the fire. “So how are you?”
“The shoot went well. I had to teach a mega-star who shall remain nameless how to run while holding a rifle. He kept doing this limping thing—at first I thought he thought it looked cool or something, then I realized he was just copying me.” Jack laughed, but with a little too much effort behind it.
“It’s bothering you that much?”
“It’s just a joke, Chloe. My leg’s fine. It’s good that I can joke about it, right?”
“Of course it is. Sorry.” He was definitely becoming touchy about the subject. She made a mental note to give the leg thing a rest for a while.
“So tell me about the body,” he probed, changing topics.
“Ugh. I really could have gone my whole life without talking about dead bodies again,” Chloe sighed. “I didn’t really get the scoop on it. The kids wanted to stay and watch, so I took Uber back to get my car. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow.” She twisted to see the clock on the nightstand. “Speaking of tomorrow, I’d better go. It’s after midnight here and I’m supposed to be at Reese’s in the morning to work things out.”
“It’ll be fine, Chlo. God’s got a plan in all this.”
“Yeah, I know. I just wish he would’ve let me in on this part of it before now.”
* * * * *
Jack slid his cell into his pocket, then sipped the last of his drink, easing back into the modern leather chair in the corner of the posh hotel bar where the movie studio had put him up in Los Angeles. A long, glossy black bar ran the length of the opposite side of the room. Tall mirrors paneled the walls, kept dark by the low level of light in the room. Even so, he was close enough to his reflection to see that he was looking pretty run-down. His normally bright green eyes were dull and his shoulders seemed to sag. He wondered whether, if he stood, he would be shorter than his standard six feet two. Even his chestnut hair, which usually spiked at the crown, was lying flat.
The noise in the room
had grown to a dull roar over the last few minutes, with things getting going now that the night crowd had started trickling in. They were just firing up, and here he was, ready to call it a night. Every inch of him wanted sleep. Even his bones were weary. Whatever he had told Chloe, his leg was killing him and he was tired of thinking about it. He glared at it, frustration gnawing at him. The stupid thing still ached as if he had been shot yesterday instead of seven months ago.
Not to mention that, on top of just generally wanting a break from the pain, he had a five a.m. call time in the morning. Bed was where he ought to be. But it would have to wait a little longer.
The heavy feeling he had been suppressing during his conversation with Chloe surged. I wonder if she could tell I was keeping something from her, he thought, swirling his crystal tumbler round and round, the lone ice cube tinkling against the sides. Hoping not, he pushed the guilt down, and with the rhythmic thump of bass from the music of a younger crowd pounding away, he waited for her to arrive.
SEVEN
Crisp autumn light streamed through the sheers covering the floor-to-ceiling windows of Chloe’s robin’s egg-colored bedroom. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the gentle scent of lavender on the linens. She had slept a full seven hours without waking once. Chloe stretched, surprised. Given the events of the night before, she expected to have trouble falling asleep. But apparently her exhaustion had overcome the shock of everything.
She had told Emma to tell Reese she would come by around nine, which gave her plenty of time to take the morning slowly. After a quick shower in the pristine black and white-tiled bathroom, she headed down the spindled wooden staircase in search of coffee.
The room to the left of the foyer had high ceilings, wooden plank floors and two tables extravagantly laid with linens in preparation for breakfast, which she had been told would be served at eight o’clock. Crossing to the room on the right side of the foyer, she found a cozy, crimson-painted sitting room with a floral couch facing out a window that overlooked the side yard’s small English garden. A Keurig coffee maker sat on the sideboard, stocked with a variety of coffees, sweeteners, and creamers.