by Nicole Snow
When we reach the oranges, Lizzie's eyes bug out. She flies from my grip, running forward. I rush after her, following to where she stops and points at the huge, ripe fruits swaying overhead. “There, there!”
I can't remember the last day like this.
It's peaceful, marvelous, and perfect.
I reach up, retrieving two plump oranges. One for the little girl, and for myself. Carefully opening the peel with the carving knife I left in my pocket from the studio, I hand Lizzie hers. Thumbing back the skin on mine, I lean low, inhaling its delicious promise.
I'm just about to take a bite when there's a loud rap on the gate next to us. Lizzie looks up, startled, orange juice dripping down her chin. I think it's an animal, at first, but no beast stands an even five feet at the gate, just a few inches shorter than me.
It's a woman. She's dressed in more white than I've ever seen outside a high end fashion show. It completely covers her; one long, layered dress complete with a wide ivory hat, broken only by a tuft of hair near her shoulders and the black pools of her sunglasses, obscuring her eyes.
“Who the scary lady?” Lizzie chirps, giving an anxious voice to the same question in my head.
What. The. Hell? Or who?
I'm on edge. It's probably nothing. Just a wandering neighbor from the other big houses in the hills, where money makes people eccentric. Or maybe some poor soul whose car broke down in the desert. Still, it takes me several seconds to move my knees, surrounding the little girl's hand in a tighter grip.
“Easy, peanut. Let me do the talking, please,” I whisper, hopefully out of earshot while we approach the intruder.
“Can I help you?” I ask, not liking how it's so hard to see her face.
“Important business call with Mr. Carlisle, actually. Forgive the interruption – no one answered when I rang the doorbell. I saw the car in the driveway and thought I'd take a quick walk to see if there's anyone home.”
Why does this voice sound so familiar? I can't place it. I'm officially weirded out, but she seems harmless. Lizzie stirs at my side, clinging close to me, careful to remain well inside the palm tree's shade above.
Maybe it's truly business. I'm well aware the jewelry industry attracts some weirdos. She's well attired, at least, and not too twitchy.
“Miss, please,” the woman says, fanning herself. The Coach purse at her side swings loosely on her shoulder. “It's Hades hot out here...and it's been a long walk.”
“Of course,” I say, deciding there's no clear threat. Just my mind playing tricks. “I'll meet you at the main gate in about five minutes. Give me a second to get her inside.”
Nodding, the woman smiles, looking past me to the little girl. I grab Lizzie's hand again and lead her back through the gardens and into the house, her little hand sticky from the orange. I bring her to the family room and grab a bowl. Then I finish peeling her snack, and tell her to stay put on the sofa for a couple minutes while I meet the nice lady.
Please, God, don't let the nice part be wishful thinking. If it is, I won't let my trust get Lizzie in trouble, too. I tell myself I'm being paranoid. Surely, it's just business, like she says. Or else some annoying missionary from one of the weird, but harmless new age cults who sometimes cross over from California, trawling Phoenix's money for converts and big donations.
I wait by the door to the guard shack for several minutes. I see a white sedan with gold trim parked down the road, probably the woman's car, a basic luxury model well equipped for the heat.
It's unstaffed, like it usually is during the day. Knox says he's fine with just a night crew for security, considering the rugged terrain between here and the rest of Phoenix.
That's why it takes her awhile to reach the main gate. I'm already hitting the switch to open it when I see her. We take the shaded pathway up to the house, where I stop her outside the door, motioning to the shaded white bench on the porch.
“So, what's up? Is there a message you'd like to leave for Knox or...?”
The woman crosses her arms and frowns, refusing to sit next to me. “Not a message, per se.”
What do you really want, lady? It's my turn to shoot her a sour look, waiting for her to get on with it.
She paces like a bird in front of me, releasing a slow, pent up sigh. “Incredible. You really don't recognize me, do you?”
I watch as she reaches up, taking off her oversized sunglasses, and then the wide-brimmed hat. There's a purple skunk stripe in her shiny black locks.
It takes a moment for my brain to catch up to what I'm seeing. Then nausea floods my system like poison and my knees start shaking. Panic time.
“Nah, I suppose you don't. We met like once at the bar, or maybe a mutual friend's house. Damn, I really wish Knox were here for this. Oh, well.” The grin on her face gets wider, more vicious. I'm about to vomit even before I hear the death sentence from her lips. “My name's Sam Wright. I'm here to bring my daughter home.”
This is that part in a movie where time slows to a crawl, the reel goes screwy, and I hit my knees, fading to black from the shock. The first three happen in quick succession, but nothing could make me pass out when the next part of the disaster begins.
It starts with a tiny little voice whispering excitedly through the screen. “Mommy, I'm scared!”
“There you are, precious.” Sam may be dressed in white, but she moves like a raven. I watch her swoop in, numb to my own senses, fighting to struggle to my feet while the invader bitch grabs the door. “Come to mama!”
“No! No, no, no, no, no...” My vision goes red. My throat splits in two. My tongue is a dagger, desperate for blood.
I catch myself on the brink. Jesus. I can't scare Lizzie when the last thread in my brain finally snaps.
Rushing forward, I stop just short of tackling the psycho bitch. If she didn't have her dirty hands on my little girl already, on the priceless little person Knox trusted me with, I'd do terrible things.
But Lizzie is in her arms, confusion and sadness exploding across her tiny face.
“Let her go, leave, and I won't have to call the police,” I say, making her the only offer she'll get.
“You're a feisty one, aren't you? My, I see some things haven't changed with Knox's taste in women –“
“We're nothing alike,” I growl. I put my soul into those words.
“Yeah, whatever. If you say so, bitch.” Sam goes back to ignoring me, bouncing the increasingly nervous looking little girl in her arms. “Listen, before you do anything stupid, do us both a favor: reach into my purse. Should be unzipped. There's a nice folded paper there that should clear this up, assuming you don't want me to do the tattling down at the Phoenix P.D.”
I don't know what she's talking about. My fingers plunge into her purse. I don't have to sift around to find the paper. It unfurls neatly in my fingers.
My eyes skim the words. Each phrase sticking in my brain is lethal.
Arizona district court. By order of Judge Nancy H. Willingston...
Full custody of Elizabeth Jayne Carlisle be turned over...
The rightful mother and guardian, Samantha Victoria Wright...
Until such time as proper visitation rights are determined in a court of law...
Fuck time. It's broken, shattered beyond repair, and it's completely run out for me.
My knees hit the ground so hard it chatters my teeth before I see the evil witch turn her back, and start down the path toward the gate. My foot twists unevenly under me, banging something hard. Glass shards scrape concrete.
So much for being durable. I've chipped my left slipper. The next time I beat my foot into the pavement, I feel the force of glass breaking, coming to pieces like an eggshell wrapped around my toes. Safety glass shouldn't cut, but they do. The abrasions skip my skin completely and go to my heart, tearing me apart from the inside-out.
Before I hear Lizzie cry, I'm sobbing helplessly, sorrow and rage blistering my cheeks because I know if I make a single move, it'll probably be the w
rong one, and we'll lose her forever.
Before I hear the white car's engine and see it flash by as it descends the mountain, I try to contemplate how I'll even explain what just happened to Knox.
I can't.
There are no words.
I'm numb. Scared. Alone.
How is it even possible to have everything I thought I'd won ripped away from me in a matter of minutes?
Of course, he's not answering his phone. I only send twenty desperate texts and leave five crying voicemails before I breakdown and get a hold of his lawyer.
I tell Charlie what happened. He's no nonsense, all brass tacks. I try to give him details, a physical description, read the words on that awful fucking page, but I can't.
Words won't come.
I'm too blinded by tears to see them clearly. My voice is certainly too broken to repeat them. I tell him, for the love of God, to make sure he reaches Knox. I need him home.
It's an agonizing wait. The better part of an hour before his truck roars into the spacious garage, a loud bang sounding before he kills the engine. He's probably in such a rush to find out how wrecked our lives are that he isn't driving safely.
I'm more scared than ever. If this is bad enough to break his ten year combat discipline, what the hell will it do to me?
Worse, it's barely begun.
“Goddamn. Fuck. Kendra?!” His entrance tells me I'm not alone in my inability to form complete sentences. It's a small comfort when he steps forward, swoops me against his shoulder, and crushes the air out of my lungs in the sternest embrace ever. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”
I nod, shaking my head against his chest. His grip eases once he's satisfied I'm telling the truth.
“We'll find our way out of this, Sunflower. Don't worry. Need you to sit and tell me everything.”
I nod, more functional than I've been for the past hour with his love. I just might survive the interrogation next.
We sit near his unlit fireplace, a frigid glass of water trembling in my hand, while I very calmly try going over the facts.
Yes, she showed up out of nowhere.
Yes, she put her dirty hands on our little girl, took her through the gate, and strapped her into the booster seat she had waiting in that car.
No – Jesus, no – I couldn't do anything.
I couldn't and I wanted to. I'd have given my life to stop that woman, if only she didn't have the key to paralysis.
Knox snatches the court order from my hands and reads at least three times, until he's satisfied it's authentic.
“After all this time,” he says, shaking his head, running stiff fingers over his face. “I can't believe I didn't see it. The countless detectives, long nights searching, weekends lost in LA combing through homeless shelters...all for fucking nothing. She wasn't dead. She's been out there this whole time, waiting to screw me over and take Lizzie.”
“We don't know that,” I say, leaning forward, grasping his hand. I rub his thick, calloused palms, trying to be comforting. “She could've shown up on a whim. Maybe Wright knew where she was the entire time. Could've had her stuffed away in some clinic. Maybe he had her fixed and cleaned up just in time to get to us the only way he could. Maybe –“
“Stop. What's the point? All the what-ifs in the world aren't bringing her back. The time for asking how ended the second she stepped on this property and got what she wanted. Nothing left to do but stop her. I need to talk to Charlie.”
That bitter lump is in my throat again. Slowly, I nod, clinging to his hand. I don't want to let go. I'm terrified where we'll fall if I do. “Do you want me with?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, quiet and introspective. Then his eyes flick to mine, bright as crystal sky. “You know I do, darling. You're part of this family. Always will be, no matter what.”
He drags my hand to his lips. The kiss he plants on my skin dashes the darkness inside me, if only for a few scarce seconds. “Let me grab my purse.”
On our way out, he pauses for a second near the door, kicking the shattered pile of my slipper gently with his toe. “Shit. You mean you lost –“
“It's not important,” I say, hiding my tears. “I can always make more shoes. I can't sculpt another Lizzie.” He nods, and we're off.
It's a long, congested drive downtown. We ride on in silence, listening to soft rock piping through his speakers for comfort. I don't know why this feels so heavy, so dangerous, like a boulder hanging overhead, ready to crush us.
Lizzie's absence is suffocating. I try not to cry, to be strong for him, but the small, caring looks he gives me when we're stopped at each intersection leaves tiny cuts on my heart.
I can only take so many before I snap.
But as bad as this is, it's no time for panic.
I take deep breaths, wiping my tears, losing more than I'd like when Knox grabs my hand and whispers. “This'll be over soon. I never let the things that really matter get away. Never.”
I know what time it really is. It's the moment I realize how spectacular love is when hearts pace to tragedy. Every beat, every second, every glance more alive and scary and beautiful than every day of life before it.
More real than the evil anyone could ever do.
Whatever happens next, I promise I won't break. I'll be strong for him, for myself, for the family I'm not letting go. Damn it, we will bring her home.
12
Diamond Cut (Knox)
“Da-da, it hurts!” Lizzie squirms, tears in her little eyes as I blot her scrapped knee with antiseptic, before I rip the bandage from its wrapper. “Why, da, why?”
“Life, peewee. Mistakes happen, and sometimes they hurt. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't see the rock that was there when you tripped. Daddy should have held on tighter. You wouldn't have taken such a tumble.”
It fucks me up inside to see her in any pain. Sure, it's normal kid stuff, but every time she looks at me, I see the hundreds of kids I've encountered over the years who weren't so lucky to get away with a boo-boo and a Band-Aid.
That Afghan boy clutching his ma's leg, watching us patrol his village with huge, scared eyes. The market where his old man just got torched by a terrorist fuckwit's bomb still on fire.
The little girl on crutches in that town I couldn't pronounce next to prime mining country. Her father, the warlord my crew had to negotiate with for shipping access, insisted she'd broken both legs in a terrible landslide last rainy season.
But I heard how he slapped around her older brother later that night, how he pressed him to the wall, and might not have stopped if I hadn't shown up when I did. He was in a drug-fueled rage, the shit in the syringes on the dirty bed all he cared to buy with his loot, besides the guns. He never saw me coming when I grabbed him around the neck, pushed the needle in his chest, and emptied its contents directly into his heart.
The kid never said a word when he saw his body. Neither did the girl. Their eyes before we left were all the thanks I needed.
Wright chewed me out when I got back home for letting a 'top notch supplier' die, when I could've sent a medic for his 'overdose.'
I told him to get fucked.
“Da-da, it hurts!” Lizzie whines again, whimpering when I wrap the bandage tight around her knee, giving it a butterfly pat with my fingers.
“Know it does, sweetheart, but you're okay. The knee will heal. We'll both look closer next time we're at the park, and make sure this never happens again.”
“But...but da...you can't see. Can't always look. Not always ever.” Her little brow ripples confusion.
Technically, she's right. Bless her little soul.
I can't keep my eyes on her twenty-four hours a day. Hell, I'm lucky to have twelve hours outside work.
I won't be able to stop the next dozen mistakes her toddler legs bring her to. Not when she's with other kids, or when she's older and heading off to school. Not when she becomes a young woman and starts hanging out with the boys who come sniffing around her.
But damn it, I'll try. I'll try like every dad who ever found that brute, unconditional love like a blow to the gut the first time he held his infant daughter, and he locked eyes with his proudest creation.
She is my soul, my flesh, my life.
I will protect her. I will teach her right from wrong. I will suffer the blame when her face bleeds tears, whether it's over a spilled juice box, or finding out her mother was a screwed up junkie when she's fifteen years older, and we sit down for the inevitable talk.
“Lizzie, love, there are times when I can't always be around, when one of us slips up and somebody gets hurts one way or another,” I say, pausing to kiss her forehead. “But I want you to know...whatever happens, you've got daddy's love. Long as you're with me, you'll never hurt long. Love always heals. I'll always do my best to keep you smiling.”
“Ever, da-ddy?” She smiles, knowing the answer before it's out of my lips. “Ever?”
“Forever, baby girl. No real harm will ever come long as I'm around. Nobody's taking you away.”
How the fuck was it six months ago?
My legs are numb when I park the truck and we step onto the asphalt outside the high rise with Charlie's firm. Everything concrete is still steaming from sunset.
It's surreal.
One minute, it's just a normal day. I'm looking forward to coming home to my family, hashing out how we'll break the wedding plans over the next week to both sides.
Then I'm on the darkest, coldest ride of my life, gripping the wheel so tight my fingers hurt. It's all I can do not to explode as I flashback to six months ago, when Lizzie slid on gravel in that park, and I swore my love for the thousandth time since she was born.
I'd always be there with love, presence, and strength, I said. Everything a man musters to shield his sweetest innocent from the world.
Except this time, I wasn't. I couldn't be. The bitch showed up without me anywhere, and I wonder if it's for the best because it bought us some time.