by Meli Raine
I pull back and look at her. Same Mom. Same ash-blonde hair ruffled by the breeze, same blue eyes crinkling as she smiles. As Harry puts his arm around her shoulders, he gives me a look I recognize.
It’s how he looks at Lindsay.
Love. Every microsecond of time passes with another tick. Love. Tick. Love. Tick.
I am waiting, trying to breathe slowly, as if being too loud will disrupt this joy. Bring attention to yourself and the gods may notice. The universe is a fickle bitch.
But no.
Mom and Daddy are nothing but love.
I’m of two minds. One watches the other. The Watcher knows this is not my real life, but the Watched has no idea that another, parallel life exists. Steeped in the blissful world of not-knowing, she lives in a tranquility where her identity is enough. She is loved for being her.
Jane is loved because being Jane is all she needs to do.
A woman is perched on a high cliff at the water’s edge, her long, white dress flowing, gauze-like and wild. She stands before an easel, holding a paintbrush. She glows, as if the sun is drawn to send its rays to her for the sheer pleasure of it.
Alice.
Before I can even think to go to her, a ruckus down the beach catches my attention.
“Hey!” a man calls out, further down the sand, flying a rainbow kite. Seven streamers, whirling in perfect spirals, make up the kite’s tail. I look up, effervescent suddenly, overflowing and bubbly.
My heart lightens, a knot loosening, the ends of something anchored floating free.
The man in the distance is barefoot, wearing beige chinos rolled up over the calves, a white button-down shirt untucked, sleeves rolled to elbows. The salt water has made his dark hair curl up at the ends, the tips wet, a web of droplets coating his hair like a cap. He’s in the ocean’s spray, running with athletic spirit, and as he gets closer, I catch glimpses.
“SILAS!” I shout, wanting to touch him. Racing away from Mom and Daddy, I splash in the deepening water, jumping to catch the kite string. He holds it out of my grasp, looking down at me.
And then he kisses me.
All my senses converge, the kiss showing me starlight and fire, the beginning of all matter and the entropy of love that needs to continue. No cell in my body or soul is left unloved. No other state exists. My world is here in view – Silas, Mom, Daddy – and it is pure and light and–
* * *
“Jane?” The tapping on the other side of my room here at the inn jolts me, my knees sliding off the window seat, taking me down with them, my hip absorbing most of the fall as my knee hits a small pillow that rolled onto the floor while I was dozing. My arm goes flying, the elbow getting a rug burn, my old scratches awakened with pinpricks of pain.
“Unh?” I say to the sound.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Lindsay gasps as she comes in my room and touches my arm. “Did you fall?”
“I think I’m still asleep,” I mutter.
“You needed that nap, huh?” Behind her, I see the room service guy, hovering nervously in the hall, holding a tray with a coffee pot and covered dishes.
“Come in,” Lindsay says, waving him into the room. “She’s fine.”
While that is technically not true, for the purposes of having tea delivered, it’s true enough. In under a minute we’ve been served and are alone.
“How are you really feeling?” she asks, evaluating me.
“Let’s see. I’ve had a gun pointed at me. Watched the man I love get shot in the heart by his best friend. Learned I’m a sucker. Been pulled into a meeting where I heard that people I thought were capable of better believed atrocious rumors about me. I’ve been expected to forgive, to be happy for passing a morality test that I didn’t consent to, and now I’ve banged my knee and hip after falling asleep in a window seat.”
“That’s a lot of feelings.”
“Yes.”
She lifts a silver dome from a serving dish. “How about we eat some of those feelings away?”
“This is why you are my friend.”
“Look!” She points. “Olives come with little silver toothpicks. We can make a voodoo doll for Drew and Silas and use that to poke them.”
“This is why you are my best friend, Lindsay.”
She picks up a black olive and peers at it. “If we cut this just right, it can look like Drew’s suit jacket.”
“You shouldn’t make a voodoo doll of your own husband.”
“Try being married for a while before saying that.”
My stomach growls in response. “That bad?”
She gives me a half smile that invites me to ask deeper questions.
This is how I recover. Not with bodyguards in my room – or bed. Not with coaching sessions where people tell me where I get to live and how to avoid being killed.
With marinated olives and Marcona almonds. With smoked salmon and cucumber tea sandwiches. Goat cheese and pears, sparkling water and petit fours.
And friends.
Always, always – friends.
“How are you so normal?” I ask Lindsay as she rests on her back on the bed, holding a maraschino cherry in her fingers, examining it.
“Where the hell did you get the idea that I’m normal?” She snorts.
“You could have lost your mind, Lindsay. Really. After what happened to you.”
“I suppose. It’s not like I didn’t want to sometimes.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Drew, I guess.” She frowns, clearly struggling to say something. Whatever it is lines up inside her and comes out. Our eyes meet. “I know you think he’s being a jerk.”
“I don’t think he is. He is.”
“But you have to remember what he’s been through.”
“I do. I can have empathy for Drew and still think he’s an asshole.”
“Sure. You can. And yet you’re not the one who wakes up to him in the middle of the night when he’s having nightmares. When he relives being drugged but conscious and watching me – watching what they did to me – paralyzed and – ” Her words break as she fights emotion.
I close my eyes and try to remember to breathe.
“And then there’s what they did to him,” she adds in a soft whisper worse than a scream.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m not. I’m with you one hundred percent. Drew and Silas shouldn’t have tested you like that. But keep in mind that Drew will protect me to the death. His body is my shield. His mind is my computer. And anyone who he perceives to be a threat gets due consideration,” she says slowly, with meaning.
“I’m not a threat!”
“You are until proven otherwise, Jane. And that test proved otherwise.” She frowns. “It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t okay, but it does show you’re not a threat. And in their twisted, protective caveman brains, it has power.”
“This is insane!”
“Speaking of insane, why haven’t you gone crazy?” she asks.
“Because it feels like I’d be letting the bad guys win.”
“We’re very, very similar, then.”
“Sisters. Almost.”
She shakes her head, letting out a long breath. “Is this really our life?”
“Yes. And none of this is even close to being done. We’re stuck with this.”
“I can’t believe the guys knew about the sweepstakes. And the book reviews. They pretended they didn’t.”
“And the warlock business,” I say. “Wizard. Whatever. El Brujo. What do you think?”
“What am I supposed to think? My number one concern is finding out my bio dad. Everything else feels like someone else’s mess.”
I get her point, but ouch. “My concern,” I say, eating the last olive, “is clearing my name. And my mother’s.”
“Never going to happen. It’s like me trying to convince people I didn’t ‘ask for it.’” Lindsay’s voice changes to a taunting tone. “You know, there’s
a substantial group of people out there who revel in scandal. They eat it up like vitamins. They think it’s good for them. It feeds something inside. And whoever provides them with a limitless supply to distract them from their unhappy lives wins.”
“Wins what?”
“Whatever people who push misery on others for gain win.”
“You know,” I say, completely lost in the thread of my own thoughts, instantly sparked by two ideas connecting, “Claudia. She’s the reason Monica could point a finger at me.”
“I’m sorry.” Lindsay is so uncomfortable.
“Your mother is not you. I don’t think of you any differently because of her. Do you blame me for my mother’s actions?”
“No!”
I give her a pointed look.
“Anyhow – Monica used one tiny seed of truth to embellish big whopper lies. How do we gather seeds of truth on her?”
“You want me to help you assemble a dossier on my mother?”
“I didn’t ask for your direct help. I’m just thinking aloud.”
“Don’t try to beat my mom when it comes to manipulation, Jane. Seriously. She’s the best at it. A queen. You need to use a whole different set of tactics to win battles with her.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t won any battles yet.”
“You did by marrying Drew. Took away your parents’ right to control you.”
“That is true.” She frowns. “Are you worried Daddy might do the same to you?”
“Huh?”
“It’s established now. Daddy is your next of kin. Mom is your stepmother. Are you worried?”
“Worried about what, exactly?”
She just stares at me.
“You think they’d use that against me? No way.”
“Don’t put anything past them.”
“Lindsay, that would require Harry to acknowledge me as his biological child. He would have to do it legally. Your mother is never going to allow that to happen. Not even if it means using it to her advantage somehow. The price of control is too much for her.”
Lindsay’s mouth purses, eyes darting around in thought. “Good point.”
“Even Monica’s evil has limits.”
Lindsay snorts. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are saying that.”
“I can’t either.” We both yawn. She starts it, I catch it. A long stretch comes next, and then the sleepy, quiet sounds of two people winding down after an adrenaline-filled day.
“I’m sorry your mother won’t tell you who your father is,” I say to her as she grabs the remote, starting to flip through channels. She pauses on a home and garden show. Something about hand-painted garden gnomes.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Mom isn’t making it easy, but Drew’s working around her.”
“Around?”
“Running my DNA through databases. I don’t know. He explained it, but it’s complicated. Basically trying to find a match. If my mother slept with anyone whose records are in federal or certain state databases, I might find him.”
“Do you want to?”
“I want to know. I’m not sure I want to actually find him. Like, what if it’s Drew’s dad, you know?”
“Ew! His dad doesn’t - didn’t - strike me as the cheating type. Not that I knew him or anything.”
An eye roll greets my words. “And Drew’s dad didn’t have the kind of power my mother wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t corruptible. Daddy used to call him the ‘original Boy Scout.’ Same with Mark’s grandfather. He was the famous Senator Thornberg, who was unbiased. Strong. Stubborn as a mule but moral. The way Daddy talks about him, well... it’s with a tone of deep admiration.”
“Doesn’t mean Monica couldn’t have... you know.”
“True, but she can only manipulate someone who’s willing to be manipulated. Men don’t magically slip and get her pregnant. Whatever happened, happened for a reason.”
“What if it was love?”
“Excuse me?”
“Love? What if she actually loved your biological father?”
“God, that would be amazing. Because it would mean two things: I was conceived in an act of true love, and – and it would mean my mother is capable of actually loving someone.”
We stare at each other, little snorting sounds leaking out of our closed mouths. Lindsay cracks first, her laughter loud and braying, completely uncontrolled. I laugh so hard, I cry, tears pouring down the sides of my eyes as Lindsay whoops it up.
“Mom. Love. Ahahahahaha,” she coughs, finally slowing down with little hiccup sobs we share.
“People aren’t all bad,” I finally gasp.
“No. They’re not. Mom isn’t bad. But I don’t know how much love she has to give.”
Not enough, I think to myself. I know my mother loved me deeply. Poor Lindsay doesn’t seem to know that about Monica.
Bzzzz.
My phone buzzes just as someone knocks on the door.
Lindsay and I share resigned looks.
“That’s not a coincidence,” she mutters as she goes to answer the door while I check my phone.
Can you call me? It’s important, Silas’s text reads.
“So were the other texts,” I say to myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I realize a man in a suit has come into the room. His arm is around Lindsay’s waist. A spike of fear drives through me, from the backs of my knees to the bridge of my nose. I look at him.
It’s Drew.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I say, hand on my thumping heart.
“Why?” He’s genuinely surprised. “I’m no threat.”
“I didn’t expect a man – especially you – to be here,” I tell him, keeping the truth suppressed. The sight of his arm around her before I knew it was him triggered a memory of that day in his apartment bedroom, when Stellan and John had Lindsay trapped. When Blaine was on top of her.
When I had no power to stop him.
It’s all an illusion. The idea that I’ll ever relax, ever find comfort – a pipe dream. My body has stored too much inside it. Too many bad memories, too many slights, big and small. Too much running and hiding, and oh, so much shame. It’s all in here, ready to jump out from a dark shadow and scream “Boo!”
But at the wrong time.
My instincts are hard wired, but the last year has turned my system into a Medusa’s head, nothing but intertwined snakes, all dangerous to even glance at.
My right shoulder radiates a tingly feeling down my side, to my knees. I avoid eye contact with Drew. The cascade of terror unleashed inside me doesn’t know the difference between safe people and unsafe predators.
I want out.
I want out of this room, out of this body, out of my own mind.
Where do you go when you can’t be yourself any longer?
“Why are you here?” I finally ask him, pretending to make myself a cup of tea so I don’t have to interact.
“Yes, Drew,” Lindsay echoes. “You were supposed to stay in your room.”
“Your room?” I ask, confused.
“Drew would only let me come here on the condition that I remain under surveillance. So he booked the hotel room next door.”
I groan.
“I told you he’s a wee bit unhinged about me.” Lindsay holds her thumb and index finger together. “A wee bit.”
“I’m here,” Drew says, raising his voice, “to apologize to Jane.”
Seriously? He has to do this now?
“Apology accepted,” I mutter.
“No. Really.” His voice is so solemn. I look at him.
And feel no fear.
“I am not sorry for finding a successful test for you,” he starts. Lindsay kicks his ankle. He ignores her. I get back to making my peppermint tea. “But I am sorry for adding to your emotional fallout. That’s the part Gentian fought the most.”
At the word Gentian, my head snaps up. “What?”
“
He didn’t believe the ‘evidence’ that Monica fed us about you and Claudia and the fentanyl that killed his sister. And yet,” Drew’s voice drops to an emotional hush that makes me feel his deep humanity. “You have to understand how messed up Gentian was after Rebecca.”
After Rebecca. Drew’s economy with words is almost worse than hearing it all described.
I set down the tea bag and turn off the electric kettle. He stands there, a sentry, a true guard, holding up walls and boundaries so that others may live freely. Even Silas is under Drew’s watch. I see that now. I am starting to understand.
Just starting.
“I could have put a bullet through your head. I’m a crack shot, Drew.”
Lindsay flinches.
“You could have. You didn’t. You dropped to Gentian. You wailed in anguish. Your first concern was him. Rebecca’s first concern was shooting fish in a barrel. Powerful fish whose death could trigger wars.”
“He really stood on that tarmac and shot her dead?” The movie reel my mind creates to fill in the blanks of understanding is so grim. It’s also cold and unfeeling, as if what happened that day for Silas were purely operational and not emotional. I can’t fill in his emotion.
I wonder if even he can.
“He did. Her gun was pointed at me when he did it. She dropped cold. He nailed the target perfectly.”
The target.
“She killed all those people before he – before he killed her?”
“A U.S. congressman. A local valet. A trained Navy SEAL. Then me as I protected a head of state.”
“Almost you.”
“Almost, yes.”
“You were his friend through the aftermath.”
“We’ve been each other’s friend through a lot of aftermaths, Jane.” A hollow look in his eyes, haunting and endless, makes my heart just stop. I can’t feel it in my chest. It’s flat. Paused. Trying to find its way to baseline again.
How did Silas and Drew come out of everything without deep damage?
I know the answer before I realize it. Right.
They didn’t.
“Look, Jane. We’re sorry. Gentian’s half out of his mind right now, knowing he may have ended his relationship with you in that parking garage. Nice evasion, by the way,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice as his jaw tenses. “Don’t ever do that again.”