Losing Francesca

by J. A. Huss

  What must the Sullivans be thinking? They know I took off after her on the bike, but they don't know if I found her and picked her up. Although even Abe the Asshole's fifth-grade deduction skills could solve this one. I'm sure they're at my house right now. I pull out my phone and check the time, which makes Fee mumble "No," in her sleep. Again, it's in Italian, because it's got that sharp end to it, not an American no.

  My chest goes up and down with a sigh and I take my attention back to my phone. It's only two in the afternoon and no one has tried to call.

  I consider texting Sean to tell them she's OK, but fuck it. They have my number. If they wanted to call, they'd call.

  The phone vibrates in response to my challenge and I silence it, looking down at Fiona again. She's out. I don't clear the home screen, just read the text from Case as it comes in. Cops are here looking for you. They could probably triangulate our location just by having the phone on, but I'm not running away with her. Besides, there are no cell towers on our land, and they have to know we're on our land. It's not like they could even come look for us without a warrant.

  So screw it. I'm not gonna worry about the Sullivans or the police or what's gonna happen a few hours from now because if there's one thing I learned after my parents' death, it's that you really need to enjoy the moment.

  They'd worked their asses off for almost twenty years to save up to buy a vacation house in the Bahamas, and they even had a trip scheduled to go look at places, and that fucking drunk driver took it all away. All those years of work, wiped out in one evening.

  All our lives, changed.

  We never did take that vacation. We took a trip to the morgue instead. They didn't want to let me in the room with Renn to ID the bodies because I was only fifteen at the time. But Renn never treated me like a kid even when I was a kid, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna start that day, not when our parents were dead and he needed me to help him through all the legal shit just as much as I needed him to help me grow up a bit.

  It's the only time I can remember that Renn needed anyone.

  And he definitely needed me that day.

  Since then we've been pretty even, because the day I heard that Mrs. Sullivan and Fiona had gone missing in Italy, I needed Renn in the worst way. We're six years apart so he was already a teenager when that tragedy struck. I needed Renn for many years after that day because I just couldn't come to terms that the girl I was going to marry had up and disappeared.

  I watched the TV endlessly for days afterward. The Cleveland news stations made the two-hour trip out here to Woods on the Lake and parked at the end of the Sullivans' gated driveway for weeks waiting to report something. Waiting to report that their bodies were found (and the first time I heard that this was even a possibility, I was traumatized. I'm pretty sure I had to sleep with Renn for weeks after that) or that there was a ransom note. The Sullivans are pretty well-off, so that was not outside the realm of possibilities. I liked this idea better.

  That played out for a while, but then they started talking about foul play or that Mrs. Sullivan ran off. That Frank was an asshole and she was getting ready to file for divorce and she took her chance in a foreign country.

  But why take Fiona and not Sean?

  I imagine that if I was Sean, and my sister and mom went missing for twelve years and then one of them reappeared, lying to everyone about who she was, I'd be pretty broken over it.

  Like they left him on purpose. With Frank, of all people.

  Fee moans a little.

  "Fee?" I lean into her face and her lips are so near my own it would take nothing for me to kiss her. "Fiona," I breathe next to her cheek.

  Her eyes flutter but they remain closed. Like she's dreaming. I pull back because if she's thinking about someone she left behind it feels wrong to take advantage of that.

  She tries to turn over and I loosen my hold on her and let her settle again. She presses her back into my chest and I bury my face in her hair. The heat from the grass envelops us, makes us both hot and sweaty, but I don't care.

  This counts as one of the most perfect days of my whole life. When life gives you something like this, gives you a gift that has no explanation, you just have to accept it.

  So I do.

  I close my eyes and I fall asleep next to the only girl I've ever cared about and I hope like hell that she'll still be around tomorrow, but if she's not, at least I have this day. This one perfect day. The day my Fiona came back and I got to rescue her on a dirt bike and sleep with her in a bed of soft green grass.

  Chapter Thirteen - Francesca

  I wake from the best dream.

  In it I'm seven years old and we're in San Antonio, on the River Walk, just outside our hotel. The heat is oppressive—it's Texas, it's August, and it's noon. I'm watching boatloads of tourists being floated down the canal, licking some pineapple-flavored shaved ice, and holding Sophia's hand. I love her already and she's my new mom and this day is special because we're on vacation as a family for the first time.

  Given the fact that we can go anywhere in the world, and on most days I'm one hundred percent on board with kicking back on my favorite South Pacific beach, San Antonio was not that special. It's sorta dirty, there's no water anywhere except for the river, and my dad was working for most of it.

  But that vacation was perfect and the dream that allowed me to relive it while napping in this summer field in Ohio is also perfect.

  The sunlight is beating down on my face and I'm sweaty and itchy from the hot grass, but I don't open my eyes and get up because I like how the sun makes the inside of my eyelids blaze yellow.

  Brody lets out a little snore next to me and I'm pulled back to reality.

  I sigh and sit up. He stays still, breathing deep. His arm is half-heartedly wrapped around my middle, but it slips off when I move.

  I study him.

  He looks like he belongs on a South Pacific beach himself, with that shaggy light blond hair that is the same shade on top of his head, on his chin, and even down his perfectly bronzed and muscular arms. I want to touch him, but I don't—because I want to go look at that creek that is bubbling away just off to the left, and while I wouldn't mind sharing lots of hours in my day with this boy, I have to pee something fierce and it's just better to do that when he's sleeping.

  I extract myself carefully, then head off towards the sound of running water. There's a grove of trees that separates the field from the bank of the creek, and I stop to pee just inside there, then walk down the gently sloping hill to the stream. My foot slips in the mud and I slide all the way down and splash in the river.

  I laugh, because what can you do?

  When I get to my feet I turn around to look at my butt, and yes, sure enough it is covered in mud yet again. I kick off my shoes and wade out into the rushing water. It's not deep, only about a foot along the edge and when I wade over to a large flat rock sticking up in the middle of the water, it's just past my knees. The current is quick, but not strong, so I have no problem standing there.

  The cool water rushes past my legs and I let out a sigh.

  Water is where I belong. I know Lake Erie is close by, and that's a very big lake, like an ocean, Mrs. Marco told me on our way over to the Sullivans' house. And I know the Sullivans' own lakefront property, again courtesy of Mrs. Marco—not to mention I saw a bit of it, even if it was more swampy reeds than open water, when Angela and I went looking for that filly.

  So I plan on finding my way back to that little marshy meadow and the lake I know must not be far away. Maybe I can't be on a South Pacific beach, but I'm lucky enough to be near the water here, so I might as well make it work.

  I take a seat on the flat rock and let the creek jostle my legs as I think about other times my legs have been jostled in rivers. Not all of those times have been with my dad, but enough of them were to make me miss him again.

  I sigh. I really need to stop dwelling, it's not like this is the first time I've been a bind alone.

&n
bsp; But it is the first time I've been in a bind alone and got stuck there.

  My life is not over. I say it like a mantra. My life is not over. One month, that's it. Seven weeks really, the lawyers said, and Fiona will be eighteen and they cannot keep me here against my will. I can go home and see my dad.

  I wonder what he's doing?

  And that's all it takes to start the tears. They slip out, silently, of course, because I don't do the ugly cry, like ever. The tears ride the curve of my cheek until they tickle and I have to wipe them away. I'm sad, I reluctantly admit. Very sad.

  And scared.

  I wipe the tears one more time and catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. Brody Mason is watching me from the top of the river bank.

  I tilt my head up towards him, my vision a bit blurry from the water in my eyes and the mist in the air as the river splashes against the rock, and shrug as I say it out loud.

  "I'm scared."

  "I'm so sorry, Fee."

  I shake my head at this. "You can't call me that. I'm not Fiona."

  He sighs as he jumps down the hill like a boy. "Yeah, whatever. I talked to Sean yesterday and he says you failed a bunch of polygraphs, they know you're Fiona. Why lie?"

  He kicks off his shoes, wades over to me and takes a seat on the rock. His muscular body pushes against me, since we are sorta squished. He bends down and pulls up his pant legs, exposing his legs, which are the same golden tan color as the rest of him, and then reaches over and does the same for me. His fingertips slide up my leg with the jeans and make me shiver. He turns his head up towards me and smiles at that.

  It's like my leg just blushed.

  I laugh at this thought.

  "What's funny?" he asks, straightening up and waving his feet around a bit in the rushing water.

  "Nothing."

  I stare up at him to see if he'll accept that answer and the look on his face stuns me.

  It's… longing.

  "Do you remember me?" he asks.

  "No," I say without hesitation. "I am not Fiona Sullivan. You people do not give up, do you?" I'm instantly sorry because he turns away with a painful expression.

  "OK, fine. You're Francesca, but I officially dub you Fee because I can't stop saying it."

  "So you'd rather hurt me with that nickname than call me by my own name?"

  "Your name's not Francesca, Fee. Sean said they found several fake passports in your luggage."

  "Yeah, but I was using the Francesca one, which is my real name." I kick my feet in the water as he stays silent for a few moments, then the gap in conversation makes me uncomfortable and I continue. "Sometimes I need to get away in secret, so I am always prepared. This was nothing but a mistake, that's all."

  He laughs but it's not happy, it's more like agitation than anything else. "So you're what? Some sort of Russian spy? A drug-runner, like they thought at first?" He stops there and laughs for real this time. "I mean, I'll stop calling you Fee if you tell me the truth. How about that? What were you doing in LA?"

  I say nothing. I don't huff out an exasperated sigh, or grunt my disapproval of his questioning, or even show that I am annoyed. Even though I am very annoyed. I just sit in silence.

  "You're just gonna shut me out? Me? Of all people? Me?"

  I look up at him and he's pointing to his chest as he waits for my answer.

  "It's me, Fiona. Brody. And you can tell me anything."

  I shrug and internally wince as my indifference wounds him so acutely, it's painted across his face. "I'm not Fiona, Brody. I'm an accomplished liar, I admit that, but I'm not lying about this. I'm caught up in something strange, a weird coincidence. I'm just a girl with another family who wants to go home."

  He studies my face as the words come out.

  "And," I continue, "I have no idea who you are or why you think you're special to me, but you're not."

  I meet his eyes for the last part, waiting for the hurt, but he smiles.

  "Yeah, OK. Whatever."

  And the silence takes over.

  And I welcome it.

  I watch some tiny fish congregate around my toes and let out a little laugh as they nibble on me. "I wish I had a camera," I say out loud before I can stop myself.

  Brody reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone and hands it over. "Knock yourself out, Fee."

  I shoot him a dirty look at the name, but take the phone. "What good will this do me? It's yours, not mine. And they won't let me have access to the internet at the Sullivan house, so there's no point because I won't be able to upload it."

  "Upload it to where?"

  "Never mind."

  He pushes my hand away as I try to hand the phone back. "Just take the picture and I'll make sure you get it."

  I smile inside and wake the phone up, swipe my fingers until I find the camera, and then point it down at my feet in the water and take the picture.

  "Your feet?" he asks. "You want to take a picture of your feet?"

  I nod and then scoot my legs over so I can take a picture of both of our feet. When I'm done I look up and he's smiling again.

  "What?"

  "I just think it's cute that you have a foot fetish. I mean, typically that's reserved for old men surfing for weird porn online, but OK."

  I laugh. "You're a goof. I collect pictures of my feet when I travel, and since I'm here, I need a picture to capture the moment."

  "Oh, I'm the goof? I've heard it all now, Fiona Sullivan. First you tell me you're some stinky foreign girl named Francesca who has no memory of the god-like being that is me, Brody Mason, and now I learn you're a foot fiend!"

  I push him playfully on the shoulder and he stands up in the river and takes my hand. "Look, I get it, you've got stuff you'd rather not tell me. You've got secrets, a whole secret life maybe, and you'd like to keep it that way. I'll live with that. But now that you're here, and you have to stay for a while, I think you should consider spending every waking moment with me."

  His tone is full of jokes and laughs, but his face is something else entirely. His face almost breaks my heart, that's how much pain is hiding beneath the surface.

  "OK," I whisper. "I'd like that, Brody."

  He sighs out so much tension I can almost feel it in the air.

  "But only on one condition."

  His mouth turns up in a crooked smile. "What's that?"

  "You'll show me how to get to the lake tomorrow. Because I am not only a fan of feet, but beaches too."

  "Why wait until tomorrow? It's right down there." My gaze follows his pointing finger downstream towards a bend in the creek. "We can go there right now. Come on."

  Chapter Fourteen - Brody

  For a few brief minutes, as we walk along the upper bank of the creek, I have small doubts.

  At first they are just out there, drifting, like a mist, or maybe more like a swarm. A swarm of those nasty little gnats that gather in clouds each summer. The voice in my head, the one that's been talking to me since I was seven and Fiona went missing, says: This girl is not her, Brody. She's said straight out she's not her. And if you're wrong, and she's right, and you let her back into your heart, you'll be the one who gets hurt, not her.

  Only this time, instead of wandering alone in the woods desperately trying to find a girl the only way a small child knows how to, you'll end up on the other end of a bottle of tequila, or in a parking lot fight outside of a bar, or back in jail for any number of self-destructive things you relished before the parents died and forced you to learn how to put your little brothers first.

  That's how these doubts start.

  But after a few more minutes of trudging through the thick shrubbery that lines the beach near the lake, these doubts are more than a swarm. They are an invasion. And I'm pretty fucking sure that I'll never be able to stop asking her for confirmation. I need something from her, some kind of acknowledgment that this is real.

  "Fee," I say, knowing full well she's not going to like me calling her that. "Just let m
e ask you one question."

  "No," she says without hesitation and then squeals when a thin branch swings back and slaps her in the cheek.

  "Oh, sorry." I cup her face so I can get a better look at the red welt that is creeping up. "I think you'll live."

  "I don't want to answer questions, Brody. So don't ask, or you will ruin this day for me, and seriously—" She stops here and grabs my arm. "Seriously," she repeats, "I need this day to stay good right now. I need this, Brody. Please don't ruin it."

  How can I say no to that?

  I settle for taking her hand and leading her the rest of the way to the beach.

  Lake Erie beaches are sporadic because of the cliffs that dominate most of the shoreline, and they are not always sandy. Sometimes there are no beaches at all, just cliffs. And sometimes there are large expanses of sand, because some local recreation department trucks it in every summer. The beach near the mouth of this little creek is neither of those. There's no cliff because, well, it's the mouth. And there's not a lot of sand because no one has done anything to this beach, maybe ever. It's mostly small stones and bits of glass that have been polished smooth over the years, with a few sandy patches here and there around the weedy reeds that pop out every few feet.

  It's a wide area, wider than most untouched portions along this coastline, and it's teeming with wild birds trying to settle into the early evening. I know we've got a few hours until the sun goes down, so we can afford to spend a bit of time out here before heading back.

  That's if she wants to go back.

  Secretly I'm wishing she'd ask to come live at my house.

  I smile at this and she catches it. "What's funny in there?" she asks, thumping her finger against my head.

  "Nothing," I lie and pull her through the remaining underbrush and out onto the beach. "Well, here it is, Lake Erie." I throw my arms out wide and wait for her reaction.

  "Wow, I had no idea it would be so big! Mrs. Marco was right, it's like an ocean." Her nose crinkles as she sniffs. "Except it smells like…"

  I laugh. "Lake. It smells like lake. It's very different from the ocean, isn't it?"