Losing Francesca

by J. A. Huss

  I nod.

  "OK, punch it in. And English only, I swear."

  "Got it." I punch in the international code, then the service provider's prefix, and then the secret eight-digit number used for emergencies only. This number is not really a phone, but a network that is available twenty-four hours a day. I listen as the connection is made and then the transfer begins.

  This is my dad's phone.

  It buzzes on the other end and Sean leans in close to my ear so he can hear too.

  A click signals the pick-up. "F—"

  "Daddy!" I interrupt his first word. "It's Francesca." I barely saved him and this makes me so nervous I have to swallow down the acid that is coming up from my stomach. "Listen, please. I can only speak English or the person I'm with will hang up the phone. So please, only English."

  "Francesca," he says in a whisper. "I'm doing my best, darling."

  "I know, I'm fine. I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm fine."

  "I will make them pay for this, you have no idea."

  Oh, I have an idea.

  "We have a plan and I'll see you shortly."

  The line goes dead.

  "That's it?" Sean asks, his eyes wide with an air of incredulity. "That's all he has to fucking say to you?"

  "I told you, it's not for chatting."

  He scoffs. "According to him you've been kidnapped by the American government and all he says is we have a plan, see ya soon?"

  "That's all I needed to know."

  "So you called him to find out if he's going to come kidnap you back, then? That's what this was about?"

  I keep silent.

  He walks out and leaves me standing there holding the phone, which is now making a buzzing sound demanding that I hang it back up.

  I find him in the truck, his head resting on the steering wheel. "You know what I want to do right now, Fiona?"

  I shake my head but say nothing as I get in the truck and close the door quietly.

  "Drop you off somewhere and forget you ever came back." He looks up at me with a look of utter devastation. "I went out of my way to get you this opportunity and you set me up. He's coming to steal you back and you set me up."

  "Claiming what's yours is not stealing, Sean."

  "Oh!" He barks out a haughty laugh at this remark. I probably crossed the line with that one, but I don't care. "OK, I've had enough." He starts the truck and pulls back out onto the street that runs along the lake shore, making our way back the way we came.

  "Sean, I'm sorry. And for what it's worth, he'd never kidnap me. He's got to work within the laws here, so he won't do it that way."

  All I get is a snort at first, but after a few minutes he lets loose. "You have no plans to stay here, do you?"

  "I don't live here, what part of that don't you understand?"

  "But what if you're from here, Fiona?" I shake my head at him but he puts a hand up towards my face. "Wait, listen. What if you really are Fiona? What then? You'll just leave with him and never come back?"

  I want to scream it like I did the first day I met him. I want to scream it so bad! Io non sono Fiona Sullivan!

  But I can't.

  Because I keep seeing that picture of Brody and Fiona in that yearbook and I can't help wondering—how likely is it? That two little girls the same age, with the same freaking initials, would look so much alike the state-of-the-art facial recognition software of the US government says they are identical, down to the same silver eyes?

  It's freaky.

  And to be quite honest, even after the initial arrest, the FBI interrogations, the court case, the verdict against me, and the delivery to a strange family who say I am their stolen sister or daughter—it is that picture that shakes my resolve.

  My whole world might be crumbling and this scares me so bad I can only think of one thing to do. Hold tight for dear life and hope someone will save me from falling off the cliff.

  The only problem is, of all the hands that are reaching out to help pull me back up right now, I'm not sure which ones I should hold tight to.

  My dad's?

  The Sullivans'?

  Brody Mason's?

  And the threat on the other end of the phone scares me too. Because my dad is not someone you want to fuck with.

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Francesca

  Dinner with the Sullivans is chaotic as usual, but for the first time since I came here, it's not because of me. I breathe a sigh of relief over this. Only Sean is weird, and that's because of today. But Angela chats easily about her trip with the girls tomorrow. They are going shopping at some giant equine store for summer show gear. The twins chat between themselves, not in the same excited way as the girls, because they have to pick up all the chores that need to be done before the Sullivan Farms horse show on Saturday. Sean is working, so that just leaves Frank and me to greet the new horse when it's delivered.

  I have to be honest, I'm sorta looking forward to this because I'm hoping he lets me take her for a spin this summer. Not many people get a chance to ride a Grand Prix jumper, so I'm all over that opportunity. At first I was slightly nervous about being alone with Frank all afternoon, but he's totally normal tonight at the dinner table and I figure this is as good a time as any to approach the subject of spending my evenings with Brody.

  I wait for a lull in conversation and make my move. "So what time should I be home tonight?"

  "Home from where?" Sean asks before anyone else.

  "Do you have plans, Francesca?"

  Angela's question is the one that counts, so that's the one I answer. "Yes, with Brody. We're going to the lake. He's picking me up at eight."

  Sean grunts and I look over at Frank, fully expecting a fight, but he just shrugs. "Did you have a curfew at home?"

  "Um, no. But it was a very small place, secluded and stuff. So the only danger at home was in the ocean. And I wasn't allowed to swim alone, never at night, and I tend to follow rules, so…"

  They are all just staring at me.

  Lindsey is looking at me strange. "You lived on the beach? Somehow I pictured you in Rome or something."

  "Um, well, it was on the water."

  "But you said ocean, and Italy is on the Mediterranean Sea," Sean challenges.

  "Still ocean, right?"

  "Is it?"

  "Yes," I say with authority. "Sea, ocean—same thing. Anyway, back to my curfew here and the lake with Brody." I shoot Sean a dirty look.

  "Well, what time, Angela?" Frank asks, looking over to her for help.

  "Hey!" Lindsey squeals. "How come I can't go out after dinner with a boy? Can I come with you, Chessie?"

  "Um…" My vocabulary is not stellar right now and I'm beginning to sound like an idiot.

  "Frank," Sean intervenes, "Lindsey is dating Case Mason, so I'm just gonna—"

  That's all it takes, the whole dinner table is up in arms and it's not over me. I smile at Sean and wait for another lull in protests and accusations. "So, will midnight be OK?"

  Lindsey is still fighting for her right to go out at night when we all hear a loud car pull up outside. Sean gets up and makes for the door and when I look over at Angela and Frank they are smiling. "I guess I don't need to go out there and threaten him with a shotgun or something, because Sean seems to have it covered."

  I push back from the table. "Thank you, and I won't be late, so please don't call the FBI on me, OK?" Everyone laughs at that and I settle in just a little bit more. I walk over to Frank and kiss him on the cheek like I do my dad when I leave him, because I figure if ever there was a guy who needed a kiss like that, it's Frank. He looks up at me and I explain. "I'm still not Fiona, but you are nice people and you're making things easier for me, so I might as well return the favor."

  Frank clears his throat. "Well, your father can't be all bad, because he raised you to be a very nice girl, Francesca."

  "Thank you, that really means a lot to me."

  I catch the look of hurt on his face as I leave, but there's also a hint
of a smile, so that's all that counts. I need them to accept the fact that I'm not Fiona, but I don't have to hurt them in the process.

  Outside Sean and Brody are talking about cars when I approach them. "Ready?" Brody asks.

  "Yeah, see you later, Sean."

  "Midnight. Don't be late," he calls as he walks off.

  "Well, that went better than I expected. Let's go, I have a nice spot picked out."

  "Oh, I thought we were just going across the street or something?"

  "Nah, that beach sucks. Just trust me."

  He's driving an open-top Jeep tonight, big, big tires. They are so big I actually have to climb into the front seat. "Remind me not to wear a dress in this thing, I'll give all the horses a peek."

  He laughs as I buckle up my seat belt. "We're not going far, so don't get comfortable."

  "Hmmm… cryptic."

  He pulls out the back driveway and we turn right, then right again at the next dirt path. "We're going to your house?"

  His grin looks devious. "Not my house, my beach. Plus, you said you wanted to use the computer, so you can do that before we go down there if you want." He pulls up in his driveway, parks the Jeep by the garage, and we both jump out. "So which one, computer or beach?"

  I think for a moment. That brief conversation with my dad has pretty much set everything right with me for the moment and my urge to get online is gone. "The beach."

  He takes my hand and we set off across the yard. "I could've driven us down there, but Renn gets pissed if I drive on the grass. But walking's not bad, right?"

  "Well, let me see. You're holding my hand, it's a warm summer night, the moon is out, the fireflies are making magic, and I'm in a really good mood for the first time in two months. Yeah, walking down to the beach to spend time with you is just fine."

  When I look over at him he's smiling so big I have to laugh.

  "Maybe," I add, since I have him off his game, "this will turn into a perfect night?"

  He pulls me through some tall reeds and the grass makes my bare legs itch. "Yeah, maybe so."

  When we get through the grass there's a small stretch of open beach and an old wooden dock. We step onto the dock together, our feet making the wood creak as we walk down to the edge, and take a seat.

  I kick off my flip-flops and let my feet slip into the cool water. I let out a little gasp of surprise.

  "Cold, huh?"

  "Yes, colder than I expected. I'm so used to the tropics."

  "OK, you've had a lot of time to think about it, and that remark right there has me wondering all over again, so let's take this from the top." His arm slips behind my waist and I shudder a little as his fingertips trace little circles along my exposed lower back where my shirt is riding up. "Best place you've ever visited?"

  I thought about this all through dinner, so I'm ready with an answer. "Well, I've been a lot of places but I'd have to choose The Four Seasons Resort in Bora Bora."

  "Four Seasons, huh? Fancy. OK, well, tell me why you like it there. Why that place, of all the places you've been?"

  "Well, it's close to home, it's—"

  "Wait a minute, close to home? Bora Bora is in the South Pacific if it's the same place I'm thinking of, so how is that close to Italy?"

  "I never said I live in Italy."

  He cocks his head at me. "OK, you live close to Bora Bora, go on."

  "And it's got these amazing houses that stand out in the middle of the water. On these tall stilts and stuff. Can you picture it?"

  "Sorta."

  "Well," I say, tugging him to lie back on the dock with me. Our feet still dangle in the water, but now we're looking up at the stars and the three-quarter moon. "Imagine the most stunning turquoise blue water, and white sands so bright, they almost blind you in the sunlight. The water is warm and calm and so clear that you can even see the teeny tiniest little crabs crawling across the ocean floor right from the dock. And the houses look like they're huts from the outside, complete with thatched rooftops and everything. But inside, they are furnished with every amenity. Luxury couches, and giant beds with thick mattresses. And white curtains blow in the tropical breeze. Instead of sidewalks, there's boardwalks that stick up out of the water and they go all the way around the houses and the resort. We stayed in those houses over the water a few times, but usually we get a beachfront villa because there's a pool and my dad is a freak about swimming in the ocean. He likes me to swim in a pool."

  I turn to look at him and he's smiling.

  "I can see why you'd like it, but just so you know, on a good day you can see almost six inches down into Lake Erie, and we may not have huts over the water, but I can take you to a broken-down boathouse tomorrow night if it will make you feel more at home."

  He turns his head to me and his giant grin erupts into a laugh.

  "OK, I spilled a major secret with that one, so now your turn. Favorite place you've visited?"

  "Secret, huh? Where you live, right? The South Pacific Islands. I can see why you'd like to go home now, actually. It must be a whole lot nicer than Woods on the Lake." He stops to think a little, then continues. "Well, let me see. I hate to travel. Actually, I hate planes and flying. I'm a total chicken shit when it comes to that, and crossing the ocean, that's a whole other fear I won't go into." He stops once again to look over at me, and then pulls me up a little and slips his arm under my back so I have to snuggle in close to his chest. My hand absently traces a little pattern in the wrinkles of his shirt.

  These little touches remind me of something.

  His abs are really spectacular under this shirt.

  "So I try not to go anywhere, actually. That's why it bugs me that Renn is always talking about moving. I love this place. I love our house and this shitty fucking beach and this stupid old dock. I love my messy garage and my customers who still trust me enough, after all the shit I pulled as a teenager, to take care of their cars. I have everything I need right here, but if I had to choose, of the very limited selection of places I've ever been, I guess I'd pick an island as well."

  "Which one?" I prod, keenly interested.

  "South Bass Island."

  "Never heard of it, where's it at?"

  "Lake Erie!" he laughs. "I told you, I don't go anywhere. But we have a nice boat docked down at the Woods marina, and every summer we boat out to Put-in-Bay and spend a few days over Fourth of July. We've been doing it since I was a kid, and that's one thing that didn't change when the parents died. We still go. There's a huge amusement park across the lake from the island and they have a new rollercoaster this year that I'm dying to try out. And every night we go trolling for walleye, then have a fish fry the next day. It's something, one of the few things, actually, that stayed the same after our mom and dad died. Fourth of July has always been the best holiday for us because birthdays are sad without parents to celebrate the fact that they made you and you're growing up. And even after five years, we still burn the turkey every Thanksgiving, and Christmases are just plain depressing."

  He looks over at me and shrugs. "They died on Christmas Eve. Lots of drunks on the road on Christmas Eve."

  I reach over and grab his hand. "And there's no one to bring you presents."

  "Right. Santa Claus died with the parents, too. I mean, we were all old already. But it's the pretense, ya know? The ritual, the teasing. But Fourth of July is different. It's the total opposite of how bad things get in the winter. It's hot, and sunny, and the lake doesn't look like the Arctic because it's frozen over. We love Fourth of July because all our memories are good. And Fourth of July doesn't require parents. All you need is some meat, a grill, and a fishing boat." He laughs. "That's how you celebrate Fourth of July Mason-style."

  "I've never celebrated the Fourth of July. I've gone to a few American schools, but I never stayed the summer."

  He turns to me with a sad smile. "It's about freedom, right? It's a way to celebrate freedom, and that's something us Mason brothers have had a little too much of. Too much free
dom. It might be overrated, actually. Freedom is cool for countries and slaves, but kids, not so much."

  I think about this as we stare up at the sky. I've never had a lot of freedom, in fact my life has been the total opposite of what Brody describes. "I wish I could go to your island, Brody. I'd like to see that place and do those things."

  "Yeah, you wanna come with?"

  I snort. "Like Frank will let me go on an overnight trip with you and your brothers."

  "Sean can come if he wants. Be the chaperon and stuff. He likes Renn, they get along OK. You can ask, right?"

  "Yeah," I say wistfully. Whole days with a boy I like—going boating, and fishing, and riding rollercoasters. It's like a dream come true.

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Brody

  Fiona Sullivan feels like my best friend right now. I like spending time with her and I hope to God she sticks around because I really can't imagine what it would do to me if she disappeared again.

  I push that thought away and move the conversation forward. "OK, you ready for the next question?"

  "No. It's my turn to ask the next one, and since you asked me a personal one, that's what you're getting too."

  "I can't wait, ask away." She smiles and from my end, it looks seductive and sexy, but I'm guessing she's just being normal on her end. She's that cute. I grin at that and she bites her lip as I study her. "Well, what're you waiting for?"

  Her eyes blaze with mischief and the suspense is almost killing me.

  "Who was your most serious girlfriend? And tell me why you liked her enough to let it get that far."

  "Aw, that's a terrible question. Why the hell do you want to know that shit?"

  "Because it'll tell me a lot about you, so answer. I gave you a very big secret about where I live."

  "Fee," I laugh, "I'd hardly call telling me you live on some uncharted Gilligan's Island in the South Pacific a huge reveal. I'm not familiar with the neighborhood, ya know. It means nothing to me."

  She shrugs. "Yeah, but it's a very small world down there, it would not be hard to find, trust me. So it is a big deal, you just haven't discovered that yet."