Losing Francesca

by J. A. Huss

  I take a deep breath and let it out. "And I owe Sean ten dollars for screaming the F-word at you, so I'm sorry about that."

  We both laugh. "Sean is one to talk about swearing," Frank says with a smile. "He must owe me thousands of dollars for his missteps."

  And that little bit of honesty is all it takes to smooth things out with us. It's amazing really, how much easier it is to be happy and honest than it is to be angry and lying. I finish spreading the straw and when we're done, it's two feet thick. We've got a few flakes of hay already situated in the net hanging off the stall door, and her outside run has a brand new tarp that we put up so she can laze outside in the shade over the summer.

  "This must be some special horse, Frank. I mean, she's getting the princess treatment. Did you buy her sight unseen? Or did you go out there and check her out first?"

  He starts sweeping the floors of the barn as I take a drink of a soda and twirl the pitchfork handle absently between my fingers. "I went out and looked at her."

  It's a truncated answer if ever there was one, he even leaves it a bit unfinished with the pitch of his voice. "And? You sound like there's more to it than that."

  "When the FBI called and said they had you in custody I flew out to LA. And, well, it didn't go as I expected, so after that first week I took a trip up north to see a friend of mine. He trains riders for the US Equestrian Team and he had this mare who just came off a fabulous season over in Europe, but his daughter was going away to college and wanted to stop showing. So he gave her to me to give to you."

  I get this sudden feeling in my chest as the last few words come out. An impossible, unstoppable ache, filled with sadness and regret and longing. "For me?" I whisper. "But you didn't even know me. I was… I was a total bitch to everyone while in custody."

  He laughs. "Oh boy, you really were. The FBI guys, not Barker, but those younger ones…"

  "Davis and Flanagan?" We both laugh as we picture them. Couple of dorks with badges.

  "Yeah, those bozos. They had a bet going on what the first sentence would be out of your mouth each day."

  "Let me guess… Io non sono Fiona Sullivan!"

  "That'd be the one. Every day, no matter what time it was, no matter who came in to see you, no matter what the reason, the first thing you always said was I am not Fiona Sullivan."

  "And you still got me a horse?"

  "Well, I was telling my buddy about it and he figured I could find something to do with her even if you ended up not being Fiona."

  "Just out of curiosity, what does a horse like this cost?"

  "Well, if she wasn't a gift, I could probably buy a new house with that money, let's just leave it at that. Do you have horses at your home right now?"

  "Yes, but not good ones. I always had to sell my show horses at the end of the school term or someone else sold them when I had to be pulled out suddenly. I never took them home. My horses at home are just beach ponies used to trot around the island. Half the time when I ride them somewhere they leave me stranded as soon as I dismount."

  We both laugh at the thought of my ponies abandoning me. "They like the idea of going home, I guess."

  "I guess everybody does. Like the idea of going home, that is."

  "Yeah, I guess we do." I change the subject because it's starting to make me think of this place as home, and I'm confused enough already. "Will Lindsey ride her? I mean, if I leave?"

  "If you leave?"

  I shrug and sigh at the same time. "I will leave. Eventually."

  "Yes, Lindsey is just about ready for this horse. She's been training so hard since she came here when she was six, trying to get better. And she's into it, you know? You can't make a rider be into it, they have to want to work hard and get through the falls, and the injuries, and the pain. If she stays interested I'll send her to California in a few years to train. Give her a chance to ride in the Olympics."

  Wow, that's quite the support system Lindsey has here with Frank, I might even be a little jealous. "She's really yours, then? I mean, I realize how terrible that sounds, but adopted kids, especially those who are adopted later in childhood…" I have no good way to make this come out right, so I stop. "Well, sorry. It's surprising, that's all."

  "I love them all. And yes, I love the fact that Lindsey is interested in what I do and wants to do it as well. But Sean's going to school for business and that makes me happy too. I just want them all to be happy. I could care less what they do with their lives, if they move away and never want to come back… That's what kids are supposed to do. Grow up, become their own person, leave, and do it all over again. That's why we have them—to watch them do all that stuff. To go from little helpless babies to competent, fulfilled adults. There's no other reason to have children."

  "God, you are so different from my dad, it's… weird. He's a good guy, Frank. Don't read too much into this, but he's all about mapping out my life. And I realize there's extenuating circumstances, like safety for one. But I wouldn't know what to do with the freedom you just talked about. I'd have no idea what to do."

  "Well, no matter what you think of your father's methods, Fiona, he's done a good job. I'd just like to say that out loud because you're a very well-adjusted and sweet young lady."

  I blush at the compliment. "Hey, how'd your friend know I could ride, anyway? No one knew anything about me back then."

  "Well, that's the funny part, I guess. He said, Frank, if she's your girl, she'll be a rider."

  My whole face tightens and I have to take a few deep breaths and swallow hard to prevent the tears from falling out. I let out a sad whisper. "And I am a rider. I can't remember a time when I didn't have a pony to ride on the beach."

  Frank comes over and squeezes my shoulder. "Lots of little girls in wealthy families are riders, Fee. Don't let it confuse you, OK? That means nothing."

  I nod and wipe the tears away just as a vehicle is crunching up the gravel driveway out by the house.

  "I bet that's them!" Frank says with excitement. He takes off to go meet the new horse.

  I start to follow but I can't. There is just so much to be confused about. I mean, that's true, what he just said. Riding is something many rich kids do. But do rich foreign girls also speak English as their native language and have American mothers? Or have silver eyes like the girl in Brody's picture? Or have to use fake names, all of which have the initials FS?

  I have these rationalizations for my questions…

  One: My father met an American woman, is that so unusual?

  Yes. We're not Italian, or French, or Spanish or German. No one comes to our country as tourists. It's just not a desirable place, or to be honest, safe. That's the whole freaking reason I don't live there. So where did my dad meet my mom? And why have I always been able to speak English? My second language was Spanish. Which is weird. Because, like I said, we're not Spanish. Why not learn my dad's native language second? But I never took classes in that, I can barely speak it now, in fact.

  Two: Silver eyes are just common gray eyes dressed up with flowery language.

  OK, maybe they are just gray or whatever, but mine are pretty unique in that they have these little flecks of lights and darks in them, making them sparkle a bit.

  Three: Why do all my fake first names start with F? It's not a common letter for names in any language. In fact, almost every name that begins with F is stupid and nerdy. I've been—don't laugh—Fifi, Fritzi, Francine, Francesca, Fannie, Faith, Fatima, Faye, and Filia. Which is what they call me on the island.

  And the S last name? They always begin with S.

  I have a headache. I rub my temple and try not to think too hard, but one thing is for sure, my dad has some explaining to do. Why didn't I ever wonder about this stuff before?

  "Hey!"

  "Brody! What're you doing here?"

  He walks down the barn aisle with a swagger that makes me giggle.

  "Sean came over this morning before work and asked me to come help you guys. Said the dinner invita
tion went through too."

  "It did," I say as I stare at his mouth. Oh, the things that mouth did to me last night were incredible. And that was probably nothing compared to what he's capable of. I lick my lips and then find his eyes. "What?"

  "You're staring at my lips."

  "Yeah," I confess. "I am. I'm thinking about what a great kisser you are. Delivered the perfect kiss, in fact." I drag my eyes back up to his and shrug. "Maybe you should just do it again so I can stop thinking about it?"

  "Yeah," he says, taking my hand. "Nice try. Your dad is right over there."

  "He won't care," I mutter, still lost in my dream about Brody's lips. I drag my fingertips up his arm and caress his shoulder. It's firm, and it contracts a little as my touch dances over his t-shirt. "He's giving me a horse that costs as much as a house, I'm sure he won't care if I'm kissed properly by someone I really like."

  "Is that so?" His eyes dance just like my fingers and then he leans down and touches his lips to mine, gently at first, and this only makes me want him more. Desperately. Want him. Then he presses his whole body up against me and cups my face in both hands. The pitchfork I'm holding drops to the floor with a loud clang.

  His hands have me, he holds me, and I look up and then my eyes fall closed for good as I start to sink down, my knees buckling with the way he melts my body and makes my muscles go weak. And he slides us over to the wall and leans back. The wall is holding us up as we kiss.

  He pulls away, his forehead touching mine as we breathe into each other, our hearts beating with the unspoken desire, and it's almost too much.

  "No," I whisper. "Don't stop."

  "Fiona," he says as he kisses my brow, my nose, my cheek, my chin, my lips. "Fiona," he says again. "Please."

  I wait for him to finish but the word just sits there between us.

  "Please what?" I breathe, tipping my head up to search his eyes.

  "Please." He stops again.

  "Tell me," I beg.

  "Please do not walk away from me again. Please."

  And I want to tell him, That wasn't me! I never walked away, I never did anything! And I would never, ever, walk away from you. But I can't even make those words form in my mouth. Because maybe that girl was me. And maybe if I walked away once I'll do it again.

  That's pretty much what I do.

  That's pretty much all I do.

  I walk away from everyone.

  And my dad just told me yesterday that he's on his way to pick me up. He's on his way to walk me right out of here.

  Away from my new house, my new room, my new family, my new horse, my new boyfriend.

  And I'll never see them again.

  I want to say all that and be honest, but I have only been taught to deal with confusing and scary things in one way. I have one defense mechanism to help me when I'm exposed.

  "I'll never walk away from you, Brody. Never."

  Chapter Thirty - Brody

  I hear the words coming out, but the look on her face says something else entirely.

  "Fiona," I say as I hug her a little tighter. "Just tell me what's going on. I swear, if this stuff is secret, I can hold it in. Just don't lie to me. If you know you're leaving, then just tell me. I'm not going anywhere, I'm here. I'm in. I just don't ever want to have that feeling I had back when you were taken before."

  She swallows hard but stays silent.

  "Fiona," I whisper as I lean into her neck. "Please do not disappear. Say goodbye, at least. If you're going, just say goodbye."

  She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. "I don't want to go, but I'm afraid I'll have very little choice in the matter, Brody. If my father shows up, it will be legitimate and it will not be negotiable."

  "How long?"

  She tilts her head up at me and shrugs.

  "Take a guess."

  "Fiona's birthday. I still think he'll wait it out and let me walk away."

  "And will you? Walk away on your birthday?"

  She shakes her head. "No. If he waits that long, I can't see myself walking out. I can't."

  "And he knows this, doesn't he? So he won't wait that long, will he? He knows who you are, he knows you're Fiona, just like we know you're Fiona. And even if you can't accept it one hundred percent right now, deep down you know it as well."

  "Brody, he can't afford to break any laws here, he can't. And he'll never get me out of the country by force. He has to do it legitimately."

  "Fee, the Canadian border is sixty fucking miles across the lake. We could be there in an hour if we booked it. An hour."

  "And then what? He can't just sneak me out of Canada, either. I'm telling you, he won't do it that way. If he comes it will be because he's got all the cards in his favor and if it was that easy to stack the deck, he would've done it before I got sent to live with the Sullivans, not after. So, let's just forget about this for now, OK?"

  I look away and she put a gentle hand on my chin to try and make me look at her.

  Tires on gravel and the thrum of a diesel engine break us away from our embrace. "Well, looks like that horse is here. Let's worry about this later, huh?" I smile at her even though everything inside me is coming apart.

  She leans up and kisses me softly on the lips and I wrap my arms around her and kiss her back just as gently. "If you leave this time, I'll never stop looking. I'll get on a plane and fly to Bora Bora and then I'll go looking for you on every island that is reasonably close by until I find you."

  She laughs and pulls away, taking my hand in the process. "God, Brody, seriously, don't do that, OK? It's private, we have like, big, nasty weapons that blow up boats if people try to come ashore."

  "He's a drug dealer, isn't he?"

  She shakes her head and laughs. "No, he's not. Now stop, let's forget about it for now. We can talk more tonight if you want."

  I know nothing about horses, but this one looks average to me. She's black with a white face and four black legs and one white hoof. She's got a weird pattern of dots on her ass that looks like a web. Frank says they're called birdcatcher spots. Like I said, she's a horse. So when Fiona tells me how much this animal is worth, I almost choke. How in the world could a horse be worth a hundred grand? It blows me away.

  And what blows me away more is the fact that this thing is a gift.

  For Fiona.

  But I like that part so much I can hardly explain it. It fills me all up when Frank reveals that little bit of information. Somehow, some way, we have turned this girl around. A few days ago she was running for her life through the woods, so scared out of her mind she could barely think straight. And today she's not only happy and joking with Frank, but she's excited as well.

  And she keeps sending me little looks.

  Looks that say, I miss your lips.

  I privately enjoy this as I stand out of the way. I have absolutely nothing to contribute to this day at all, aside from gawking at this girl I have loved since she was a toddler. She is Fiona. I know this. I know this so thoroughly, it's not even an option that she's not her any more.

  She and Frank discuss this animal like professionals. After all the paperwork is signed and the truck drives out the back entrance, Fiona walks the horse up and down the driveway as Frank studies her gait. They talk about hooves, and legs, and backs, and all kinds of shit that makes no difference to me.

  A saddle appears and they fuss with the horse gear for a while, adjusting straps and pads endlessly, and then Frank slaps a helmet on Fiona's head and buckles a vest around her upper body that looks like it can take a bullet. He lifts her up by the knee in one smooth motion and she settles on the horse's back like riding and walking are the same thing. Then she begins to move the horse in circles.

  I watch everything she does. She's like a dancer on the back of that horse. But when she takes that beast over a fence that looks to be five feet tall or more, I about die. "What the fuck is she doing?" I ask Frank. "That cannot be safe!"

  Frank turns his head to me as Fiona gallops that horse
around a corner and comes back for another try. "She's good, huh?"

  "She's good?" I have no fucking idea if she's good or not. All I know is that this shit looks pretty fucking dangerous. "I think this is over, have her get off, it's making me nervous."

  Frank laughs at me but he whistles and waves her back to us. Both her and the horse are breathing hard as they approach.

  "Holy mother!" Fiona laughs. "She's so much fun! I love her!"

  I look over at Frank and it's like he's in heaven. Like his whole life just completed and he can die happy now. "OK, now what? I had no idea you people are daredevils on horseback. I think the horse is tired and needs to rest up. Get off her, Fiona."

  Fee laughs again, and then, before I can even understand her movements, she's on the ground in front of me. I clearly have no idea what this horse business is about at all, but I have a new appreciation for how dangerous it probably is for us to ride our dirt bikes down the back road when people are doing this shit.

  "Walk her and bathe her, OK, Fee? I'm going to go in and call my friend and let him know how it's going then we'll take photos of all her identifying marks."

  Fee. He called her Fee!

  He knows too. This girl belongs to us and this little display just proves it. Fiona leads the horse over to a concrete slab that has a drain in the middle of it and ties her up, then removes all her gear and puts that away in a small room inside the barn. I follow her around, listening to her chat endlessly about this horse as she walks her in circles to cool her off.

  I could kiss that friend of Frank's right now. This horse was a brilliant move. I think Fiona has forgotten all about her other life on a tropical island that is not too far from Bora Bora.

  "You wanna help me wash her, Brody? Or do you have to go back to work?"

  She must be on drugs if she thinks I'm leaving here to go back to work. "I'll stick around," I reply casually.