Select

by Marit Weisenberg

  “Stop!” he half joked. “I’m still recovering.” I felt such a rush, like I could do anything. I was thinking about that when John suddenly took my face in one hand so that I was looking at him.

  “I love you.”

  I deliberately walked in just as the bell rang.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at me as I sat down next to him in English on Monday morning.

  “Hey,” I said softly. Our eyes held for a split second.

  We spoke on the weekend, but it was small talk, mostly updates on how he was playing in his tournament. We didn’t refer to what happened in the wine cellar.

  When he said “I love you,” my whole body had tensed, and it hadn’t been the same after that. We’d talked and kissed and lingered as we said good-bye in the drying, steaming driveway, but I’d never recovered.

  All weekend I’d torn myself apart over what he’d said. It wasn’t because I worried he was becoming obsessed with me. My instinct told me that wouldn’t happen with John—his thoughts didn’t have that irrational quality—and it was only something that ever seemed to occur with Novak’s assistants. It was because I’d lied to myself that I had any control over a situation that had always been completely out of control.

  As I sat next to him, eavesdropping on his thoughts, I learned he’d spent the weekend consumed with should-haves. Ultimately, he’d decided he didn’t regret saying it, and he wasn’t going to apologize for how he felt. At the same time he’d decided he wasn’t going to chase after me.

  Knowing that he wasn’t sorry, that he stood behind how he felt, made it harder, because it made me want him even more.

  Mrs. Bartell suddenly kneeled right next to my desk. She looked exhausted. She whispered conspiratorially, “I took my son to the doctor on Saturday, and they sent us straight to the ICU. We found out his heart is inflamed; it’s called myocarditis. Thank God we found out, because now we can give him the proper care. He should be okay.” She looked at me meaningfully and squeezed my hand. “I can’t thank you enough.” She stood and headed back to the front of the classroom.

  I drew intricate circles on my paper as class started, trying to pretend Mrs. Bartell hadn’t rattled me. As class progressed I also tried to pretend I didn’t know what John was thinking. He was trying not to replay Friday night in his head, but he couldn’t stop himself. The clock said we had an hour before the period ended. He wanted to know how I would act when we had our first five minutes alone together since Friday night.

  Mrs. Bartell’s classroom phone started to ring. She looked at it, confused, like she’d never heard it ring before. I looked over at John, wanting to say something that might bring us back to normal—somewhere more casual and safe. He leaned in to hear what I was going to say, but suddenly I turned my attention to Mrs. Bartell. I knew that phone call was about me.

  “Hello?” Mrs. Bartell said. Even before she hung up, I started to pack my things.

  “Julia? You’re being called down to the front office.” Mrs. Bartell shrugged her shoulders, indicating she had no idea what was going on.

  “Thank you.” I was ready to go. I doubted anyone else besides John noticed that I’d stood up before Mrs. Bartell said my name.

  I didn’t look at John on my way out. At that point I still thought we had more time.

  I reported to the front office. “Hi. I’m Julia Jaynes.”

  The young man at the front desk leapt up and said, “Right this way.”

  Someone was waiting for me. I’d assumed it was only a transcript problem or a schedule technicality.

  I was led into a small conference room with shabby chairs and a long table. Three people rose to greet me—two men in suits, along with the school principal, Mrs. Brown. She looked extremely nervous.

  Oh no. Had Mrs. Bartell said something?

  “Julia, these two gentlemen asked to speak with you. Would you like to speak with them?” I could tell she was trying to clearly express that this was my decision and, for the record, no one here was strong-arming me.

  I was confused because I’d seen these men somewhere before. A cloud passed over the sun, briefly dimming the light in the sterile office. In that instant I placed them. One of them was the man who appeared out of nowhere after my car was rear-ended back in September.

  “Please sit.” The younger man gestured to a seat across the table. “Would you like a bottle of water?” The other man closed the door behind us but allowed the principal to stay in the room.

  I remained standing. I turned to look at Mrs. Brown, who stepped forward.

  “I let them know you need to get back to class.”

  “Yes, we’d like to ask you just a few questions.” The older man sat himself down across from where I stood, clearly trying to draw attention away from Mrs. Brown. “Would you like some water?”

  Again with the water. Did they want to get my DNA illegally? I shook my head.

  “Who are you? I’ve seen you before,” I said accusingly. The two men looked at each other, one annoyed with the other.

  “I’m Russell Kelly with the FBI, and this is Agent Rhodes, also with the FBI.”

  “Is this legal?” I looked to Mrs. Brown.

  Before she could open her mouth, she was not so subtly interrupted by Agent Kelly. “We have some questions for you about Kendra Wilson. Do you know Ms. Wilson?”

  I needed to not say a word. I knew that.

  Agent Kelly paused for effect. “She’s missing. She was last seen with your father, at his office. Have you seen Kendra? Her family is frantic.”

  I had to just stand there, knowing I had a mountain of information that would help Kendra.

  “Is there anything you could tell us about her or something you’ve heard?”

  I remained silent, trying not to think about her family.

  Knowing they weren’t getting anywhere, Agent Kelly changed tactics. “We also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you have our information in case you need help.” He passed two business cards across the table. I let them lie there.

  “Why would I need help?”

  The younger agent jumped in. “We’ve had a close eye on your father for a while now. We know your family is very insular, and you may need a hand in case you’d like to restart your life away from them.”

  “Excuse me?” They thought we were some kind of cult I needed to escape from? That made me want to laugh. I was relieved this wasn’t going to be a big deal after all.

  “Do you know where your mother lives?”

  I went cold.

  “My mother lives here,” I replied.

  Agent Kelly said, “Your birth mother is in the San Francisco Bay Area. She used to work for us, and she had an interesting theory about your father—she almost got him to come in to talk with us.”

  The younger agent interrupted. “But then your mother became pregnant. Shortly after you were born, your father disappeared, and you vanished with him. It took years to connect you with that group in California. Until your father had a problem staying off the radar.”

  Agent Kelly interjected, “We can put you in touch with her.” It went unsaid that they would want information from me in return. I realized they were looking to me for confirmation that Novak was the same person they’d been pursuing in California.

  I cut him off. “You can speak to me with my parents and their attorney present.”

  You could feel the heaviness and annoyance when they realized it had been a mistake to approach me. They must have seen me as their big opportunity—the clear outsider, the one most likely to talk.

  Mrs. Brown looked relieved. She may have been strongarmed into calling me down when they flashed their badges, but it must have occurred to her that she would have to answer to my father.

  I turned to leave. Mrs. Brown opened the door for me to exit.

  “Her name is Elizabeth Blackcomb. She was born in Bethesda, Maryland,” one of them called after me. A goodwill gesture in hopes I’d come back for more.

  Frustra
ted, the other agent also called out. “Tell your father it’s a hell of a lot harder to hide in the world than it used to be.” Like the good girl I’d been taught to be, I kept walking.

  I strode in a daze through the deserted halls. I didn’t know what period it was or where I was supposed to go. Everything suddenly seemed surreal.

  I leaned over the nearest trash can and threw up.

  I hovered, holding back my hair. I’d let my bag drop onto a piece of spit-out gum, and I could see the neon green, still with teeth marks, stuck to it.

  I’d never dreamed I might learn a thing about her. It hadn’t crossed my mind as a remote possibility. I’d been denied any knowledge of her. And now, out of the blue, these men show up and they tell me my mother is one of them….

  My heart was beating out of my chest.

  I had to remind myself that everything those men said was bullshit. Still, it was a shock just to hear their words. To hear them talk about Novak having lived in California. For the first time I could picture our lives on a continuum instead of broken into airtight chapters.

  Novak had warned me this might happen. I’m sure he knew about the surveillance, and that’s why there were all the rules after Barton Springs.

  My phone vibrated, and it dawned on me I’d heard the buzzing for minutes now. I knew who it was. I just didn’t know what to say. Five missed calls. Novak had never wanted to speak to me so badly.

  “Hello?” I answered woodenly.

  “You are being picked up in front of the school in three minutes. Your principal called Victoria to let her know what’s going on. Don’t go back for anything. Your books, nothing. Do you understand?” Novak said.

  “Okay.” It came out as a strange half whisper.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes. What about my car?”

  “You’re worried about your Prius?” He made it sound like it was sweet I cared about such a shitty car. “We’ll arrange for someone to pick it up.” He hung up.

  What was happening? I felt like the Secret Service was coming to airlift me out. And Novak would be waiting at the other end. What was John going to think? An hour ago I was thinking about what to say in response to “I love you,” and now I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

  I waited out front, all by myself in the quiet morning, until a Mercedes with blacked-out windows pulled up. I got in and we ripped away from the school.

  It was serenely calm when I arrived home, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like a bombshell hadn’t been dropped on the story of my life.

  It was midmorning and it was nice outside, birds singing. There was a crispness in the air, indicating the shift in seasons.

  “Your stepmother is picking up Olivia in case the FBI go to her next, and then they’ll join you and your father here. He’s waiting for you down by the water. He wanted to speak to you alone as soon as you arrived.” Anne smiled at me. She had been the one sent to pick me up, and now she was being oddly kind.

  There was no reason I should feel sick. That was the FBI’s job—to peel me off from the group and get information from me. They would do that by any means necessary, whether it was pretending my mother was an outsider or telling me my father had considered speaking to them. Both scenarios were absurd. There was no way Novak Jaynes would go down either path.

  Everyone had always seemed like they were on a different plane of calm and had a higher level of loyalty to one another than I did. It was like a poison entering me when I started to contemplate the truth. Maybe this was why I looked so much different, why I always felt some of the older members were wary of me, why I cried and blushed, why I would ever be attracted to an outsider. All the weakest parts of me that no one else seemed to have. All the parts I was ashamed of and wished I could fix.

  I made my way down the lawn to the water. Why did he want to see me all the way down here? Was he afraid of what I’d learned and what I might say out loud? They may not have been acting like it, but I realized this was what emergency mode looked like.

  “Honey.” Novak was waiting for me at the edge of the bulkhead. He folded me into a hug.

  He murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Eventually he held me back from him. “Let’s sit over here.” He led me to a grouping of sleek outdoor chairs. Already this felt different from how I’d been treated the last time I had been summoned, seated in his office, receiving my punishment.

  I sat and blinked, willing myself to hold back tears. I usually rehearsed what I was going to say to my father. Even casual conversations. Now I felt like I couldn’t get my head together. Novak pulled a chair close to mine—a little too close—and stroked my hair. In a low voice he said quickly, close to my ear, “Don’t worry about them ever bothering you again. They can’t find the evidence they want for their case, so they’re coming after us personally. They want to prove the other…hearsay. Our lawyers are in the process of making sure they never attempt to speak with you again.”

  Pulling back, he looked at me. “Did they scare you?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Your principal did the right thing, calling Victoria. Of course, she should have called as soon as they approached her. It sounds like you walked out almost immediately?” He wanted to know what had gone on in that room. I wondered what Mrs. Brown had told him.

  We didn’t talk about the past. Ever. This was most likely the only opportunity I would have for the rest of my life to ask him about my mother.

  Instead I said, “I walked out as soon as they introduced themselves.”

  The pinpoint pupils of his eyes reacted, but just barely. He waited for me to continue, but I stayed quiet. He said, “Those fuckers. Playing with a young girl like that. I’m sorry, Julia.” He paused again. This was beginning to feel a bit like a game of cat and mouse. Had he guessed what they had said to me? Would he think I believed them?

  Without warning, Novak stood up as though the conversation was over. I was mostly relieved. I had gone this far without knowing a thing about her. It was the right thing to do, even though part of me felt like I’d missed my chance. What the FBI had said wasn’t true. There was no possible way. Novak wouldn’t be here today, let alone be the head of the entire family, if he had had a relationship with an outsider. Not to mention had a child he’d brought into the fold. No one could overcome that transgression.

  I felt much better, the way I usually did after being near Novak. At this point I assumed I’d stay home and return to school tomorrow. So Novak shocked me when he said, “It’s not safe at your school. We’re bringing you back home, so to speak.”

  “Back to St. Philip’s?” I was confused. It couldn’t be this easy.

  Novak nodded.

  “It won’t be for too much longer. Relocation is happening sooner rather than later.”

  “What? When?” I sounded slightly panicked to my own ears.

  Novak’s eyes looked surprised at my tone. “Everyone will find out the plan at the same time. And I’ll tell them then whether the plan is right for them.” So I wasn’t out of the woods.

  I couldn’t get over it. That was it? After everything I’d been through, it was done, just like that?

  “Don’t look so shocked, Julia. I think you learned your lesson. We’ve had enough of this business, don’t you think?” He gave me his glamorous smile. Then, sincerely, he said, “I’m proud of you. You’re extremely strong. Be worthy of your heritage, Julia, and you should have no problems going forward.” Putting his arm around me, he kissed the top of my head. He stood holding me like that for a moment while we looked out at the lake, both of us aware that soon enough we wouldn’t be seeing it again.

  In that moment I felt loved. Eventually I walked with him back to the house. There was no question—I never wanted to disappoint him again.

  I should have been ecstatic, like I’d just been let out of jail and unburdened from my mental prison as well. It was the oddest thing; maybe it was leftover shock. It was the only explanation I could come up with for w
hy I was shaking all over.

  Novak had almost reached a set of glass doors to the main house when he glanced at me. “Your sister especially will be excited to have you back at school. She’s very unhappy with us at the moment. Maybe you can explain to her that sometimes young love is destined to end badly.”

  NOVEMBER

  There was a moment when I wondered if I could just disappear and it wasn’t necessary to see John again. I purposely never left anything behind. I never returned texts or left voice mails, and I made sure no one ever took pictures of me. If I stayed away long enough, he could easily begin to feel like he’d made me up. For a week I focused on reintegrating myself, thrilled to be back in my family’s good graces. It was a risk to go near him at this point anyway.

  I told Angus what happened—about reading John’s mind, letting it go unsaid that that was why I’d been with John. Angus was the one who told me I needed to see John in person, that I had to make sure it was handled.

  I decided to do it almost two weeks after I’d left Austin High. Following months of heat, it was a freakishly cold fall day, and after the drive deep into Westlake Hills, I arrived at the tennis complex, beautiful with its canyon views and bordered by woods.

  It was already dark at five thirty p.m. and the surrounding area immediately off the courts was in the shadows, away from the floodlights. I waited for him there. As much as I tried to separate myself from the task at hand, I felt my stomach drop when I saw him on the court.

  I waited patiently. During a break, John walked over to a water fountain in a small wooden hut with an old school chalkboard people used to sign up for courts. He came back out, pausing at the base of the metal spectator stands tucked against the cedar trees where I sat. He was still breathing hard, staring at the court, planning to finish his opponent.