by Sandra Scott
“First, I would like to apologize for being angry with you during this situation with Andra’s kidnapping.” He sucked in his breath and let it go in one long exhalation. “After spending time alone, I realized I had only looked at this from my—and Andra’s—perspective. You and Papa were trying to see the situation from everyone’s perspective.” Jayson’s eyes lowered. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for being so selfish.”
Stefano shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not sure if it was his brother’s responsibility to do the apologizing. Their silence dragged on until Jayson finally looked up; only then did Stefano shake his head.
“No, Jayson, I am the sorry one. It was within your right to say and do what you did. This is your wife’s safety we are dealing with—no one else’s.”
“Yes, she is my wife,” Jayson said. His tone was not angry, just tired. “And I love her, Stefano. More than you could ever know. Andra’s my life—I can’t give her up for anyone, especially those kidnappers—not even for you.”
Stefano shut his eyes against the pain that spilled from Jayson’s, knowing he’d been instrumental in putting it there. “You are right, little brother; I had no right to tamper with your marriage.” He opened his eyes, unashamed they were now moist. “But this vow I give to you: I will do whatever it takes to help return Andra safely to your arms again.”
Jayson’s smile was humorless. “Now who’s the poet?”
“Not me, little brother—I will leave such frivolity to you.”
“Stefano?”
“Yes, Jayson?”
“Besides the hue of her skin—her beautiful brown skin—what have you got against my Doc?”
Startled at the insightful question, Stefano searched his mind for a reasonable answer—and found none.
At Stefano’s silence, Jayson produced a wistful smile, as if pitying him. “All you can see is color. However, what I see is a beautiful, intelligent, loving woman made up of bone and blood vessels and organs, just the same as you and me. The only difference is that her epidermis happens to be darker than ours.”
“Epidermis?”
“Skin, big brother.” Jayson laughed wearily. “You see, I’ve learned a few medical terms from my exceptionally smart wife.”
They stared at one another until Jayson broke the connection to study his hands lying uselessly in his lap. “Are you in love with Andra?”
Glad Jayson hadn’t the courage to gaze directly at him when asking his question, Stefano was able to answer with some resolve. “No,” he said, yet even in his own ears, the word rang out falsely.
The two existed through an uncomfortable silence before Stefano finally coughed. “Have you heard back from the kidnappers?”
Jayson shook his bowed head. “Not a word. I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad sign at this point.”
“It could be either way,” Stefano said, hoping to comfort him. He dug emotionally deeper, trying to compose encouraging words that didn’t come off sounding trite. “Jayson, do not give in to despair. Cling to your faith, knowing God will allow this situation to come out perfectly in the end.”
Jayson looked up, his face appearing both reassured and distressed. “I’ll try. But there are moments when, well, it’s hard.” Despite his doubt, Jayson appeared grateful for Stefano’s encouragement. His eyes studied Stefano for a spell. “You might have missed your calling; maybe you should’ve been a priest yourself.”
“Yes, maybe,” he said quietly. “Actually, the priesthood was a profession our mother wanted for me. She must have had the ability to foresee my future and predict I would never marry and thought the priesthood would better suit me.” Stefano shook his head and smiled sadly. “However, I’m too far gone to engage in such a profound occupation.”
“If you say so, big brother. Don’t have a myocardial infarction.”
Feeling like Racine, Stefano rolled his eyes. “A what?”
“Heart attack.”
“Now you’re just showing off, little brother.”
His smile brief, Jayson stared at the big glass window beyond Stefano, his mind lost in unknown thoughts. Momentarily, he shook his head as if awakening from a dream. “Next subject.”
“Yes, Jayson?”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were dying?”
Stefano stiffened. It was his turn to look away. “I wanted to badly. That was one reason I asked you to return—to inform you of my condition, as well as to have you step in and help Papa run the business.” As he fidgeted with the crease in his pants, his mind automatically went to Andra. “But once you returned, the right moment never presented itself.”
“Are you sure you’re going to die?” Jayson asked, his expression shifting between ire and worry. “What is it you have?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Stefano shrugged carelessly. “I visited three different specialists, and they all ultimately came to the same diagnosis. It’s a rare, aggressive form of leukemia, and at any moment, it could elevate into its last malignant stage.”
A desperate hush filled the air until Jayson’s hesitant voice broke it. “Have you told Papa?”
Looking off, Stefano shook his head.
Jayson’s voice rose dramatically. “Well, are you going to tell him? He has a right to know—a right to prepare for your passing.”
“Yes.” Stefano focused on Jayson’s younger eyes, which were so much like his. “I agree. However, I want to wait until this is all over and allow you to get your wife back before I choose to throw more grief onto the fire. Are we agreed?”
Saying nothing, Jayson stood, causing Stefano to mirror him. They stared at one another. Simultaneously, they moved to meet midpoint across the floor. Automatically, their arms wrapped in a brotherly hug; clinging together, their bodies swayed inside their embrace as a nonverbal agreement passed between them.
“I have always been proud of you, my little brother.”
“Ditto, my big brother.”
Embarrassed, they broke apart to return to their chairs.
Jayson gave a short laugh. “Stefano, remember your first real girlfriend, Chloe? I had the meanest crush on her. I hated that you wouldn’t allow me to tag along on your dates.”
Stefano nodded. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “Even at ten years old, you were such a bothersome little brat, trying to sabotage us whenever Chloe and I were together. You and I have always been so much alike, our tastes so similar.”
“And we still are,” Jayson said. “More alike now than ever before.”
The room grew silent again. Stefano instinctively knew both he and Jayson shared the same mental image of a beautiful doctor named Andra.
Jayson stirred. “Papa said you made a comment earlier about the return of Andra’s rings. It somehow appeared to you as personal.”
Stefano grunted.
“How?” Jayson asked.
The mystical feeling of an elusive revelation again tickled Stefano’s brain’s perimeter; his frustration mounted when he couldn’t catch hold of it. Stefano sighed. “I don’t know.”
The ensuing quiet was broken when Stefano cleared his throat. Avoiding the blue-and-white lily wilting inside its crystal vase, his eyes returned to the computer screen to reexamine the displayed frozen headline. He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder when Jayson strolled over to stare at it too.
If he speculated why Stefano had conducted a Google search on Hog, Jayson chose not to ask. Instead, he let go a reflective sigh. “It’s so funny about love. Even someone like Hog can’t get over his grief when it comes to his wife.”
As he stared at the computer screen, Stefano’s defeated thoughts crowded out Jayson’s words. Yet once the words eventually filtered in, he mentally waded through his brain fog in order to catch their slippery significance.
His head jerked over his shoulder to stare at Jayson. “Wait one mo
ment. What did you just say?”
“You know, even Hog has feelings despite what you might think of him.”
“My sons, is everything alright?” George said, filling the doorway. “What are you two doing in here? Is there anything I should know?”
Agitated with a mystical sense he was about to obtain knowledge of extreme importance, Stefano swiveled in his chair to face his father. “Papa, tell me everything you can concerning that consumer’s death years ago.”
Jayson’s incredulous stare volleyed between Stefano and George. “The death of what consumer?” he demanded. His expression turned confused as he stared at his father. “Papa?”
George stood rooted at the open door, his face grief-stricken. He shook his head. “Stefano, I confided in you about such matters only because you had taken over the business for me—nothing more!” He stumbled over the threshold to an empty chair. “I do not want to discuss such a tragic moment, especially now.”
Stefano stood, and together with Jayson, crossed over to where their father sat. He placed a tender hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Papa, I sympathize with your not wanting to dwell on such things, but something tells me this is important.” He stooped to stare directly into his father’s eyes. “Tell us all you know.”
George passed a palsied hand across his forehead. “I don’t know the specifics. I chose not to know. I allowed the lawyers to handle it quietly and discreetly.” Neither brother spoke as they waited out their father’s distressed silence. Finally, the older man sighed. “It was around the time you were away at college, a few years before your mother’s”—he swallowed hard—“death. A consumer had a lethal reaction to a batch of our olive oil and, from what I understand, died after ingesting it.”
Slowly, Stefano rose to his full height. “No other deaths were involved?”
George quickly shook his head. “No, but I couldn’t take any chances. I decided to recall all product that year, as well as the next two years—just to be sure there was no possibility of further consumer contamination.”
Stefano stared at his father. A metamorphic change came over the elder right before his eyes, his frame deflating into bowed despair.
That had to be the year the business started its downward slide.
His father’s next words confirmed as much. “I wanted to close the business for good, but I couldn’t.” His eyes glistened with sorrow as he faced Stefano and Jayson. “I needed to leave this company behind for my sons, just as my father left it to me—despite what had happened.”
As George sobbed quietly, his shoulders heaved, causing Jayson to place a gentle arm over them in comfort.
“Papa!” Stefano said, the urgency in his voice regaining George’s tearful attention. “Can you recall details of the case? Any particulars at all?”
“I only know it was a female consumer.”
Stefano sucked in a quick breath, feeling as if someone had blindsided him with a gut punch. Swiftly, he headed for his computer again. “Jayson, help me,” he said over his shoulder, feeling his adrenaline kick in. He returned to his seat and quickly cleared the previous internet article to replace it with the Google search page. After clicking on the “I’m Feeling Lucky” link, he poised his fingers to type. “Mr. Hog’s wife name—what was it?”
Jayson’s feet quickly brought him to Stefano’s side. “Why are you asking? What has Hog got to do with what happened back then or even Andra’s kidnapping now?”
Then Jayson’s face dimly lit from within, as if he were on the verge of understanding an epic revelation yet couldn’t quite grasp it. His voice came forth hoarsely as he pushed past his barricade of unasked questions to answer Stefano. “He called her Beauty—which I believe is a nickname.” Jayson’s brow wrinkled and then smoothed. “That’s all I remember.”
“He mentioned another name during the meeting,” Stefano said, his own brow furrowing. “I believe it was Lillian.”
“Yes,” George said wearily. “Yes, you’re right, Son. Lillian.”
Stefano typed in “Lillian Grainger” and pressed Enter. A story concerning someone named Lillian Grainger, who was nineteen years old at the time of the 1940 census, pulled up. After clearing the search box, he entered new data: “Harlan and Lillian Grainger.” No results were found. Determined, he next typed in “Harlan” and “Beauty Grainger” with a space between. More than a thousand articles mentioning Hog’s name popped up, yet the first few links he perused never displayed the name Beauty. Overwhelmed by the fact that he didn’t have the mental strength to sift through each one, he sighed in tired defeat.
“Type the terms Harlan Orlando Grainger, wife, and death into each field,” Jayson said over Stefano’s shoulder.
After following his instructions, Stefano pressed Enter.
Billionaire Mogul’s Wife Dead at Forty-Seven
September 5. Sophia de Vega Grainger, wife of billionaire Texan oil mogul Harlan Grainger, was found dead yesterday at their ranch in Galveston, her death apparently caused by a rare allergic reaction to a batch of contaminated olive oil purchased overseas in Athens, Greece.
The grief-stricken spouse was unavailable for comment. A spokesperson for Mr. Grainger requested that the media respect his wishes for privacy during this difficult time.
“He gave us a fake name for his wife,” Stefano said, unsurprised, his voice a flat monotone. “Her name is Sophia.”
“But …” Jayson stuttered after reading the news story, his remaining words trailing off.
His younger son’s confused words caused George to bolt from his seat and hurry to the desk to stand next to Stefano’s chair. “What?” Upon quickly scanning the article, he grabbed a handful of his shirt. “No. Oh no!”
Stefano’s mind skipped backward, his memory’s eye skimming over the kidnapper’s scrawl across the brown paper wrapped around the ransom box and the way the unknown writer had misspelled Jayson’s name; the person had unwittingly scribbled the Americanized version, Jason.
Rapidly, his memory tumbled forward to the previous conversation he’d had with Paulo, when Paulo had revealed Hog knew Stefano’s weakness: Andra.
“Harlan Orlando Grainger—our own Mr. Hog—is the person who has Andra,” he said grimly. His hands balled into tight fists, painfully cutting off circulation inside his clenched palms. “This I am sure of.”
48
Sitting on the bed, Andra flung the scratchy blanket from her shoulders and jumped to her feet the moment she heard the lock disengage from the other side. The heavy panel slowly opened. Grimacing, she observed Hog stick his thick silvery mane inside the room.
“You decent?” Not bothering to wait for her answer, he glanced across the room to swiftly zero in on Andra. His pale blue eyes raked her body with a lewd scan before he pulled the door wider. “Good.”
His tall, stocky body filled the doorway, dashing her hope of possibly darting past him. Momentarily, he grinned, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t even think about it, Doctor,” he said with a playful wag of his finger. He glanced over at the large container in the corner. “I might have to go over and let your friend crawl out so the two of you can get better acquainted. Would you like that?”
“No.”
Hog smiled winningly. “I thought not. So how are you this afternoon?”
She merely blinked at him.
“That’s okay. I like a woman who’s silent, barefoot, and pregnant.” He glanced at her scuffed white tennis shoes and chuckled. “Well, two outta three ain’t bad, my beautiful filly.” He paused and then abruptly pointed a finger upward, as if he’d just had a lightbulb moment. “Ah, here’s a thought. I believe I’ll call you Beauty for short. I’m pretty sure my first Beauty wouldn’t mind if you replace her, especially since she’s long gone. In fact, she’d probably want me to, seeing as how she’s always desired my happiness.”
At Andra’s silence, Hog gla
nced over to the prepackaged food and six-pack of bottled water he’d left earlier; only two bottles were empty, and the wrapped sandwiches remained untouched. His face displayed his annoyance. “You know, you should eat to keep up your strength for me and the little one inside ya. You’re gonna need it.”
Instantly, Andra wished she had eaten just so she could vomit his food all over him.
Ignoring the daggers in her eyes, he casually leaned against the doorpost, his orbs again scraping her frame until she felt as if she’d already been raped.
“You know something else? I’ve never made love to an expectant mother before. You see, my first Beauty couldn’t have children, so I never had the pleasure with her. It’ll be my first time, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it immensely. From what I understand, you will too.” He held up a palm as if she’d disagreed. “Listen, I’ve heard tell the woman’s erotic zones are heightened and way off the charts during pregnancy. It’s a known fact there’s nothing like makin’ love to a woman with child.”
She stared in disbelief at his lined forehead. “You’re amazing, you loony tune.”
At his “Thank you,” she scowled. “You’ve sucked in so much useless, idiotic facts inside that ten-gallon vacuum cleaner of yours that it’s a miracle your head hasn’t exploded yet.”
To her dismay, Hog grinned pleasantly. “Well, darlin’, I try to keep current.” He wiggled one eyebrow. “Afterward, I can cross that off my bucket list of things I’ve always wanted to do. Right, Beauty?”
She grew nauseated at his words, her mind stalling at the memory of the airplane restroom, where Jayson had said practically the same thing concerning his own bucket list. She glared at the man before her. “My name is Mrs. Jayson Theonopilus.”
“Aw, come on, Beauty—don’t be like that.” He winked saucily. “You’ll get used to me. Watch and see.”
She couldn’t help but gape at him in bewilderment. During med school, she had studied about people who outwardly functioned normally in society, and maybe even displayed extraordinary brilliance when it came to business, yet possessed a mentally imbalanced, psychotic nature. Evidently, she was looking at such a case study.