CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alex’s breath caught in her throat. The words—“Our home is destroyed”—ripped through her. Her sanctuary, her one safe place, her home, was gone forever. She siphoned out a breath.
“Our neighbors?”
“The bombs were designed to have full impact on our homes. Your neighbors have some damage, but no one was home. Oh my God, Alex, where’s Max?”
“He’s on his way to Paris,” Alex said. She looked over at John. “I think he’s on the phone with John. Are you still in Atlanta?”
“Yes,” Raz said. “I’ll be there tonight. Alex . . . I . . . I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“I love you. too,” Alex said.
“Oh God,” Raz said. She heard him sniff in the background. With a gust of wind, he blew out a breath.
“Do you want to hold or just come here?” Alex asked.
“I’m on my way,” Raz said. “We’ll buy another, Alexandra. We’ll rebuild. At least . . .”
“We’re alive to do it. Yes,” Alex said.
“Yes. I’ll call you when I get there.” Raz clicked off the phone. Alex pressed a button, and her Sergeant was on the phone.
“Sergeant? I just heard the news.”
“Call me when you can.”
“I will. Please let Colonel Gordon know that I am all right.”
“Yes, sir,” her Sergeant said clicking off the line. Alex clicked the phone again, connecting to Ben.
“Ben?”
“Claire says that you must come for a visit before you get blown up.” Ben’s humor helped him gain some control over his emotions.
“I need a dress for my wedding. Would she make one for me?”
“She’d be honored,” Ben said. “Alexandra . . .”
“I’m all right,” Alex said. “He fucked up.”
“Yes, it looks that way,” Ben said. “Let’s hope that’s true. Are you armed?”
“Yes, we’re driving Joseph’s car. Should we return home?”
“Go home. The police are looking for you. Then . . .”
“We’ll stay downtown tonight. Don’t worry. Would you mind . . . ?”
“Alexandra, what can I do?”
“Will you call my Dad? I haven’t talked to them since . . . He’ll be crazy, and Mom . . .”
“I’ll take care of it. Just . . . be safe,” Ben said.
“Always,” she said.
She looked down at Charlie’s grave. For a moment, the world seemed to stand completely still. Her eyes traced the sunflower carved into the stone. Twelve petals, a stem, two leaves . . . The words—“Captain Charles O’Brien. Loving father and husband. The very best of the very best”—echoed in her head. As if the world had stopped moving, in that moment, she felt nothing and heard only silence.
In a rush of sensation and sound, like the bomb that had destroyed her home, sadness and loss overwhelmed her. In front of Charlie’s grave, she fell to her knees and wept into her hands. John came behind her, pulling her from the grave, to hold her in his arms. She clutched him and buried her head in his shoulder. Her tears fell from her eyes. She felt a hand at her back and turned to see Cian standing behind her.
“We need to leave,” Cian said. “It’s not safe to stay in one location for too long.”
“Was it IRA?” Alex asked. She swiped her eyes with her hand.
“No,” Cian said. “When the news goes International, you’ll get confirmation of that. But it wouldn’t surprise me if it looked like the PIRA.”
“Why?” John asked.
“It’s additive, brother. Someone is trying to break Alex’s mind.”
Alex nodded. She looked over at Joseph, who was still on his cell phone.
“Did you speak to Max?” she asked John.
“Yes,” John said. “He was at DIA and saw the news bulletin. I told him to go to France. He should be on the plane.”
“Ben will check on him,” Alex said.
John nodded. “We’re alive.”
“For now,” Alex said.
“We’ll stay downtown.” John pulled her back into his arms and whispered into her ear. “It will be great fun. We’ll call room service, drink all of those little bottles of alcohol, and I will make love to you all night, cherishing every single moment I have you alive and in my arms.”
Alex closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. Then, with a jerk, she remembered his betrayal and pushed away from him. Their eyes held for a moment. She shook her head.
“My safe place . . .”
“Has always been with me,” John said. “And when we rebuild, we’ll make a place for Raz to live, a place for our bees, and a place for our love.”
“The future,” Alex said.
“Yes.”
“Our future?” Her mind reeled with doubt.
“Of course.”
Alex’s eyes held John’s eyes. She opened her mouth, but he kissed her quiet.
“Let’s see what’s left of our home,” John said.
Alex nodded. She held out her hand to Joseph. Taking his hand, they walked to the Durango, where Cian and Eoin were under the car, checking for explosives. They rose, shaking their heads, and got into the car. Without saying a word, Joseph started the car and drove through Fort Logan Cemetery.
The devastation of their homes wiped clean any memory of the silent drive. Even the chaos of news reporters, helicopters, and police disappeared from memory. Alex’s Homeland Security badge allowed them to walk past the police barricade to the edge of their South City Park homes. Stunned, they stood on the sidewalk and gawked at the wreckage.
The hundred-year-old Craftsman, where Alex, John, and Max had lived until she was injured, was leveled. One and a half stories and eight years of their lives lay in tiny pieces on the ground.
Next door, the hundred-year-old Denver Square, where Alex and John had created a home, was destroyed. Most likely due to the reinforcements from the secure office, part of the front wall and the sub-floor covering the basement remained. The water streaming in from the Denver Fire Department would destroy anything that remained. Two stories of love, laughter, and brick had disappeared in the explosion and subsequent fire. The garage was flattened.
Looking past the house, Alex saw that the bricks and fire had destroyed all but one beehive. Frantic bees flew back and forth, looking for a place to call home. At the end of the day, the surviving bees would assimilate into the remaining hive. Bees were like that.
Where would she assimilate?
She closed her eyes for a moment, touching the place where Max lived inside her. At least they were alive. Opening her eyes, she saw that Homeland Security was taking over from the Denver Police. With another flash of badges, she and the men escaped to a coffee shop a block away. They sat in shocked silence while the people around them gossiped about the neighborhood bombing.
“You need to go home to your family,” Alex said to Joseph. “Nancy must be crazy with worry.”
“She is,” Joseph said. “I . . . You’ll let me know about the other stuff?”
“Of course,” Alex said. “Go home.”
“How will you get around?”
“We can take a cab,” Alex said. “My Jeep was parked on the corner. We can go and get it if we need it.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Joseph said, standing. Alex hugged him.
“I know,” Alex said. “We . . .”
“You’ll work this out, Alex. I know you will,” Joseph said. “You’ll do it.”
“I’d like to get through today first,” she said and kissed his cheek.
Joseph nodded. John hugged him good-bye. After shaking Cian and Eoin’s hand, Joseph walked out of the coffee shop.
“I wouldn’t get the Jeep,” Cian said. “If it was me? I would set up all three cars. I bet the CJ will go off if it’s started.”
“Always good to have a Volunteer around,” Alex said, attempting a joke.
“I turned the oven off. I’m cer
tain of it. It wasn’t me,” Eoin said.
Alex and John laughed at the absurdity of Eoin’s comment.
“Can you find us a place to stay, John?” Alex asked.
John pulled his cell phone from his pocket. In a matter of moments, he arranged for a suite where everyone could stay. As the news of the bombing reached the airwaves, Alex fielded phone calls from her friends and siblings while deftly avoiding her parents. Her parents had told Erin that they would return to Denver by nightfall.
Two hours later, a Homeland Security team arrived to escort them to their hotel suite. When the hotel door swung shut, John and Alex were finally alone. Lifting her off her feet, he made good on his promise to make love to her all night.
FFF
The next morning
September 9—9:30 A.M.
Denver, Colorado
“Of course, you will move into our house,” Rebecca said.
Rebecca Hargreaves shook the ash from the bent head of a lone giant sunflower, which had somehow, missed the blast. Three inches smaller than Alex, Rebecca’s perfect hair, makeup, and clothing gave her an almost regal air, even among the broken brick, glass, and wreckage of their homes.
“I’m not moving into your house,” Alex said.
They were standing in the front yard of what had been Max’s home. John had to work, so Alex agreed to meet the insurance adjuster. Somehow, her mother got wind that she would be alone and decided that this was the moment for them to talk. Alex made a mental note to scream at her siblings or let Max do it. She smiled at the thought of Max yelling at their siblings.
The insurance adjuster spent the last two hours with the fire inspector and the Denver Police Department explosives inspector. They had picked their way around the building, taking pictures of the wreckage and sharing their assessment of what had happened. Until her mother arrived, Alex had been following along with their progress.
Alex put her hand under her mother’s arm to stabilize her, “Watch out, Rebecca.”
“Do not call me that. You only call me that to punish me. I am your mother. God damn it. You are the most infuriating child on the planet.”
“You told Max he was the most infuriating child yesterday. So which one of us is the most infuriating child? Bastard number one or bastard number two?”
“Alexandra!”
“What do you want, Rebecca?” Alex asked. She stared down at her mother.
“Don’t call me that,” Rebecca said.
Alex dropped her head back to implore the heavens for patience.
“Why won’t you move into our home? We are in Washington until Thanksgiving. The house is large enough for you and all of your friends.”
“Because I am angry with you.”
“Well, get over it. You and Max are being petty and childish.”
“Why do you have such a hard time believing that Max and I are struggling with this? You were so ashamed of our pedigree that you didn’t tell us . . . for thirty-two years, you didn’t tell us. Finding out about our parentage creates the same awful hole in my life as destroying my home. Don’t you get that?”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. She softened for the first time. She shrugged. “I guess I feel guilty.”
“You should,” Alex replied.
Rebecca stepped back as if she had been bitten.
Alex shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mom. My life is falling apart. I’m not very nice right now.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Erin tells me you’re getting married again,” Rebecca said.
“Erin talks too much.”
“I would like to be involved in this wedding,” Rebecca said.
“We have to dispose of the other wife and child first.”
“Benjamin tells me that there is no legal record of John Kelly marrying anyone.”
“They found a church record. For whatever reason, the priest didn’t file the paperwork with the government.”
“Benjamin also told me that the child is not John’s.”
Alex turned to look at her mother. She bit her tongue against the harsh words that sprung from the awful despair of seeing her home in pieces.
“You and the sperm donor talk quite a bit.”
“Alexandra. My God. Do you have to be so crude?”
Alex looked out across the two lots that were their homes. Everything had disintegrated in the blast. Every piece of paper was lost. Mailers, recycling, bills, books, even recipes were burned in the fire. Every photograph, token of affection, journal, or memory had vanished. For a hundred years, these homes had stood; for almost ten years, they had lived in one or the other of these homes, and, in one instant, everything was gone.
Alex looked down at the heat register in her hand. The neighbor who lived behind them, across the alley, called to say that she had found a heat register in her elm tree. Alex had stopped by this morning to pick it up. This ten-pound cast-iron heat register—and the clothing on their backs—was all they had left.
“I’d like to throw a proper wedding for you and John,” Rebecca said.
Alex grit her teeth.
“You can’t, Rebecca. Remember? Your son Alexander is dead. You never had a daughter named Alexandra. Fuck. Where have you been?”
“You will not swear in my presence.”
Alex let out a string of curses, causing her mother to laugh.
“We’re standing next to the crater that was my home, and you’re concerned about my language? I think you should go.”
“I’m not going to let you do this alone,” Rebecca said.
“Then stop being such a pain in the ass,” Alex said.
“It just doesn’t . . .”
“AGGGGHHH!” Alex screamed.
She stomped away from her mother rather than hear one more time that something didn’t “look right.” Peering over the edge of the pit that was Max’s home, she noticed that his stacked washer and dryer were still there. Surrounded by pieces of bright red brick, blackened on one side by the fire, the appliances stood like white pillars in a field of black stone. That didn’t look right, either. She turned, feeling her mother’s hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said.
“I know,” Alex said. “You can’t help it. We’ve known that for a long time. It doesn’t mean we like it.”
“We? You and Max? Or all of your siblings?”
“We agree that there are worse things a parent can be than obsessed with how things look.”
Rebecca’s hazel eyes searched Alex’s face. Alex was such a foreign creature to Rebecca that she had no idea if Alex was joking or serious. She saw only kindness in her daughter’s face.
“Let’s get out of here,” Alex said.
She raised her hand to the insurance adjuster. Walking through the rubble to him, he shook his head. He would be there for a few more hours. She told him that they were going to the coffee shop a block away. He promised to call when he was done. Alex held out an elbow to her mother, which she took, and they walked toward the coffee shop.
“Where will you stay?” Rebecca asked.
“We’ll stay at the hotel for a while. Did you know that if you drink all the little bottles of alcohol, they will replace them?”
“It’s a good way to spend your inheritance.”
Alex laughed. “The insurance company is paying for the hotel—or at least a part of it.” She yawned. “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep.”
“I bet,” Rebecca said. “Listen, Alex, I know this isn’t the best timing, but we have to talk about this.”
“What?”
“Your parentage.”
“Why?” Alex asked. “You cheated on Dad with Ben. What’s left to tell?”
“Alexandra.”
“Can I at least get some coffee before you lay bullshit on me?”
Rebecca smiled. Alex could be so like Patrick. Biological child or not, this daughter could pass for Patrick Hargreaves any day of the week. Alex ordered a Macchiato and then made fun of Rebecca wh
en she ordered a low-fat, low-foam, half-caffeinated latte. Rebecca made faces at Alex. While Rebecca paid for their drinks, Alex walked away to take a call from her Sergeant. She was off the phone by the time Rebecca walked over with the drinks. Setting the heat register next to a tattered gray armchair near the storefront window, Alex sat down. Rebecca sat in a matching chair next to it.
Alex took a sip of her delicious espresso and milk-foam mixture and smiled.
“I love coffee,” Alex said.
“I know,” Rebecca said. “May I put on your wedding?”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I told Page 6 that I am working through my grief over the loss of Alexander by throwing a large wedding for my son’s college roommate. He is like a son to me, you know.”
“Yeah, an Irish Volunteer son,” Alex said. Rebecca laughed. “We don’t have anything set, because we’re waiting . . .”
“I was able to arrange for Father Seamus, and I booked the Cathedral for October 22. That’s your anniversary, isn’t it? It’s a Sunday this year. They had a cancellation in the evening. We were lucky because usually you have to schedule a year in advance for the Cathedral. Father Seamus said you were married around eleven at night, but that’s too late for a formal wedding. We have the Cathedral from four to sixish. There’s a Mass at six-thirty.”
Alex stared at her mother. While she was angry at the nerve of her mother for scheduling her wedding without asking, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Rebecca could make almost anything happen when she set her mind to it.
“I thought we could have a reception at the Denver Country Club, but I remembered how much you hate the Country Club. So I booked the Natural History Museum.”
“The Museum of Nature and Science?”
“Whatever they are calling it these days. The atrium. You can see the stars under the glass ceiling. I thought you would like that.”
Alex couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Well, say something.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“What are you doing about a dress?”
“Claire said she would make one for me, but the timing is tight,” Alex said.
“Claire makes beautiful dresses. I’ve noticed a few of her gowns at the President’s functions. I’m sure you saw that one of her dresses received the ‘Best Dress at the Oscars’ award.”
Alex raised her eyebrows. “The Oscars? Who’s Oscar?”
“I guess you missed that. I’ve invited them to stay with us.”
“How does that work? Your boyfriend and his wife stay with you and your husband?”
To stall, Rebecca looked at her latte and took a drink. In one quick movement, she set the drink down, determined to deal with this once and for all. But when she looked into her daughter’s blank face, she chickened out. Picking up her latte, she took another sip. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for courage. When she opened her eyes, Alex was watching her mother.
“You can be very intimidating,” Rebecca said.
“That’s what it means to be a Green Beret,” Alex said. She looked away from her mother to collect her thoughts. Looking back, she said, “Listen, we went to the Cemetery with Joseph yesterday. We had planned to be at home. You know, Cian and Eoin are working on their recipes. But Joseph came for a visit. At the last moment, we decided to visit the team. That’s why I’m sitting here in this shop and not blown to bits.”
Rebecca nodded.
“You should go ahead and speak your mind. There’s no way to know how long I’ll be around. One of these days, he’s going to succeed. It’s just a matter of time, really.”
Rebecca reached for Alex’s hand and held it tight.
“I always wonder what he wants.”
F
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