by Rebecca Shea
I run my fingers across the soft petals and inhale the sweet scent of the flowers, making a note to stop by after this meeting to pick them up. When I see a man in a suit unlocking the doors of the building just a couple of doors down, I tuck the flowers back in the bucket of water and head over to meet him.
I take a deep breath as I approach the glass doors, butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. You can do this, I prep myself as I reach for the door handle.
“Mr. Jacobson?” I ask. The man twirls around to meet me. “I’m Emilia. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, hello.” He smiles kindly. “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for wanting to look at this space. It used to be a small clothing store,” he tells me as he walks over to a wall and presses some buttons. Lights come on, and I notice the beautiful silver track lighting. “Back there are two dressing rooms that could easily be converted to offices,” he continues. “This counter can be removed or relocated,” he says, running his hand across the top of a Formica counter. “You said coffee shop?” He quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Yes. Coffee shop.” I smile at him. The space is perfect. I envision a new long counter with light stone countertops. Tables of all sizes, small and high, and long and low to fill the space. Goose bumps crawl across my skin as I see my dream come to life in my head.
“Well, the space is for lease or sale. Obviously, certain build out requirements would be written into the lease. With a sale, you’re pretty much free to do whatever you want.”
I nod as he talks numbers and figures, the pros and cons of leasing versus purchasing and vice versa. He asks about my business plan, my knowledge of the coffee business, then offers me resources that can help with all of that. We agree to meet at the deli tomorrow so that I have the opportunity to speak to some of the local business owners to get a feel for how their businesses are faring.
I spend the rest of the afternoon speaking with the owner of the bookstore next door, the deli owner, and even the small gift store clerk. Everyone is extremely friendly, helpful, and more than willing to share information on their sales, tips, advice on working through the peak vacation times during the summer. Everyone’s excited to hear about my plan, as apparently no one has ever opened a standalone coffee shop here before.
The next morning, over terrible coffee at the deli, I sign a two-year lease with Mr. Jacobson. The building owner has agreed to the build out request, and I’ve received approval to proceed. Life feels like it’s finally falling into place for me. Although I worry that, like every other time in my life, the other shoe is about to fall.
THE NEXT MORNING is cool and crisp, and my nose tingles at the slightest hints of fall. I grab a coffee from the coffee cart in the lobby of the hotel and check out. I’m moving into my beach house today, and I could not be happier.
Shoving my suitcase into the back of my rental car, I drive the few miles out to the cottage to wait for the arrival of all my furniture. I was able to schedule everything to be delivered this morning.
While I wait, I wash linens and dishes and silverware, finally finding everything a place in the cabinets. I make a grocery list and add it to my to-do list for the day. When the men arrive, they begin unloading couches, and chairs, and tables, and mattresses, a desk, a table, and things I don’t even remember purchasing. It’s overwhelming and exciting all at the same time as I’m directing where everything goes.
Home.
Happiness.
My home is almost complete. I tuck sheets around the new mattresses and put the finishing touches on the bed with the comforter and throw pillows. The grey walls complement the black and white paisley bedding with bright yellow accent pillows. The bedroom furniture is a deep brown, almost black, espresso color. I fold bath towels and tuck them into cabinets and finally begin hanging the clothes that Gretchen purchased for me.
Another trip to Portland is in order to get the last of the remaining things for the house—and to return my rental car. That means car shopping. A pit forms in my stomach because this is something I’ve never done before. I only wish I didn’t have to do it alone.
With my to-do list in hand, I head out to Portland for the second time in three days. The hour commute doesn’t bother me. I love the time that driving gives me to just think, to plan, to prepare.
First stop, the car dealership.
Fortunately, I have an idea of what I want. I test drive a small SUV, and then sit down with someone to pick out a vehicle that matches everything I want—color, options, and price. I don’t even have to call in a hostage interrogator. The entire ordeal was fairly painless, and four hours later, I’m walking out with a new car. They even follow me to the rental car return at the airport.
I stop at a shopping mall in the suburbs just outside Portland to get a warmer jacket and spend an hour purchasing additional clothes. I’ve never had money to buy whatever I wanted; it was always just the necessities and always at the local thrift shop.
It’s dusk as I’m pulling onto the freeway and still have about a forty-five-minute drive home. My pulse quickens when I realize it’ll be completely dark when I get to the house. The entire drive home, I talk to myself, tell myself how ridiculous I am for being so paranoid. No one knows where I am. No one here knows who I am, or what I know. When I’m almost there, I finally feel the calm settle in. My headlights shine on the dark house, and I pause before turning off the car, then take a deep breath. Fear rips through me as I think about entering my dark house—alone.
Killing the engine, I grab my shopping bag with new clothes and jog to the front door. I fiddle with the keys in my shaking hand and look over my shoulder as I feel around for the lock. Slamming the door behind me, I toss the bag of clothes aside as I lean back against it and close my eyes.
“Calm down,” I tell myself. “Calm down.” I fear that I’ll never truly get over the anxiety I feel—always feeling like I’m being hunted. I bend over, grab the shopping bag, and head back to the bedroom. I run a hot bath as I hang up the clothes I bought today. I splurged and bought a new notebook to journal in, plan, and take notes. It’s beautiful and bound in yellow leather. I set it on my nightstand and head to the bathroom.
As I soak in the oversized bathtub, bubbles up to my neck, I move my hand to my stomach. It amazes me that it’s starting to feel harder, yet there’s still no noticeable bump—at least when I’m clothed. I can see the difference in my body, but from the outside, no one else would know I’m pregnant. I begin to relax as I see my plan coming together. A home for my baby. A business plan. I feel like my life is finally coming together and I’ll be able to provide a stable life for us.
I brush out the wet tangles from my hair and slip into my pajamas, ready to call it a night. I can’t help but double check the locks on every window and every door… and that’s when my heart stands still.
In the center of my new kitchen table sits the very bouquet I was looking at this morning, only twice as big. Fear shoots through me like a knife in my back, and I run to the last room I have yet to check, but every door and window is locked.
Who was here?
And when?
My mind races with questions as my knees give out, and I sink to the plush carpet.
Was it Antonio? Saul?
Pushing myself up from the floor, I race to the living room to grab my phone from my purse. But when I dump the contents onto the couch, I discover there is no phone. I left it in the car—which is parked in the driveway.
Shit!
I double check every window and door again, second-guessing myself. Frantically, I run from room to room in a panic until I go mad and finally fall into bed, crying myself into a restless sleep.
When daybreak hits, I manage to get myself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and I sit at the kitchen table, staring at the flowers. I pluck a lavender rose from the vase and twirl it around under my nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the flower as I sip on my coffee.
At least it’s light out now, and I finally feel
comfortable enough to venture outside. I change quickly and grab my car keys so that I can retrieve my phone from the car, but I startle and scream when I open the front door.
Someone’s there.
“Jesus Christ, you’re going to give an old man a heart attack, screamin’ like that!” Mr. Anders jumps back. My hands are clenching my jacket, and I’m too shocked to even respond. “You okay, Ms. Adams?”
I try to catch my breath, barely managing a nod. “Sorry, just a little on edge this morning.”
“I came by to tell you I dropped some flowers off on your table. I normally don’t let myself in, but I came by to see if you were all settled in, or if you needed anything, since I don’t have a phone number for you and that giant vase was sitting on the front porch. It was getting cold, so after I knocked and you didn’t answer, I just set them inside. I didn’t want them to die.”
I take a deep, calming breath. So they were on the porch, not inside my house. That’s somewhat comforting. “So you didn’t see who left them?”
“No, ma’am. They were just sitting here.”
“Well, thank you for bringing them inside.” Even though I know only he was in my house, I’m still on edge. “And let me get you a phone number. I just got a new phone yesterday. It’s in the car.” I step down the sidewalk as I press the unlock button on the car. Pulling my phone from the center console, I look up the number to give to Mr. Anders.
He enters it into his old flip phone at an agonizingly slow rate, and I wait patiently as he finishes.
“I’m glad you stopped by, actually,” I tell him, shoving my phone into the pocket of my jacket. “I met with Mr. Jacobson, the real estate agent for the vacant building on Main Street yesterday. I’m leasing the building to put in a little gourmet coffee shop. I was surprised when Mr. Jacobson recommended you as someone who could help me with the build out.”
Mr. Anders’ eyes widen with excitement. “Would be glad to. We’ll need to walk the space and draft up some plans, but I’d be happy to manage the project for you.” He looks at my new car and then back to me. I know exactly what he’s thinking—I’m too young to be opening a business, buying a new car, paying rent for eighteen month’s upfront. So I’ll save him the trouble of asking, or making assumptions.
“I recently inherited a little bit of money,” I say sheepishly, still feeling uncomfortable about having all that money in my account. “Nothing crazy, but enough to get me settled. I want to raise my baby in a stable and safe environment. I like it here. I’ve always wanted to live by the ocean, and one of my favorite jobs was working at a coffee shop. I feel like when I moved here, the stars aligned. I found your house and the vacant building. Everything just kind of fell into place for me in the last four days.” Which is still so hard to believe.
He smiles at me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not here to tell you what to do, sweetheart, but you’re young. After this coffee shop build out, invest your money. I’ve owned businesses all my life. If you’re careful, you’ll be able to turn a profit on that shop within a few months. We’ve never had a coffee shop here.”
“I know.” I smile at him. “And I’d like to make it more than just a coffee shop. I want it to be an Internet café as well. I want it to be the heart of the town, where people come and spend time, stay a while and visit. I’m making sure it’s wired with the best Wi-Fi so the summer tourists have a place to come.”
He nods warmly. “You seem like you have a great concept. I have no idea what an Internet café is, but anything paired with coffee is good.” He chuckles. “You got plans today?”
“Other than getting groceries, I’m wide open.”
He smiles at me. “There’s a little diner just off of Main Street. They have the best breakfast you’ve ever had for under five dollars. Shitty coffee, but the breakfast is delicious.”
I laugh at him.
He joins in with a chuckle. “I’d love to take you to breakfast and hear more about your plans. Then we can swing by the space, and you can give me a general idea of what you’re planning to do. I can get my drafter in here tomorrow, and we’ll get some plans drawn up right away. Once we get those finalized, I’ll apply for any necessary permits, then we’ll get started. If all goes smoothly, I could probably have you in business in six to eight weeks.”
“Are you serious?”
“I never joke with a pretty lady.” He gives a deep belly laugh. His eyes pinch closed when he laughs and I can’t help but smile at him.
“Then yes, let’s go have breakfast and talk.” I lock up the house and follow Mr. Anders in town.
“HE’S AWAKE AND wants to speak with you,” my aunt says over the phone. “I know you’re leaving, but please come by before you go.”
“Okay,” I mumble and rub my eyes. The clock reads five thirty in the morning. Why is she calling so fucking early? “I’ll stop by later this morning. I wanted to stop by my mom’s grave first.”
“That’s a good idea,” she agrees. “Agent Hoffman told us last night that you’ve been given immunity, and that they don’t need anything further from you. He figured you’d be leaving to find Emilia as soon as possible. I begged him to give us your phone number. We all want to say goodbye, mijo.”
I sigh into the phone, not because I’m upset but because I’m not good at goodbyes. I’m not used to feeling my emotions, and lately, that’s all I’ve been feeling. I wanted to stop by my mother’s grave one last time because, until my father and Saul are caught, it won’t be safe for me in Arizona. Even after they’re caught, I’m not sure it’ll ever be safe here for me. The Estrada family has many ties, many connections, and I just gave all of the information I have to the feds.
“I’ll be by later this morning,” I tell her and roll over, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep.
We hang up, but now I’m awake, and all I can think about is getting to Emilia. She made it very easy to find her. Too easy almost. With her laptop that I got from Sam’s house, I found her Pinterest board marked Oregon, and everything she pinned led me directly to her, right down to the town she’s living in. I’m only certain because I’ve had security on her for the last twenty-four hours, and he found her within two hours of landing in Oregon.
My sweet, naïve girl.
I’m only somewhat calm because he’ll be watching her until I get there. He’s been giving me updates every few hours, and I’ve finally been able to breathe better knowing she’s safe.
I get up and make some coffee as I finish packing up the few items I have left—which isn’t much. Amazing how you can go from owning an empire to being a pauper pretty damn quickly.
I pack Em’s laptop and her journal in my backpack, then shower and get dressed. Before I go, I spend some time on the front porch, enjoying my coffee and the last Arizona morning I may ever see. Although I have many bad memories here, some of my best were created in this place. And while I’m not thrilled to leave—even with the lack of safety—love is about sacrifice, and I’m sacrificing everything. But Emilia is worth it. She means more to me than my own life. Worth every risk I’m about to take.
The federal marshal who’s been parked out front all evening opens his car door and stretches. He offers me a nod before he walks up the paved path leading to my front porch. He takes the steps two at the time and stands in front me.
“Looks like this is the end of the line,” he says with a shake of his head. I know all the marshals think I’m crazy for turning down the protection, but it’s the only way I’ll be able to be with Em and our baby. I have to do this.
“It is.” I stand up and offer him my hand, looking him in the eye. It’s interesting how these are the guys I’ve been escaping for so long, and now I’m on their side. Funny how life changes. “You guys have the toughest job,” I say. “Protecting those that don’t deserve protecting. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
He nods. “Take care of yourself,” he says with a firm handshake.
“I will.
I’ll leave the keys on the table just as Agent Hoffman requested.” I gesture over my shoulder.
“Sounds good,” he says, offering me a wave as he jogs down to his vehicle. I watch him get into his car and leave, and I realize how vulnerable I am. My Range Rover sits in the driveway, a little going-away gift from Hoffman. Although all of my belongings were seized, they were generous enough to give me my car. I’ve made arrangements for it to be delivered to Oregon. There’s no way I have the patience to drive it there myself, knowing Em is just a few hours away by plane.
With a sense of peace and loss, I grab my suitcase by the front door, lock up, and toss the keys in the planter. Wheeling my luggage down the sidewalk, I take one last look up and down the street in the neighborhood I grew up in. Then, leaving it all behind, I shove the suitcase in the back and slide into the driver’s seat. The leather seats are pleasantly warm from the morning sun.
At the cemetery, the green grass is covered in a late summer dew. It’s so peaceful here, now I wish I’d come here more often. When I reach her headstone, I kneel down, the knees of my jeans damp from the dew, and I press my fingers to the grooves of her name. Bowing my head, I pray.
I pray to God, I pray to my mother, I ask for forgiveness, and I make promises to be the man and father that Emilia and our baby need.
As the birds chirp, I fight with my emotions. Remorse, anger, hope, and love all vying to break free. Remorse for the past, anger at my father, hope for the future, and love for Emilia and our child. It’s up to me now to choose which I will let guide me, and I choose hope and love.
In my last moments, I beg my mother for forgiveness and ask her to help guide me in this new life, then I promise to visit when it’s safe to come back. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I run my fingers over the smooth granite headstone one last time. I’m about to turn and leave when I hear my name.