by Marie Wathen
“The driver’s getting out,” I tell Cayde, whispering over my shoulder without glancing away from the newcomer. “It’s…it’s my mother.” I spin back around to gage Cayde’s reaction, but she’s gone. I twist around fully, searching the area, but it’s quiet and I’m definitely alone. Curious why she took off so quickly, I move around the thick clump of trees that she emerged from earlier and call her name. She doesn’t respond so I continue stepping into the darkness whispering.
“Cayde, where are you? Why did you run?”
Another couple of steps down the narrow pathway and I hear a noise. Seeing that it was only a minute ago that Cayde retreated, I assume that it’s her and follow it.
“Can you hear me? Come back,” I demand, inflecting a stern tone, already tired of this scenario. The tree line is silent and still, eerily so. I wrap my arms around my waist and sigh loudly. I guess she was finished with relaying her warnings. Twisting around to leave, my breath stills in my chest and a scream presses against my lips, threatening to burst through when I bump into a figure standing directly behind me.
“What the hell?” I growl, raising my fists in front of my face and taking a defensive stance, preparing for an attack.
“What…what are you doing out here alone, Breesan?” Casandria asks, trembling with fear, her eyes bulging from their sockets and her hands gripping her throat protectively.
With adrenaline sprinting through every cell in my body, I pant wildly and reply, “I could ask you the same question.” I lower my arms, dropping my hands onto my knees. After a couple of deep breaths, I straighten up. “Are you following me?”
“What?” Still suffering from shock, her head twitches side-to-side while she replies, “No, I had no idea that you were here. I couldn’t know that, I’ve just come from the cemetery.”
“Oh,” I release a soft sigh and roll my shoulders, shaking out the tension. Seeing me relax a bit, she lowers her defenses, too, dropping her hands to her sides. “What were you doing at the cemetery?”
“I needed some privacy so that I could talk alone…with Julia,” she says cryptically. Now, I know that Julia died last week, but since people have been returning from the grave recently, I’m not sure how to take her statement. Does she mean literally? “You look confused,” she smiles tightly. “I was unable to have a real visit with her at the funeral because there were too many people hovering around. Today, I took the opportunity of the solace and had a long-overdue chat with my sister.” She lowers her eyes, her hands twisting in front of her, before scanning the surrounding area. “You didn’t answer my question about being here alone,” she reminds, glaring suspiciously through the tree-line where Cayde disappeared.
“I come here sometimes when I need a break,” I cover for the real reason that I’m here. I’m a liar and I feel terrible about it, especially if Casandria has good intentions, but Cayde’s words resonate through my mind, reminding me that no one is trustworthy. “After everything that has happened recently, needing a break is a major understatement. I am desperate for it.” She nods her head, bringing her full attention back to me. I ask, “Why would you come here after visiting Julia?”
After a long pause, she runs her hand up to her face, tapping a finger against her lips before replying, “This place is a source of ancient history: some painful, some joyful, but all memories that I felt compelled to revisit.” She tips her head my way. “You were conceived here. That memory haunted me for too long, but after finding that you are actually alive, it’s the greatest moment of my life.”
“My dad really hurt you, didn’t he?”
“I had a lot of therapy to forget all the evil that he and Julia inflicted.” She sighs, turns toward the parking lot and begins walking toward it while I follow behind closely. “From the beginning of our relationship, I ignored her attraction. Through reflecting on my pain, I believe she corrupted Brendt’s feelings for me. Although I was extremely young, my love was all-consuming, but in reality, it was probably more of an infatuation. For many years, I wished that she had misled me and that he would show up, demanding my forgiveness and proclaiming his undying love. He never showed and the deception paralyzed me for a year.” Even though I don’t like hearing about my mother suffering, I am consumed with needing to hear more about my dad.
“Was he a good man before…?”
“I don’t want to be angry anymore, but talking about it now reveals just how much my heart still hurts from the betrayal. Maybe I’m seeing something through the memories that I was blinded to during, but I believe that he was more like his mother, and that woman was plain evil.” I suck in a deep breath and she stops walking, turning around to face me. “I’m sorry, honey. That came out terribly harsh. She’s your family and I should not have said that.”
“No, please don’t omit information for my sake. It’s important that you be honest with me.”
“I agree of course, but I don’t want to disrespect you either with hateful talk about your grandmother.”
“Casandria, I want to know everything that you can tell me about my father and his family. The truth hurts sometimes, but you and I will suffer if you try to shield me from hurtful things. Just give it to me straight and we’ll handle it together.”
“God, you are amazing.” She reaches her hand out, running it down the side of my face and cupping my jaw while smiling proudly. “I promise to always be honest with you.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on, we’ll sit at the picnic table and I’ll tell you everything about your grandparents.” We get comfortable on the split boards they call a picnic table and she clasps her hands lightly, placing them on top of the table. After frowning and averting her eyes out toward the parking lot, she starts, “Vivian wasn’t a happy woman. The Andrews family moved from England in the seventeen hundreds, during the Revolutionary War. Vivian was the only daughter of six children, and from the stories your father told me, she was exceptionally spoiled, making her viciously evil in her later years. Her marriage to your grandfather, Charles, ended horribly. She grew bitter and put harsh restrictions on Brendt. Because she was so greedy, she demanded that he marry appropriately,” she sighs. “I didn’t fit into her high-class expectations because my family wasn’t a descendant from a king, like hers or wealthy like the Jacobs family.” My family is royalty? “When she forbade Brendt from marrying me, he told her that she could keep her money and that she would never see her grandchild. That is the reason he enlisted into the military.” Refusing to look at me, her expression reflects true sadness. “I’m not sure what happened after you were born. I heard about Vivian’s death a few years later, and that her estate went into public control, punishing Brendt even after her death by keeping it away from him and you.” Even though I know that the trust was sealed, I don’t remember my father suffering from poverty and Julia never behaved as if we were poor.
“That’s not exactly true,” I counter and she shifts her head around quickly to stare at me. Her eyebrows pull in tightly, making her look angry.
“Is your boyfriend making you doubt me? Do you think I’m lying?” she asks defensively.
“Not at all, I’m just saying that we weren’t poor.” I clarify, “Julia never lived like she was suffering from lack of money. She sent me away every year for three months at a time and there’s no way that was cheap.”
“Apparently, my sister had many secrets. I don’t know where that kind of money would have come from. Our parents died before I was a teenager and they didn’t leave a trust behind. Perhaps financial stability was one of the many talents that she kept from me.” Dr. A’s drug money provided our frivolous lifestyle, I guess.
Chapter Twenty
Morgan
“Oh, Morgan,” Gran coos with the sweetest smile curling the corners of her pale pink lips. “Don’t you look dapper.”
Her frail hand trembles a tad when she brushes cool fingers across my forehead, pushing away hair from the eye holes on my boring, matte black mask. Impeccably
coiffed bangs aren’t my preferred style, but I’d never tell this sweet woman any different. She’s wearing a floor-length, pale purple gown and her silver hair is shaped perfectly into her favorite football helmet style; not one strand dare disobeys her. Either they’re too afraid to stray or she’s shellacked them into submission with a full can of hair-spray. Her pale green eyes sparkle a little less than their normal jade hue behind the violet and clear Swarovski crystal-encrusted mask that she holds against her face by its sterling handle. She smiles weakly, appearing troubled. Apparently my worrisome sister has filled her in on my “condition.”
“Dear, I know you’re not interested in my wisdom,” she winks, taking my hand into hers, “But, I’m going to lavish a speck of my finest on you for a moment.” I gulp and force a polite smile. She judder sways her head in the strong matriarch way of hers, not buying my good manners while piercing me with a bold frown. “Any woman would be lucky to earn your heart since you’ve finally decided to make it available. However, I understand looking at you now that single status may be a misjudgment on your sister’s part. From the dim light in your eyes, I would say that the shimmer of your sun or stars is hindered by a black cloud of stolen companionship. Sadly, we only miss the warmth when it’s cold.”
“I’m fine, Gran. You can stop fussing now.”
After fully appraising me and appearing satisfied, she directs her attention onto my grandfather strolling over. “Mac, that’s the third bottle I’ve seen you with in the past hour.” While lifting the same hand she used to revamp me, she dusts imaginary fuzz off his black tux before straightening the knot on his thin lavender tie. Pleased that he’s still presentable after already reaching his regular three-beer limit, she levels him with her infamous stink-eye. “Pace yourself, dear. I don’t want to cut you off tonight, but I’d prefer not to carry your heavy tail to bed either.”
“Huh, huh. Ally, my love, you’re definitely not allowed to cut me off on our anniversary. I’ll be sober enough to strut up to our suite. I’ll resist if you prefer, though, so that you can have your wicked way with me in the sack,” He waggles his bushy, silver eyebrows teasingly, emphasizing his intent for his woman later. Thoughts of geriatric after-parties in the penthouse force a shudder all the way down to my heels. I’m pretty sure my innocent grandmother blushed crimson from his flirting, but it’s difficult to tell behind her shield. He holds a fist up for me and I give it a light pound while chuckling at his moxie. Gotta hand it to the old man, though, he’s still rocking it like a scoundrel after all these years.
“Promises, promises,” she teases back and with that reply, I’ve definitely worn out my welcome in this way-too-personal conversation.
“I’ll catch up with you two later.” I excuse myself before the visual of my grandparents getting freaky assaults my mind. I wonder if his virility will trickle down to my generation.
Granddad belts out a full belly laugh as I stroll away. When I’m across the room, he shouts, “Not too much later, Morgan. Your feisty Gran has plans for me in her boudoir.” Great, now the assembly of acquaintances knows his salacious intent for my proper grandmother! He damn well knows saying shit like that will get me riled up. May as well have stayed in place and suffered through that shameless remark alone. A proud smile stretches across his lips as he leans down and passionately kisses his bride of fifty years.
Arriving at my grandparent’s silver wedding anniversary without a date gains me several questioning looks. No one expects me to venture out alone in such a public event. I get it. It isn’t anything I’m familiar with, either. I could’ve brought someone, but everything has changed, and being with just anyone isn’t good enough anymore. There’s only one woman I want on my arm. Since I can’t have Waverly, I’ve accepted the fact that I’m single until she returns. There’s no guarantee that she’ll even want me then, but in my heart it would feel like betrayal if I give into my body’s needs. My blue balls are freaking raging against this decision.
“Give me whatever you have on draft,” I tell the bartender, thrusting an open hand toward the beer station, not even glancing at the guy.
I sidle into a recently-vacated stool, cross my arms and lean over the bar top before casting a glance back toward the party-goers. My view around the open bar is limited due to the large, claustrophobic-inducing crowd, thick in mendicant fashion, guzzling the free alcohol greedily. Woah. That judgmental thought reflects my xenophobic father’s way of thinking. He is the epitome of chauvinistic. Considering himself ‘above all’ is his motto, but I don’t share his beliefs anymore. Of course, people will want to drink themselves silly with access to unlimited alcohol. It’s only natural. However, free booze isn’t the only reason everyone is attending this soirée. My grandparents are stellar members of the community. Everything that they’ve done for this island through Granddad’s company gains them near celebrity status. That’s all great and yet, none of that is the reason anyone came here tonight. Mac and Aileen Walker are two of the best and most generous people I’ve ever known. Everyone absolutely adores the sweet couple.
A hum behind me draws my attention and I swirl around, finding a petite brunette smiling at the throng of dancers, rocking to the overplayed pop song. She notices me shift her way and pinches her lips together, embarrassed that I could hear her sexy timber vibration.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I suggest, winking down at her as she peeks through her thin, high-arched mask, looking half-afraid, half-humiliated for getting busted enjoying the boy band tune.
She shakes her head, pulls her crestfallen glare away from me and adjusts her emotions, along with her posture, to aristocratic. “Thank you, but I believe I’ll pass on further embarrassing myself in front of a total stranger.”
“Morgan Walker,” I offer my hand in greeting.
She glances down at it briefly before fixing her golden brown eyes on me again. “Jama DeBlasi.”
“Jama,” I repeat. “That’s an interesting name.”
“So I’ve been told.” She becomes engrossed in the swaying couples, dismissing me and our conversation. I study her, noticing there is something familiar about her. Another moment of her staring and smiling ahead and I realize that she resembles Breesan. She’s the same height and shares the same long, dark hair as my new friend, but I believe her defensive stance is the most prominent similarity.
“Here’s your beer,” the bartender says, distracting me away from the mystery woman. “Can I get you anything else?”
Twisting around and reaching for the frosty mug, I glance up to utter my thanks, but stall as rage cross-grains through my blood stream like an unmodified, high-performance motorcycle in a final lap on a disastrous course –a catastrophe that has already claimed two lives and threatens to steal more. Putrid disgust moves through me, leaving a mega-ripple indention that is surely noticeable by everyone in the room. Knowing that this encounter was inevitable, and anticipated prior to today, on my part, I force the frozen bitterness to thaw before our face-off.
“Haven’t seen you around much lately.” My voice feels thick facing the danger that, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against me, is my cross alone in this whole insidious scheme. Because given the description by his co-conspirator, I’m the one who can place this guy as the third suspect in Waverly and Anna’s abduction. “Where have you been hiding lately?”
Pitching forward over the small ledge behind the bar, pouring a shot, Tox glimpses up at me once before refocusing on his task. “Not hiding, just been off the grid for a while dealing with business.” He smiles at a cute blonde as he passes the drink to her and takes the tip money she offers in return.
“Business?” I ask, watching his demeanor shift to rigid instantly. “I thought Toxic was your business. Do you have more irons in the fire, Mattox?”
He pierces me with a pissed-off glare before shrugging and replying, “It involves Toxic. Why the twenty questions, Morgan? I had no idea you were so interested in my affairs.”
“Jus
t curious, man,” I state cautiously. Can’t afford for him to clam up on me. “With all the shit that has been going on around Willow, I wouldn’t blame you for getting as far away as you can. If I didn’t have family obligations noosing me at the moment, I would skip off back to London.” I glance across the bar toward the entry way and notice Tristan. “Damn shame what happened to my cousin.” Tox flicks his eyes toward the door before turning away from me. “He may never remember his old life.”
“Yeah, that is some crazy shit that went down at the party,” he replies casually.
“Crushes me, too, man, since he doesn’t even know that Anna is missing,” I drop that bomb hoping for a reaction from his guilty conscience. “Hell, he doesn’t even remember that beautiful, sweet woman.” From the side view, I can see stress shift across his features.
“Damn,” is all that he says, avoiding me, the conversation and definitely becoming uncomfortable with my probing.
“When was the last time you were back there?” He’s busying himself with rearranging liquor bottles, avoiding eye contact again.
“Where?” His eyebrows pinch in when he finally glances over.
“Your home in England.”
“Can’t say that I remember exactly. I travel too much to keep up with dates.” He turns toward the shelf, mumbling, “I need more rum.”
“Where have you been recently?”
A couple approaches the bar and he quickly responds, “Listen, Morgan, it’s great chatting with you, but I’m kind of busy here.”
“No problem,” I say, keeping my voice and attitude cool when really I’m pissed that he’s shut me down so soon. “I’ll see you at the club.” Taking orders, he bobs his head at me without another glance my direction.
“Morgan,” I twist around at the familiar voice and smile politely.