by Dani Wyatt
Rehema told me to hold on while she dialed in one of her brothers. Seems after she ripped into my ass, she called him and they decided to speak with me together.
“Hello.” A male voice with a thick accent comes through the line first.
Before I can reply, it’s Rehema.
“Hello. Beckett Fitzgerald is married to Jordan’s sister.” Rehema takes care of the introduction.
Her tone is restrained but eager. I’m pretty sure she’s on our side in some way and I take some comfort from that.
“Hello.” The male voice again and this time it’s clear it’s directed at me.
“Hello. Thank you for speaking with me.”
Silence.
I hold. First one to say something loses. It’s an old trick when you are negotiating. When you get to a moment of transition, you wait. People hate silence, so you let it turn thick, see who fills it first. So long as it's not you then you’ve got the upper hand.
Five seconds.
Seven.
Might not seem like a lot of time, but when that time is filled with an empty space, believe me, it's fluid. It stretches and bends and feels different. A whole lot more awkward . . .
Ten.
“So you wish to know about my brother?”
Bam.
“Not as much as I want to know about Jordan. I want to know why he’s there. Why Louis took him without telling us. You realize we have a shared legal custody agreement and he’s violating a court order.”
More silence. I may have opened heavy, but I needed them to know I’m not fucking around. I kept it polite though. Sending my first launch over the bow filled with profanity would surely end the call before I made any headway.
“You think your court has any power here? My brother is the boy’s father. We have every right to decide where he will live.”
Live. Fuck, he dropped that right in my fucking lap.
“I also know family is very important to you,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And he is away from the only family he has known. His only sister. That has to mean something.”
“Sons belong with their fathers. You are married to his sister. She is part of your family now.”
You’ve got that right motherfucker. And so is Jordan.
I need to change gears.
“That is true.” I agree with him, because it puts people off balance, makes them think you're on their side. I clear my throat and hear the click of the pilot light on the water heater next to me. “But you are here and you know Jordan is part of our family as well. Louis and I have known each other for a very long time. He never mentioned his family. Can you see why we are concerned? Maybe if you can tell me why Louis never mentioned any of you?”
I hear breathing.
“No.”
Fuck off. Hard.
“Are you with Jordan now?”
“He is not far. The boy is fine. He is blood. Part of our family now.” He says it with a finality that sounds like he’s told me everything I need to know. He’s clearly not picking up on what’s going through my head, which is that I’m fucking coming for Jordan and I don’t care how many bodies I leave in my wake.
He’s coming back here, that's a fucking certainty.
The pilot ignites the gas on the water heater with a ‘whoosh’ and I push my fist into the wall, next to the pipes that trail up it. I need to hold it together before I continue.
“He’s part of his sister’s blood.” I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, but I can feel myself losing it. “The sister that has been his only fucking family since he was a baby. Why the fuck is his sister less important than a father he’s never fucking known?” I’m done playing diplomat.
The last thing I hear before the soft click on the other end of the phone is a dark chuckle and the sound of a boy yelling in the background.
“Fuck.” I pull my fist back and slam it into the drywall, leaving three knuckle indents. Before I disconnect, I hear a soft sound of Rehema clearing her throat. I fucking forgot we were on a three way.
“I’m sorry.” She sounds disappointed. I can work with that.
“Me too.” I’m thinking fast, trying to keep her on my team. “Seems he may not value a sister’s love as much as we do.”
I toss it out there, hope I hit a sore spot.
A few seconds of silence. The white noise of the connection and my heart slamming around in my chest are the only sounds. Promise’s soft singing no longer drifts in from the bathroom so I know she will come looking for me any second. I want to have good news and so far I’ve got a steaming pile of shit.
“No, they do not,” Rehema says and I do an invisible fist pump.
I spend the next few minutes earning her trust, not pushing, but pulling her toward me. Listening for Promise’s movement out in the loft, I inch closer to the open door of the utility closet, leaning against the door jamb. One hand is down in my pocket, the other is holding the phone.
“My father . . .” Rehema’s voice halts.
“Yes, I’d like to know about your father.”
“He’s very ill. My brother sent word to Bakari a month ago, telling him our father was dying and he would die with the curse and shame still on the family. I prayed he would not burden Bakari with this, but they do not ask me for my opinion.”
“Why did you leave Egypt?”
“My family is very traditional. My father picked out my husband when I was only five years old. I grew up knowing my fate was to marry and serve my husband. I wished to go to university, to be a writer, a journalist. To help.”
“And your family would not allow you to go?”
“No. I was to marry when I was seventeen. Then the man I was to marry was killed in an automobile accident. I had nowhere to go. I begged to be allowed to go to school, to go to America and study. Eventually my father allowed me to come to the United States for one year, just to study and live with another family he knew. But I never went home.”
“Why didn’t you find Louis? I’m sorry, Bakari?”
Silence. This is where our conversation was derailed earlier. I can hear each heartbeat.
“He brought our family shame. My father strictly forbade it. I did look for him once, but I didn’t find him.”
“What kind of shame?”
“The worst shame. The very worst. I have changed. I do not believe in the curse anymore.”
I can tell she’s close, but I feel like she doesn’t want to be the one to say it. A couple of pieces of the puzzle are coming together. I change gear.
“How old was Bakari when your father sent him away?”
“He was eleven. I was very young, but I remember him. He was very kind, very soft. Not like my father and my brothers.”
I hear Promise’s soft steps coming through the loft. I need to speed this up. Something Jeremy said hits me and decide to take a chance.
“Did Bakari show interest in another man? Or boy?” I drop the bomb. I’m running out of time and I need to put this together. I stand up straight, waiting for Promise to appear around the corner.
I'm prepared for Rehema to disconnect. Instead, she doesn’t miss a beat.
“Yes.” I can almost sense the relief in her voice.
“So why was he able to return now?”
I hear the refrigerator door open, the clink of a glass, water turning on in the sink. Any second I’m going to hear her calling for me, because I’m practically glued to her every damn second.
Rehema goes quiet. I’m saying a silent prayer as I stare up at the ceiling.
“I’ve said too much already.” Her voice turns flat and she shuts it down.
Fuck. Come on, man, keep her going. Choose your words.
I'm concentrating on trying to find exactly the right thing to say to keep her on the line when Promise appears around the corner. I practically jump out of my damn pants.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide, brows raised, her hair hanging in damp waves down her naked skin. “What’s goin
g on?”
Before I can deal with the crazy shine in my wife’s eyes, Rehema attempts to cut things off in my other ear.
“Goodbye, Beckett. Please, I cannot help you.”
I’ve got a woman in each ear. Both of them need me right now and I make a split second decision, pull the phone from my head and put it on speaker.
“Rehema, please don’t hang up.”
I turn to Promise who stands before me, mouth agape, and I don’t have time to explain. I just meet her eyes and hope to God this works.
“I have Jordan’s sister here. Promise, this is Rehema, Louis’s sister I told you about. She’s been so helpful with information about Louis and Jordan.”
Promise turns dark. She grabs the phone as I step forward and around the corner to the edge of the kitchen. I place my hand at the small of Promise’s back, bringing her right along.
“Please, where is he?” Promise pleads and my heart aches at the desperation lacing her voice. “Is he okay? I need to get him back. Please, you don’t know how much I love my brother. Please help us.”
“I cannot help. I’m sorry.” Rehema’s voice fades.
“No! Please! I’m his sister. I’ve taken care of him my whole life! He’s like my own son. Please, I can’t lose him. Won’t you help me? Please, he’s my life.”
Her hand shakes as she holds the phone turned up in her palm. I pull her next to me, her body soft, and I try not to think of how incredible she looks standing here completely naked and unashamed. Her eyes are set deep. She’s tired, her emotions are ragged, but her moods have taken on an edge the last few days. Something I’ve not seen from her before.
I write it off to the craziness of our life right now. There is only so much a person can take. Even my tough girl. Getting married, Jordan being gone, her mother turning up out of the blue and raising a storm, finding out she’s carrying my baby. I know I have to keep a close eye on her right now, because the burden on her is heavy. I hate it. It’s my job to take all of that from her and put it on myself.
Her soft skin is still pink and warm from the bath, smelling of the lavender shampoo she loves.
I’m sure the phone is going to go dead. But for a second longer than I expected, the low static is still there.
“I will speak to you. I wish to speak to you privately.” Rehema’s voice is stern. I let Promise go, raising my hands in resignation as she looks at me with those eyes that bore into my soul.
I motion for her to take over the call and I step back.
“That’s fine. Just please talk to me.” Promise touches the screen and takes the call off speaker. She puts the phone to her ear and walks over to the blue-velvet sofa, where she settles into the corner, pulling her legs underneath her.
She draws in a deep breath, puts her free hand on her rosy cheek and looks down, away from me.
I walk to the bed, grab a blanket, then move to the sofa and settle it over her.
She looks up at me with a pained smile then just as quickly looks back down, concentrating on whatever Rehema is saying in her ear.
For the next fifteen minutes I keep my distance, watching Promise’s face while she talks. I mess around in the kitchen, washing up a pan left from last night, forcing myself to be busy. Her face looks tight as she listens. Then suddenly she smiles and one hand flutters over her mouth, then up to her forehead as her chin drops to her chest.
I’m keeping my eyes on her. I dry the pan and hang it with the others on the rack over the island. Then I lean back against the counter, arms crossed, watching her reactions.
When her shoulders start to shake, I take that as my cue. I push off from the counter and I’m next to her in ten strides, crouching down and slipping one hand behind her back and the other under her legs. She’s curled into a ball. I hoist her up, spin around and set us both back down on the sofa. Only this time, she is curled into my lap with my arms tightly bound around her as she trembles and drops the phone.
Promise
Louis's sister told me everything, and for the first time since Northrup showed up at the loft door, I feel hopeful.
More than hopeful.
Peaceful.
Everything we’ve discovered about Louis since Northrup dropped the bomb on us has eased our minds. I’m not saying he wasn’t dead wrong to take my brother without telling me, but the bits and pieces we’ve put together have made him look far less nefarious.
First, the rape. Now, I would never presume to doubt a woman who says she was raped.
However, the woman that is accusing Louis? Yeah, Holly.
She’s got as many versions of what happened that night as she has excuses. Second of all, I know her and I wouldn’t trust her any further than I could pick her up and toss her.
There might not be much to her, but that’s still not far.
I trust that she will lie.
I trust that she cares only about herself.
I trust that she’s not bathed in good intentions.
That's about the extent of my faith in that woman.
After the phone call with Louis’s sister had ended, I sobbed until I fell asleep against Beckett. He just sat there, cradling me in his lap. He didn't flinch until I opened my eyes and asked him what was next.
So now he’s got me packing my honeymoon suitcase again. Only it’s still not for our honeymoon. I’m going back to Bruce’s and this time it’s for a few days.
And Beckett is leaving for Egypt.
He and his friend from the service are flying out in a few hours. I want to go. I need to go but he won't let me.
Okay, so I don’t have a passport, but the truth is I know Beckett is relieved by that. He wouldn’t let me anyway, but I would plead my case if I knew there was even a possibility I could get on that plane.
He thinks he has enough information to make a play for Jordan. He's currently tapping the keys on his laptop, making plans or whatever.
After I woke up, Beck settled me back on the sofa, made me waffles with strawberries and then hopped on his computer.
I'm watching him work while I savor the mixture of strawberries and maple syrup.
All of a sudden he stands bolt upright and practically runs in my direction with his open laptop in his hands. He drops onto the cushion next to me with the screen of his computer facing me as I shove an enormous bite of waffle into my mouth maple syrup dripping off my bottom lip.
“Babe.” He adjusts the laptop so I can see and I notice his neck twitches a few times before he looks from the monitor, then back to me.
There’s a video playing. When I see the blond hair I drop my fork onto the plate and set it onto the end table, grabbing the edges of the laptop. I’m frozen as Jordan’s face appears on the screen.
The weight and warmth of Beck’s arm covers my shoulders. I’m still naked, because that’s just the norm when we are here, but I’m suddenly chilled and thankful for his heat.
The video plays for exactly thirty-three seconds. It’s Jordan. He smiles. He looks okay. He says he misses us. He doesn’t say anything about coming home. He doesn’t say anything about Louis.
The last three seconds are of Jordan glancing off screen, listening to someone mumble. Then he looks at the camera, smiles and says he loves me.
I play it over and over while Beckett makes some phone calls. Rehema gave me the address of the family home in Egypt. Once she and I got to talking, something developed between us. A thread of hope. As women, we both felt a bit discarded by our fathers, our families, and in the end, she gave up more to me than she probably ever would have given to Beckett.
I stuff my suitcase with balls of clothes and this time Beck isn’t giving me any grief at all, not about my messy nature nor my lack of packing skills.
For a moment, I wonder where Holly is. We haven’t heard a peep from her since she busted herself out of the hospital. My guess is she's long gone. She'll be holed up somewhere seedy with her douchebag boyfriend. Back to their sad routine.
The one thing that s
till doesn’t make sense is her reappearig just because she didn’t want Louis adopting Jordan. The only guess I can make is she got wind of Louis’s financial background and the dollar signs started flashing in her eyes.
When she found out Louis planned to adopt Jordan, she saw her meal ticket. Just make a rape accusation, create a tornado of trouble and somehow get her talons into a nice shut-the-fuck-up check.
Only, she didn’t count on Louis skipping out of the country and her own web of lies being even more than she could keep track of. I mean, why would she go to the police? That just shines the spotlight on her stupidity.
They couldn’t do anything anyway. It’s been way too long since it happened. The statute of limitations has expired, as Detective Northrup had said. But I’m sure Holly didn’t think about those kinds of legal details; she just wanted to ride in and hit her mark, like the world stops for her.
Who knows? I could be off base, but somewhere deep down, for the first time in days, I feel like it’s all going to work out.
There is a tiny dot of light at the end of the tunnel. After talking to his sister, I have an idea why Louis did what he did. It still doesn’t explain why he didn’t trust us enough to just let us in on what was happening though.
If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes how much Louis loved Jordan over the last few months, I would be completely coming apart right now. There are still questions, and I know it hurts Beck that the man he thought was one of his best friends didn’t bother to respect him enough to come up with a solution together. But from what Rehema had said, he must have been so traumatized by what happened to him when he was young, he just wasn't thinking clearly.
I get it. I understand how your past can make you do crazy things.
On top of that, I am still throwing up every morning and I’d put my mood swings up against any pendulum. I’m sure it’s just the baby crazies and nothing else. I’ve been fine for so long. Sure, quitting my meds is probably making me feel a little worse but it’s the right thing to do. Beck will never have to know.
I smile at him as he watches me stuffing my suitcase from across the loft. I crumple up a pair of jeans in a ball and he shakes his head. Everything is going to be okay.