My life is such a mess. Work is out of control. Katherine is out of control. My son is out of control. And I can’t seem to make any of it better.
If Rachel were here, she would be ashamed of me. She would never let Garret drink like this, or even drink at all. And she’d never let him stay out this late on a school night. He probably wouldn’t even want to go out if she were here. He used to like being home with us, but now he hates being home.
“Dad?” I hear Garret mumble.
I sit next to him on the bed. “Yes, Garret.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“About what?” I start to panic, thinking maybe he did something illegal or got into some other kind of trouble. “Did something happen?”
“I’m sorry…about Mom.” His eyes are closed and he’s slurring his words.
I’m not sure why he said that, but people say strange things when they’re drunk.
“I’m going to let you sleep this off.” I get up from his bed. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He starts mumbling again. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her.”
I sit down again. “What are you talking about?”
“I should’ve stopped her. I tried, Dad. I really tried. But she still left.”
Stopped her? What does he mean?
“Garret, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Stopped her from what?”
He turns on his side, his eyes still closed. “From going to DC. I told her not to go, but I didn’t try hard enough. And now she’s dead.”
He blames himself for her death? How the hell could he even think that? It’s not his fault.
The day Rachel and I flew to DC, Garret was only 10 and he begged her not to go. I couldn’t figure out why he was acting like that. He didn’t usually get that upset when we went somewhere. But that day, it’s almost like he knew. Like he sensed something bad was going to happen, so he begged her not to go.
“Garret, look at me.” I hold onto his shoulder and wait for his eyes to open. “It was not your fault. Don’t even think that.”
“It WAS my fault. I should’ve stopped her and I didn’t. I killed her, Dad.” Tears stream down his face. “It was all my fault.”
I pull him up from the bed and force him into a hug. “Don’t say that, Garret. Don’t you ever say that again. It was not your fault. It was nobody’s fault. It was an accident. It was just an accident.”
“She wouldn’t have been on the plane if I’d stopped her. I screwed up. And now she’s dead.”
Is that really what he thinks? That he could’ve prevented it from happening? Does he live with this guilt every day? God, I hope not. Because I already live with it, and it nearly kills me. I keep blaming myself for her death. Telling myself it’s my fault she got on that plane. I’m the one who suggested she take that earlier flight. I encouraged her to do so. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.
“It’s not your fault, Garret.” I hug him tighter.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” He sniffles. “I’m sorry.“
He’s been hiding this from me for all these years. The guilt. The false idea that he somehow had control over what happened.
Maybe I should get him into counseling again, but I know he won’t agree to it. And now that he’s older, it’s harder to force him to do things.
I don’t know how to help him. I’d like to think that spending time with him would help, but our relationship has become so strained the past few years that we fight whenever we’re together. Or we just don’t talk. Or I ask him questions and he gives me the silent treatment. I don’t know how to get through to him. I feel like I’ve already lost him and it’s too late. Tonight is the first time in years that I’ve felt like we’re connecting.
After a few minutes, I lower him back down to the bed. He’s falling asleep so I cover him again with the blanket. I don’t think I should leave him in here alone when he’s this drunk. He might get sick and need help. So I take the chair from his desk and sit next to the bed and just watch him sleep. Just like I used to do when he was an infant. After a stressful day at work or after an assignment, it used to calm me to watch him sleep. Even now, I find it calming. He’s my son and I love him and he’s my only connection to Rachel, and all of that is calming to me.
If only I hadn’t been forced to marry Katherine. Garret and I would’ve been much better off on our own. Just the two of us. But then I wouldn’t have Lilly. She’s the only good thing that came out of my marriage to Katherine.
I remain at Garret’s side, falling asleep in the chair. Around four a.m., he wakes up with a hangover. I wait in the bathroom while he throws up, then I get him some water and aspirin. I thought he’d tell me to go away, like he always does, but he didn’t. He goes back to sleep and I go to my room to get ready for work.
Katherine wakes up when I enter the bedroom. “Where have you been all night?” She uses a tone that implies I was out cheating on her.
“I was helping Garret. He got sick in the night.”
“Because he was drunk again? If he’s that drunk, then let him suffer in his own vomit. It’ll teach him a lesson for once. You can’t keep rescuing him, Pearce.”
I go in the bathroom and shut and lock the door. She’s trying to start another fight, but I won’t do it. I’m exhausted and I’m not going to waste energy fighting with her.
After I’m showered and dressed for work, I go down to Lilly’s room to check on her. She’s sound asleep, looking adorable with her pink pajamas and blond curls.
I gently touch her head. “Goodbye, honey. I’ll see you tonight.”
Next I go to Garret’s room. He’s awake, tossing and turning.
“Garret.” I sit next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like my head’s going to explode.”
“Yes, well, you’ll probably feel like that until this afternoon.”
“I can’t go to school.”
“You’re going to school.”
“I can’t. My head hurts too bad.”
“Which is why you’re going. Suffering through a day of high school with a hangover will make you never want to drink again.”
“So you’re punishing me? But I’m sick.”
“I’m looking out for you. I don’t want you getting drunk like that again.”
He sighs and turns away from me.
I nudge his back. “Hey.”
“What?” he groans.
“Turn around.”
He reluctantly rolls back over until he’s facing me. “What?”
“Do you remember what you said to me last night?”
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“Is that really how you feel? Do you blame yourself?”
He closes his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not your fault, Garret. I don’t know why you ever thought that it was, but you need to know that she wanted to go with me on that trip. You wouldn’t have been able to stop her.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me. “She would’ve stayed if I’d begged her not to go.”
Maybe I shouldn’t tell him this. I wasn’t going to because I didn’t think he needed to know. But if it will help relieve his guilt in any way, then I need to tell him.
“Garret, your mother wanted to go with me that weekend. We’d been planning it for months.”
“Why? It was just a dumb political thing.”
“The fundraiser was not the only reason we went. That Sunday was a special day for us. We were celebrating. That’s why she wanted to go.”
“What were you celebrating?” Garret sits up, leaning against the headboard.
“If I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone. Only a few people know this. So will you keep this a secret?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“That Sunday was our wedding anniversary. The real one. The wedding we had in March was fake. It was just for show. Your mother and I got married in November, right before Thanksgiving.”
“Why would you h
ave a real wedding and a fake wedding?”
“Your grandparents didn’t approve of your mother, so if we’d told them we were getting married, they would’ve tried to stop us.”
“What are you saying? You eloped?”
“Yes. We flew to Las Vegas and got married and didn’t tell anyone.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Your mother and I planned to tell you when you were older. But after hearing how you feel about that day we left, I think now is the right time to tell you. It was our anniversary trip, Garret. We had it all planned. Your mother wanted to go. You couldn’t have stopped her. So please, don’t blame yourself. Stop feeling guilty about this.”
He nods.
I lean over and hug him. “I need to get to the office. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He’s gazing down at the blanket, but then looks up again. “Wait. So you only knew each other three months before you got married?”
“Yes.”
“That’s really fast.”
“I didn’t need more time. I knew she was the one. I knew from the day I laid eyes on her.” I smile thinking of that day she walked in late to my speech. “I’ll see you tonight.” As I’m walking to the door, I say, “I’ll be calling the school later to see if you’re there. And if you’re not, I’ll be taking you there myself.”
“Dad, I can’t go.”
“You can go. Get in the shower. And drink some water. You need to learn never to do this again. Goodbye, Garret.”
I leave feeling like I actually acted like a father for once. Now if I could just keep it up.
CHAPTER SIX
Four Years Later
RACHEL
It’s October. I used to love October. Pearce and I would take Garret to buy pumpkins. We’d have scary movie marathons. I’d bake my famous apple cobbler, which was Pearce’s favorite dessert. I’d make pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies and Garret and I would decorate them. Then right before Halloween, I’d take Garret to the mall to pick out his costume.
Every year, I looked forward to October, but now it’s just another month. Another passage of time in this place that is not my home. I’ve tried to leave. Several times. But each time I’ve tried, they’ve stopped me.
The first time was a week after I got that video message from Holton. I wanted to see if he really had people watching me, or if he just said that to scare me. I packed my bag and was going to go to Naples and stay at a hotel near the airport, as if I was really leaving. I called a taxi and left late at night.
The taxi drove out of town, then stopped suddenly on the side of the road in a desolate area. It was dark and I was scared, unsure what the driver was doing. I asked him why he stopped but he didn’t answer. He just sat in the front seat, not saying anything. The back door opened and a man in a black ski mask yanked me out of the taxi and shoved me into a black sedan.
“What did he tell you?” the man yelled at me. He sounded like one of the men who came to my room that night I got that message from Holton. “Answer me!” the man yelled from the front seat, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel.
I was shaking and stammering. “I…I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Do you want to live?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then answer me! What did he tell you?”
“Not to…not to try to leave.”
The man started the car and drove away. I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, but then he turned around and drove the other way, back toward my apartment.
“Do you know about my son?” I asked. “He’s not going to hurt him, is he? Please, tell me what—”
“Shut the fuck up!” he barked. I kept quiet until we got back. He stopped in front of my building. “Don’t try it again.”
But I didn’t listen. I tried again a few months later, except that time, I attempted to leave with Raul, a man who works at the meat market in town. He supplies meat for Celia’s restaurant so I see him all the time. One day, I heard him tell Celia he had to take his sister to the airport the following day. I asked if I could ride along. It was spring, and it’s a beautiful drive, so I just told him I wanted to go on a drive. He agreed to it, happy to have some company for the drive back.
The night before I was supposed to go, I found a note on my dresser saying that if I went with Raul, there would be consequences. Someone had broken into my apartment and left the note. So I told Raul I couldn’t go.
Ever since then, I’ve felt trapped. I can’t even leave this tiny village. Holton is keeping me isolated within a five mile radius so that I can’t get any information about my old life. This town doesn’t have Internet access, so I can’t look anything up. I can’t check on Pearce or Garret to make sure they’re okay, or to see their photos, or see what’s going on in their lives.
I can’t even call them. I’ve tried, several times, but each time I do, the phone goes dead. I even tried to call Martha but the call wouldn’t go through. I don’t know how Holton does it. He must have some kind of sophisticated equipment that blocks all outgoing calls I try to make. After repeated attempts to call home, I got a warning letter in my room saying Pearce, Garret, or I would be hurt if I tried calling home again. So I haven’t. I’m too scared of what Holton might do.
Holton has me imprisoned here, with no way to contact anyone. And I’m sure he’s loving every minute of it. He’s probably sitting in his mansion right now with that smirk on his face, pleased with himself for what he’s done.
Celia is getting more and more worried about me because I never go anywhere. It’s been years since we took that trip to Naples, and since then, I haven’t left this town. I used to tell her how much I love traveling and going to new places, so she keeps offering to take me to Rome for a weekend, or to Sicily, but I have to keep turning her down. She asks why, but I don’t give her an answer. I can’t. She can’t know what’s going on. If I told her, I’m sure Holton’s men would kill her.
Celia also keeps inviting me to go to Naples with her, and every time she asks, I have to tell her no. Last month, I finally just said yes to see if I’d get another note. I didn’t tell anyone I was going. Only Celia knew. And yet, a warning note was there on my dresser the day before we were supposed to leave. That’s when I realized they were listening in on my conversations. They had the restaurant bugged and probably my apartment as well.
Despite all this, I haven’t given up. I’m determined to see Pearce and Garret again. That determination is what keeps me going. Holton has to die eventually, and when he does, maybe those men will stop watching me. But I’m worried Holton may have told someone else to watch me after he dies, like maybe Leland, who has a vested interest in keeping me away since his daughter is married to Pearce. But I’m still going to try to escape. I just don’t know when.
How will I know when Holton dies? I have no way of knowing. I could ask someone to look it up for me the next time they’re somewhere that has Internet access, but the person would think I’m crazy for asking such an odd question. And I know I’d be caught just for asking. They’d hear me ask and then send me another warning. Or I’d be punished. So as of now, I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do. The only thing I know is that I’m not giving up. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to keep trying.
“Can I get you another coffee?” I ask the customer I’m waiting on.
I still work at Celia’s restaurant and I still rent out the studio apartment upstairs. I also still tutor English. Nothing has changed in years. It’s like I’m living the same day over and over again.
“I suppose I could have one more,” the man says.
He’s American. He told me he’s from New York. He’s in Italy on business, but had some free time so decided to take a drive, which led him here. I don’t even know this man and yet I feel a connection to him because he’s American.
We don’t get many American tourists so when I hear
d his New York accent, my heart sped up a little. I got this sudden spark of hope. It’s because of a dream I had a few nights ago. In the dream, I told an American tourist to contact Pearce, and he did, and then Pearce came here and got me and finally brought me home.
What if I actually did that? What if I asked this man to contact Pearce? He might find it odd, but who cares? I don’t get many opportunities like this. I could just ask. The man could always say no.
I get his coffee, and when I bring it back I notice he’s reading a financial newspaper. He looks like he’s in his fifties. He’s wearing a gray suit and a very expensive watch.
“Do you work in finance?” I ask him.
He looks up from the paper. “Yes. Banking. On Wall Street.”
“That must be very interesting.”
“At times it is.” He smiles. “Are you from the U.S.?”
“Yes.”
“How did you end up in Italy?”
“I came here on vacation and fell in love with this town and ended up moving here.”
“How long have you been here?”
Years ago I would’ve been afraid to tell him. But now? I don’t care. I’m desperate to get out of here and this man may be able to help me.
“I’ve been here about nine years. If you’d like a quick tour of the town, I’d be happy to give you one.”
“Actually, yes, that would be nice.” He says it flirtatiously and smiles even wider.
Does he think I was flirting with him? Maybe this is a bad idea. But I have to try to get a message to Pearce, and I can’t talk to this man in the restaurant, where I know Holton’s men could be listening.
“I’m Michael, by the way.”
“Jill.” I shake his hand as he gets up. “Just let me tell my boss.” I hurry back to the kitchen. “Celia, one of the customers wanted a quick tour of the town. I’ll just be gone a few minutes.”
She smiles. “The handsome American?”
Handsome? I don’t think he’s handsome.
“Yes, the American.”
She waves me on. “Go ahead.”
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