There was a newsstand not far away, and her flight was still a good 20 minutes before boarding. She flung the strap of her big blue purse over her shoulder and made her way toward the wall of junk food.
Corn chips — no. Potato chips — yuck. Candy bars — maybe. Cookies – better maybe.
This decision might have been easier if she had any sort of appetite, but everything just looked so blah. Then just to the left of the counter she spied a sign that read: Fresh Homemade Fudge. She bought a half a pound of a flavor called Orange Zing. A half a pound is a lot in terms of fudge. It would probably make her sick to her stomach if she ate it all but she didn't care.
As she was paying the exorbitant airport price for the fudge, and a pair of sunglasses to hide her grieving eyes, she noticed the address on Jennifer Anne Hollis's driver's license: Crest Park Road, Lakewood, Colorado. She wondered how close that was to Denver. And then she wondered, why Colorado? Why not San Francisco, or Pierre, or New York, or... some other place?
She couldn't help but wonder if the address might somehow be significant to the stopover. On the other hand, there was no such thing as a direct flight from Pierre to San Francisco, so maybe it was just coincidence.
Something like an electrical charge shot through her, causing her heart to leap, and her stomach to somersault as she headed back toward her seat in the terminal. It was an odd sensation — not uncomfortable, more surprising than anything. Maybe it was because her stomach was excited to have something in it after all these hours, maybe it was an after shock from the day's traumas, or maybe it was something else.
Someone else.
"You know, you shouldn't leave your luggage unattended," said the man sitting in the seat next to her luggage — the seat she had been sitting in a few short fudge-free minutes earlier.
He was older, in his fifties maybe, with blond hair that was greying around the edges. He was good-looking — not that she was into old guys — but he was handsome all the same. He wore a black suit — his top button was undone and his tie hung loose around his neck.
"Yeah" she forced a smile. "Thanks." She took the seat on the other side of her suitcase.
He was smiling at her.
She offered a half smile back, and then turned her attention to her fudge.
Fresh. Homemade. Fudge.
"You're not worried that someone might tamper with your luggage — or steal it?" the man inquired.
Fudge. Why was this guy talking to her? Couldn't he see that she just wanted to be left alone? That's not a very nice way to think, she scolded herself, he was just trying to be helpful. And he seemed nice enough — fatherly, in a way. But then, at his age, he probably was someone's father. "Well, everyone here has already been through security," she reasoned. "Besides, who would want to steal luggage? Most people are pretty particular about their clothes and such."
He chuckled. "What about valuables? Jewelry? Computers?"
"Well, if I had any valuables, which sadly I don't," she sighed, "I wouldn't have left it." She smiled another half-smile at him, pinched off a piece of fudge and popped it in her mouth. She leaned back and tried to immerse herself in fudgy orange zing nirvana, hoping that Mr. Luggage Guy would take the hint.
He chuckled again, but didn't say anything more and a few minutes later he had started a conversation with someone else.
"Welcome aboard," the flight attendant greeted her as she boarded then directed her to her seat. It was a window seat — in first class — and it was very cushy, but it didn't make her feel any better. The attendant took her luggage and stowed it away. Apparently first-class luggage was stowed in its own cupboard, and not above your head. It didn't seem like much of a perk. What if she needed something? Not that she would — but still.
She took her seat and buckled her belt. Then she pulled the envelope out of her purse again. She smelled it.
Yechk!
That had been a mistake. It smelled like dusty old papers. Maybe she'd been hoping for that familiar scent, like the one she had smelled on the postcard.
Stupid postcard.
Stupid Je — Stupid her.
She kicked off her shoes, pulled her legs up to her chest and curled toward the window. She still wasn't ready.
It's only an envelope with a card and some words, she tried to convince herself, but she knew it was more than that. Whatever was in that envelope was her past, her future; and now, it was all she had.
It was weird to think about.
Did she have parents out there somewhere? Siblings? Did they look like her? Did they know what she looked like? Did they miss her? Was she supposed to miss them?
She barely noticed when someone took the seat next to her, or when the plane taxied down the runway and took off. She was far too wrapped up in her thoughts to even care.
She held the envelope up to the window. Maybe if she caught a glimpse of something before she actually opened it, it would somehow make it easier to open.
"You know," came a familiar chuckle. "That'd be easier to read if you opened it."
Mr. Luggage Guy. Fudge. What were the odds that he'd be seated next to her?
"Yeah," she forced a smile. "Thanks."
"My name is Xavier," he extended his hand to her. "Lewis Xavier."
Her insides did that little acrobatic maneuver again. Maybe fudge wasn't the best option for dinner.
She eyed him as she shoved the envelope back into her purse then took his hand. "Jen— Jennifer Hollis," she said, almost naturally, and then added, "Nice to meet you."
She wasn't sure why she had said that last bit, habit maybe? She hadn't meant to, but then she'd just blurted it out. Not that it wasn't nice to meet him — he seemed like a really nice guy — someone safe, someone she could trust. She didn't know why she felt this way about him — a complete stranger. It was kind of weird. Maybe it was because she didn't have anyone else and she was desperate and he was friendly.
"It's nice to meet you too." He smiled broadly at her.
Now she'd done it. He was never going to shut up now.
"I have a niece your age," he started. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he also looked distracted. He glanced over his shoulder down the aisle then retrieved a magazine from his briefcase. "You look like you've had a really long day." He sighed as he unbuttoned another button on his shirt and loosened his tie more. "I know what that's like."
She was pretty sure he didn't have the slightest clue what that was like. At least not in the same way she had known it.
"You should rest," he said as he flipped open his copy of the New Yorker and began scanning it's pages.
She turned her gaze back to the window and somehow, despite her best efforts, she fell asleep. When she awoke, she was more than a little surprised to find that the plane had landed and they were sitting at the terminal in Denver.
The seat next to her was empty.
"Excuse me," she asked the attendant. "When did we land?"
"About 30 minutes ago," he said. "But our landing was delayed, so we'll be taking off in about five minutes."
"Oh, but I needed to get off the plane," she said.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hollis, my mistake, we're not in San Francisco yet. This is the Denver Airport," he clarified.
"I know," she said. "I need to make a phone call."
"You're cleared to use mobile and other electronic devices while we're at the gate." He informed with a smile.
"I don't have a phone."
"The seat-back in front of you is equipped with a phone." He pointed it out to her. "You just slide your credit card," he continued —remarkably without the slightest hint of condescension.
"I don't have a credit card," she interrupted him.
"Oh," he pursed his face, as if in deep thought.
"Here, you can use my phone."
Jennifer turned to see a young blond woman with a cell phone in her outstretched hand. She looked familiar somehow, but Jennifer couldn't quite place her.
"Better use
it quick, before they make me turn it off again." She shot a scowl at the flight attendant.
"It's a long distance call," Jennifer said.
The blond shot her a funny look then laughed. "All my calls are long distance." She pushed the phone at Jennifer again.
"Thank you," Jennifer, took the phone from her. "I'll pay you back."
The blond laughed again.
Jennifer quickly dialed Mike's number. He answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Mike."
"Jenny, where are you?"
"Didn't my parent's tell you?"
"Yeah, they told me," he sounded angry. "They told me a bunch of bullshit."
"But—" How did he know?
"Jenny, I called your aunt's house to leave you a message and she answered. She answered, Jenny." Well, that would do it. "Quite the feat for somebody who's supposed to be in the hospital having surgery wouldn't you say?"
"Mike, I'm so sorry they lied to you."
"Jenny." His voice was hard. "Tell me where you are."
"I'm— I'm sorry, Mike. I can't."
"Jenny," he pleaded.
"Please, Mike, I don't have very much time. Just please listen." She took a breath and held it. What could she say? Nothing was going to make this okay.
He cleared his throat, "I'm listening."
"I— I have to go away. I don't know for how long and I can't tell you why. But I need you to know that it wasn't because of what happened this morning — it wasn't because of anything. It's just... the way things are, I guess. And you have to believe that, okay? You have to believe that everything's going to be okay." She felt like she was trying to reassure herself about what was happening as much as Mike.
"You can't do this, Jenny. You need to come home."
Home. His words were like a stab to the heart. She took a slow breath and tried not to start crying again. "I'm not doing this Mike. It's just the way things are right now."
"I can't accept that, Jenny. I won't."
"Thanks for always looking out for me, Mike. I have to go now but I promise I'll try and contact you again as soon as I can."
"I— I love you, Jenny," he squeaked.
His desperation broke her heart. "I know," she said. "I love you too."
"Jenny," she heard him say as she hung up the phone.
"Goodbye, Mike," she said to no one as she fought back her tears.
She gave the phone back to the blond. "How much do I owe you?" she asked.
"Don't even think about it," the blond waved her away.
"Thanks." Jennifer sunk back into her seat.
The flight attendant was beginning the preflight safety routine as they taxied toward the runway when Jennifer noticed that the seat next to her was still empty. Suddenly she felt very alone. Mr. Xavier had been looking out for her, and now, all she had was herself again. She wished she'd been nicer to him.
Fudge. She still had some in her purse.
Her hand hit the faded envelope as she reached inside.
That was odd.
She distinctly remembered shoving it to the very bottom of her purse — under everything else — wanting to get it as far away from her as she could.
She pulled it out along with the fudge.
I'm sorry I couldn't stay. Be safe. Don't wait for me.
X
Had been scrawled on the front side of the envelope.
An unthinkable thought pummeled her brain. She tore open the envelope and freed the greeting card within. The front of the card was a picture of hands holding stars. Her hands were shaking as she opened the card. In near identical handwriting she read:
I would give you the stars.
X
It was all she needed to confirm her fears, but there was more. Inside the card, was a letter, written in now familiar handwriting, and an unevenly cropped photograph of Lewis Xavier, looking about 20 years younger. He was smiling. His arm was wrapped around a woman in a pink dress, but she had been cut from the photo. All that remained of her was a few bits of her dress amidst the zigs and zags of the unevenly trimmed edge.
She wasn't sure if she should read the letter or not. What difference would it make now? She placed the picture carefully back into the letter, placed them both back into the card, and placed the card back into the envelope. She ran her fingers along the writing on the outside, and then shoved it back into her purse — to the very bottom.
She eyed the fudge in her lap. Yuck. The situation was bad enough that now her stomach had lost its appetite too.
Quincy told her someone would meet her at the airport. She assumed that meant the airport in San Francisco – at her destination. Obviously she'd been wrong.
Why hadn't she opened that envelope sooner? She kicked herself mentally. Mr. Luggage Guy – Lewis Xavier – was her contact. And he had left her. Why on earth would he do that?
Should she have gotten off the plane in Colorado? Is that why Jennifer Hollis's address was there? Was it a clue? Was it coincidence? Too late now, the plane was already in the air on it's way to San Francisco.
His note said he couldn't stay, but not why.
It said, 'be safe.' Was this just friendly advice? Or was it more serious than that?
It felt more serious than that.
And how was she was supposed to pull that off exactly? Be safe. This wasn't like saying, do what you know is safe, like wearing your seatbelt and not speeding. She had no idea how to apply 'be safe' to a situation like this. She wasn't even sure what the situation really was.
Was he trying to say, that in order to be safe, she shouldn't wait for him? 'Don't wait for me.' Where was she supposed to go? She knew almost nothing about San Francisco. And she was pretty sure what she did know wouldn't be very useful information.
She retrieved the envelope from her purse again.
Lewis Xavier.
She tried to remember every detail she could about him. Her uncle. Is that why her insides had somersaulted? Had something deep inside of her recognized him? She studied the picture of him, looking for any similarities between them. Maybe the chin, or the nose, or the shape of their faces... maybe. Maybe not.
She carefully held the folded letter in her hand, as though it were an antique.
She ran her fingers across the ornate script; looking at the words, but not really reading them. Eventually, she let the words take form and read the letter.
My Dearest Niece,
My name is Lewis Rion Xavier. I am your mother's elder brother. I was born Dark, on August 28th, in the evening.
As of this writing, I am married to my dearest love, and am the father of one son with her. I named him David Barrett Xavier.
The following I write for your faith only. These are my deepest untolds. I write them only so that when we meet again, you will be able to confirm that I am who I say I am. I can only trust that you will do me the honor of destroying this after you have read it, and will share my secrets with no one.
First, I've always wished my name were David. It's a small thing, but I've never told anyone. There were some who took complaint with me naming my son David, believing I had been influenced by more recent connections, but this was not the case.
There were many who did not approve of your parent's relationship. In the beginning, I was only one of them. Your father had many enemies before he fell in love with my sister. Together, they had even more.
At their wedding I met Barrett Whitting. Barrett was ever faithful to your mother and aided her and your father in their forbidden affair. It was Barrett who finally helped me to see that, despite the risks, their union could be a good thing. That it could bring good things.
It brought us you. I hope he was right.
Barrett died while protecting you and your mother — ever faithful even to the last. This is known.
What isn't known is that Barrett and I were lovers. Our relationship began the day we met and ended shortly before his death. Or maybe I'm lying to myself, maybe it ended wi
th his death.
Barrett changed my life, in so many ways. I admired him more than I can say. It was an honor to give my son his name as well.
Keep the picture. Your mother has the other half.
Yours Truly,
Lewis Rion Xavier
X
When she finished reading the letter, she read it again; and again, and again, and again. Huge, fat tears, rolled silently from her eyes, and down her cheeks. This was her history, her family. It wasn't much but it was something, and it was all she had. Some of it she didn't understand; what had he meant by born Dark? It was capitalized and everything, like some sort of title. Maybe it was code for something. Maybe not. Maybe she was just obsessed with codes.
She wondered what her real name was. Was it really Genevieve? Genevieve what? She wondered what her parents looked like, what their names were. She really didn't look like Xavier, so maybe she looked more like her father's side of the family.
She wondered what he meant by risks — 'despite the risks' — they must have really loved each other if just getting married was a risk.
It reminded her of Romeo and Juliet. A forbidden love.
Romeo and Juliet might have had a good thing together if they'd lived. She hoped her parent were still alive, wherever they might be. After all, if Barrett died while protecting her mother — from something — or someone, who's to say what had happened since then.
Family feuds. Forbidden relationships. Bodyguards. Sex scandals. Secrecy. It sounded like an action movie. Too bad life didn't guarantee happy endings.
The plane landed at San Francisco International Airport just before midnight.
'Don't wait for me,' she had been told, so she gathered her things and left. As she headed toward a taxi someone snapped a photo in her direction. She turned to see several people with cameras eagerly snapping photos of the young blond that had leant Jennifer her phone.
So, that's why she looked familiar. She must be some kind of celebrity. Jennifer wished she were trendier.
The Aeon Star Page 4