Paloma’s mind drifted back to the letter she had received the day before; a letter she had yet to open.
What could it possibly contain? It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting anything…
“Mama,” she heard Cherish cry out as she was about to lay back down. “Mama. Mama!”
With a sigh, she retraced her steps to go see what was happening with her daughter, thankful for the patience to endure.
Probably another nightmare, she thought as she pushed the girl’s door open.
Poor Dear.
Edward awakened to find the rest of his family already out of bed. The bags under his wife’s eyes and still-unpicked-through curls spoke volumes about her level of exhaustion.
Confetti ran and welcomed him as he sat down for breakfast – her tail switching wildly in delight as she jumped into his lap – before Paloma or any of the kids had said a word.
Well, he thought, scooting his chair in as he cleared his throat. At least she notices when I’m around.
“Morning, Papa,” Cherish greeted him, followed quickly with hellos from Duncan and Chosen. “We tried really hard not to wake you up so you could sleep, a’cause I had a bad dream and kinda… well, I kinda woke everybody else,” she continued, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “Not that I meant to.”
The tail end of her words were flat and low, and Edward had to strain in order to hear them.
Within a few more moments, Paloma brought a plate and silverware for his place setting and bent down to kiss him as she set it down. He could tell that, in spite of not having enough sleep or freshened hair, she’d applied her signature fragrance – Kenzo Amour – and the mix of vanilla and frangipani and cherry blossoms titillated his senses.
“Good morning,” she finally said, smiling brightly. “We thought you could use the rest, even if we didn’t get all of ours,” she said, laughing. “And little miss Orchid Confetti Van Gogh didn’t mind the extra attention in the slightest. Did you, girl,” she said, turning her eyes toward the cat, who had now jumped up from Edward’s lap and into Chosen’s, only to be shooed away.
The curls in her fur glimmered in the light as she jumped back down, and she mewled her disappointment as she headed instead to her food bowl.
“And we already had family prayer, since we had the time. Mama said, that way we don’t feel so rushed this morning, and you and her can pray if you want to, but we’re done for now,” Duncan said, reaching for the orange juice. Edward helped him pour as he replied.
“Well, it seems you didn’t need me for anything this morning,” he said, trying not to feel hurt. How could they have done family prayers without the family patriarch, he thought, frowning. As he glanced up, he saw Paloma watching him, a smile on her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d mind this once. It isn’t as though it’s a habit we’re in,” she said quietly as she sat beside him and passed the French toast plate. “Who wants to say a prayer over breakfast?” she asked, a bit louder.
“That would be me,” Edward said, finally beginning to feel a little more useful.
He waited a few moments for everyone to bow their heads and reach across their hands, and Confetti jumped into his lap as he began to pray.
“Father, we just want to take some time this morning to thank You for Who You are and all You do in our lives. Bless this food to our bodies, and the hands that have prepared it. Be with us throughout the day and guide us into Your peace and grace. Give us all we need in order to be equipped for today, and the coming weeks and months, in Jesus’ name,” he said. “Amen.”
Edward pulled up to the Starbucks counter and placed his order quickly as he glanced at his watch.
This is becoming a bad habit, again, he thought, cringing. He was going to be late if the line inside was so long they didn’t get to him within a few minutes.
During his time in the hospital, they had made sure he only ate hospital-prepared foods in order to be assured nothing contaminated his system.
And when the specialists they’d sent over checked his home the first time, they’d found that the source of the vinyl chloride in his system was the new office chair he’d purchased a few months prior to his collapse. So, out went the new chair, and in came the old one again. A waste of twelve-hundred dollars, since they certainly couldn’t donate it to someone else and risk them getting ill, too.
There was no question about that at all.
Thankfully, the other two sweeps of the house, and the sweep of the office, hadn’t produced anything else that needed removed or switched out.
And so, as his way of coping as he mourned the loss of his hard-earned money, as soon as he was able to drive again, Edward had turned to the comfort of his routine.
Starbucks for tea and a muffin, lunch from any of four different places he and the guys preferred – all of them takeout – and walks after dinner rather than time at the gym, which he was no longer allowed to do much to begin with after heart surgery, and it was adding up.
The month before collapsing, he’d finally weaned himself off of his tea and muffin, bringing something from home in the morning, but since he’d regained most of his sight back and therefore could drive and work again, he’d lacked the discipline to even consider it.
“Your order, Sir,” the girl at the window said, the words shaking him from his reverie as she handed him the blueberry muffin and Moroccan Mint Green Tea, iced, that were his norm.
Not that I need the caffeine, he told himself as he sat the muffin bag in the seat next to him. I really should at least start to decaffeinate my life. No telling what the stuff will do to me in the long run…
“Thanks,” he called as he pulled away. He drove to the edge of the driveway, and as he pulled into traffic, his phone rang.
Startled, the tea in his hand fell to the floor and sloshed onto his legs and feet. It was cold, wet, and icy, and there was nothing to be done about it until he arrived ten minutes later at work, shivering from the sopping mess.
He checked his phone, thankful it still worked despite the tea that dripped around the edges, only to see that it had been the kids’ school.
What happened to Paloma that they had contacted me, he wondered credulously as he pulled out the napkin stash from his glove box and did his best to wipe the phone down, then get the rest of them on the floor to sop up what he could of the tea.
He checked his muffin to find it had gotten soggy all the way through.
Great, he thought. There goes my morning snack. Guess I’ll have to take an actual break to get to a store, whether I want to or not…
He dialed the school back as Malik pulled in beside him in the parking lot, and for the next several minutes, got the third degree from the secretary.
Why hadn’t the kids done their homework yesterday? And why was it that when one didn’t finish, none of them did? Why the trend in their homework downward? Didn’t he know it was an important part of learning?
Yes, he knew it was important, he’d told her; no, he didn’t know it hadn’t gotten done the night before. As for the downward trend in homework and their all or nothing-ness of it, was she aware of what had been going on at home with them, he volleyed back.
Did she have any idea what it must be like for them to watch their father almost die only to have him back again?
He sure didn’t, but as their father, he could guess it took its toll fiercely, even though they didn’t always show it. And while he was at it, he wanted to know why they called him instead of his wife. What was that about?
Didn’t they know she worked from home, while he went off to an office across the river?
With a sigh, knowing they were at an impasse, Edward finally agreed to speak with the children.
“And as for your wife, Mr. Stuart,” the secretary said in closing, “I tried her five times before I called you, so if I were you, I’d make sure she’s alright instead of being grouchy with me for trying you once.”
Well, why hadn�
�t she said so at the beginning of their conversation, he wanted to know?
“Because you jumped on me as soon as I answered the phone.”
And with that, the secretary hung up, leaving the reply he had in mind mute in his mouth.
“So what happened,” Edward asked Paloma three hours later, when he was finally able to reach her. Didn’t she know he’d be worried sick? He’d tried her eleven times since speaking to the secretary, and his work, as a result, had been slower than usual.
“I’m so sorry, there… there was a bit of an accident… everything’s fine, though. I was at the hospital with Tawny, getting stitches. I sliced my finger when I was preparing the chicken for dinner tonight.”
Her voice held a tremor he rarely heard, and it sent a chill through him. “I had a lot on my mind and I guess I just sort of… the knife slipped.”
What was it she wasn’t telling him?
What could be so important that she would be careless with a knife? She knew better than that…
“And nobody called me,” he asked her, his heart speeding up. He pushed back from his desk and stood, moving to look out the window. “I had to sit here at work, worried to the point of being sick because the kids’ school couldn’t get ahold of you, and all you say is sorry?”
“Well, I…”
“Listen, Mon Amour, next time something comes up, call me immediately; if not you, have someone else call me,” he finally said with a sigh. “I don’t care what it is, or how big or little it is…,” he told her,” and I don’t care why it happened, though now I’m curious. You’re always so careful. But I can’t sit here in wet clothes – don’t ask – for three hours while they dry, doing research while all sorts of things are running through my mind as to what may have happened to you.”
How could he explain he’d been terrified that one of Quentin Quimby’s threats had come true?
How could he tell her that his blood had run cold as the secretary had verbally dressed him down for not knowing she wasn’t picking up the phone?
“Edward, I really am sorry. I had opened a letter that was unexpected, and-“
“I know you’re sorry, Honey, I really do. But – a letter? I just can’t…”
“I understand,” she said. “Forget it. It was my fault. I should have known that it would be better to wait ‘til my head was clear, but I didn’t want to read it with anyone else here if there was something upsetting in it, either, and I just…”
He could hear a sobbing begin to unravel her voice, and berated himself for bringing her to tears.
“We’ll talk about it tonight after the kids get to bed. For now, just… try not to do anything else to hurt yourself,” he told her, clicking the off button before she could reply.
He glanced back and forth between his phone and his car outside, heart pounding. He set the phone down on the arm of the couch and stared blankly out the window for a few moments before he was able to get it back into gear.
Had he really just hung up on the love of his life?
And what was this about some letter? The last time they’d gotten anything that had frightened her to the point of distraction had been from Quentin.
A convulsion of anger and disgust passed through him at the thought.
If Quentin Quimby had made contact again – or had someone do it for him – the man was going to have a lot of explaining to do.
Paloma handed the letter over to Edward with the shaking fingers of her good hand.
As he opened and read it, she watched him carefully for responses that signaled a warning, thankful the children had gone to bed for the evening.
She had considered telling him there was nothing to be done about it; there was no way to prove it was from any particular person without doing a great amount of research, but then, she knew, that would put ideas in his head. He didn’t need to be doing more research than his job required, and neither did her brother.
Both had more than enough already…
Yet, Edward had invited Jason and his family over for dinner, insisting on their presence as he read the missive that had shaken her so much. What had he been thinking? Jason of all people would be right on the research; it was just in his nature. She didn’t even have to hint at anything.
In fact, if she said nothing, he’d be all the more adamant about finding the person.
And so, she had ordered in Chinese – a rare treat – and now, the tension in the air, fragrant with Kung Pao chicken, sweet and sour pork, and dumplings, was thick and taut as a wire. She took a deep breath; another as she watched Edward pass the letter to Jason, a low whistle emanating from his lips.
“Now, that wasn’t what I would have expected.”
She watched her brother as he perused the handful of paragraphs that had thrown her world for such a loop.
What could it all mean, and why had it been sent to her, of all people?
“What do you think, Edward? Worth the time to research, or should we try to get word to Justice on this one,” her brother finally asked in the quiet of the room. “Or a certain… former client of ours who might be interested in seeing it?”
“Who?”
“Marcos and Annabella… considering the context.”
“Hmmm… I’m not sure that-”
“What does it say,” Me’chelle asked, interrupting Edward’s thought as she came to join the group, a cup of fresh tea in her hands.
A few moments of silence met her before there was a reply, and then, as if he’d decided for them all, Jason lifted the letter back from the couch square he’d dropped it on and began to read, his voice low.
“Dear Mrs. Stuart,” he began, “We have news that we believe may concern you regarding a certain… friend of yours that many believe is dead, but who is in fact, alive. If you do not wish this information to become public, we advise you meet with us at the following address at 8:45 PM next Tuesday. Do not come early; do not be late; do not discuss this with anyone else, or bring anyone along. This must be you and us; that’s all.”
He paused at the end of the first paragraph and Paloma could see the muscles in his neck begin to convulse.
“There is much to discuss, Mrs. Stuart, not the least of which is the role you, your husband, and friends have played in keeping this truth from the public. Therefore, we sincerely advise you to keep this appointment. We will travel from this address to another destination in order to speak. Be sure your gas tank is full when you arrive. The drive will be long, and the conversation will be face to face with the friend you have helped to harbor. A man who has not killed her has been doing time as though he had, and a family who misses her does not have all the facts about what is happening, and what is true,” he read. That is all.” And then, it gives an address in Southeast,” he said, summing up the tail end of the letter.
An address in Southeast indeed: less than a mile from where they had lived and where they still had renters.
An address Paloma found all too convenient for her own comfort.
“I, um… I vote to send a copy to each of them tonight over e-mail and mail the hardcopy to Justice,” Edward said finally, “because, really, we don’t need this right now, and neither does the woman the “we” in the letter is talking about, I’m sure. Whatever her life is like now….”
Heads nodded around the living room in agreement, and Paloma breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know what you were expecting, but this sure wasn’t it, was it?”
“That would be a no,” he told her, pulling out his phone. “And as late as it is, and as quiet as we’ve all tried to keep our relationship with the Morrisons and etcetera, I’m calling Justice. I want to read it to him and get his take, immediately; gut reaction, if I can,” he said as he beeped his way through to the right number and pressed send.
Paloma held her breath; let it out; took a deep breath as she waited to see if anyone would answer.
Three rings.
Four.
“Hello,” she heard
Midge say, thankful for speakerphone. “Morrison residence. Edward, is that you?”
“Hey, Midge, yeah. And Paloma, Jason and Me’chelle are here on the line, too. Say, if there’s any way we could talk to Justice for a few minutes, we’d really appreciate it. It’s, um… related to someone we all know and care about,” Edward said as he readjusted his position in the recliner.
“Give us a minute to situate things and I’ll have him here for you,” she told him over the barking of Mr. Courageous. “He’s just coming back in with the dog from their nightly walk.”
Just picturing the huge St. Bernard out walking Justice – or the other way around – was enough to force one to keep chuckles at bay. Mr. Courageous was loveable, but he was a handful, most definitely.
Paloma’s eyes met Me’chelle’s as they waited, and the woman scooted over next to her, putting an arm around her. “It’ll be alright,” she reminded Paloma. “My sister’s husband knows what he’s doing as much as your brother does… they just have different areas of expertise… that’s all.”
Me’chelle sipped at her tea again just as Justice began speaking on the other end of the phone.
“How can I help you?”
“Well, we hate to bother you so late, but… Paloma got a rather… strange letter telling her to meet someone she didn’t know, alone, to talk about – well, we’re guessing, since it didn’t say specifically – a certain former Rosemary Jenkins,” Jason said, taking the phone from Edward’s outstretched hand. “We were going to email it to you tonight and send you the copy, since there’s no way to know for sure who-“
“My guess is it’s from Felix and his wife, if it’s anything like the ones Midge and I received,” Justice said quietly, every word intense. “Though why they’re starting to contact you all is beyond me. I went to the meeting, and there they were. Some house near the Taco Bell by your old place, actually.”
Paloma’s heart sped up and she sat upright. Yes, that sounds exactly like where this place is, she thought. But why would Rosemary’s family be trying to-
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 14