by E. C. Frey
I flag a taxi. When it drops me at the hotel, I wonder why I listened to Eve. I’m completely exposed here. I can feel his eyes on me as I hurry into the safety of the building.
I close my room door against the quiet lurking in the long, vacant hallway. The foreign walls close in on me as I pace the floor. My mind sees the opulent bedding and artwork, but I can’t seem to register it. My perceptions run through a sieve—thoughts come and go like pebbles washing down a waterfall.
I glance at my watch. Five minutes have passed. I lift my suitcase onto the bed and sort my clothing. I recheck my watch, but only two minutes have passed. I clutch at the throbbing in my chest. It can’t be a heart attack. Panic. I’m having a panic attack. That’s something other people get. Not me.
Summoning courage, I step out and quietly shut the door. Moving helps. The elevator bings loudly when it arrives.
The long and opulent crystal chandeliers cast bright light against the white polished marble and gold-filamented wall mirrors. The bar broods against the brightness of the adjacent lobby. Surrounded by other guests, I settle into a well-cushioned and secluded corner with a glass of white wine to wait for Eve. My hands shake but I know I’m safe here. His clothes and demeanor are contrary to the quiet elegance of the city. To be able to place him will be our only advantage. I’m not sure about the other one. Black. He was wearing black. I can’t remember the cut or material, but it was black.
The hours tick by and I finish my second glass of wine, but it does little to soften the edges of my nerves.
Heather’s line is busy, which is just as well. There’s no point in upsetting her. I pull out Dennis’s business card and read it over again. I’m not the only mixed-blood playing the white man’s game. We are legion. We just don’t know it.
My heart skips a beat. I feel his presence before I see him. Dennis. He’s nearby.
I can’t make out anyone’s features inside the bar; the light from the lobby obscures the darker corners. I cast a glance at the offending light, and see him. He’s checking in. My skin remembers the touch of his as we shared adjacent airplane seats. The intensity of my feelings terrifies me. I’m falling, and my arms and legs have become mush. It’s the first time I’ve known what it’s like to fall head over heels. It defies logic—but logic has ceased to serve me any purpose these days. I’m terrified of the unchecked free fall and the inevitable hit.
Dennis must feel my presence too, because he looks my way, smiles, and tips his hat. I consider running, returning to my room, where it’s safe, but I also hope Eve will take her time. I wait and sip my wine. He approaches, and the light that follows him intensifies his magnetism and increases my unease. My insides turn to butter. He almost chases away my fear.
I have lived a life of adrenaline and danger that is catching up to me. I know this. And I’ve lived far from home. The debt is up. This sense of increasing terror is the price. But if falling for a man like Dennis is part of the price, I will gladly pay it.
A shadow passes between us. A man in a black collared shirt, black tie, black pants, and black jacket strides easily between us and, turning his head, stares directly into my eyes. His cold gaze cuts a deep channel through my heart. My panic is gone, and in its place is stone-cold dread.
Then he is gone.
25 Fiona
The trip from Los Angeles to Charleston consumed an entire day and deleted three hours in time difference from my life. My heart is heavy with the memory of the war zone I left at home.
It’s been a month since the soiree, since Sam’s spectacle of a temper tantrum. Her sullen demeanor was predictable, the slamming doors music compared to Gavin’s silence. He left early in the morning and returned late to lock himself, brandy in hand, in his den, his impenetrable fortress. It’s the same kind of withdrawal my parents exhibited—the difference only in the liquid of choice, brandy instead of scotch. It’s different from that of a defiant teenager. Defiance is temporary. Teenagers become adults. A withdrawn husband is another matter. It’s the mark of a dying marriage.
The trip East was long and punctuated the danger. Uncomfortable with so much aloneness, I stewed over every moment of the past month. I’ve spent a lifetime exiling guilt to the shadows, but now it’s returned to the light. It is as if, in its exile, it has grown larger and angrier.
By the time I arrive in Charleston, I have consumed numerous airline bottles of vodka. It does little to numb the truth. I collect my luggage and catch a cab to the hotel. The opulently grand staircase in the lobby should excite me, but I am in no mood for reminders of my life in LA. I’m here to forget. Or am I? No. We are here to fix what we long ago tried to forget. Maybe that’s the real problem. The thing you try to forget exists anyway. It can’t be destroyed until it has been reckoned with. It just hovers and buggers the mind.
I need another drink. The pleasantries of checking in are annoying, and I move toward the clink of glasses in the bar area.
“Fiona. Where are you going?”
The familiar voice propels me forward, but my feet hold in place. Should I laugh or should I cry? I sprawl forward and land at my friends’ feet, my skin slapping the dead marble.
I can’t hide. I can’t hide from what just happened any more than I can conceal the grotesqueness that has rooted itself in my mansion in Beverly Hills.
Eve and Mariah reach for me and pull me from the floor. My clothes twist around me like a swaddling cloth. I embrace my friends, but the awkwardness hems me in. It’s a slow strangulation, all this familiarity.
“God, I’m so glad to see you,” I say.
“Fiona, you look beautiful as ever. I’ve missed you so much.” Eve’s voice is clear and musical.
I glance toward the bar. “Let’s go have a cocktail and catch up.”
“How many have you had already?” Mariah asks, eyes narrowed.
“It’s wonderful to see you too, Mariah.”
“You know I’m asking out of concern.”
“Well, I would hope so or I’ve come to the wrong place. Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine now that I’m here. I needed to get away from home; everyone’s going crazy there.”
Eve’s shoulder is a handy support. People are watching. Normally I love the attention, but in this moment it doesn’t feel flattering.
“I need to sit down. Preferably near the pretty little bar.”
“We’re worried about you,” Mariah says. “And we need to have our wits about us. All of us, Fiona. We think he’s here. And actually, there may be more than one problem.”
“Who’s here? And why are you whispering?”
“You know. Him. And that’s why.”
“Oh, he’s here. I get it.”
Eve reaches to wrap her arm around my shoulder.
“Ah, I missed you, too, but I need to sit down,” I say, inching toward the bar. “Let’s get a cocktail and catch up. We can talk about him there.”
Eve looks around. “No, let’s go to your room and get you unpacked. We can catch up there.”
“What are you looking around at? And why? I want to catch up down here. I’ve been locked in my room at home for weeks. I want to be out. I bet there are some handsome young Southern gentlemen around.”
“Well, let’s at least get your stuff to your room and let you freshen up. Then we can get something to eat at the restaurant.” Eve glances around the lobby again.
“What are you looking at?”
“If he’s here, he’s enjoying the show,” Mariah says. “C’mon. Let’s go to your room.”
“All right.” My hair is unruly and creating little webs of irritating strings around my face. Does everything have to be out of control these days?
Eve picks up my bags and leads me toward the elevator. Mariah follows wheeling my suitcase, the noise grating and conspicuous.
The bright interior of the elevator nauseates me and my reflection in the highly polished walls teases me. Distorted, my appearance melts into something alien and disgusting. The smooth r
ide ends with a stomach-dropping lurch and I catch myself by leaning against the cold glass, but gentle hands on either side are already rescuing me from another tumble. It’s not my fault. The elevator is old and rickety.
Growing up, I always imagined myself to be the strong and beautiful one, the one everyone wanted to be. That was an illusion. My friends were the strong ones—fierce, complex, and compassionate. I paled in comparison. I pale still. I am the beautiful shell and they are the substance that animates it.
“I love you guys.” I wipe my tears with my jacket sleeve. “I hate my life. My life hates me. My family hates me. I hate me. Oh my God, I hate me.”
Eve tries to console me. “Fiona, stop it. No one hates you.”
“Let her express herself,” Mariah says.
“You hate me too, Mariah.”
“Of course I don’t hate you. Why the hell would I be hanging around with you for the last several decades if I hated you? You’re a pain in the ass. You just hate yourself so much that you can’t tell when someone loves you for yourself and not who you want them to think you are.”
“What do you mean?”
Mariah looks at me with that vexing Indian look. That flat look like she’s seeing something new but totally gets it. Deadpan and smack-the-fuck on. I want to slap her silly. Like that might animate her face. But I don’t. It wouldn’t change her anyway.
“We’ve always loved you. You’ve just blinded yourself.”
Eve looks at Mariah—over my head, like I’m invisible. “This is a fine time to be getting real with her.”
They’re not going to treat me like I don’t exist. “What are the two of you talking about?”
“Nothing, Fiona.” Mariah waves her hand in dismissal.
“Well, it must be something.”
“Look, Fiona. All your Gucci bags and male conquests can’t change how you feel about yourself. Strip all that shit away and just focus on the part of you that we see and know. Trust me, it’s not the Gucci bags, the men, or the fucking diamonds. That reminds me. You didn’t bring all those ridiculous diamonds, did you?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Good. I don’t want to be any more conspicuous than we already are.”
“You don’t like my diamonds? They add to everything you put on. They go with everything, you know.”
“No. I don’t like your diamonds. You sparkle without them. Quit hiding behind them.”
“Well, that’s really pissy, Mariah. Do you like my diamonds, Eve?”
“Leave me out of this. What the hell would I need diamonds for?”
The hallway is long. Eve grabs my purse and, after rooting around, pulls out my room key. She swipes it, and the green light on the door illuminates. Cold air blasts my face and clears my head enough to remind me of how long the day has been.
Falling is forgetting. I plunge onto the bed and sink into its crisp cotton covers.
“I’m sorry. I’m so tired. It was a longer trip than I thought.”
“Why don’t you go to bed? It’s been a long day for all of us. We can deal with everything in the morning.” Mariah moves to cover me.
I need to know. “Did you mean what you said?”
“Which part?”
“The part where you said I sparkle without the diamonds.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Eve removes my shoes and coat and pulls the comforter over me. They’re breaking my heart.
“But I don’t sparkle inside. Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I mean, do you forgive me for our disagreement last year?”
Mariah smiles. She’s so beautiful. “That’s old history.”
“I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
“Yes, of course. I was never upset with you.”
“Then why did you call everyone else more than me? I needed you.”
“I’m sorry.” Mariah presses a hand to my forehead. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
I drift and my voice floats away from me. “Love dies without forgiveness.”
Mariah and Eve flatten the coverlet under my chin.
“I’ve been dying for a very long time.”
The room dims as they retreat from me. The darkness keeps me company and I forget the sadness three thousand miles away.
Bright sunshine beams through the window of my seventh-floor hotel room and intensifies the headache that reminds me of my vodka-soaked plane ride. What was I thinking? This was not how I wanted to arrive.
Well, I did it again.
The illuminated bedside clock blinks eleven o’clock local time and I’m still in bed. The ringing phone dispels the quiet of the room.
Eve’s voice is sparkly and clear. “Good morning. Wake up, sleepy-head. Espy is here. We’ve ordered a table of coffee and breakfast to be sent to your room. We figured we’d invade your space.” She laughs. “We’ll be there shortly to share it with you. Breaking our fast together.”
“Okay.” I rub my eyes, but the air is still hazy.
“Wakie-wakie, sunshine!” Esperanza’s voice is equally cheerful. God, I’ve missed them.
“All right, I’m getting up.”
“We’ll be there shortly.”
The bathroom light is harsh and day-old mascara darkens my eyes. I need a shower. I need coffee. I need aspirin. I need, need, need. I have everything in the world and I still need. What the hell is wrong with me? Dabbing at my eyes and straightening my hair does nothing to fix my reflection.
The breakfast table arrives.
The waiter, attired in a crisp white shirt, apron, and immaculate black pants, greets me with a charming smile. He sets up the table and lifts every silver lid, then moves toward the door.
“Wait,” I say. “Don’t I need to sign something?”
“No, ma’am. It’s been taken care of. Can I do anything else for you?”
Well, that’s a loaded question. Eve’s voice is in my head: He’s a baby, Fiona.
“No. I’m fine. Although I’m not used to being called ma’am.”
“Welcome to Charleston, ma’am.” His smile is dazzling. Maybe it’s time to move. Charleston might be a good place to start. I’m already old and forgotten in Beverly Hills.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Enjoy your breakfast.” Absolved again—twice in the past twelve hours. He turned a rhetorical plea for forgiveness into the real thing. Charming. Perhaps I should accept it as a beginning. He is a disarmingly handsome young man—his mother should be proud. Will my Sean be like that? Or will his heart turn to stone with each passing moment of mine and Gavin’s increasingly loveless marriage? Will he become aloof and unavailable like his father?
The coffee, rich and aromatic, slides from the ornate silver pitcher and swirls darkly against the crisp white cup. Steam curls up and floats toward me. I have the power to float along and accept everything that has been given to me in my life. Is that what I want? Because it is the path I have taken for years.
A knock on the door breaks the spell and everyone spills into the room.
Esperanza smoothes back my hair the way my mother used to do. My mom never touched my sisters that way. How that truth must have crushed them every waking day. All these years and I’ve never thought of the loss in my sisters’ lives. Worse, I’ve never stopped to imagine how they felt losing Rory, witnessing him drowning. And I’ve never stopped to remember that moment I came out of the house to see him floating face down. The horror. The way everything became a bad dream. I’ve never gotten over losing him, losing a part of myself. That was the moment I stopped allowing myself to be loved, even by me. Hate rippled out from his death float.
“What’s wrong, chica?”
I choke back the tears. “Nothing, Espy. I feel so much happier and lighter now that we’re together. Heather? God, I’ve missed you.” I don’t want to let her go, but Shannon is watching and I crouch to look into her ey
es, the same eyes as her mother. “Hi sweetie. And how are you?”
Shannon blushes and hugs her mother’s legs. Heather reaches down to smooth her hair. “I’ve missed you too.”
Eve smiles cautiously. “You’re feeling better, then? We were worried about you last night.”
Mariah nods. “You were depressingly sad last night.”
“I’m so sorry. That’s not the way I wanted to arrive. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Vodka. Vodka got into you.”
“Yes, Mariah. Thank you. And you’re right. It was a long trip.”
“Well, you’re fine now. Right?”
I nod. If I nod enough, even I will believe.
“Well, let’s have some breakfast. Four of us are on Eastern time. You get a pass on sleeping in so late because I’m sure you have jet lag.” Mariah pours four more cups of coffee and hands them out.
Eve smiles. “And you missed Mariah’s . . . friend.”
“Friend?”
“Friend. Flat-out handsome friend.” Eve winks. “Who knew? In fact, if Jerome and I weren’t already an item, I might have to make it a competition.”
Esperanza giggles. “Oh, yeah right, Eve. Tell me more!”
Mariah blushes. “Stop it.”
“How did I miss that?” Heather asks.
It’s afternoon and another breakfast cart later before Shannon, who has been quietly watching cartoons, yawns and closes her eyes. Heather tucks a flannel blanket around her.
“It’s two o’clock, guys.” Mariah rises from the bed on which we have been sitting cross-legged. “I feel safe in this room, but somewhere out there is a stalker waiting for us.”
“Wait. What?” What have I missed? “What are you talking about? Who’s waiting for us?”
Mariah tips her head to the side. “Heather’s visitor. Remember? We told you about him last night.”
“Oh, him. Wait. He’s here? In Charleston? How?”
“I don’t know,” Mariah says. “He was behind me, or I think he was behind me, while I waited for my luggage at the airport carousel. I bumped into him, but he knocked me onto the carousel and then left the airport. Or maybe it was the other guy. I’m not sure anymore.”