by Claire Perry
Music bled from strings and soul as the bride and groom danced with smiling, unashamed faces. She wanted them to be happy, but at what cost had this come? Who had yet to die? Journey’s killer was still on the loose.
Claudia let her whole body droop like a swan to the water. There was no way to know how this would end. Yet for now, she could hold the balance. She might have lost the love of her life to a stranger, but she still had their music.
Chapter 1
So, this is what it felt like to have nothing.
Alice Cornwell stared out her window at the back lawn of their mansion. They had lived here together a long time ago.
She could see a mirage now in the summer-heated lawn, her own smiling face when she was roughly 20 years younger. There sat Anders. He was so young. The portrait of vitality! Smiling like he always did when he was miraculously successful again. Laughing at her corny jokes, helping her spread peanut butter on the three sandwiches like any other white picket fence family might have done. Between them, laying in the blanket, playing with a leaf, was a middle school-aged Joe.
Theirs had been the lives only great dreamers could have imagined. How did the smiling child in the vision lose sight of the great privilege he’d received? How had he forgotten the things his father had taught him, the promises that he made? Alice stretched a hand to the windowpane and felt burning tears staining the glass. Speaking in her soul and not to the audible world, she could hear Anders talking in that moment long ago.
“Joey, you’re getting old enough for me to start teaching you about business… Yeah, I know, don’t give me that look, buddy!” He’d laughed and pulled the small boy up onto his knee like he was a still a toddler. Joe’s nose wrinkled indifferently. Anders ran a hand down the back of his son’s hair.
“What’s the most important thing to remember about being a wealthy man, Joe? Answer the question and we’ll go jet skiing this afternoon.” Anders had winked teasingly.
“That’s not a fair trade. Like I’d know the answer!”
“Son, I don’t want the right answer. I just want an answer. I’ll take you jet skiing anyway. It’s part of the lesson.” Anders tilted his head to the side.
“Okay… The most important thing about being rich is to… get richer?” Joe giggled and shrugged. Anders laughed and grabbed his son by either shoulder.
“That’d be nice, huh? But where’s the good in that? We’re so rich that if we never got another penny, we could still live like movie stars for pretty much forever. No, Joe, that might feel kind of important, but it’s definitely not the most important thing.
“The most important thing is not what we get. It’s what we give away. Remember, son: money doesn’t make the man. The man makes his money.
“It’s not how much we make, but how much we share. It’s not the people we know or the attention we get. It’s how we care about the people in our world. It’s how we direct attention to worthy causes. Which is why we’re going jet skiing this afternoon with the Children’s Home of Southern San Francisco. We’re going to have a birthday party today for every kid in this city that we know for sure doesn’t have anyone else to spend the day with.
“Son, a rich man makes it his life’s goal to always have more money, which can be a curse. A wealthy man makes enough money so that he can live comfortably and so other people can depend on him for shelter too. If you do that, kiddo, then you’ll really be a great man someday. You’ve got my vote, anyway, champ.”
The vision vanished when Joe’s heels came clattering along her hardwood office floor. Anders had helped the carpenter put it down, just because he’d wanted to get to know a working man and take some advice from him. Alice laughed as she remembered, her shoulders trembling. The memories hurt only so much more because Anders’ faith seemed to be complete vanity now. Why couldn’t Joe have listened? Hadn’t he loved his father? How could anyone not have? There is rarely a person that walks this earth that was even half as beautiful a soul as Anders Cornwell had been.
“You know that saying, that only the good die young?” Alice let her hand slide down the window, slick with her mascara-darkened tears. Joe didn’t speak. He didn’t want to speak to her. Everything was her fault, wasn’t it?
“I don’t think I could talk to you right this minute if it wasn’t for the half a fifth of brandy I just downed. It was Anders’ brandy… They call it spirits and I always wondered why. Thought maybe it would have some of his spirit in it. Do you remember your father, Joe?” She felt her knees knocking together and she sagged against the windowpane with a soft sob.
“Look, I don’t want your lecture. I just came to get my stuff.” Joe slammed a fistful of keys on her desk. Not her desk – Anders’ desk. This was Anders’ room and was still filled with his colorful shadow. Oh, beautiful spirit. He haunted them today. If he was looking down on them now, Alice was sure he couldn’t be resting in peace.
She turned around. Joe took a step back. Her eyes were blood red and her mascara bled down her face with the countenance of a bereft cheetah. Guilt shot through him like electricity. He might want to blame everything that had gone wrong on her, and yet he knew deep within himself that it wasn’t her fault. Whose fault it actually was had yet to be determined.
“You remember your father, don’t you, Joey? If there was ever a good man that lived, or someone close to perfect, it had to be my Anders…” She chirped through her throat and shook her head. Joe realized that she was talking more to herself than anyone. She was too drunk and halfway out of her mind to register that his presence and this conversation were a reality.
“They say that only the good die young… Anders… One year older than me and he died six years ago. 54 isn’t old…” She looked toward the ceiling and uttered a soft cry.
“Journey…” The name was raw in the room. Joe flinched. He and Anita had a policy. They could talk about “she” and “her” and the things she’d loved and the people she’d known, but her name was never to be uttered again. It was partially because they were guilty. After what Kenneth had said at her funeral, they knew they were partially to blame for having her in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“There will never be anyone like her ever again. I don’t care how many billions of people come after us. In the year 20 million 16, there will still never be anyone like Journey Erickson-Law.” She bowed her head. Tears spilled to the floor, making the wax finish turn white.
“Mom. What have you done with my stuff?” Joe shook himself and gulped. He did not want to do this.
“I already put it… I had them put it in a truck out back… All of it. Everything that was in our office anyway. You can finish up the rest yourself. Claudia said she’d help you, too, if you needed it. Do you remember her, Joe? If a woman ever loved you, it would have to be her. I remember it now. I remember everything. That summer… Mm, I was proud to be your mother then. My heart broke with happiness when you loved her…” Alice shook her head.
“Okay, you know what, that was nine years ago! We were young and stupid. It never even went all the way! It was a summer thing to keep us both from being bored.” Joe shook his head and slapped the desk. Little did he know that Claudia stood outside the office door.
Alice scratched her long fingernails up the windows, lips trembling.
“Take your crap and get off my property. I don’t care how long it takes you… That woman you call your wife and I call trouble? Don’t bring her here.” She stormed past him and bumped into Claudia outside.
Joe was left alone in the echoing room.
Chapter 2
They were clueless as to the depth of the hurt they had caused. Except for the fact that it boiled the guts with an acidic offense, their mutual behavior was almost comical.
Anita was spinning the skirt of her white sundress with girlish humor, hand tucked in Joe’s as they came strutting up the mile-long drive that led to the Cornwell estate the next day.
“Halt.” They dug in their heels, startled by the mili
tary term in such a luxurious place that wars and the rumors thereof never dared touch.
He stood with his shoulders locked. His eyes were tinged with twilight that never ended for him, red from the whites to the lids and stretching onto his temples. They could hear his teeth crackling as he gnashed their enamel to powder, fists clenched at either side of his body.
“Matthew Erickson…” Joe was breathless. He’d never thought about crossing paths with him again. This was not good.
“Oh good, more help.” Anita wrinkled her nose mischievously, her newly wedded bliss radiating from the tips of her polished toes to the top of her golden head.
“She’s not allowed here.” Matt indicated with his head that they should leave.
“What is he talking about, Joe?” Anita raised a brow, lips twisting in disgust.
“I think you both know. Mrs. Alice doesn’t want her here. This is private property, and I’m the security officer presiding over it. If she considers you a trespasser, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Matt swallowed, choking down his temper.
Anita stomped her heels into the pavement, jaw dropping, hands flapping like a goose’s pinfeathers. The younger Cornwell couple was ridiculous and stereotypical to a painful degree. Matt felt his stomach constrict wetly and harden like papier-mache.
“Who do you think you are, pal?” Anita dashed forward. Matt sighed within. He had the training to physically overpower these two combined with one hand if he needed to. It was only out of respect for his boss and the love of his deceased sister that he didn’t lash out at this woman.
“I don’t know, nobody important. I’m only the twin brother of your so-called BFF that died because you roped her into a dramatic and dangerous situation consorting with this questionable dude that normally she would have had no part in!” He spat on the concrete.
Anita blinked like she’d been slapped.
“Are you accusing my wife?!” Joe clapped his hands together.
“Depends. Is she guilty?” Matt wrung his hands and twisted his lips. Joe blinked.
“You know something? I think you’ve made up everything you said. Yeah, I remember you from the night that Journey died.”
“Shut up! You don’t say her name! Never say her name again, you understand? She was my sister and she’s dead because you two got her into some kind of trouble…” Matt jabbed a finger under Joe’s nose. The young Cornwell couple froze. Secretly, they did blame themselves. Seeing his manic eyes, they knew they had every reason to. Journey’s death was still a mystery, but the local authorities all agreed it had some connection with the drama surrounding Joe’s bachelor candidacy as Anita, whose background was fleece-white spotless of violent encounters, was the target. There was no denying that. A few days after the incident, the authorities confirmed that the bomb had been in her car, which was parked at a meter somewhere on that street before she’d walked to Journey’s classroom.
“If you were such a BA ex-CIA agent, how come you didn’t keep better tabs on your sister, eh? It’s your fault she’s dead. It was your job to protect her…” Joe leaned close to Matt’s face.
“Joe… I think… That’s enough.” Anita’s disturbance was visible now. She chewed her nails as one of her violent borderline episodes began to flare up. Matt looked sidelong at her, swallowing and freezing. His fists waded his jeans legs. He bleached the color of fine china.
“What’s the big secret, mm? What was such a big deal that you couldn’t leave the boonies for an afternoon or two and go and see her? How many years had you been apart, huh? They tell me you farm oranges. Yeah, I can keep tabs on people, too. You sell fruit and live in a shanty. Was that such a crashing business, dirtbag, that you couldn’t use your Mission Impossible skills to protect your sister from terrorist thugs? You’re gonna hold me accountable for that?” Joe gripped Matt’s shirt. Matt bit his lip to swallow down the urge to vomit. His nose started to bleed, blood pressure shooting to a scary level in his fury.
“Go ahead, hit me, punk. Let’s see if you can pay the lawsuit I’ll file on you… Ooh, what’s that, are you gonna cry?” Joe clicked his tongue. Matt swallowed and drew a shaky breath. His eyes were twisting shut and he was fighting tears with every ounce of courage he had left in him.
“You can’t touch me. You don’t have the goods. I could break you down and get away with it just because I’m me.” Joe smirked and posed his fist.
“You could, but you won’t. Because if you do, I’ll break your arm. You’d never touch that one because you’d be too embarrassed to say it was a woman that did you in.” Claudia appeared on the other side of the gate, arms folding over her chest. Joe froze. She was 20 times more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes were threatening appalled tears.
“Claudia.”
“Set him on his heels and be on your way, Joseph Cornwell. There’s been enough trouble in this home to last a lifetime. Matt and I will load up what remains of your personal things and we’ll have them sent to your house in a truck like normal people do.” Claudia took Matt’s arm. He was quaking and turned to look in her face.
“Why Journey? Why not me? I should have died a long time ago…”
“Shh…”Claudia drew her thumb over his lip.
“Go now. Before I call the police.” Claudia wouldn’t even look at her former lover.
Joe nodded not daring to say another word. He gulped and took Anita’s arm. She constricted, her eyes taking on a shadow that sent ice through Joe’s spirit. He’d never seen this side of her before.
“All of you can die and go to Hell.” Anita spat at Matt’s shoes and nodded, turning away.
Joe looked back for one longing moment. Claudia, pure and gentle, just as she had always been, took Matt by both sides of his face and studied him intently, scanning him for hurt.
Joe felt his stomach twist as Anita led him away. For the first time in probably his entire life, he felt a deep sense of shame about these things he’d just said and done. Only Claudia Nagant could ever elicit that much humanity from him in a single moment.
No sooner had Joe and Anita left the lawn than did Alice stumble out onto it, a small wooden box in her hands.
“He left it… In my office. All of Anders things… Joe left his memory box. You know that means?”
Claudia and Matt exchanged silent understanding and bowed their heads.
Alice watched them, in tears all over again. Would she be weeping forever?
“It means that we are officially dead to him and he considers himself dead to us!”
Chapter 3
Her words had rubbed in his wounded pride like sand in a clam’s flesh. Yet he’d made this bed and now he’d have to sleep in it – which he did. His and Anita’s honeymoon was wild. Postponed for the sake of moving, their trip to Cancun wasted 67 thousand dollars’ worth of Alice’s money. The financial cavities their marriage had entrenched in his personal allowance and the sandy words of maternal counsel had turned to razors sliding at seesaw speed, digging swift trenches into the path he’d cut for himself.
Shouldn’t he be permitted to make his own choices in life? It seemed so right, and yet he’d turned love to war, and he knew it without having to be told.
Anita’s mood had never lifted since the day they’d encountered Matt and Claudia outside of the Cornwell manor. The side he’d never seen before blossomed like a dark rose. His romantic illusions had dissolved too soon, the veil consumed in the fire of her sudden hatred. Anita was a different person than Joe believed her to be. A bossy, pushy, hyper-emotional, manipulative woman. She professed to have Borderline Personality Disorder, and yet he was guiltily beginning to question this. Hers was not the tangible struggle of the mentally ill, but the decided victim position of a person unwilling to be accountable for their extreme sensitivity and selfish needs. Now he saw himself reflected in her, and he didn’t like what he saw.
Even so, he was recklessly in love. His mother was the enemy, and she’d gotten under his skin, so he ran to Anita
to justify him.
“What’s the matter, babe? C’mon, tell me. You’ve been quiet ever since we tried to move the house.” Anita leaned over their solid marble dining room table and laid a hand over his.
Joe stared down into the wineglass he’d filled with Roman nocino. He swallowed, petrified to say it aloud. If Anita ever knew the truth about how much he’d loved Claudia, she would lose her already fragile mind.
“Tell me!” Anita was shouting which made Joe jump. Why? He’d hesitated for just a moment. Why was she so easily set off?
“I’m sorry, Joe. You’re just… I’m worried about you. I know I’m, ya know, difficult.” She shrugged, turning up her empty palms with an awkward smile.
“I did something. I said something. Now you’re upset. We’ve only been married a month. Oh God, you’re still happy, right? You’re happy aren’t you, Joe? Joe?!” She twisted her fingers in his collar and shook him until his teeth clicked together and he bit his tongue.
“Gah! For God’s sakes, Ann, you’re hurting me!” He shoved her away, instantly regretting it. Her eyes were flash flooding.
“I’m sorry, baby.” It felt ironic to say as blood dripped from his tongue.
“Yeah, no it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… Well, I’ve lost everyone to be with you. Journey was like my sister… I just can’t lose you now, Joe!” She coughed and shook herself.
Joe gulped and swilled the last of the Italian spirit. He sat up straighter and took her trembling hands in his.
“It was just something that my mother – ehem – that Alice said when I went to clear the office that one day.” He looked down at their reflection in the table.
“Oh God, that whore. What did she say, Joe?” Anita’s eyes flashed undeniable hatred.
“She just… She told me that, umm…” Joe felt protective of Claudia. That summer was virgin and sacred to him, whether he dared to say it aloud or not.