From the frown on Leon’s face, I could tell he had the same reservations.
“I’ve taken care of everything.” Sam Fields had a gravely sounding voice that cut into whatever Leon had been about to say. “The medical forms clear Sienna for both airplane and international travel, and I’ve got you staying in a villa near a hospital and a private physician on call if needed. The doctor’s an expat from Boston who used to head up a labor and delivery unit in one of the major hospitals up there.”
“Wait a minute, our trip to Miami was only for three nights.” A new swarm of fears and questions flooded me as I tried to make sense of this new information. “My clients, my baby, my life; Leon, all of this is moving too fast and is not making sense. You are going to have to give me something, some information. I need to know what’s going on. This plan seems too extreme and unnecessary,” I repeated as my head spun.
“Sienna, none of this is what I was expecting myself. This isn’t what I had in mind and I can’t say I like this either.” Leon rubbed his forehead, sighed. “But I promised that I would always take care of you and keep you, and our baby, safe. I know I am asking a lot of you to trust me even when you don’t have all the details, but if this is what it takes to ensure your safety, this is what we’re going to have to do.”
“So let me make sure I understand why the two of you are upset,” Mike chimed in. “You are having a baby and you are getting an extended trip to the Bahamas. Those are your horrible problems, right? Am I missing something?” He turned his head to one side and looked back and forth between me and Leon.
I felt like I was going to explode. I threw my hands up in the air, looked at my husband, hoping, wishing, praying that he understood the tumultuous sea of emotions in which I was adrift.
“Mike.” Leon’s voice was low, calm. “It’s been a crazy day for Sienna, for both of us. She’s provided testimony for a murder trial, dealt with her son being attacked, witnessed the death of the attorney she was assisting. She’s been shot at, traumatized, and just learned that the whole thing is deeper than she realized as far as my involvement.”
“And that trip to the Bahamas is sounding worse by the moment.” Mike shook his head.
Was I crazy for feeling what I did? I couldn’t even name the feeling. Just felt it. All in my stomach, my head, my nerves.
“Roman,” I whispered, my voice hoarse as if I’d been yelling for hours. “What about Roman? I may not know what’s going on, but I know enough to know that he’s in danger. Look at what happened to him today. Maybe, maybe, he does need to go back to India.” Had I actually said that? Were things that bad at the moment that I actually wanted him to go running off to another country with some girl, excuse me, woman I barely knew?
I didn’t miss that Leon and Sam Fields exchanged glances.
“What’s wrong? Is Roman okay?”
“Roman’s fine.” Leon quickly assured me. “You do need to talk to him. I think he’s ready to talk to you now. I know he’s ready to talk now.”
“Mike said he got into a car in front of Yvette’s house. Do you know where he went? Is he okay?” My voice faded into a whisper.
“He’s upstairs,” Leon spoke barely above a mumble himself. “Mike told me where he was and I sent for him.”
“Upstairs?” I looked up at the ceiling as if it were glass, as if I could see through it to wherever my son sat waiting.
I assumed he was waiting, I realized. Leon said Roman was ready to talk, but what if he was wrong?
Trust me, baby. I could hear Leon’s voice pleading with my consciousness.
“Remember, this is a safe house. Roman is here and he is safe.”
“I’m going to go talk to him.” I turned toward the basement staircase, a series of white plaster-covered steps.
“Do that, Sienna, but just know we don’t have long. We have to get to the airport.”
“Your flight is not until tomorrow evening.” Sam Fields was packing up some papers, stuffing them into a briefcase I just noticed he’d had by his foot.
“What?” Leon spun around to face the squat but solid man.
“It’s the best I could do on such short notice.” Sam finished his club sandwich in two bites.
“Surely there are plenty of flights from Baltimore to Miami before tomorrow evening,” Leon countered.
“For the precautions you needed me to take, including looking out for your wife’s delicate condition, tomorrow evening is what it is. Your flight leaves at five-thirty; your charter to Freeport is at nine-thirty and you’ll arrive at your private beachfront villa at ten-thirty p.m., in the cover of darkness.”
“I don’t like this.” Leon shook his head.
The detective shrugged. “Best I could do. You’re safe right here. Just follow protocol. A cab will be around to get the three of you tomorrow between three and three-thirty.” He grabbed his briefcase, tossed the sandwich wrapper in a metal trashcan and exited from the same backdoor we’d entered.
“The three of us?” I looked at Leon and the other two men in the room. Was Mike going with us to the Bahamas? I was thoroughly confused. As if reading my mind, Mike answered.
“Roman.”
“He’s not going back to India?”
“Just talk to him.” Leon collapsed onto the futon. “Talk to him. We have plenty of time now. Use this penlight to get around upstairs and stay away from the windows. Don’t worry, though. Nobody can see in. I’ll meet you upstairs after you talk to him.” His voice faded with each word. His eyes began to close.
“And I’ll stay guard.” Mike sat down at the desk, messed with some knobs on the closed-circuit television, punched some keys of the computer, and brightened the monitor.
“Shavona?” Leon asked as he kicked off his shoes, stretched out completely on the long, narrow futon.
It had been a long, exhausting day for him, for both of us.
“I’ll tell her the usual, that I was called in to work an extra shift. Not really a lie, you know.” Mike leaned back in the desk chair.
Leon sighed and a half second later I heard a soft snore coming from his full lips. I had always been amazed at his ability to fall asleep instantly, but after getting a peek at his real day job, his nightly exhaustion made sense. I would have passed out permanently from exhaustion if my normal day was half of what today was.
For all the danger and fatigue I now knew he’d been facing, I wished I could go back and hug and hold him even more during our past year’s nights together.
I started up the stairs, but not before looking back. Leon was flat on his back. Mike looked up at me.
And winked several times.
I hurried up the stairs.
Roman was asleep in a bedroom on the third level.
Despite the sparse appearance of the basement, the rest of the house was in pristine, designer condition. Updated kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A large foyer painted in shades of bright white and mint green. Airy curtains.
I guessed if a neighbor or misdirected delivery person knocked on the door, nobody would ever suspect that the house served as a sanctuary of sorts. Pictures on the walls and magazines in the foyer spoke to international travel, luxury hotels, and exotic destinations. Looked like the neighbors were led to believe that the owner of the home, who probably “showed up” from time to time, was a world traveler who took frequent trips.
Great way to keep the house undisturbed and well maintained. Great way to prevent suspicions or draw attention.
I found Roman in the master suite of the home, all six feet plus of him curled up in a fetal position in a king-sized canopy bed. Shining the penlight on him, I saw that he still had a few bandages on and the swelling around his eyes looked about the same as it had when we’d left the hospital earlier that evening.
Had it all really been the same day?
I looked at a digital clock on a nightstand. 12:32. Tomorrow was today, I realized, yawning, feeling the weight of fatigue heavy on
my eyelids.
“My baby.” I pulled at the tight curls that framed his round face “Not my baby anymore.” I gave a half smile as a swift kick on the inside landed just under my ribs. That was the strongest kick yet. A mother of a twenty-one-year-old and an infant.
Starting over.
And what a start it was shaping up to be.
I’d had enough excitement for the day and Roman looked content in his sleep, no strain, no anger, no contempt. I wanted him to stay like that so I let him sleep.
We had time.
I could wait until the morning to talk to him, to find out what it was he had to ask me, and, hopefully, understand why his travel plans had changed. Was it just a safety concern? Not that I wanted him to go to India, especially in his bruised and battered state; but something told me that his change in itinerary had little to do with the events of the day.
Both my men were sleeping.
I decided to let the day be over for myself. Roman needed his rest. I needed a clear mind and a fresh start.
We had time.
I retreated to a bedroom I found across the hallway from him, curling my toes on the thick white carpet, and then crashing into a mound of white, down pillows.
Sleep never felt so tortured and so sweet.
Chapter 29
Screeching tires.
I sat straight up in the bed, still wearing the same clothes from the day before, a shoe on one foot, the blankets only partially turned down. I rubbed my eyes, focused them, trying to remember where I was and why.
Oh.
I crashed back down into the soft pillows, wishing the nightmare I was living would revert to a dream and the sweet peace I’d had while sleeping would be my reality.
More screeching tires.
I sat back up.
Though a clock by the bed read 7:39, the room was still heavy in darkness, the shades over the windows obviously some type of extra-duty strength of opaqueness. Nobody most certainly could see into this place, because I most certainly could not see out. The screeching tires belonged to the morning rush hour, I realized.
I fixed my eyes on the doorway, looked across the hall. The door to the room where Roman had been sleeping was closed.
“Roman!”
Remembering my questions, my fears, from the night before, I hopped out of bed, rushed to the bedroom door and knocked.
No answer.
I held my breath, pushed it opened.
The bed was empty.
Though I’d just gotten several hours of sleep, an exhaustion that defied words took over me and I crumpled down to the floor. Alone, confused, anxious, I didn’t know what to even think, say, or do next.
“Ma.”
The voice came from behind me, the touch on my shoulders gentle then strong as Roman, who emerged from another room, was suddenly standing next to me, helping me up.
“Leon will be back later. I fixed breakfast. Come on, eat.”
I followed him to the room he’d just come out of and marveled at its setup. With a computer desk and closed-circuit TVs lining several tables, this “bedroom” looked the way I’d expected the basement to look, and then some. Gadgets, gizmos, and other high-tech devices lined the long tables and folding chairs that were crammed in the all-white space. It was some type of command room, two stories above the front entrance and tucked in what looked like a spare bedroom from the hallway.
“It’s just us here, but don’t worry. Leon showed me what code to press if something unexpected happens. Help would get here in minutes, he said. Plus, there’s a real panic room through the closet.” Roman pointed. “It’s fireproof, bulletproof, and bombproof with no way for any unwanted intruder to get in.”
“Not sure if that makes me feel better, considering the possibilities.” We both grinned. Felt like old times.
Except my stomach was heavy with child, we were in a safe house with a panic room, and we were preparing to leave for a trip out of the country in less than twelve hours.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Roman looked down. “I . . . I . . .”
“Roman, I’m sorry too.” A long pause. Quiet. Peace. “You said you fixed breakfast?” The time for answers would come. For now, we were dancing cautious baby steps around our reconciliation.
“Downstairs.”
I followed him down a narrow rear staircase to a kitchen that made me jealous. Seeing it now with the lights on, I appreciated the workmanship and high-end features of the cabinetry and appliances. Someone put a lot of money into this place for it to be of occasional use.
We moved in silence: he putting ceramic plates filled with sausage, eggs, and toast on the kitchen island; me pouring tall glasses of orange juice I found in the well-stocked refrigerator. Our dance was a delicate one.
We hadn’t had a real conversation since Christmas, about six months ago. After a few bites of food and more silence, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Roman.”
“Ma.”
We spoke at the same time. I put my fork down.
“So, you’re not going back to India.” Was that really where to begin? I watched as Roman’s lips tightened. He dragged a forkful of eggs around his plate. I quickly added more. “I’m sorry about what happened to you yesterday, and that it disrupted your plans.”
Roman put the fork down and shook his head. “You’re not really sorry. You didn’t want me to go anyway.”
“Roman, I—”
“You would rather I be put in a psych ward than let me live my own life.”
“It was a mistake. I was frantic and I didn’t want—”
“You didn’t want me to make the same mistake you made chasing my father around the world. I get it.” He looked up at me for a second and I saw something I hadn’t seen in his eyes for years.
Tears.
“I’m sorry, Roman.”
“Don’t be. You were right. There, I said it. Let’s get it over with.” His words settled like a wet blanket, heavy, suffocating. On both of us.
“Roman, I want you to be happy. I want you to experience love. This wasn’t about me being right or wrong. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been through enough. I didn’t want you to go through anything else, especially all the way on the other side of the world.” I paused. “I know what it’s like to wake up on another continent questioning everything you think you know about love, realizing that choices you’ve made can’t be undone. You are a great student, almost halfway through college, and I didn’t want your choice to ruin your educational chances and your future.”
Roman let out a loud sigh, sat back in his seat.
“How is it there? India.” I could not say the girl’s name. We both knew this was the closest I’d get to asking at the moment about their relationship.
Roman leaned forward in his seat, picked at his eggs again. “I never went.”
“Excuse me?”
He put the fork down, looked me in the face. “I said that I never went. I didn’t go.”
“Wha . . . Why? What happened?”
“I misinterpreted her intentions. I mean, she misinterpreted mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I . . . We . . . After you had the cops manhandle me at the airport, she asked me if I’d gotten your permission to come with her. I told her, I said, ‘I don’t need my mother’s permission to love you.’” Roman bit his lip before continuing. “She looked at me in horror when I said that. I didn’t understand why at first, but then this man, her fiancé, comes up and hugs and kisses her.”
“Fiancé?” My mouth dropped open.
“I misunderstood. I thought we were in a relationship, but she just saw me as an employee and an assistant who would help her build her business and look for her kids. She was bringing me to India to work for her since I offered to help and had spent so much time providing her technical support. She . . . We weren’t a couple, and I somehow missed that.”
“Oh, Roman.” I shook my head, not sure how to feel about this
new twist. I didn’t want him with her, but I hurt for my boy. He blinked back tears.
“It was the most embarrassing moment of my life.” He looked back up at me. “That whole morning was the most embarrassing of my life.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand love anymore. I thought she loved me. I thought my father loved me. And . . .” He paused. “I thought you would never hurt me, but you did.”
“I’m sorry, Roman. I didn’t handle things right. I’m sure Changuna wasn’t trying to hurt you, and your father, well, I’m not really sure what to say about him, but don’t give up on love, son.”
“I prayed about India, Ma. It’s the one time in my life I really prayed about something, even more than when I was looking for my father, for RiChard. I really thought God was guiding my steps. But He left me hanging in the long run. I wasn’t supposed to go and He didn’t tell me. If I don’t know for sure that God is hearing me and guiding me, if I don’t know for sure what love is supposed to look like and feel like, how am I supposed to have a relationship with Him? You see? I’m not getting it, Ma, and it hurts too much to figure it out. It’s not just you and Dad and Changuna. God hurt me too, Ma.”
I started to tell him that God had been screaming at him through his mother not to go, but, no, that was not the way to go.
“Roman, God is bigger than our pain and He uses every detail of our lives to shape us into His purposes. I hear you about not understanding everything. Believe me; I’ve had a few talks with King Jesus on the very matter. Maybe I haven’t been the best example for you in these things, especially when it came to my former bitterness over your father. However, one thing I’ve learned for sure is that God doesn’t expect us to understand everything. He just wants us to trust Him. Trust Him with even how you feel right now, your questions, your confusion, your anger, your pain. He hasn’t let you go. When you are praying and seeking Him, sometimes He’s simply speaking through the silence.”
“All right, Reverend Mother.” Roman chuckled.
I laughed along with him. “If you think I sound like a preacher, you should hear your Aunt Yvette. If you are having any questions about God’s power to move and change lives, actually come into her house on a small session night.”
Sweet Violet and a Time for Love Page 21