by Dori Lavelle
“An hour ago. What I have to say to Mr. LaClaire is urgent. That’s why I came here straight away.”
“Is that so?” He lets out a breath. “Miss Dupuis, you should know that we have managed to get his drinking under control, but Lance is damaged right now. He refuses to see even his own brothers. What makes you think he’d agree to see you?”
“Because I might be able to help. Please, give me a chance.” I don’t want to go into detail because I have no idea how much Lance had told his shrink about the events surrounding the accident that paralyzed him. The last thing I want to do is burn my bridge to him before I cross it.
“Well, since you have his brother’s permission to come and see him, I guess we can give it a try.” He scratches his well-trimmed beard. “I have to be honest with you, though, Miss Dupuis—”
“Please, call me Alice.”
“Very well, then, Alice. I have to be honest with you. Lance might decide not to let you in his room at all. If he refuses to see you, as his doctor, I will be obliged to ask you to leave. I hope you’re okay with that.” He rises from the couch and gestures for me to do the same.
“I understand. And I will respect his wishes.”
“Wonderful.” He straightens his bright yellow tie and heads for the door. “Follow me.”
Side by side, we exit on the third floor. Lance’s room is at the end of the hallway. Dr. Drew taps a knuckle on the white door. A deep voice on the other side of the slab of wood calls for us to enter. The doctor opens the door only a fraction, poking his head around it. “Lance, there’s someone here to see you.” He opens the door wider and I come to stand next to him.
The moment I look into Lance LaClaire’s eyes, my heart clenches as I watch the fire of rage exploding in his pupils.
“Miss Dupuis says she has an important message for you,” Dr. Drew says cautiously.
I try to smile, but my lips feel frozen.
Lance continues to stare at my face, his breathing audible, jaw clenched tight.
I should reach out to him, be the first to speak, break the large block of ice between us. “Hi, Lance,” I whisper, then raise my voice a little. “I’m Audrey Dupuis’s sister.” I allow the words to sink in. “I was there ... the day the two of you met.”
“I remember you.” His face clamps up even more. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in? I need to talk to you. I came all the way from Paris to see you.”
“You have the right to refuse, Lance. Or you can hear Miss Dupuis out.” Dr. Drew pushes his hands into his pockets.
Lance doesn’t even acknowledge him.
After a long, pregnant pause, during which Lance’s features change from anger to confusion, to annoyance and then to nothing, he nods at Dr. Drew.
“I’ll be in my office if you need anything,” the doctor says and walks back down the hallway toward the glass elevator.
“You have five minutes,” Lance says to me.
3
Alice
The door closes behind me with a sigh, shutting me in a room with an angry, damaged man. A man who has changed physically and emotionally, but still surprisingly has the same effect on me as he had that day in the Parisian coffee shop next to my childhood home.
A long buried and neglected desire unfurls to life as I enter his personal space.
“May I sit?” I point to one of the armchairs. He nods, and I sink into the soft leather. He positions himself at the foot of his king-size bed.
I let out the breath I was holding and inhale air made up of his expensive manly cologne, leather, and the tangy sea air drifting in from the slanted windows.
His bed is well-made, the linen with barely a wrinkle in sight.
My gaze moves to a round table close to the window. A silver tray holds a plate of untouched food. The moment I see the food, the air around me changes to include the aromas of eggs, sausages, and ripe peaches.
Giving myself an internal shake, I remind myself that he only gave me five minutes. Better than nothing, I guess. Our eyes meet again through the invisible wall dividing us.
“The clock is ticking. Why are you here?” His green eyes darken to the shade of jalapeño peppers.
“Audrey sent me to you.” I bite my lip.
“Why didn’t she come herself?” He shakes his head. “What does she want from me anyway?”
“I’m sorry about what she did to you.” I run my palms on my thighs, the jeans erasing the sweat. “She couldn’t come herself because ... she’s ...” I swallow hard. “She died. Two years ago.”
“She ... How?” His hands move to his knees, clutching them. “She’s dead?”
Watching the hurt on Lance’s face gives me a peek of his true nature. Beneath all the layers of hurt, he’s a kind soul.
My sister is partly responsible for the bitter man he has become, but he still finds a moment to grieve her departure from the world. In his position, someone else might not have given a damn.
Some of the questions I’m sure he wants answered are best answered by Audrey herself.
I reach into my bag, wrap my hands around the DVD she recorded. I don’t pull it out yet. I need to lay the groundwork, to open his heart to receive her message. I’ve watched the video on the plane and there’s no telling how he’ll react.
“For what it’s worth, she did regret what she did to you.”
“Exactly what did she do to me?” The edge in his tone tells me the question is rhetorical.
“She played you … with your feelings.” I run a hand through my thick, curly hair. “My sister was used to getting what she wanted, but she got bored fast.”
A smile curls the corner of his lips and a dimple flutters in his left cheek. “She didn’t only play me.”
“You’re right. She played you and your brother,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. She felt bad about everything that happened.”
He swivels his chair so he’s facing away from me, his shoulders so rigid they look about to snap. “Why did she send you to me?” His voice is flat, unemotional. “What did she want to say to me after all these years?”
Every breath Lance takes is heavy with pain, and it presses down on my shoulders. As I watch the back of his head, the dark hair curling around the nape of his neck, my chest tightens.
Why did you ask me to do this, Audrey? Why didn’t you reach out to him sooner, before you died?
I spent months preparing myself for this moment, following Lance’s life in the papers, his drinking problems, his public outbursts, his depression. I would never have come if it weren’t for the attempt to take his own life. I had to move past my discomfort and fear of seeing him again.
During the flight to Mexico, I kept assuring myself that the message from Audrey could be what he needs to pick up the pieces of his life. But now doubts cloud my mind. What if I was wrong? What if Audrey’s apology is all it takes to push him over the edge?
My mind is a cobweb of conflicting emotions. But the one thing I know for sure is that months or even years of waiting wouldn’t have prepared me for this broken man, this product of my sister’s thoughtless choices.
“How did she die?” His voice is barely audible over the sound of my thudding heart mixed in with the crashing waves outside.
This is the hardest question of all. But it’s the one question Audrey had not answered in her video. She left me to do it for her. I’d hate her for all she’d put me through if I could. But I can’t do that. I owe it to her. I owe everything to her. Even in death, she has power over me.
“Audrey took her own life.”
Despite the sounds around us, stillness pours into the room. The sounds of waves grow distant; my heart seems to have stopped beating because I can’t hear it as I wait for him to respond. Everything sounds as though it’s coming from a distance away.
From the day my sister was born, a year after me, she drew attention like a magnet. She only needed to bat her long, thick eyelashes to command instant attention. A magnetic au
ra surrounded her and pulled everything and everyone in. From a young age, she got what she wanted, when she wanted it. Everyone, including our parents, predicted she would live a long, fabulous life. Dad didn’t miss the opportunity to tell anyone who would listen that his youngest daughter was born for the limelight, that she was destined for Hollywood. As a kid, I didn’t care that she competed with me all the time and excelled at everything. I didn’t mind being the wallflower because I was born an introvert anyway. Being the center of attention caused me to break out in a sweat. So, I stepped back and let her enjoy the show. With my health issues, I was constantly too weak and frail to compete.
Everything changed the day we met Lance, during my last year of high school. For the first time in my life, I was incredibly attracted to someone at first sight. I didn’t mind that she had stolen any boy who had shown interest in me before Lance, because they didn’t send my pulse racing the way the stranger with the dark hair and hypnotic green eyes did. The moment I caught sight of him ordering an espresso at the coffee shop we frequented, the empty hole inside me made itself known. For the first time, I didn’t want to be overlooked. But it was a few years too late. Not that anyone would give me a second look next to my gorgeous sister anyway—not even on my birthday. Audrey saw him, too, and stepped right in to take what she wanted. Then she discarded him when she got bored.
From that day, a wall of deep-rooted resentment formed between us. And then, everything changed again after she died. In the end, I had no choice but to forgive her for making me feel small time and time again. With her last breath, she finally made up for all she had taken from me.
Lance clears his throat, his shoulders sinking and falling at a faster rate. “How did she kill herself? Tell me everything.”
I place a hand over my clenching heart as painful memories flood my mind. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about that. It’s hard for me. Please understand.” My fingers clutch my bag tightly, my nails digging into the soft leather. “I only came here to give you this.” I pull out the DVD, but he doesn’t turn to see it in my hands.
“Tell me how she died,” he repeats in a firm voice. “Please.”
I lower the DVD to my knees and shut my eyes, returning to the past. “Six months before she died, she was meant to get married to a man she’d been dating for a year,” I say and go through the story as fast as I can.
Damien Larue was the first man Audrey had ever really loved—the one toy she didn’t want to give up. After a string of broken engagements since college, she was ready to settle down.
“She was really happy.” I exhale a breath. “On her wedding day, he ... he left her at the altar. No explanation. Audrey didn’t take the rejection well. No man has ever left her before.”
I lift my eyelids and place a hand on my chest, wilting into the armchair. “Six months after the disappointment, she ... she shot herself inside a hospital bathroom. She wore her wedding dress.”
Lance inhales sharply and turns his wheelchair around. There’s a sparkle to his eyes that makes me ache. How could someone love somebody all these years, even after everything they had done to him?
He glances at the DVD and then back up at me, endless questions on his face. “Why didn’t you mail it? Why come all this way?”
“I wanted to, but she wanted me to deliver it in person.” I rise and place the DVD on his bed.
Back in the armchair, I avoid his gaze, cross my legs at the ankles. I force myself to continue breathing.
“But she was already dead. You didn’t promise that you would, am I right?”
“You’re right. I didn’t.” I swipe a hand across my cheek. “Audrey had a way of making people do what she wants.”
“Even in death,” he adds. “Did you watch it?”
My cheeks flush with shame. I nod. “I’m sorry. I was curious.”
“Then I don’t have to see it. You can tell me everything that’s on it, can’t you?” His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths.
I bury my hands into my thick hair, wishing he would go ahead and watch the DVD already. I’ve already been here longer than I had planned to, longer than the five minutes he had given me. “I could, but I’d rather you watch it for yourself. It’s her last message to you.”
He wheels himself to the side of the bed where I’d put the DVD and picks it up, turning the solid black case over in his hands. There’s nothing written on the outside—no title, no description of what’s inside. There’s a slight shake to his hands as he cracks it open and stares at the shiny DVD without saying a word. Then he wheels himself toward the large flat-screen TV and pushes the DVD into a slot underneath it. His head dips forward and stays that way for a few heartbeats.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I haven’t been okay for a long time.” He raises his head with a small empty laugh. “Okay is a word that no longer exists in my vocabulary.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and he doesn’t react.
His hands are around the remote now, but he doesn’t switch on the screen. He needs a moment, and so do I. Seeing my sister’s face again breaks me every time. Even though I’ve forgiven her and thank her for the final gift she left me, the wounds she inflicted within my heart, are still ripped open from time to time.
She was such a force of nature. Even though she’s gone, she’s still here. Whether that’s a good thing or not, I honestly don’t know.
4
Lance
My legs may be shit, but my mind works fine. I still have the ability to make decisions. I can choose not to watch the video, return it to Audrey’s sister, and politely ask her to disappear from my life. But something stops me from making this decision.
My pulse is slamming in the side of my neck as anger at the intrusion in my life boils inside me; but, at the same time, an unwelcome sensation of grief at hearing of Audrey’s death grips my chest like an unforgiving vice.
I blink a few times, try to erase images of her from my head, but they refuse to be ignored. Audrey’s open, smiling face, the small cute gap between her upper front teeth that had given her smile character, the caramel hair that seemed to have a life of its own, the sparkle in her eyes that never seemed to go away. Her infectious laughter.
The girl had vibrated with life. I can only imagine the empty hole her departure from life left in the worlds of those who knew her. Much as I don’t want to admit it, not even to myself, she left an emptiness inside me as well. She broke my heart, set in motion the events that led to my being confined to this chair. But when all is said and done, a death is a death. Death is sad for those who stay behind.
Life has one sick sense of humor. Why do some people succeed at killing themselves while others fail? It’s my life, why can’t I choose to exit at my chosen time? Why did Audrey have to succeed while I sucked? Why do some people get what they want and others don’t?
As much as I want to return the video to Alice, something inside me aches to hear Audrey’s voice again, her last words on earth. Who knows? What she had to say could be the closure I’d craved all these years.
I can’t count how many times I laid awake at night, wondering if she ever thought of me, if she had any regrets about us or the lack of us. Her video could be the answer to all those questions. The message must be important for Audrey to ask her sister to come all this way to give it to me in person.
I run a thumb over the black remote control, my skin gliding against the smooth surface until my thumb hovers over the small, green button. I still can’t conjure up the guts to press it yet.
I glance behind me at Alice. She looks small in the dominant leather armchair, lips pursed, fingertips tapping on a jean-clad thigh.
Although as striking as her sister had been, Alice’s beauty is different, quiet. One might have to look twice to see how stunning she really is, to appreciate the wild beauty of the lively auburn curls that hang around her shoulders, the unusual turquoise eyes that remind me of an untainted sea, the kind I’d once love
d to swim in before my legs let me down.
For some reason, watching this woman, a thread of heat curls through me. It could be because she reminds me of Audrey, the way I had felt about her. And yet, Alice’s effect on me is less intense, more comfortable.
Filling my lungs with air, I pull myself together. I’ll watch the damn video and send Alice on her way. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can be left alone.
I turn back to face the screen. But the scents from Alice’s body and hair wrap themselves around me. She smells like clean laundry and baby powder. Against my will, I revel in the smells of her.
My finger pushes down on the button. Audrey’s face fills the screen, but before she can say a word, I press the pause button.
Gazing into her eyes, the pit of my stomach drops.
The stunning girl I used to know had turned into a woman, but her beauty has diminished. If the video was filmed two years ago, she had to have been at least twenty-six or twenty-seven. When we met, I was nineteen and she was a year or two younger. On the screen, she resembles a woman in her mid- or late thirties.
The rose lips that had smiled at me from behind a sheer curtain as she danced naked around one of the hotel rooms I had taken her to, had transformed into a thin, pale line across her face. Her once-vibrant eyes are dim and her skin looks pale and tired. Something about her reminds me of myself.
She’s unhappy, clearly depressed. She felt then what I feel right now. Her undiluted pain radiates through the screen and enters my heart, blackening it even more.
Behind her is a painting of her in her glory days, one of my best artwork. The day I’d painted it is clear in my mind, a bright summer’s day we’d spent locked inside the hotel room with the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the door. During the painting session, I only took breaks to enjoy the food brought up to our room or to fuck her brains out.
Since painting Audrey, I’ve done several more paintings, but none of them have my soul in them, not like the one hanging behind Audrey Dupuis as she says her last words to me.