by Kira Blakely
That was not to say that they had a shortcoming. In many ways, they were the lucky ones. They didn’t ask for much, because there wasn’t much to be had. That made life simple for them, and it made it simpler for them to embrace life and love and a sense of family. I knew I was generalizing, but that’s how it appeared. When you didn’t have much, you clung to family.
I’d always been jealous of people who have big families. As the only child, I was the litmus test for parental success. My mother could not have been a better parent, and my father could not have been worse. I knew there were things about him that I might never know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I knew he had done horrible things, unconscionable things, and I knew instinctively there was nothing in his past that would make me proud. I didn’t trust him. And yet, there I was, asking a woman to trust me when I couldn’t even give her a guarantee that I’d always be at her side. Did that make her the better person? Or, did it mean she’d been raised never doubting she was loved? That was something I could never know, and I had to be content with that. The problem was, I wasn’t always sure how to show love.
I knew I was in love with Lilly, maybe even from the first day. Certainly that first night, as we made love on her rickety old deck in the pouring rain. It wasn’t just the romance of the setting—it was a genuine need to touch and be inside another human being and to give in return. That’s what she brought to me. If I could do anything to help her or those she cared about, it was a drop in the bucket to what she brought into my life.
I knew it would be different to have someone living with me. There would be the normal period of adjustment, aligning our sleeping patterns and learning what the other one likes or doesn’t. I was prepared for all that. Neither of us was old enough to be inflexible yet, and I knew that when I was around her, my life was instantly enriched, in a way that money could never do. My primary concern was whether she could live with me. I was the one who was bringing mystery to our relationship. I didn’t blame her for feeling insecure, but I couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. Instead, I was determined to surround her with so much love and security that she would never doubt that leaving her caused me great regret.
Lilly insisted on keeping her studio open. I didn’t blame her. I knew she wanted something to fall back on if things didn’t work out. In my own mind, I knew I would never leave her stranded, no matter what happened between us. She didn’t know that though, and just as Natalie needed something of which to be proud, so did Lilly. I did talk her into a reduced schedule, just three days during the week. She was reluctant, but she went along with it.
The first thing we did was to clear everything of hers out of the old apartment. That took about one hour—she didn’t have much. What she did have were memories of her parents. I bought her a leather-bound chest with a keyed lock, and I designated the bedroom next to my office as her office. I took her shopping to pick out office furniture, and when it was delivered, she got quite excited at the idea of putting up wallpaper and prissy curtains that seemed to make her feel like a woman should feel. The chest went in her office, and that’s where she put all her memories. She told me she would continue to add to the chest by adding the memories that she and I would make together. I swore to her they would be happy ones.
I had flown with Natalie to Savannah, to get her settled and make sure she wasn’t afraid. In many ways, despite her weaknesses, she was far stronger than Lilly. I attributed that to the fact that she only worried about herself. She was not as generous of heart as her younger sister. Nevertheless, she wasn’t a bad woman, only misguided. The clinic gave her a large bedroom to herself. There was a balcony that looked out over the wetlands that led to the ocean. It was the perfect place to contemplate, and I found myself in a small way jealous that I never thought of creating such a place for myself. It would’ve appealed to me greatly when I was younger and my father was giving me so much trouble. And then, again, after I’d left the government service.
I remembered that black time, when everything evil in the world weighed on my heart and there was no one with whom I could talk. My mother had seen something was very dark and unhappy within me, and she countered this with parties and introductions to pretty young girls. The time of my life for pretty young girls had passed the night that Carmella died. I would never be that innocent again.
I forced myself back to the present with a reminder that Lilly and I were planning to go shopping for her that afternoon. Her wardrobe was appalling, but I never told her that. I knew it was the best she could do, but she was such a gorgeous woman and nothing she wore complemented that beauty. I had asked around and learned that a wardrobe was not something to be purchased in one day, at one store. At least not the kind I wanted her to have. I had already visited several small boutiques that specialized in ordering and stocking clothes for particular clients. I had opened accounts at each of these in her name with the bills to come to me. That was where we started.
The first shop rode above the clouds in one of Louisville’s few skyscrapers. Its clients tended to be executives’ wives, and then again, sometimes their girlfriends. I escorted Lilly to the shop and sat in a viewing room furnished with tufted salmon-colored furniture, obviously intended for a feminine appeal. The sales associate, or consultant as she preferred to be called, accompanied Lilly back to the dressing rooms. As she tried on each dress or slacks outfit, she came into the viewing room to get my opinion. I could tell she was economy-minded, for she often asked the price. The sales consultant blushed at Lilly’s obvious faux pas. We left with two choices, and I took Lilly to lunch.
“Sweetheart, this wardrobe is something that I want you to have, not because you’re required to dress a certain way, but because you are a beautiful woman, and I want you to take pleasure in that. I want to spoil you and for other men to be envious that you’re on my arm and not theirs. Can you understand that?”
Her hair was twisted and pinned high on her head, and she had taken the time to wear makeup. I could tell she was self-conscious of her appearance, and yet I had no idea why. I wanted to be more understanding. I wished so badly that my mother was there, for she would’ve taken Lilly in hand and the two of them would have shopped a fortune away. That’s when it occurred to me that I was not the appropriate shopping partner.
“Do you have a girlfriend, another woman to shop with? Someone who might make you feel more comfortable?”
“I’m comfortable with you.”
“Yes, and I’m grateful for that, but I understand that women like to surprise their men. If I see you in the showroom, that sort of takes the surprise out of it, doesn’t it?”
I was desperately trying to work around the concept that she wasn’t dressing up to her potential. Being as sensitive as she was, she surprised me when she said, “You know, I’ve never had an unlimited budget before. I’m not sure of what I’m doing. Do you suppose I could hire a personal shopper, someone who knows the right stores and the right designs that would flatter me and make you proud of me?”
I could have kissed her right there in the restaurant. She understood exactly what I was getting at. “I think that’s an excellent idea. I’ll make the arrangements.” I couldn’t help myself but stood up and went around to her side of the table, wrapping my arms around her from the back and kissing the crown of her head. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me?”
“I hope that never changes.”
I made some inquiries and found a personal shopper who fit the bill. From that day on, she and Lilly spent two days a week for two months shopping. They didn’t just limit themselves to Louisville but went to Lexington, Cincinnati, Nashville. I knew one day I wanted to take her to Paris, but I wanted to save that.
The new wardrobe seemed to improve her spirits greatly. She spoke daily with her sister by phone, and evidently the clinic was working well because Natalie had become cheerful and positive. They chatted about the old apartment, and Lilly shared that I had offered to redecorate. Apparently, Natalie l
oved the idea and the two girls talked about the possibilities. Over a series of evenings, Lilly and I went to the old apartment and stripped off fifty-year-old wallpaper, tore out old carpeting, and took a sledgehammer to the cracked and mildewed tile in the bathroom. I could’ve easily hired all that done, but we enjoyed working on it together, and it gave us a common goal. When it came to replacing those items, we took care of the shopping part. I let her dictate what she wanted, and most of it I believe had come from Natalie. But that was fine, because it was making Lilly happy. We ordered workmen to install it and I had to say, when we were done, it was vastly improved. Lilly seemed happy with the result and commented several times that she couldn’t wait for her sister to come home. I hoped against hope that Natalie’s return would exceed Lilly’s wildest expectations.
The dark cloud on the horizon was my father. He had heard through the grapevine that Lilly had moved in with me, and I knew he wasn’t pleased. I hired a security firm to install surveillance cameras and a key card monitoring system to keep the gates locked. They had strict orders not to let my father through unless I personally approved it. I couldn’t take the chance that he would show up one day, drunk and abusive, and Lilly would be there alone. I would never let him hurt her the way he had hurt my mother.
Chapter 12
Lilly
There was magic in my new life. I hadn’t realized until she was gone the enormous weight Natalie represented to me. I had become her caretaker in some senses, but even when she was functioning healthily, I still had to be vigilant. That “walking on eggs” environment had hiked me up to a level of anxiety that had begun to show itself. I had felt myself retreating and knew I’d even been somewhat depressed. Only when I slept, was I free from Natalie.
That had changed now. I was no longer alone. Bolt lay in the bed next to me at three in the morning when I’d had just enough sleep to give fuel to worries. He felt my movements and soon, his arms were around me, and his kisses began stimulating the pleasure sources of my body and mind. He made gentle love to me at those times, as though he sensed I needed a comforting, secure reassurance—a definite contrast to the passion-filled encounters we often exchanged that lasted well into the morning’s early hours.
Bolt introduced me to riding. One morning after breakfast, he took me down to the rows of horse barns at the back of his property. There was a separate road that led to these and it allowed the farm business vehicles to travel without interference from our security system. That was the morning I met Mr. Fred.
Mr. Fred, according to Bolt, had endeared himself to Bolt’s mother. She had been riding dressage and her horse missed a vault, landing badly. In pain, she’d begun crying, as she knew the animal would have to be put down. Mr. Fred had come from the audience and begged her to let him heal the animal. She had reluctantly agreed, and Mr. Fred had come daily to the Symington farm and worked with the animal until its leg healed. Although it would never jump again, she took long pleasure rides on the creature she’d so loved. Mr. Fred, who was not fond of Dallas, had readily accepted when Bolt offered for him to work on his own farm. Leila had joyously encouraged the arrangement, and Mr. Fred had been with Bolt ever since.
Mr. Fred didn’t speak often, but when he did, people around him listened. He seemed to take a shine to me; perhaps he saw another wounded animal, and it made him stick closely by, to heal me. Then again, perhaps he was protecting me from something—Bolt seemed unusually suspicious of his father’s intent. Mr. Fred wore a face filled with wrinkles. His hair was completely gray and was worn pulled back into a short braid against his tanned neck. There was something instantly familiar to me about him and although we never talked about it, I knew he felt it too, and he was never far from me. Bolt told me one evening, as we sat in the dark on the patio and looked at the stars ,that he believed Mr. Fred had a special sort of spirit. He said that when he was away, and I felt fear, I should never hesitate to call or text Mr. Fred, and for that reason, his phone number was on my “favorites” list. It seemed a little odd to text him. It would have felt more natural to just focus my thoughts on his face so he would feel my energy and know I needed him, but the phone was more reliable.
I was lucky because it didn’t take me long to become accustomed to riding. It was the most exhilarating, free feeling I had ever experienced. Fast cars were nice, but a horse could take you where cars couldn’t go, and every foot you traveled on their backs felt like an adventure. When Bolt was in town working, I often wandered out to the barns and found Mr. Fred already holding the reins to a horse he’d saddled for me. He just knew I was coming, and for some reason, it seemed perfectly natural that we would have that connection between us.
Sometimes Mr. Fred would ride with me, pointing out plants and explaining their medicinal values, or teaching me how to fish in the rushing waters of the creek that formed one boundary of Bolt’s property. He became like a wise old uncle to me, and I could totally be myself with him. He’d heard about Natalie and in his way, taught me to be at peace with myself despite the havoc upon which she seemed to thrive.
Bolt loved to dine out, or so I learned. I’d never had the money for that luxury, so I let him pick the restaurants and order my meals. This seemed to give him pleasure, and for my part, I dressed up in the beautiful wardrobe I was given. The more I let him spoil me, the happier he seemed to be. I suppose I should have tried to be a little less dependent, but it felt like I’d been on watch for so long that it felt good to be coddled.
Then, there were the less happy times, when Bolt traveled. Not only did I miss him, but it was during these times that he closed himself off to me. I could sense their approach. He would become quiet, almost sullen, and he would snap at me if I asked what was wrong. Then one morning I’d wake up to find his side of the bed empty, and any joy we’d had the day before was spoiled with a feeling of abandonment. Since my parents had died far away from me, abandonment seemed to be a particular issue of mine. I assumed Bolt understood that, as he did everything else, but the trips continued to roll over our happy life.
During these periods, I became anxious, and anger and jealousy came quick. I’d walk down to the barns, and even Mr. Fred couldn’t cheer me up. Coincidentally, these were times when Natalie would call, and her voice was always the same—mocking and a little in-my-face. “Oh, Bolt is travelling again? Where do you suppose he goes and who is he with?” She loved to needle me, and that did nothing to help my disposition. I would go into savior mode and talk about the apartment and how happy she would be when she came home and found her new life. Natalie seemed pleased, but far happier to make me feel miserable. Sometimes, I wondered whether she cared about anyone other than herself, or if maybe she just hated me.
Whether by chance or design, Kenny often dropped by the house while Bolt was away. Although he wouldn’t admit it, I challenged him, asking whether Bolt had ordered him to keep me company.
“Why would I need an excuse to spend an evening with a beautiful, charming companion such as yourself?” He’d shrug off my inquiries. I responded with a smile and a half-hearted blush, just to make him feel good. He wouldn’t answer direct questions, ever. I asked if he knew where Bolt had gone. No response. I asked if he knew when Bolt would return, and he’d ask about the weather. He was the master of avoiding my questions, which also added to my frustration.
I came to know Kenny as having a very empathetic heart. I told him of my past and my frustrations with Natalie, and instead of feeling sorry for me, as most people did, he felt sorry for Natalie. Maybe there was something in his own past he could relate to, but more and more often he’d ask after her. One evening I was shocked when he told me that the previous weekend, he’d flown to Savannah and visited her.
“Really? Did Bolt tell you to?” I’d asked, amazed.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Then why did you go? You don’t even know her,” I’d poked at him.
“From all you’ve told me, it sounded like she needs a friend. Don’t we all, f
rom time to time?” he’d added, as if to explain why he was showing up at the house when Bolt was away.
I’d nodded and felt selfish for being suspicious, but as the weeks went by, I came to learn that he and Natalie had developed a long-distance relationship. There were texts and phone calls, and he flew down regularly to visit her. Natalie never said a thing about it. She wanted me to feel sorry for her because it was how she manipulated me into giving her what she wanted.
Natalie ultimately always got what she wanted.
Chapter 13
Bolton
The phone call came just as I was going to bed. I recognized the caller ID and took it in my study. It was the voice I didn’t ever want to hear again, but it appeared I had no choice in the matter. They had an American diplomat who was travelling overseas on a multiple-country tour. There had been threats, so I was asked to travel as part of the contingent, inserting myself in the crowd to listen for anything suspicious. It was more than just protecting that single diplomat. It was a measure of the total anti-American sentiment. Due to my dark French coloring, I blended in particularly well, and they had no one who could natively speak as many languages as I could.
I went into the bedroom, and Lilly was already asleep, her hair fanned out over the pillow. There was a look of sublime innocence on her face, and I hoped it would never fade. I grabbed a few things quietly from the closet and slid from the room. I left her a note telling her I loved her and would be back as soon as I could.
I was instructed to rendezvous with the diplomat at LAX, and we would travel with a small contingent. I was not there as security, only as a listening device. I felt the danger was low and the intel important to the government, so I’d accepted. Not every trip—in fact, very few—were made on the government’s behalf. However, since my cover included being active in the import/export business, I had to maintain that enterprise to be believable. It was a double-edged sword, and I wanted out of it all, completely. I just had to figure out how to neatly sever those ties without drawing dangerous suspicion.