Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

by Ani Keating

  “Does it matter why?”

  The pain becomes bewildering, throbbing until I fade. Because he is right. Knowing why wouldn’t help if, in the end, he still did it. The price was too high.

  “I guess not. Nothing justifies this. Not even love.”

  “Maybe not. But now you don’t have to go to jail to save him. And his fate is not in your hands. You can finally live your American dream.” His even tone fills my ears long after the line goes dead.

  Roses…two white caskets…hundreds of people…look at her, she’s not blinking…poor child…a tombstone engraved, Amor Vincit Omnia…love conquers all.

  The best lie ever told.

  Time passes in the courthouse parking lot. How do I fix this? How do I make it right? A faint echo stirs inside. A muddled image of myself putting one foot in front of another to leave the grave site, hours after the funeral. Keep going, I remember hearing but I don’t know who spoke. I was all alone. Keep going, that same voice echoes now. It does not sound like life. Just a ghostly whisper to remind me of other lives left after Javier and me.

  I ask Reagan to drive back to Portland. She steps on the gas as for a NASCAR audition.

  We park the MINI in a nonparking spot and sprint into Bob’s office. He waits with my papers ready. When he sees me, he freezes. I tell him everything—even Javier’s name, clutching Reagan’s hand, attorney-client privilege be damned.

  Bob blinks, gapes and shakes his head. “This couldn’t have been Mr. Hale. Why would he go through the trouble of finding a witness if he was planning this?”

  But I figured out some things in the car. “What if this witness doesn’t really exist? Odd, isn’t it, that he appears right as Javier is caught?”

  “The witness exists. I checked with the DOJ.”

  “But what if Aiden himself is the witness?”

  Bob’s eyes widen.

  “Yeah,” Reagan whispers. “It makes sense. Maybe he killed three birds with one stone. If Javier got caught, there would no longer be a need to protect him. Isa wouldn’t have to choose between helping herself or her family. And with Aiden testifying, the DOJ would get the truth. They wouldn’t need to talk to Isa. She’d never have to lie for Javier or even tell them about her modeling work. Aiden was trying to save her!”

  Every word sounds like Aiden. Except none of it makes a difference.

  “He still destroyed my family, Reg.” I choke back a heaving sob.

  Bob shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. It would have hurt you too much. Why would he want you to hate him?”

  I swallow because Bob doesn’t know the truth. Nor does Reagan. Aiden had every reason to want me to hate him. Every reason to want me to leave him.

  But I can’t tell them that.

  “How can I help Javier, Bob? Please!”

  “Elisa, I can’t represent him because you’re my client and that’s a conflict of interest. But Benetto is top-notch. He doesn’t take a lot of pro bono cases so something must have moved him.”

  “What are his chances? The truth please.”

  Bob takes my hand. “Not great, my dear. The argument for undue hardship on the family is common but it rarely wins. There are compelling circumstances here, but his family needs to be prepared.”

  My dad’s watch ticks 3:45 p.m. “Elisa, you should sign so we can send it off before FedEx gets here,” Bob says gently.

  I look at the papers in front of me. My American dream. But what makes a dream, a dream? For me, it was a new life free of ghosts. I won’t have that here anymore. Javier and Aiden will haunt me. I can’t see Javier. And in the off chance that he is allowed to stay, he wouldn’t fill Aiden’s void or undo his betrayal. If I will be haunted anyway, there is only one place for me. It has waited—they have waited—for me to face it for four years.

  And I can save six lives. Without Javier, four girls may become wards of the state with an aging mother, an ill father and no brother. Even with Javier, they’re still in peril with Antonio paralyzed and no income from Feign. It’s fitting that my first family—Dad’s invention—should save my second.

  “I’m sorry, Bob. I cannot sign. Please put the million dollars in trust for Maria and Antonio Solis, with Javier, Isabel, Isadora, Daniela and Anamelia Solis as beneficiaries if Maria and Antonio pass away. Javier Solis is the administrator, effective immediately.”

  Reagan starts sobbing. “Isa, no! Bob, tell her! Tell her she can’t do this!”

  A tear leaves Bob’s eye. “Legally, she can. But Elisa, you’re destroying your dream.”

  “One dream above seven is too high a price.”

  He watches me for a long time. “May I give you some advice?”

  I nod.

  “It’s wise to make the parents, not the girls, the beneficiaries because the hardship must be to the U.S. citizens for Javier to win. If the girls have the money, he has no prayer. It’s also smart to make Javier the administrator because he has an extra duty that would require him to stay here. I suspect that’s why you suggested it. But it’s not wise to release the funds now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if they have a million dollars before the hearing, Javier will never win.”

  I rage at the impossible choice. Destroy a family to save one, or destroy one to save them all.

  “But, there’s a legal solution. I’ll hold the funds in your trust account until Javier’s hearing on June fifteenth. You’ll be gone by then. I’ll release the money that day no matter what happens. But it’s imperative that none of them knows about this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if ICE finds them and they have to testify that they’ll suffer hardship without Javier, they’d be lying under oath if they knew your sacrifice. No one will know what you did here today until you’re gone.”

  “I don’t care about that if it helps them.”

  “One million dollars will help them. But you should take some of the money to see you through the transition.”

  I think this through. I want none of it but how am I going to get home? I can’t borrow from Reagan. The ticket alone will be about $2,000.

  “I’ll take ten thousand, as much in cash as possible.”

  Bob nods and goes to speak to his accounting manager. Reagan and I hold each other while we wait.

  “I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” Reagan sniffles.

  “Let’s not please. I’m barely standing.”

  “I’ll come see you right after Javier’s hearing. I’ll bring your stuff, and we can just be for a while.”

  I nod in her arms and bury my face in her red curls. Sooner than time can possibly move, Bob returns with an envelope of cash and a check. I sign and he puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Today if I can find a flight.”

  Reagan whimpers but Bob nods. “If you have to face it, start now. And if you stay, you may have to testify that you witnessed Javier’s illegal work. You help them more by being gone.”

  “Thank you, Bob. For everything.” These years were worth it for people like him.

  He starts shaking my hand, but at the last moment pulls me into his chest for a grandfather hug. He walks us out, and waves as Reagan races us to our next stop.

  At Casa Solis, Maria is in the kitchen. The girls have a playdate and Antonio is with them. All the better. I can’t say goodbye to them. I tell Maria I love her con mi corazón y alma. I tell her Javier’s orders about the girls. I tell her she has a new daughter in Reagan. Then, I take her hand. Time for the truth. Or part of it.

  “Maria, the lawyer says I need to go back to England for a while. I need to take care of the cottage too. Mr. Plemmons is getting old. I can’t abandon it.”

  She looks at me for a very long time, the lines on her face now full wrinkles. She doesn’t speak. She knows th
ere are other reasons so she doesn’t fight me. Her eyes brim with tears.

  “¿Y tu amor?”

  “He’ll go on. As will you. You know how you’re not telling the girls about Javier because some things are better not known until the end? Look at me. Whatever the end, the girls will be okay. Do you trust me?”

  “Con toda mi vida.”

  With her whole life. She holds my face with her nutmeg-scented hands and marks a cross in the air, over my forehead.

  “Bendita,” she whispers as she blesses me. She stands slowly and takes my hand as we trudge to the door. At the threshold, she kisses my cheeks and combs my hair with her fingers.

  “I love you, Mamá.”

  She has earned it.

  Maria closes her eyes and puts her hands together in prayer. Keep my girl safe, keep her safe.

  * * * * *

  In the car, Reagan takes over with the plan for my last two stops. I wait outside Aiden’s house while she packs my things. I recite the periodic table in English, Spanish and Italian as I wait. Finally, she bursts out with my rucksack, Benson on her heels. He looks severe but holds out his hand. I take it.

  “Would it be futile to ask you to ignore everything you heard today?” Benson’s voice is staccato as if he wishes he could say more.

  “I could ignore what I heard but not what he admitted. Whatever his reasons, the price was too high.”

  Benson looks like he’s choking on unspoken words.

  “Goodbye, Benson. If you’re ever in England alone, call me.”

  His forehead shifts and locks, his eyes widening in terror. “England?”

  “It’s my only home now. Thank you, and thank Cora, for everything.”

  “Solis may still make it,” he protests, running his hand through his hair. He doesn’t understand that even saving Javier couldn’t fix losing Aiden. “What about Bob? Your green card? Your future? You said you were signing,” Benson presses urgently. His voice is higher than I thought it capable of getting. I risk a peck on his cheek.

  “Take care of him. Make sure he sees Corbin.”

  I turn quickly and get in the car, while Benson stares at me without blinking. Reagan hits the gas. In the rearview mirror, I see Benson sprint inside. I leave a similar message for Corbin from Reagan’s phone. Bless its lithium heart, it waits until I hang up to die. We’re all running out of life.

  In our apartment, I pack my parents’ treasures and clothes for the next two weeks. When I open my knickers drawer, his shirt button rolls forward. I shove it back. I watch everything outside of my body. When dreams end, unfortunately, they don’t kill you.

  At PDX, there’s only one flight at 6:55 p.m. $2,050. It’s 6:10 now. How can a day undo four years in mere hours? But if lives have to end, let it be mine. If I brought you to life, I want you to live it, he said. The memory sends my chest into convulsions. I feel like I’m missing something vital, but I have no power to analyze it because his admission overrules everything. So many unknowns we still have about each other. It was a beautiful beginning amidst a most devastating end. The abyss of his extinguished light yawns under me, livid because I escaped it once. This time, the ravenous depths claim me as I fall.

  I vomit in the restroom until nothing but acid comes out. Reagan holds me with words I don’t hear. By the security line, she picks up The Oregonian and looks at me, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Your tradition,” she sniffles, and tucks it inside my rucksack, probably next to my first newspaper that I bought in the States.

  We hold each other until they call my name. Elisa Snow…exactly like in my nightmares, but Reagan is here until the end.

  “Take this,” I say, pulling the camera he bought me off my neck. “These are all our spots, all our life. Go visit them for me sometime.”

  Reagan takes the Nikon, sobbing.

  “I love you with my life,” I tell her.

  “I love you too. I’ll see you in two weeks. I’ll bring any American man I can find along the way to marry you and bring you back.”

  Security attributes my pallor to anxiety and walks me to the gate. Reagan waves behind the liquid curtain of my tears until I can see her no more.

  Inside the plane, I stuff my rucksack under the seat and stare out of the window unblinking. I don’t want to miss a glimpse of my American un-dream. In the distance, the sun sets over the West Hills that nestle his home. I wonder if my soul is still on the Rogue. It will never catch up with me in England. It will always float here, keeping tabs on the Solises, Reagan and him. I guess if you travel far enough, the soul splits.

  Beneath me, America fades. Perhaps it’s the height or the hollowness inside, but on this flight, I’m not carrying ghosts. I am one. Shivering, I reach for my rucksack to get my scarf. Aiden’s dog tag comes out of my blouse but I ignore it, because as I unzip my pack, on the very top, held with a purple ribbon are the yellowed, sealed envelopes and a folded white note.

  I reach for the note, wondering if it can bring me to life. My ghostly fingers make contact with the crisp piece of paper but they no longer touch. They simply work: grip, pick up, unfold. I read the unfamiliar slanted handwriting, one blurry letter at a time.

  Elisa,

  I’m breaking Mr. Hale’s rules by giving you his letters in hopes that they will lead you to the man you know, not the one you heard today.

  Don’t make a mistake you will both regret for life.

  Benson

  Oh!

  About the Author

  Ani Keating is an attorney, daughter, sister and wife, living in the City of Roses (Portland, Oregon). When she is not in court or at the office helping clients sort through legal issues (and complaining about the photocopy machine), Keating explores her childhood passion for writing. Her first novel, Thirty Nights, is a sexy and heart-tugging story about love’s power to save and redeem us even at our darkest moments. Read it with a supply of Baci chocolates and English roses by your side.

  You can connect with Ani on Twitter: @AniKeating, and learn more about her and the story at www.anikeating.com.

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  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Thirty Nights

  Copyright © 2015 by Ani Keating

  ISBN: 978-1-61923-128-3

  Edited by Tera Cuskaden

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2015

  www.samhainpublishing.com