by Leigh Lennon
“What will David say?” Maribel asked, concerned. “I assume he doesn’t know, and Lucas would freak the fuck out if I told him. But I get it; being a mother and all, my heart goes out to your mother.”
Taking a sip of her coffee, then setting it down, she continued, “Oh, David, no doubt, will be upset; I kept this from him. We aren’t like that, you know,” she sighed, grasping at straws to describe the turbulence it would cause. “He thinks I’ll leave him, but he doesn’t have to worry about me. I love him more than I ever did. It sounds weird, considering how we started, but it was never a choice. I would follow him to the slums of India. You know I’m crazy about him.”
Her eyes wandered around the home they’d built together. It was comfortable, and more importantly, it was theirs—hers and David’s. Everything they did was together as a united front—from picking the colors of the walls to the bright red couch that caught everyone’s attention. Although David needed more convincing on the piece, this was what they did. From the day David asked her to move home to Edmonton with him, they were united. Even the house was a combination of their styles. She loved old, and he loved modern, but their home reflected their integrated style.
“You know, you would have to be crazy to love him,” Maribel replied with a small laugh. “What I don’t understand is how you can’t have both. You’d never corroborate any story that would put him in harm’s way, and it would never stick. Just say you left with him willingly.”
“My mom would never believe it, Bell. Plus, it’d hurt David and his practice, not to mention the kids. Just the doubt alone would send all our friends and neighbors running for the hills.” After twelve years in Canada, she could never escape some of the phrases that were unique to her other family. “Plus, there is that little matter of how I became a Canadian, which we don’t want anyone to uncover.” She motioned back and forth between them. They understood this was never an option.
“Cole, nothing I could say to you now would be different from what I’ve told you over the years. I just want you to be happy.” Maribel slipped her hands over Colette’s, and the slight tip of her mouth was all Colette needed to understand her sister-in-law’s sincerity.
She didn’t have to tell Maribel about the piece of her heart that went missing the day she chose David over her family. Back then, there was no choice. Her love for David never fully mended the missing piece from the loss of her family, but David did well to try. But there was always another reason she never returned, and that even bigger secret she’d been hiding could hurt her mother more than Colette willingly leaving did.
The two women were so deep in conversation, they didn’t hear David walk into the kitchen. He stepped directly to Colette, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the lips. “Good afternoon, sweetness,” he said. Even after all these years, he still spoke to her with tenderness and admiration in his voice.
“You’re home earlier than I thought, babe,” She said, standing up to embrace her husband.
David took one look at his sister-in-law and smiled. “Bell, I’m sorry, but I need to talk to Cole for a second. Do you mind giving us a few minutes?”
Looking at her watch, Maribel replied a bit unnerved but politely, “No problem. I need to get home to that brother of yours. Dinner won’t cook itself.” Leaning in and giving her a long hug, Maribel straightened back, offering her brother-in-law an awkward embrace. “See you tomorrow for book club, Cole. Remember, I can’t wait to discuss Margaret Atwood, fucking finally,” Maribel said as she smiled in agreement. She knew when Maribel became unnerved about a subject or situation, she rambled, but Maribel really did love her Margaret Atwood books.
When Maribel left, she stood still, finally realizing why he watched her as he did. “How was your day, babe?” She walked to a cabinet to make him tea since he didn’t like coffee. For the past eleven years, he had a cup of tea with his wife when he returned from a long day at his practice. “You look tired.” She noticed, but as soon as she’d turned her back, he came up behind her and encased her in a long hug.
“Cole, sweetness, you know I’m not forcing you to stay here. I never have after…”
Colette looked at her husband, who she’d do anything for, and gave him a weak smile. “How did you find out?”
“You know I monitor their social media. That’s how I get information for you. It was posted that a man in Anaheim delivered a letter over the phone.” Since leaving the farm eleven years ago, he feared losing his wife once she figured out this was never how her life was supposed to play out.
“David, babe, I never wanted you to think I was going back to them. I understand your concerns, but I needed them to know I’m okay. I wanted them to understand that though I’m choosing my happiness, I can’t forget them.”
She recognized he was defeated by her confession. “I’ve always wondered since we had that connection in the library if I should have tried, well, a more normal approach.” He ran his hand through his light hair, gathering his thoughts. “At times, I wish I’d done things differently, Cole. I’m not the man I was twelve years ago, and I thought we were a team.” Leaning back in the chair and looking at the ceiling, he continued, “But I knew then that I had to get you away. You were in danger.” Before he could say any more, her touch startled him.
Taking a chair, she sat in front of her husband. “I can’t apologize for what I did, David. I live with this deep regret that I chose you over them. Not that I wouldn’t do it again. I use the word regret not because I regret you, just that I couldn’t have both.”
“Cole …” he started but then looked down, silently crying. She was quick to kneel in front of him.
“David, I was careful. Bell was careful. I’m not going to leave you; I hope you know this.”
She pulled at his chin just enough to place a deep kiss on his mouth. “Babe, I love you. Those kids out there, they were made in love. You know this. I make love to you each night, and that is my choice. After the first three months, I fell for you hard. I promise, I’m not leaving you ever.”
“Cole, you …” He stopped. As she knew herself, she knew David even better. She recognized there was more he wasn’t sharing because it would gut her.
“What?” she asked.
“Sweetness, you didn’t give your family closure. You gave them false hope. The female detective, the one from before, is reopening the case, and your mom has posted all over the place and on her ‘find my daughter’ page that she’s hopeful you will be reunited with your family soon.”
Her body slumped as her head fell onto David’s lap, and the touch of his comforting hands landed on her head. All she cared about was absolving her guilt; she’d given very little thought to the repercussions. She started to heave in deep wails, considering the pain she unleashed on her mom.
“David, I need to see her.”
In a rigid posture while tightening his hands into fists, he only echoed, “I know, sweetness, I know.”
Libby
Oscar Mitchell and all his college friends were the godsends she had been praying for. It’d been determined the person who delivered the letter couldn’t have been Mikayla, but hope surrounded her when forensics verified that the handwriting was Mikayla’s. Besides Oscar Mitchell’s handprints, no other prints were found on the letter. The bartender was the most helpful in the interview process, revealing the lady who delivered the envelope was much taller than Mikayla’s five-foot-three inches, even with high heels, and that she pronounced the “out” with a long “o” sound instead of the way most Americans spoke.
This gave the investigators pause to re-evaluate their case. With the Canadian border less than an hour from Bellingham, and no passports required in 2005, the authorities always speculated that Mikayla certainly could’ve been taken over the border. Now they had justification in the investigation to cross the border.
The detective assigned to the case explained to her and Adam they now had reason to believe she was taken against her will. No one could ex
plain the part in the letter about Mikayla being happy. It only led them to think that her abductor had brainwashed her, which was found to be common in these situations.
Whatever it was, a mother should not be without her child in this world, she always claimed. Bury me! But don’t let me outlive my kids.
“Mom, we’re staying tonight. I don’t want you and Dad by yourselves.” Blake, taking on the role of the man of the house, stayed to watch over her, but she didn’t need a watchful eye. Blake always took the initiative, seeing what he could do for others. It was a joy that she’d loved seeing in her son. He took the reins, leaving her to make sense as to why her child sounded happy to live a life without her mother in it.
Adam had been abnormally quiet since the phone call from Oscar Mitchell. However, Adam wasn’t a talker by nature, not like Libby. He once told her, “Men don’t have to talk about everything under the sun. Being a man of few words, when it’s important, you’ll know.”
Even so, her concern for her husband took the form of nurturer, taking every little worry she could off his shoulders as he thought long and hard about how to express his anger and disbelief to avoid letting it eat him alive.
He was her rock twelve years ago. Teaching at the same college his child went missing from was a daily struggle for Adam. He had no other choice, especially with her state of mind. Sometimes, she didn’t leave their room.
In bed that night, she tried to talk to Adam about Mikayla, but he shot her down. “I’m fine, Lib. I came to grips with this years ago. It sucks. We get our hopes up, and they’re dashed. That’s life,” he mused, crawling into bed next to her.
On the night of the letter, she swore she heard him cry, something she’d never seen in her life. When she tried to comfort him, he oddly said, “Elizabeth, I’ll be all right. I will.” Reaching for her arm, he kissed it gently. Holding him until his breathing changed, an indication he’d finally fallen asleep, she wept just as quietly as he had.
Taylor
She often stood in front of the picture that hung in their living room, looking almost longingly at the couple in the tux and the long white wedding dress. That couple seemed like strangers now, and she often speculated why and how that couple no longer existed in their life.
Libby never showed any signs of fearing her son. Jenna was certainly never fearful of her brother. There wasn’t even a hint of that in Jenna’s often-cold demeanor.
Adam and Blake were as close as ever. They shared similar hobbies and had boys’ weekends hunting and camping. It was wonderful to watch this connection; however, she was never allowed to have these sorts of weekends with her mother or sister.
Blake had her so busy that she really couldn’t add one more thing to her plate. And with her second pregnancy rapidly approaching an end, she couldn’t bear to take one more task on. In her loneliness, she took solace in the fact no one else knew her secret.
5
12 Years Ago
The week after the kidnapping
Libby
A week had passed since Mikayla disappeared. The weather reflected the mood of the whole Miller family. It was awfully cold, and a blizzard had come through Whatcom County, obstructing most roads, just as the case of Mikayla Miller was blocked at every turn. Out of every interview she had with law enforcement agencies, only one detective believed Mikayla had been taken against her will. “There’s no struggle, no ransom. She probably left, confused in her first year of college. We see this all the time.” It had been the response of almost every agency called in to handle the Mikayla Miller case.
She wanted to scream. “But you don’t know my child; you don’t know our bond. There’s no way she’d leave me.” With their experience guiding them, they threw the case back to the local authorities. After six days of painstaking interviews, Detective Fallon Frazier appeared on the Millers’ porch.
Libby had started the morning the same as she had for the past six days. She’d wake with joy, forgetting the heartaches and nightmares that overtook her the previous day. Then she’d realize Mikayla was missing. Adam had not gone back to work yet. He took the rest of the semester off but understood the need to return to the university by the new summer term.
She stood in front of her large picturesque window as the world went on around her when she only wanted to retreat to her daughter’s room. She wanted to run outside and tell all the neighbors with kids never to let go of their precious children and how life could get in the way, stealing them. She watched Mark, a widow from a few doors down, put his six-month-old daughter in her car seat each morning on their way to his mother’s house. On a day that should have been the happiest for him and his wife, with the birth of their first daughter, Delaney, his wife experienced an aneurysm and died ten minutes after their baby’s birth. Now, he went to his law firm each day and represented spouses who wanted nothing more to do with their wife or husband.
When the doorbell rang and rattled her out of her sweet but bitter thoughts, she was surprised to see a policeman who she’d not met standing in front of her. For one second, her mind raced. They found Mikayla, or worse, something was wrong with Blake or Jenna. This short and slender woman looked as if she weighed a buck twenty, if that, and was giving Libby Miller a sympathetic smile.
“Mrs. Miller, I’m Fallon Frazier. I’ve been assigned to your daughter’s case, and although I understand you have been put through the wringer, I wanted to chat with you concerning Mikayla.”
Libby’s confusion clouded her head, so she reached out to steady herself on the doorframe. As she fumbled for her words and flared her nostrils, she held her elbows wide from her body with her chest thrust out once she could stand without the fear of fainting. “What do you mean? I thought this was federal.”
“We tried to get the FBI to take this case. I truly fought for it, but in the end, there wasn’t enough evidence to prove your daughter was abducted, ma’am.”
The mother inside her wanted to reach out and strangle this petite detective. No one knew Mikayla as her mother did, and everyone was making assumptions on limited facts concerning Mikayla Miller. She knew without a doubt that her Mikayla would never leave willingly.
Mikayla
With the first week down in her six-month mandatory vacation, he’d strongly encouraged her to go on walks with him. It was as she thought; they were certainly in the middle of nowhere. If for some reason she could get away, where would she go in this weather? They had to be farther north than she’d ever been before.
When she became familiar with the house, it reminded her of a home modeled from a Pottery Barn catalog. It had old wood floors, but they’d been well maintained. A wood-burning fireplace accented the wall near the floor-to-ceiling windows. In a distressed cabinet sat a television that could close when the TV was not in use. The kitchen was quaint with an old whitewashed table that connected the living space.
Every morning, a knock on the door would remind her of the imprisonment when he’d unhooked the chain from where he’d locked it at night and stood in her doorframe. This morning was different though; he didn’t have a tray for her. Instead, in his stance, a slow smile formed on his face as his lips parted. “Good morning, sweetness. I would like for you to join me for breakfast.”
“No, thanks,” she said.
Smiling at her again, he replied, “Suit yourself, but I’m not going to serve you in your room anymore. If you want to eat, you have to come to the kitchen.” His harsh words were a shock at first—after all, he was keeping her against her will, so why should his stern words surprise her?
He’d made the most lavish breakfast, and though she wanted to protest, when it came to food, the man had found her weakness. She reluctantly strolled into the kitchen to eggs benedict, sausage links, and rye toast. He pointed at a plate. “Now that you are out of your room, we can get to know each other better.”
With a reddening face from livid anger and not embarrassment, she was more than curt with her reply. “I’m only here because my sto
mach will willingly protest through starvation, but the rest of me will dig in my heels. We aren’t going to be pals or bosom buddies, you hear me?” She stood as close to his face as she could and watched as his lips turned up into a half smile. If she had to guess, it was almost borderline arrogant. Then she caught a whiff of his scent; sandalwood with a light hint of something floral. The more she took in, the more his masculinity fueled her need to be closer. It wasn’t enough because, fuck, he smelled too good.
Hovering just shy of her lips, he licked his own when his smile widened. “You know, Mikayla, you’re going to have to realize I had my reasons for helping you.” He still calmly wore his shit-eating grin as if he really believed he was doing her a favor by keeping her captive.
“Oh, all right then, let me get on that thank-you card as soon as breakfast is over.” Her reply was witty, but the rage that coursed through her was attached to every word she spoke. What she needed was animosity and a tantrum of sorts to offset the effects his body was having on hers.
It was then she walked away from him, tempted and disgusted all in the same breath. After all, this man lured her away from her normally guarded and reserved life.
“You are funny. I know that wasn’t meant to be funny, about the thank-you notes, but it was,” he replied sincerely.
“Well, don’t get used to conversations with me,” she spat as he wiped a little bit of her spit from his cheek.
“Actually, you’ve been cooped up enough. I need to get you outside for some fresh air. Granted, it’s January in Canada, and that means it’s as cold as a witch’s tit, but you still need some vitamin D. So let’s go for a walk after this. And by the way, I’m not a controlling man, but you seem like a very stubborn girl. For your own good, I’m going to have to insist we take these walks. Okay?”