RISE - Part Three (The RISE Series Book 3)

by Deborah Bladon

  "Landon is worried about you." Dane looks over my shoulder to the steady stream of traffic on the street. "He asked me to come here to see if you're okay. He tried to call you but there was no answer."

  Eighteen missed calls.

  When I'd finally looked at my phone there had been eighteen missed calls from Landon. I didn't listen to his voicemails, or read his text messages. When I talk to him again, I want it to be face-to-face. I need to look into his eyes as I hear him explain how his father and my father are connected.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I guess." I shrug, unable or maybe unwillingly to reveal too much of myself to this man. "I'm fine."

  "Can we go for a coffee?" He gestures towards a café down the street. "I'd like to talk to you."

  I stiffen. I hadn't realized until right now how much I was looking forward to meeting Landon's brother. He's an extension of him and in my innocent thoughts I imagined the two of us laughing as he shared stories about the things Landon did when he was a young boy. "I'm really tired."

  "I'm messed up about my dad...about Frederick," he corrects himself. "I know what you're going through. I won't take a lot of your time."

  I glance at the entrance to the café before I level my eyes back on his face. "I can spare a few minutes. I can't promise you more than that."

  ***

  He's slightly taller than Landon. His hair is a bit longer and the color of his eyes is a deep brown. The smile is exactly the same though. I caught a fleeting glimpse of it when he held open the door of the café for me and I thanked him.

  "Landon told me you're a fireman." I don't look up as I settle myself into a chair next to a small round table. I'd ordered a hot water with lemon. I don't need the extra energy that a dose of caffeine would give me at this time of day. I may not be able to sleep tonight, but I want to try. I need the rest if I'm going to deal with my life tomorrow.

  He empties a packet of sugar into a large cup of coffee. He pops the plastic lid back on before he shakes it. He curses softly as a few drops of the dark liquid fly from the slit in the lid and land on the arm of the sweater he's wearing.

  "I'm a fireman." The corners of his mouth perch into a grin. "You're an event planner."

  I return the smile. I like that he not only knows that, but that he remembers. "Landon told you that?"

  He takes a sip from the cup. "Landon told me a lot about you."

  It's surprising given the fact that their family has been caught up in the drama surrounding their father's return from the dead and his subsequent arrest. I've only known about my dad's past for less than twelve hours and it's taking all the effort I can muster to carry on a conversation that doesn't focus on him.

  I nod, searching for something to say in return. "He told me about your baby."

  "He did?" His brows rise. "What did he say?"

  I can tell my words gave him something he needs. Maybe it's reassurance that his brother is excited about the birth of his child? Or perhaps it's much simpler than that. "He said that you were coming back to New York from Paris so you and your girlfriend can get married here and have the baby."

  The paper cup in his hand shakes slightly before it stops in mid-air halfway between his mouth and the table. He lowers it quickly. "My brother told you all that?"

  I look down at the cup in front of me wanting to mask my expression from him. I'm surprised by the intensity of his reaction. I didn't reveal anything private or secretive. I simply laid out the meager details that Landon has given to me.

  "He didn't say much when I told him about the baby," he confesses softly. "I couldn't tell then if he was happy or not."

  It mirrors what happened when I pointed out to Landon that he'd be an uncle when his niece or nephew is born. He'd panicked enough to leave the room. "We haven't talked about it a lot."

  He looks past me to where two young men are having a rousing conversation about the merits of running versus biking. "He's talked about it non-stop since I got back from Paris. He bought the baby some books. They're picture books about airplanes."

  It's a glimpse into the man I've been sharing the most intimate parts of myself with. I smile at him. "It's good to hear that. He likes being a pilot. I know it's an important part of his life."

  "It is," he acquiesces as he leans back in the chair, stretching his legs out. "Being a pilot is part of who he is but you're the most important part of his life, Tess. That's why I'm here."

  Chapter 4

  I drink the last of the lemon water as I try to focus on my smartphone. Dane had taken a call from his girlfriend and as he whispered that he loved her and would be home soon, I'd felt guilty for hearing the words and even guiltier for wishing that the phone hadn't rung in the first place. It had interrupted him just as he was talking about Landon.

  "I'll need to get home soon." He rests his hands on the table next to his now empty coffee cup. "All of this has been hard on Bridget too. She's my fiancé."

  I nod. I don't need him to give me a glimpse into the mind, and possibly, the heart of the man I've been seeing. He has his own growing family to worry about. I push my hands against the edge of the table. "I should get home too."

  "Please stay just a little longer." He motions towards a barista. "I can get you more water."

  I scrub my hand over my face. I'm past the point of exhaustion. It can't hurt to sit here for a few more minutes. "I don't need another drink. I'm not thirsty."

  "I'm not either," he says before he pushes the paper cup away from him. "Landon's been worried about you. He called me a bunch of times today."

  I glance at his smartphone on the table. The only call that has come in since we sat down was the one from his fiancé. Logically, I know it's the middle of the night in Athens. Landon must be fast asleep which explains why my phone has stopped ringing too.

  "I couldn't talk to him," I admit. "I have a lot of questions and I need time to figure things out."

  "I know that feeling." He cocks his head to the left. "Are they questions about our dad? Do you have questions about Frederick?"

  I run the fingers of my right hand over my left palm. My eyes catch on the sight of the mole on my index finger. It's the very same mole my dad has on his thumb. "I'd rather talk to Landon about it when I'm ready."

  "He's torn up." He rakes his hands through his messy brown hair. "He hasn't been this upset since our dad drowned. I mean since we thought he drowned."

  "I'm sorry about your father," I mutter even though I'm not sorry. His father, and his need to save himself, upended my own life forever. "I don't know all the details about how our dads are connected. Does Landon know? Do you know?"

  "No." His phone chimes to signal a new text message. His eyes briefly settle on the screen before he looks up again. "That's my mother. She's back in New York. She wants to see me."

  Of course she does. The woman is dealing with the cold and brutal reality that a man she mourned for years is alive and well. The twisted web of pain that Frederick Beckett's actions have unleashed has not only hurt his sons, but it must have devastated his wife too.

  Unfortunately, I can empathize with all of them. My father may not have taken the coward's way out by faking his own death, but the man I thought I knew yesterday has fallen off the face of the earth to be replaced with someone sitting in a jail cell waiting for his day in court.

  "Landon was shocked that your father was arrested." He pulls the empty coffee cup into his hand. "I can tell that you were too."

  I don't take that as an insult. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror when I used the washroom at Lilly's place. I look horrible.

  Any trace of make-up I had on this morning has been washed away by the brush of my hand against my face to scoop away the tears that had fallen down my cheeks as I gazed out the window in the taxi earlier on my way to Times Square.

  The dress I'm wearing is wrinkled and there's a stain on the skirt that I picked up when I sat in a pool of brown liquid at Penn Station. I'd tried desperat
ely to wipe it off with a piece of paper I found crumbled at the bottom of my purse. What it lacked in absorbency, it made up for in mayhem. The ink from the paper mixed with the liquid to create a spot I doubt will ever come out. It was my own fault for sitting so close to the remnants of an overturned can of soda.

  "I had no idea," I admit without any reservation. "I didn't know my father was capable of those things."

  "You never really know someone." He taps his fingers on his knee. "I thought my dad was a stand-up guy until a month ago. Now, I hope I never see the bastard's face again."

  ***

  I type out a quick text message on my phone to Ivy once I'm in bed. I tell her not to worry about me and that I'll call her in the morning. I had been tempted to dial her number after I said goodbye to Dane at the café, but talking about my father again today will take every ounce of strength I have left.

  I feel completely spent after sitting with Dane. After he repeated that he never wanted to see his father again, he talked about Landon. He spoke of the pain that he had been in after his dad's drowning.

  Landon had shouldered the blame for his father's death. He felt responsible because he'd let his hand go as they'd bobbed in the water. Their mother, Anja, had only added to the burden, Dane explained. She'd asked her oldest son repeatedly if he could go back to that day on the water if he would have held on longer.

  It was her grief that fueled the questions, Dane said, but Landon absorbed the pain in his mother's voice the way any teenage boy would. He blamed himself solely for his father's death. He closed himself off from the world and his family. When he was finally able to leave home, he'd gone to college and then became a pilot, telling his brother that it provided an escape nothing else could. In the air, he needed such trained focus that everything else melted away and those memories of that day in the water didn't exist until he landed again.

  I close the message app on my phone and scroll to the photos I've saved. I swipe my thumb across the screen as I glance through them quickly, searching for the one that I want to look at as I drift to sleep.

  My eyes well with tears as my thumb stops and the picture I coerced my father into posing for comes into view. I took it when he was saying goodbye to me at LAX the last time I saw him. My hair is pulled tightly into a bun on my head. I look almost identical to the way I did when we took a picture together at my high school graduation.

  I gaze at my father. He's beaming. His eyes lit with joy and his smile a reflection of the happiness he feels. I touch my fingers to my lips before I hold them to the screen, over his face.

  My dad, the man proudly holding his arm around my shoulders in the picture, would never let me fight a battle alone. He'd push through his own pain to stand tall next to me. I owe him the same.

  As I feel the tug of sleep overtake me, I hold my phone to my chest. Tomorrow I'm going to do whatever it takes to help my father. He needs me. Nothing else matters.

  Chapter 5

  The piercing ring of my smartphone wrenches me from a forgettable dream. I'd silenced my phone before I fell asleep, hoping that it would give me the break I needed to rest my body and my mind.

  I'd woken with a start in the middle of the night, worried that my mother would finally ring me back only to have the call go to my voicemail. After checking my phone's screen and realizing that the only thing I'd missed was a lengthy text message from Ansel asking if I needed him, I blocked his number, turned up the volume, rolled over and fell back asleep.

  I run my fingers over my eyes trying to chase away the trails of sleep that are still there, coaxing me to fall back onto the pillow. I try to focus on the number but I can't. I close my eyes as I swipe my finger over the screen, before I clear my throat.

  "Hello?" I whisper into the darkness knowing that I'm not trying to shelter anyone from my voice. I live alone. I sleep alone.

  "Tess?" His voice is deep and melodic. "Are you at home?"

  I squint as I pull the phone from my face, staring down at the corner of the screen I take note of the time. "Landon, it's six. What time is it there?"

  "It's six," he repeats back. "Are you at home?"

  I swing my bare legs over the side of my bed. I reach forward to grab hold of the water bottle I placed on my bedside table when I was undressing last night. My plan was to take one of the ibuprofen tablets that I kept in the top drawer but the headache I had then, hadn't kept me from sleeping. I prop the bottle against my side as I try to wrestle the lid off.

  "Are you home, Tess?" he repeats. "Where are you?"

  I push the unopened bottle to the floor as my frustration rises. It's mid-day in Athens and he decides that now is the best time to call me? He's a pilot. His life revolves around time. He must have known there was a good chance that he'd wake me. "Why do you keep asking me that? I'm at home. Where else would I be?"

  "Let me up," he says gruffly. "I've been in the lobby for ten minutes trying to buzz you."

  I bolt to my bedroom window, arching my neck to try and catch a glimpse of the front of the building. It's futile. The only thing in my view is the street, which is already filled with cars and a few scant pedestrians as dawn breaks over the city. I take a step back, my eyes searching the room for my robe.

  "Are you still there?" His voice is impatient. "I need to see you. Please, let me up."

  "The buzzer doesn't always work," I offer, not because it matters. It's a buffer to give me more time to absorb what is happening. "I need to get dressed."

  There's a pause before he speaks. "I'll wait down here until you're ready. Call me when I can come up."

  I end the call. He's here. He wasn't supposed to be back until Wednesday but he's here now and before he leaves this building, he's going to explain to me everything he knows about my father.

  ***

  "It was your birthday?" I run my hand through my damp hair. I'd showered quickly after he called me to tell me he was in the lobby. It was selfish on my part to make him wait but I needed to wash yesterday from my skin. I'd pulled off my clothes when I got home last night and slid between the cool sheets on my bed.

  There was no pull towards the shower then. I wanted sleep and nothing more but this morning I wanted to face Landon without any trace of the hell I'd been through after hearing about my dad.

  "That day. It was the day you saw my dad in the elevator." His eyes skim over the pale jeans and black blouse I'm wearing. "I didn't tell you because I don't celebrate it."

  That's a far cry from how I've lived my life. When I was a youngster, my parents made certain that each of their children had an experience to remember when it was their birthday. There weren't parties with schoolmates or cakes formed into the shape of princesses or rocket ships. It was more precious than that.

  My father would drive us to school on our special day so we could avoid the crowded bus filled with our classmates. He'd always have a treat hidden in the outside pocket of his suit jacket. On my seventh birthday there were a pair of tickets to the circus in Boston and on my twelfth birthday it was an invitation to accompany him to the ballet in New York.

  My mother cooked the dinner of my choice and baked the same chocolate cake she did each and every year. Even when I was in college, she'd surprise me after class, cake in hand, and a twenty dollar bill tucked into a handmade birthday card. I've kept each of those cards, along with each gift that I found in my father's pocket.

  "Why don't you celebrate it?"

  He sits on my sofa, his long legs bent at the knees as his shoes tap an uneven beat on the floor. "I stopped when my dad died. I stopped caring about it."

  I study him for a moment. He's dressed in black pants and a white shirt. At first glance, almost any woman passing him would stop to take a second glance. He's handsome in a way that suggests that he's comfortable with the man that he is, but it's a carefully honed façade. He's struggling with demons that have consumed him for years. Guilt has worn him down. It has stolen things from him. Things he may never get back.

 
Chapter 6

  "I asked my father to come to my apartment that night because it was my birthday," he stops to swallow. "I knew that he wouldn't resist. I also knew that he'd never suspect it was a trap."

  It was a trap. The word itself conjures up images of a man standing alone with his hands pointed at the ceiling as dozens of armed and shielded policemen close in on him. It wasn't that way with Frederick.

  His face was calm when the elevator doors flew open. He was smiling at Landon. It's no wonder considering he just spent time with the son he must have cradled in his arms exactly thirty-two-years before that day. It was the same son who had held onto him desperately when their boat capsized. The son who was so lost in his grief that he stopped recognizing his own life as vital and important.

  Frederick had taken much more than the trust of his family when he disappeared. He'd taken the person Landon was that day with him.

  "I went to see him that next day at the police station because I wanted answers but he refused to talk to me."

  He'd told me that when he found me on the street in front of my office talking to Ansel. "When did you talk to him again?"

  "Not until that Saturday afternoon when I saw him with my mother," he stops to run his hands over the thighs of his pants. "Dane was there too but he didn't say a lot."

  I'm not surprised by that. I'd spent less than an hour with Landon's younger brother but I could sense his quiet strength. They were similar in ways neither likely recognized. Even the motions of their hands as they speak are hauntingly alike.

  I nod. I know that he's trying to explain, in a very long winded way, how his father ended up in a position in which he could offer information in exchange for a plea deal. It would all be fascinating if not for the fact that Frederick threw my dad to the wolves as one of his bargaining chips.

  "How does your father know mine?" I blurt the question out as my hands fly to my hips. "Were you helping the police by getting close to me? Have you been seeing me so you could find out more about my dad?"