In Another Life

by C. C. Hunter

  “I told you she was alive. I’ve known it! Oh my God, someone took down the age-progression photo that I put up in Walmart. It might’ve been her.”

  Mrs. Fuller’s words, and the emotion in her voice, stopped Cash in his tracks. Dread swirled in the pit of his stomach. He quietly set the bag on the counter.

  “Ma’am,” a man answered. “Don’t put too much merit into this. We’re suspicious that this is another scam. Maybe the same guy as last time.”

  Cash froze and listened.

  “But you said he saw her. You said—”

  Saw her? Shit. Had someone seen the age-progression photo and recognized Chloe?

  “Look, the clerk said it looked like the girl in the article that they were photocopying, but—”

  Photocopying?

  Damn it! This was about the missing copy from the print shop.

  His dad’s voice rang in his head. Never leave a crumb trail.

  “Look, it’s terrible, but this is probably just like last time.”

  “We don’t know that,” Mrs. Fuller said. “It could be her. Wait. You said they were photocopying? Who was with her? It could’ve been the kidnappers. They could still be holding her against her will. Did the witness give you a description of the man?”

  Cash leaned against the counter. He was so screwed now. Crap!

  “He got a better look at the girl than the guy. He thinks he was in his midtwenties, so it’s unlikely it could be the kidnapper.”

  “What are you going to do? Please tell me you’re going to look for her.”

  Desperation rang in Mrs. Fuller’s voice, and it sank into Cash’s chest. He remembered how she moped around for almost two months after the man conned them last time. But this wasn’t some two-bit con hurting her. Cash had done it. He’d caused this.

  Damn it! He had to figure this out. And fast. He wasn’t waiting to talk to the nanny. He had to get his hands on Chloe’s adoption papers. But how?

  * * *

  I stay an hour at Lindsey’s, talking her off the Jonathon ledge. One minute she’s listening to me and swears she’s not going to see him, the next …

  “I know he’s bad news,” she says. “But I still care about him.”

  “You cannot give in. He’ll cheat on you again.”

  She frowns. “He said he wasn’t hitting on you. He felt sorry for you.”

  Oh, right! And you believe him? She’s worse off than I thought.

  “I know I have to tell him no. But—”

  “No buts,” I say. “Seriously, I wouldn’t be your friend if I let you get back with him.”

  She frowns. “Jamie says I should give him a second chance.”

  I sit there on her bed and try to think of the right thing to say. “Fine. Go back to him, but I’m going to tell you I told you so.”

  My phone rings. It’s Dad again.

  “Cash?” she asks.

  “No. My dad.”

  “Did you ask him about the ring?”

  “No.” The phone stops ringing. I get a ding that he’s left a message.

  I look at Lindsey. “I should go. I need to order dinner.”

  She puts on a pout. “What am I going to do about Jonathon?”

  I shake my head. “Cut him out of your life.”

  “Isn’t that a bit harsh?” she asks in a pissy tone. “Your dad cheated on your mom, and you still see him.”

  Her words rake across all kinds of nerves. “Yeah, and you of all people know I still haven’t forgiven him. Look what a mess he made of my life.” I stand up. “Screw it! Do what you want! But don’t tell me he wasn’t hitting on me, because he was.”

  I leave. I’m almost to my house when my phone beeps again with Dad’s message.

  I stop on the porch to erase it. But instead, I put my phone to my ear.

  “Chloe. Where are you? I’m worried about your mom. I called a couple of hours ago, and she wasn’t making sense. Check on her and call me!”

  Wasn’t making sense? I haul ass through my front door. I run into her bedroom.

  “Mom!” I scream. She doesn’t answer. She’s a dark, motionless lump in the bed. I turn the light on. And the first thing I see is the open bottle of pills on her nightstand.

  “No!” I run to her. “No, God, no! Mom?” I cry.

  25

  I’m about to dial 911 when she mutters, “What?” Her eyes flutter open. She tries to sit up but falls back.

  I look at the pill bottle. There’s pills still in it.

  “What are you taking?” I pick the bottle up and read it. It’s Ambien.

  “When did you start taking sleeping pills?” I ask.

  She sits up, but wavers like she’s drunk. “Why?” She’s annoyed.

  I read the label that says she should take only one at night. “How many did you take?”

  She frowns.

  “How many?”

  “I’m a nurse. I know how many I can take.”

  “So you took more than it says?”

  “Stop! Don’t make a big deal out of this.” She reaches for the bottle.

  “No, you stop! Answer me! How many did you take?” I stare at her. I see the date the pills were ordered. “I can count them and find out.”

  She shakes her head. “Give me my pills!”

  “No. You’re abusing medication!” Tears fill my eyes. “Do you know how scared I was when you wouldn’t wake up? Do you even give a fuck about me?”

  “Don’t talk like that, young lady!”

  “Oh no! You can’t call me on my language when you’re popping pills!”

  “I’m not … I just needed to sleep!”

  “How many did you take? And don’t lie, because I’m going to count them!”

  She finally looks embarrassed. “I took two, but—”

  I shake my head. “There’s no excuse!”

  That seems to make her mad, but she can’t be as mad as I am. “Why don’t you go yell at your dad instead of me,” she says. “He’s getting married!”

  “I don’t care what Dad’s doing. I care about what you’re doing.” I pour out the pills in my hand and start counting them, blinking back my tears. I count twenty. I read the bottle to see how many pills she had. “Mom, you had thirty pills. You’ve taken ten! Ten in four days!”

  “I took a couple during the day.” She wipes tears from her cheeks. “When I sleep, I don’t remember what he did to us.”

  I grab the cap of the pill bottle and screw it on. “I’m taking these pills. You can ask me for one at night if you need it. Right now, you need to get up and eat something!” And she can fix it herself, too.

  When she doesn’t move, I say, “Get up. I’m not letting you do this to yourself or me! Tomorrow, you are going to get pills for depression from your doctor. If you don’t have them when I get home, I’m calling the doctor myself!” I storm out of her room and into mine. I slam the bedroom door as hard as I can.

  I throw the pills in my backpack and fall onto the bed. I start crying. I remember Dad’s message. I go to text him, but I don’t know what to say. Do I tell him the truth? Will he insist I go live with him?

  Him and Darlene. His fiancée.

  I’m so mad at Mom, I can’t even be in the same room with her, but I can’t leave her. And I cannot live with Darlene.

  I dry my eyes so I can see to text. I type: Mom’s okay.

  Then I turn my phone off, grab a pillow, and let myself cry as long and as hard as I need to.

  * * *

  “Damn!” Rodney turned into the subdivision with the huge-ass horse statue and a sign. But it was one of those damn gated communities. So the little girl he’d grabbed all those years ago was dating well. He’d give anything if he found him some rich sugar mama.

  He stopped. He’d need a passcode to get in. Then he looked hard and realized he’d need more than a passcode. There was a guard sitting in the little glass box.

  Since he got off at ten tonight and Peggy had kicked him out last night, he’d decided t
o make the drive up to Joyful.

  But now it looked as if it’d been a waste of time. He hit the steering wheel with his palm.

  Right then, a pair of headlights splashed over his car—a vehicle was exiting the subdivision. The bar lifted. Rodney leaned against the wheel to get a better view.

  For a second, he imagined it. He blinked. Nope, he wasn’t imagining it. A dark gray Jeep was pulling out of the gate.

  How lucky could he be? He let the Jeep get ahead of him; then he followed. Getting close enough just once to make sure it was the right license plate.

  It was.

  * * *

  I wake to a tapping noise. I lift up, and my head hurts. My face feels puffy from crying.

  The noise sounds again. I roll over. I’m sure it’s just Felix chasing a toy. Then I hear Buttercup let go of a low growl. I open my eyes and a face appears in the window. I almost scream.

  But then I recognize the face.

  I toss my covers off me. Glancing down, I see my nightshirt. It’s old, faded, and has the Little Mermaid on it, but I don’t care. I open the window. Right now, nothing sounds better than being in Cash’s arms.

  “Come in.” I back up.

  He pulls himself up inside and looks at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I see myself in my dresser mirror. Mascara is smeared down my face. I start to explain, but trying to think of how to say it brings on more tears.

  He wraps his arms around me. I plop my head on his chest and let myself cry.

  “What happened, Chloe?”

  I finally pull back and try to stop the tears. “Remember Dad was trying to reach me?”

  He nods.

  “Well, when I got home, Mom was in bed, I went to Lindsey’s, and Dad kept trying to reach me. He left a message and said Mom was acting wierd. I ran inside and I couldn’t wake her up.” She lets out a sob. “There were pills on a bedside table. I thought … she was dead.”

  “Shit? Is she okay?”

  “She finally woke up, but she’s been taking too many sleeping pills. She took ten in four days. She was only supposed to take one a day. I got so mad.”

  “You should be mad!” he said. “That’s stupid. What did your dad say?”

  “I didn’t tell him. I texted him that Mom was okay and cut my phone off. I didn’t want to talk to him. Mom said he’s marrying Darlene.” I back up and drop on my bed. “I’m sorry, I should have realized you’d call me. I just … was upset.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I took the pills from her,” I say. “And I told her if she doesn’t get medicine for depression tomorrow, then I’m calling the doctor. And I will.” I let go of another gasp. “I thought she was dead. And all I could think was that it was my fault because I didn’t take Dad’s call earlier.”

  “No.” He drops down on the bed beside me. “It wouldn’t have been your fault. Did you take her to the hospital?”

  “No. She was pretty alert then. I made her get up and eat something. I heard her moving in the kitchen, so I’m pretty sure she did.” I look at the clock, and it’s almost one in the morning.

  He pulls me against him and I don’t feel so alone. “I’m so tired of worrying about her when I have this whole adoption thing.”

  He kisses me on my forehead. “I know.”

  In a few minutes, we’re stretched out on the bed. I’m on my side. His arm is around my waist, and my head’s on his chest. I’m aware I’m braless again, and something tells me he’s aware, too. Not that he’s doing anything wrong.

  I lift my head and kiss him. He kisses me back. This feels so right, when everything else in my life feels so wrong. I know Mom is just down the hall, but suddenly I don’t care. I deepen the kiss.

  He follows my lead, but doesn’t take it further. I want further.

  I sit up and pull my nightshirt off. His eyes round. “Chloe…?”

  My gut says he’s going to tell me to put it back on. I kiss him before he can. His hands are on my bare back. It feels awesome. He’s awesome.

  He rolls me over; his mouth meets mine. His hands are on my breasts. I slip my hand under his shirt.

  “No.” He pulls away. I lie back on the bed.

  He looks at me. At me shirtless. His eyes on my breasts. Then his gaze lowers to my pink panties. “We can’t—”

  “Why?” I feel rejected.

  “No,” he says as if he knows what I’m feeling. “You are so damn beautiful and I’d love to … But not like this. Not with your mom here.” He looks around and finds my nightshirt.

  Embarrassed, I close my eyes.

  He lowers beside me. “Look at me.”

  I do.

  “I want this so damn bad, but not when you’re upset or when your mom might walk in on us.” He kisses me then pulls back. His gaze lowers again. “Get this on before I change my mind.”

  I sit up. He slips it over my head. His hands brush over my breasts as he lowers the material down to my waist.

  I lie back down. He lies beside me and pulls me closer.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t ever be sorry for that.” His voice hoarse. He lifts up on his elbow. “That was a gift, and one I’ll cherish. And it’s going to happen. Just not now.”

  I start crying again. He lies back down and pulls me against him. He keeps his hand on my waist. And I lie there, head on his chest, and listen to his heartbeat. It’s strong, steady, and soothing. When I’m with Cash, my life doesn’t feel so bat shit crazy.

  The next thing I know, I’m stirred awake by his kiss.

  “I have to go,” he says.

  I smile, not sure whether it’s been an hour or three, but I realize how good it was to sleep with him for this little bit, even if all we did was sleep. “Thanks for staying.”

  “Thank you,” he says.

  As I watch him climb out my window, a light airy feeling rises in my chest. And I know what it is. It’s something I never felt with Alex.

  I’m falling in love with Cash Colton.

  * * *

  Rodney leaned back against the headrest of his old Honda and stared at the old house. He’d followed the kid to another neighborhood. One with older homes and leaning mailboxes. The Jeep parked in front of a small house with a small porch, where a light attracted bugs. But instead of heading to the porch, he went to the front window. At first he thought the kid was a Peeping Tom. But no, the boy stood there only a second before climbing inside.

  Whatcha wanna bet it’s her?

  Teenagers doing the dirty.

  He thought to leave, but not knowing if it was her kept him there. Hell, he wasn’t sleepy. All he had waiting for him in Fort Landing was a cheap hotel room. Why not just hang? His car was more comfortable than the damn bed.

  An hour and a half passed before he saw the kid crawling out the window. He watched the Jeep leave. Then he waited another half hour. Easing out of his car, checking to make sure no one watched, he made his way up to the window.

  A dog barked across the street, and he hesitated, waiting to see if the animal would run out. When it didn’t, he eased up to the window. Cautiously, he came against it and looked in.

  A night-light beside the bed glowed, and he saw a girl in the bed. Not that she looked like a girl, more like a woman. Dark hair spilled over the pillow. She had on a nightshirt that clung to her curves.

  He wondered if he crawled in whether she’d give him a roll in the hay.

  But was it really her? Inching in, he studied her face and tried to remember what she’d looked like as a kid. Dark hair and brown eyes, light olive skin. He’d thought she was just another illegal kid.

  But then she’d spoken perfect English. He remembered that worried him, but not enough to do anything about it. She’d been a little fighter. Had spunk. Screamed like a little banshee. But he’d only had to hit her once to shut her up. She listened after that.

  He continued to study her. Yeah, that could be her. All grown up. His gaze fell to
her curves again, to her long legs bare and out of the covers.

  It would be a shame if he had to kill her. Maybe Jack would actually fix this. Maybe. But if not, he’d do what he had to. He wasn’t going to prison.

  All of a sudden, a bark echoed from inside the room and a dog jumped up. His paws landed on the window seal, his nose hit the glass, and he bared his teeth.

  Rodney dropped down.

  He was almost about to run when he heard the window opening. He crawled to the other side of the house and hid behind the neighbor’s car. Crap.

  “Cash?” a soft voice called out from the window. Rodney stayed where he was, and didn’t breathe until he heard the window shut.

  He was about to head back to his car when a light comes on in a window at the back of the girl’s house. He peered around the car and saw a shadow move to the window. Another woman. Tall. But not curvy. Her mom, perhaps? Was she as good-looking as her daughter?

  He stayed behind the neighbor’s car another ten minutes before he made it back to his own car.

  * * *

  The next morning I’m finishing off my cereal when I hear Mom’s bedroom door open.

  I stop eating. Anger swells inside me all over again.

  She comes and sits beside me at the table. “Chloe—”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, or how it’s Dad’s fault. This is on you.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she says in a scolding voice. And she has no right to scold me.

  I stand up. “No, you were just abusing drugs.” I lean down in her face. “What would you say if I’d done that, Mom? Can I borrow three or four to take tonight?”

  Guilt rounds her eyes. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” I stand straight. “If you want to make it up to me, go to your appointment and get some depression meds. If you don’t have them when I come home, I don’t know what I’ll do. I love you, Mom, but I’m not going to watch you kill yourself.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Just do it!”

  “I will. I promise.” Her voice catches.