Snapshot

by Camryn King

  Kennedy nodded at the understatement. She was thankful for every breath she took and every second that moved her further away from Jack and what happened. She hadn’t realized how much she loved life until it was almost taken away.

  “Kennedy, I’m online now and there’s a flight that leaves at one-thirty. Can you make it?”

  Kennedy glanced in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t get on anybody’s flight looking the way she did. “No. I need to get cleaned up.”

  “Okay, look, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle rescheduling your flight.”

  “Thanks, Tamara.”

  “You’ll be okay on that trip, right? You think you’re able to fly?”

  “Trust me, I’m ready. I can’t get out of town fast enough.”

  “What’s the earliest I should try and get you on a flight?”

  Kennedy checked her watch. “Depending on which airport, Midway or O’Hare, I could try to make something between two and three.”

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “I appreciate you.”

  She ended the call then phoned a very worried yet composed Dodie, the mark of a true New Yorker—unflappable. Just before tapping the phone icon to call Gwen she changed her mind and called a person she thought she’d never see again.

  “Lydia, hi. It’s . . . it’s Kim.”

  “Kim?” There was a pause as Kennedy imagined her short-term roommate checking the time. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane headed for your friend’s house in Grand Cayman?”

  “Yes, but something happened and I had to reschedule the flight for tonight. It’s actually why I’m calling.”

  “If you want to come here until time for your flight, that’s fine.”

  “Yes, I would like to come over, now if possible, but I’m hoping you’ll be there.”

  “I will. I’m working the afternoon shift today and won’t leave until around two-thirty.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lydia. I’m on my way over.”

  “I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kennedy turned on to the block where Lydia lived, the apartment that had been her temporary home. As she neared where her car had been parked that morning, a wave of fear washed over her. Kennedy slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street and was rewarded with the loud blare of a car she didn’t even know was behind her. The horn startled her and dissipated the fear. She told herself that Jack Sutton was not there, over and again as she parked her car and walked the short distance to the apartment. She was uber-aware of every movement, every sound. When she reached Lydia’s apartment and knocked on the door, she released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  There were shuffling noises. The door opened. Lydia’s smile fled as she gasped. “Good God, Kim! What on earth happened to you!”

  Lydia’s maternal and nursing instincts took over. She pulled Kennedy inside and into a warm embrace as she closed the door and walked them into the living room.

  “Never mind. You don’t have to talk right now. Let me get you a cup a tea and then tend to those wounds.”

  It was the best cup of tea Kennedy ever tasted, laced, she believed, with something stronger than your typical Earl Grey. The warmth from the mug soothed the scratches and deep cuts on her palms. She sat and sipped while Lydia went about her work, quietly, efficiently, pulling items from a large tool box that looked to have everything in it but an operating table. When she reached the most severe wounds she looked and told her, “This is going to hurt, but pain is a part of healing.”

  Lydia told Kennedy she needed to go to the hospital, that the bruises should be x-rayed and some of the gashes may require stitches. She also believed that once the shock wore off, Kennedy would be in a great deal of pain. Kennedy knew that a hospital visit would result in questions from people with whom she wasn’t ready to share. It would probably also lead to authorities being called since she probably looked like she’d been in a serious fight, dragged down the street while tied to a car, or beaten with a tree branch, or all three. Kennedy wasn’t ready for an interrogation and told Lydia she’d see a doctor once in Grand Cayman. Only after Lydia had attended to her face did Kennedy finally look in a mirror. What she saw was a woman who indeed looked to be a woman who’d run through the woods to escape an abuser, a variation of the story she told her angel nurse. But she saw someone else . . . a woman stronger than she could have ever imagined, and more blessed than she could have dreamed.

  31

  Tamara kept her word. Five hours after returning to Chicago, Kennedy once again headed to the airport. Taking no chances, this trip happened via taxi. Her car keys were with Lydia. Kennedy had removed all her personal items from Harriet. The car sat on the street where she’d parked it, waiting for Logan to pick it up with instructions that once she handled the title transfer online, he could do with her what he wanted. Her captor had spent time inside it. Kennedy never wanted to see that car again. She also texted Gwen and instead of Karolyn, her brother Karl. She wanted her best friend and family to know her trip was delayed but that she was alright. But an actual phone call would have meant going into all that had happened, or coming up with something close enough to the truth to suffice. She wasn’t ready for that talk yet.

  Her plane landed at Owen Roberts International Airport thirty minutes past midnight. Tamara was there to greet her, along with Dr. Roberta Jennings, a friend of a friend whom Tamara had talked into opening her private practice upon Kennedy’s arrival so she could be examined right away. They hadn’t seen each other in many years but Tamara was just the type of personality Kennedy needed in the moment—compassionate without being emotional, proactive, efficient and connected.

  The doctor examined Kennedy’s many scrapes, scratches and cuts, then took x-rays to make sure the deep bruising didn’t indicate bones that were fractured or broken. All of what Lydia advised had been spot on, including that the pain would increase. Once the thorough examination was over, Dr. Jennings administered a shot for the pain, checked and redressed Lydia’s bandages and stitched the deep gashes made during Kennedy’s escape.

  After finishing the last stitch on the deepest of Kennedy’s gashes, she dressed the wound and smiled at her patient.

  “Alright, young lady. I think we’re all set. You obviously endured quite an ordeal, but the body is the most incredible instrument God ever created. With time the scars will heal and most of them will disappear completely. There will likely be scars from the deeper cuts that we’ve stitched up today, but also options to lessen their visibility.”

  “Plastic surgery?”

  “That’s one option. But there are others, including natural alternatives, oils and lotions that work well over time. We can wait and see what happens, how the body heals, and revisit the matter at a later date. How does that sound?”

  Kennedy nodded, the long, eventful day combining with the pain medication to finally bring on the sleep that had lately been so elusive.

  “Good. I’m sure you’re exhausted so I’m going to give you an antibiotic ointment and write a prescription to help you through the next week or so. If you feel uncomfortable, have questions or need anything at all, please give me a call.

  “Also,” Dr. Jennings continued while writing on a pad. “I’m going to give you the name of someone who I believe can help with the scars from today that I cannot see. The mental and emotional scars on the inside.” She finished writing, tore the sheets off the pad and held them out to Kennedy. “She is a good friend and an excellent therapist. Call her, even if you feel you’re doing okay on your own. She can help you.”

  There was little conversation as Tamara drove Kennedy to her home, no talk of the island or tour of her lovely home once they arrived. Tamara settled Kennedy in the guest room, brought her a light snack, water, juice and a bottle of wine, gave her a heartfelt hug and wished her friend a good night.

  Kennedy nibbled a couple crackers with a bit of soup, drank a glass of water, then crashed and slept soundly for th
e next twelve hours. She woke up in paradise, blinked her eyes and sat up in bed. The vision didn’t go away. The “wall” of her guestroom was solid glass that offered a view of the most beautifully manicured lawn she’d ever seen and the turquoise blue sea beyond it. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and walked to the window. She kept staring, it felt like such a dream. This time yesterday she was in the clutches of a monster. She was in hell. A tear hovered on her eyelid as she took a breath of gratitude that she wasn’t in hell anymore.

  There was a tap on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Tamara stuck her head around the door before opening it fully. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “The sleep part is appropriate. Beauty is being kind.”

  “Oh, honey. Come here, give me a hug.”

  The two women embraced. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Tamara whispered. “So glad you’re safe.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Are you hungry? Ryan’s out playing golf, so we’ve got the house to ourselves. I can fix you whatever you want, we can do whatever you want, or nothing at all. I just want you to relax and feel at home. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Folks say I make a killer veggie egg white omelet. How does that sound?”

  “You really don’t have to go to all of that trouble. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “Tell you what. Throw on a robe and I’ll start with fresh-squeezed orange juice and throw a little something together. Maybe the smell of good food cooking will help it return.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Tamara and Kennedy sat at the breakfast nook, drinking tea and orange juice and nibbling on muffins. Tamara typed away on her laptop, giving Kennedy the opportunity to only talk if and when she wanted.

  “My God, that asshole.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I know you mean well but don’t coddle me. I’m not made of glass. What is it?”

  Tamara turned the computer screen around and unmuted the sound.

  “. . . categorically denying that anything untoward happened on my private island between me and a man on his honeymoon, for God’s sake, whom I’d just gifted a cabin to share with his beautiful wife. Have you seen his wife, by the way? The beautiful Charlotte Becker, former Miss Globe, Ivy League graduate, Daughter of the Revolution? Not to mention my own wife, Elena. She’s a beauty, too, even more now than when we married over twenty-five years ago. A quarter of a century. No affairs. No breakups. No sleeping around. So, don’t believe it folks. Whoever this is, probably somebody from the opposition, taking these desperate actions to photoshop and manipulate a picture, a disgusting picture by the way, that is clearly fake. But you’re smarter than they are. You won’t buy this piece of garbage. As soon as we find out the lowlife who’s behind this, we’re going to trash them.”

  “Turn it off.” Kennedy allowed her head to drop in her hands.

  “I’m sorry for saying anything.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I need to know what’s being said. It’s just that listening to his voice for more than a minute makes me want to throw up.”

  “A reaction I completely understand.”

  “Hmm.” Kennedy broke her muffin into bite sized pieces and thoughtfully chewed.

  “Hey, let’s change the subject. Let’s talk about how it feels for you to be a millionaire.”

  Kennedy gasped.

  “She didn’t give me specifics, just said that you did very, very well.”

  A slow smile spread over Kennedy’s face. “I did alright.”

  “Woohoo!” Tamara held up her hands for Kennedy to slap. “Congratulations, woman. Who gives a damn what he says when you’ve not only exposed him, you just got paid!” She walked into the kitchen. “Let me add some champagne to that orange juice, girl. It’s time to celebrate.”

  “Just a little for me,” Kennedy said.

  Tamara complied, letting two drops hit Kennedy’s glassful of orange juice before offering a toast.

  “To the woman who looks like she’s been to war and lived to tell about it. You photographed a rainbow and found a pot of gold. Cheers!”

  Kennedy sipped, thoughtfully, stopped and took another sip. “Say that again.”

  “What? Oh, about photographing a rainbow—”

  “No, what you said before going to get the champagne.”

  “What, that you’re a millionaire?”

  “I think it’s just now beginning to sink in. I’ll finally have money that actually stays in my savings account?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Oh my gosh, Tamara. My life has really changed.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “I’m a millionaire!”

  “Yes.”

  “You know what. I think my appetite’s coming back. Is that omelet offer still open?”

  “Coming right up.”

  “Tamara, your home is beautiful. I didn’t see any of this last night.”

  “You were a dead man walking when we got home, sister. Go out on the patio. We’ll finish the meal out there.”

  Kennedy stepped outside. She closed her eyes and tilted her head as the warm breeze wafted over her. Thinking of what Tamara said made her soul smile. Kennedy couldn’t have said it better herself. She’d beat back a witch, escaped his house, went over the rainbow and found her pot of gold.

  32

  It took a while, but after forty-eight hours of luxurious living in the jewel that was Grand Cayman island, Kennedy once again felt she lived in her skin. She was ready to face her family. She was ready to talk with Karolyn, share the truth, and answer the myriad questions her mom would likely have for her. There was so much to share. Any nervousness over finally coming clean with all that had happened, or guilt about leaving them out of the loop, was overshadowed by what else she had to tell them. That because of the experience, her mom’s financial worries were over. Kennedy planned to be smart with her newfound wealth. She’d heard too many stories of lottery winners and other nouveau riche who won seven, eight, sometimes even nine figures, only to find themselves broke or bankrupt within five years. She’d speak with Ryan, Tamara’s husband, and other professionals. She’d do her research. Then she’d assemble the proper financial and legal team to help manage her wealth. All that would come later. There were plenty of landmines in the road—the legal case on Jack Sutton, keeping her identity out of the press. Right now, all she wanted to do was tell her mom that basically . . . they were rich!

  She’d spent much of the past two days in the expansive guest suite. But with Ryan still in New York and Tamara out at a meeting, Kennedy went to the beautiful outdoor living space just off the great room so that she could take in the ocean view and enjoy its breeze while talking to her mom. She poured herself a tall glass of juice, flipped the switch that opened the floor-to-ceiling doors, and walked out on the veranda. For a moment she stood there, her face to the sun, listening to waves crash against the shore, feeling the wind on her face. She sat down and was just about to check her voicemail before calling Karolyn when the phone rang in her hand.

  “Mom, hi! You’re not going to believe this, but I was just getting ready to call you. I kid you not, I had the phone in my hand!”

  “Better late than never I guess.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Kennedy said with a sigh, fully aware she deserved her mom’s ire. “I know you’ve been worried and that I should have kept in better touch. But there was a very good reason why I didn’t, why I couldn’t, until now.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the men who showed up on my job with a warrant to search my house?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Two men looking like a slimmed down version of the Blues Brothers came to the hospital flashing badges and asking questions. Had everybody looking at me crazy, like I’d committed a crime. I’m sure by now I’m the talk of the town. It was embarrassing!”

  Not ev
en a day of relative peace and now this news. Kennedy picked up the juice and walked into the house. “What did they want? What did they ask you?”

  “They told some kind of cockamamie story about me supposedly being in possession of classified information, or some crazy shit like that. I told them the only thing classified in my house were the ads from yesterday’s paper. Then they showed me the search warrant and demanded that I either go with them and let them in the house or they would break in and search it without me. We were already short a nurse. Now my check will be short, too. And don’t tell me to ask Karl about it. I called him thinking it might be connected to him running for city council. I never felt good about him getting involved in politics. That business is dirtier than throwing cans on a trash truck. Ray wouldn’t even know how to piss off the feds. That leaves you and this strange behavior you’ve exhibited for over a month. So, I’m going to ask you again and this time, you’d better tell me. What is going on?”

  “Mom, that’s what I was calling to tell you. And even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure this call is being monitored, likely by the Blues Brothers who showed up on your door, I’m going to give you answers. I have nothing to hide. And after staring down the devil, dodging his pitchfork and escaping hell? I’m not afraid of Big Brother or any of his friends.”

  Kennedy spent the next hour telling Karolyn her story. She began at the beginning, with the Bahamas boat ride and meeting Jack Sutton, being drugged and robbed, first in the Bahamas and again when she returned home. She spoke of being spied on and followed and admitted the truth about her strange behavior at the Fourth of July parade, that it wasn’t an old classmate she thought she’d seen, but Jack Sutton, her ongoing nightmare. Finally, she told of the abduction, surprising herself by leaving very little out. Her mom didn’t ask many questions, but gasped, sputtered and delivered appropriately outraged, appalled, and shocked responses.

  “I couldn’t believe when I turned and saw him coming toward me. It felt like watching a horror movie, only I was in it. I pulled on all of that high school track training, Mom, and was ready to die to try and escape him. Then the house blew up.”