Hoverfly Girl

by Parker Wren

  “This is a very exclusive club,” Brit whispered in my ear as we were seated.

  The hardwood floors shone so brightly that you could almost see your reflection in them. It looked like we were in the inside of a large, old shipping vessel—beams exposed with a promise to take you somewhere exciting. The tables were white with beautiful centerpieces and silken tablecloths. The room had modest cathedral ceilings with white and beige paper lanterns suspended from them. Outside, you could see the darkening ocean, the yachts lining the dock, and the lowering sun in the sky beyond.

  “I could certainly get married here,” Brit exclaimed.

  Our server swooped in with impeccable timing that rescued Henry (and the rest of us) from an awkward discussion,. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  I was sitting in between Grayson and Dom. I leaned over to Grayson and said, “I’m definitely not rich enough for a place like this.”

  Grayson touched my hand under the table, which electrified my shoulders. “Me neither,” he whispered back, then leaned into my ear. “That’s why we just have to mooch off of our rich friends.”

  I giggled.

  Unlike Grayson and me, Dom and Henry seemed completely at ease. Henry took over the drinks. “Let’s start us all off with sparking water. And a bottle of your Arietta Cabernet Sauvignon, if you have that available.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” the server replied. “Anyone else?”

  “I’ll take a Cosmo,” I said.

  “I’m offended by your girly drink,” Grayson mumbled to me.

  Dom ordered next. “Lavabuilin, if you have it. On the rocks.”

  “Gin and tonic, please,” Grayson finished.

  “We are such plebs,” I mumbled back to him.

  “The plebiest,” he replied.

  “So,” Dom said, clearly annoyed with my side conversation with Grayson. “What are you talking about over here?”

  I smiled at Dom. “Nothing important,” I said. “Grayson and I just aren’t used to being at a nice place like that.”

  “Fair enough,” Dom said. He seemed unsure what to say next. “How was your visit with your sister, Grayson?”

  I could tell that my look of shock was visible on my face. “You have a sister? I thought you were going to see your parents,” I asked. I couldn’t help but wonder if Dom had brought up the topic intentionally.

  Grayson shrugged, like he had only omitted a tiny detail. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Her name is Gemma. She’s in a home right now. In the city. I try to go visit her when I see my parents once every couple of weeks.”

  Grayson continued, clearly explaining for my benefit, as the rest of the group seemed to already be aware of his sister. “She’s severely disabled. She has limited cognitive function, but she does seem to recognize who I am. The worst part is that it was a part of a botched surgery when she was a baby. She was born perfectly healthy, except she had a heart defect. She needed a fairly straightforward operation. The surgeon, though, nicked an artery that brings oxygen to her brain. He tried to covered it up, and by the time the damage was realized, she was so severely disabled she couldn’t fully recover.”

  “Oh my gosh, Grayson,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn’t have asked if…”

  He shrugged and gave a small smile. “It’s okay,” he said. “We all have our stuff, right? My sister is great. She’s taught me so much about life. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  I processed what Grayson had told me as we ate. Our meal consisted of fancy dishes I would never be able to repeat or recreate if I were in the kitchen. Bone-in beef short rib with ginger carrot puree; black pearl salmon with mustard seed malt vinaigrette; Maine lobster niçoise, haricot vert, and blood orange vinaigrette.

  By the end of the meal, we were all tipsy, full, and happy.

  “Ready to go out on our yacht?” Henry said once he had paid for everyone’s dinner (despite my attempt to pay for my portion).

  “Oh my gosh,” Brit said. “What until you see this yacht. Well, it’s not really Henry’s yacht, but it’s his dad’s friend’s, and it’s amazing.”

  “Isn’t it too late for us to go out on the water?” Dom asked.

  “Nah. I know the guys that work here,” Henry said.

  We walked outside onto the gorgeous beach. I was cold in my dress, but I didn’t mind. It was worth the view.

  “Here,” Dom said, and he walked over to me and put his jacket over my shoulders. I smiled. I was feeling tipsy enough from the drinks, and the warm gesture from Dom made me slide my hand into his without even thinking.

  As we all boarded the yacht, we sat down on the boat while Henry prepared everything. It was plenty large for all of us. I sat down next to Dom and put the coat over our laps. I let him run his fingertips over my hand, our touch hidden from others to see.

  After everyone but Grayson had sat down, the only other available space was between me and Brit. Grayson reluctantly sat between us. I was hyper aware of his thigh touching mine.

  “Alright. Ready to go?” Henry shouted as the engine started.

  The feel of the breeze in my hair, on my face, made me feel free. I had done a pretty good job of blocking out the real reason I was here with these people. No, they could not be my friends, I kept telling myself. At least not when I was sent on a mission to destroy their lives.

  And, yet, there I was. Liking those people. Those people who trusted me. There I was, betraying them, becoming close to them, only to bring everything in their lives crashing down. Like how in the past, others’ lives around me had been destroyed. Those times weren’t my fault, but this time was.

  I let the tears flow from my eyes, thinking how I had betrayed what my mother and father would have wanted from me. You don’t have to always be honest, Ariel, my dad had said. But be good. Sometimes we have to be dishonest in order to be good. Do everything you can to be kind to others. Remember, the true character of an individual is what you do when no one else is looking.

  I leaned my head back and let the tears flow while the crisp Martha’s Vineyard wind gently stole them away. I inhaled the heavy air.

  Without realizing it at first, because of how natural it felt, I felt a large hand on top of my left hand. Not the side that Dom was on. Both sides of me, including my arms and hands, were hidden under the jacket. Grayson had taken my left hand and he held it tightly. I turned my head to the left to look at him, my head still leaned back against the edge of the boat, wind knotting my hair and blowing away droplets of tears. I could still feel Dom’s fingertips in my right hand. The thought of both of them on either side of me caused an odd sensation of excitement and shame that slowly welled in my stomach. I continued looking at Grayson, and he looked at me, searching my eyes. He had seen my tears. Then he gave a small smile and pulled his hand away.

  I turned my head to face back to the sky and closed my eyes.

  CHAPTER 17

  That night, I had a fit of nightmares. Sweating in bed, despite the cooler Massachusetts air breezing through window, I decided I needed to get out of the bedroom.

  Dom was sleeping heavily when I grabbed my flashlight and book. After many restless nights, I had gotten used to making my way through the large, dark house in the middle of the night.

  I curled up on the sofa downstairs and pulled a thick throw blanket over my legs. Just as I had opened my book, I heard someone else come downstairs.

  It was Grayson. It was the first time I had seen him in the middle of the night since that initial encounter.

  In spite of myself, I smiled. “Hey, stranger,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said. “Is this the Insomniacs Anonymous meeting?”

  “Maybe,” I replied. “But only if you bring me a drink of water, please.” I widened my smile further and lifted my chin.

  Grayson grinned back at me. “Of course, m’lady,” he said.

  After grabbing two glasses of water and bringing them over to the living room, he placed them on the table i
n front of us. This time, he was sitting on the same couch as me. He was a full foot away from the bottom of my feet, since I was curled up on the couch, but I was just thrilled he wasn’t in a seat across the room from me.

  “So I guess you’ve been sleeping pretty well,” I said, leaning my head against the couch and curling my knees to my chest.

  “How do you mean?” he asked, taking a drink of water.

  “I haven’t seen you down here in a while. You’ve been missing our Insomniacs Anonymous meetings. A lot of important sleep confessions have gone down.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I guess the trip with my family didn’t help.”

  “How did it go?” I asked. “You haven’t told me much about it. Or about them.”

  Grayson sighed. “Oh, it went fine,” he said. “They haven’t retired yet, and they’re still living in their own place, but they struggle with some things, especially because they are with my sister a lot. So I go back and do handy work around the apartment. Dad and I have a beer, watch sports. Mom will take me to gardens or museums. We’ll drag Dad along sometimes, if he’s up for it.”

  I nodded.

  “Visits to see my sister are hard,” he said. “I mean, they’re good, but it’s just now that she’s getting older. I start to think more about how her life’s been wasted. It makes me so angry sometimes…”

  “What makes you angry?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Grayson said. “I mean, I guess I would get upset over any kind of accident or some happening, like a disease…but I think about the doctor—the surgeon that did this to her—and I’m still not passed that. The rage I feel.”

  I liked how when I talked with Grayson, we easily and naturally drifted into intense topics. It was never just small talk.

  “What happened with that? Did you all sue the hospital?”

  Grayson wasn’t looking at me anymore; instead, his head was leaned back against the couch, and he was staring at the ceiling. I noticed he was clean shaven today. That made it even more obvious when he clenched his jaw.

  “I was only little at the time—my sister is just four years younger than me—but yes, my parents sued,” he said. “We got a huge settlement before it went to court.”

  “So you won?” I said, immediately regretting my choice in words.

  “Well, you know what winning would have been,” Grayson continued. “Gemma being healthy. But I would have taken away that son of a bitch’s medical license, or even better, thrown him in jail.”

  “What?” I said, incredulous. “He’s still practicing medicine? After botching the surgery and then lying about it when it could have been fixed if he had just fessed up?”

  “Yup,” said Grayson, with a big sigh. He put his hands behind his head and flexed his knuckles.

  “Wow,” was all I could think of saying. “The system sucks sometimes.”

  “It sure does,” said Grayson. “I really try not to think about it, but I’m not always great at doing that. Instead, I try to focus on Gemma and the beautiful person she is. We never plan on touching the settlement, just in case Gemma needs it. Who knows what the future holds with her health. We’ll make sure she has the best care possible.”

  “Is that was Brit was referring to that one night? Implying that you have some sort of access to money?”

  Grayson huffed. “Yes. Brit is full of it. In her new life now, with Henry, she doesn’t understand why people wouldn’t want money if it’s there. It’s not even like it’s mine to begin with.”

  I thought it was best to change the subject.

  “Will you tell me about her? Gemma?”

  Grayson smiled. He traced his fingers along the pattern of the throw blanket, his fingers just inches from my toes underneath. “She’s kind,” he said. “Above all, she just wants to make people happy. She can’t speak very well, and she gets frustrated easily, but she gets more upset if she thinks she’s hurt someone than if she’s the one who’s been hurt.”

  I smiled. “She seems sweet.”

  “Yeah. You’d like her. She has a great sense of humor, too.” Grayson looked up at me, then quickly diverted his eyes and sat straight up in the couch again.

  “What about your family? You never mention them,” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Not much to say.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s okay.” I surprised myself with wanting to open up to Grayson. My family was something special, locked inside a cabinet, something I only took out and held gently in my thoughts on special occasions. With Grayson, though, the door opened easily.

  “Well,” I said. “I’m an orphan. Kind of.”

  “Oh, gosh,” Grayson said, a look of shock and embarrassment on his face. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. My Aunt Sarah is around. She lives near Boston. She’s wonderful, and I’m very lucky to have her. And my Dad raised me. I didn’t have a bad childhood.”

  “What about your mom?” Grayson asked gently.

  Now it was my turn to pick at the threads in the throw blanket. “No one really knows,” I said quietly. “Presumed dead after all these years.”

  “What?” Grayson said, shocked.

  I took a deep breath. “I had a little brother too. His name was Oliver. Oli. He was just two years younger than me. The last time I saw him, I was four years old. We lived in London. My dad was British; my mom was American. One night, my dad was out for work, and someone broke into the house. The only thing I remember is my mom telling me to hide in the closet. She kneeled down and said to me ‘Arie! Arie!’—that’s what my family called me—‘I need you to listen to me very carefully. Do you remember the story ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?’ I told her I did. She told me to pretend that the closet in her room was just like the closet from the story. That if I kept going, as far back as possible, I would be away from the house and safe. She told me keep going to the back of the closet until I couldn’t anymore.

  “She told me to take my brother’s hand and to not let go. I took Oli’s hand, and we went into the closet together. I did exactly what she said: I kept walking. It seemed like the closet went on forever. Eventually I found a door; it was somewhat open, so I went inside it. I was holding on tight to Oli’s hand, but he refused to go in the little door with me. I told him how Mummy said we had to be quiet, but he was crying. I tried to take his other hand, but he wriggled away and ran out of the closet. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to run after him, but then I heard loud voices in the house, so I went into the cupboard at the back of the closet, and I stayed there. At the time, I didn’t know how long as I was there. It could have been minutes or days. I know now it was just a few hours. But I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life.”

  Grayson had moved closer to me now, his hand resting on my arm. He was quiet, just listening.

  I told the story unemotionally, as factually as I could remember it. After years of therapy and discussions with my father, it now seemed like someone else’s story and not my own.

  “And that was it,” I said. “They were gone. My mom, my brother—they disappeared in the wind.”

  “No one knows what happened to them?” Grayson asked, incredulous.

  I shook my head. “No. And trust me, it was not for a lack of looking.”

  “But… who would want to take them? And why?”

  I gave a small smile. “It’s the riddle of my life.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments. “And your father?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah. He was the one that found me. He knew about the cupboard and figured my mom had sent me there. I was so terrified I couldn’t speak. Just let him pick me up. We didn’t stay in England long after that. Within a year, we had moved to America.”

  “How was your father able to do that? What was his job?”

  “He was an international lawyer,” I said. At least, that’s what I could tell Gr
ayson. What I couldn’t tell him was everything else that was relevant to the story.

  Like how my dad was an MI6 agent, and my mom was a CIA agent, and both agencies spent enormous resources trying to track down my mother and the people who took her. How my father couldn’t bear to remain in London because he feared for his life and the life his daughter, because of the constant reminders of his missing wife and son. How he made a deal with the CIA to come live somewhere else and start a new life. Even in our new life, though, his paranoia really never subsided.

  “And what happened with your dad?” Grayson asked.

  “He died,” I said. Dead, dying, gone. Words I was tired of using. “He had a heart attack when I was eighteen—right before I went to college. My Aunt Sarah took care of me after that. And now she’s the only family I really have left.”

  “Dear Lord, Ariel,” Grayson said. His face was contorted into what looked like pain but what I knew to be sympathetic shock and grief. He was processing what I had been processing for decades. I was used to seeing faces like his.

  “Can I give you a hug?” he asked.

  I awkwardly laughed. “Sure,” I said. “But it’s not needed. I’m not crying or anything.”

  “I know,” he said. “Consider it for me.”

  Grayson leaned over the couch and put his arms around me. I nestled my face into the crook of his neck, between his face and shoulder. I took in every inch of where my body was touching his, feeling his smooth chin against my temple, his leg muscles tense so as to lean too close into me. I wanted him to stay in that position, but before I could hold on to the moment any longer, he released me, keeping his thumb on my cheek.

  I smiled that tired, deflated, drooping smile that comes after little sleep and a long confession. “Why are you doing that?” I asked.

  “To make sure I’m just one more person telling you this,” Grayson said, looking into my eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he said sternly.

  I had remained calm throughout my explanation of my family, but I could no longer look at Grayson. “I know,” I said coldly, pushing his hand away from my face.