I contemplated the boxes lined up with my things. I needed to figure out my job situation. Did I even still have a job at Whitley Kennington. Would any of the other art galleries in Charleston consider my work? Normally, I would have cleaned my apartment, but that had been done by a mysterious good Samaritan.
I made a trip to Wal-Mart, feeling a new sense of freedom in my beat-up Honda and choosing my own destination. I bought an airbed, blankets and few other staples to get me through the next few days. I didn't think my bank account could handle more than a few things, especially until I found out about my job status. Pretty soon the sparse apartment looked slightly more inviting.
Connor knocked on my door that night. "Hi," he said softly, leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. In his hands, he held that tattered, stuffed elephant that I'd found in the remains of my apartment that day.
"Oh my word!" I took the stuffed toy from him in wonder and threw my arms around his neck. "How did you get this?"
"You had it when we left here. I just had it sewn up for you."
"Wow. Thank you. This is all I have left of my mom." Tears threatened in my eyes, but I pushed them away. Still clutching the toy, I stepped aside to let him inside.
"Your place looks good," he said with a sly grin, looking around.
"Was this your handiwork? How did you do this?"
"I had a team come in and clean up the wreckage. I didn't want you to walk into the mess alone." He gazed down at me, that half smile of his perked up. He moved toward me, his face turning more serious. He placed his hands on my shoulders and held my eyes, running his hands through my hair, wrapping one strand around a finger and gently tugging before letting it loose. "I came to tell you I'm headed back to DC tonight. Headquarters has a mountain of paperwork for me to wrap up."
His words crushed me, even though I knew this was coming. I hadn't thought of much else all day, but it didn't make it any easier to hear him say it. I nodded, my eyes filling again. Abruptly I turned away, not wanting him to see me cry. I was an emotional mess since leaving the hospital.
"Alabama, look at me."
I kept my back turned, taking a deep breath. Gently he took my arm and pulled me back to him and turning me around. Tears tracked down my cheeks and I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
"Don't cry." He wrapped me in a hug, pressing his lips to my forehead and I sighed inwardly at how good this felt.
His lips found mine and then we were hungrily pushing our clothes away in a race to see who would get there first. My hands fumbled with the button on his jeans and I paused to let him pull my shirt off. We stumbled across the studio to my bed, the backs of my legs hitting it before he gently pushed me down. He pulled off my jeans and panties then, and he was everywhere at once. I was lost in the waves of emotion and what he was doing to me.
He was inside me. And then it was over.
"I have to go," he said in my ear. "This is not goodbye," he rasped.
The door latched closed, and he was gone.
✽✽✽
The Charleston community rallied around me in a way I never saw coming. Nina was ecstatic when she delivered the news to me one Tuesday afternoon. We were at her gallery, making plans for a new show. "Have you seen the latest story on you?" she asked me.
"No, what story is that?" I was sketching out ideas for a new series while Nina and Anne were going through inventory.
Anne and Nina looked at each other. "You have to see it." Anne pulled out her phone and played the video. It was a local station's story, with the reporter doing the voice over. My picture flashed up on the screen, along with some of my work and then a shot of Nina's gallery. The reporter went on to tell a sensationalized story of my kidnapping, portraying me as a young artist who lost out on her very own American dream.
"I..." for a moment, I stared at the video frozen at the end of its cycle, gathering my thoughts. "I don't know how correct this is," I began. "Losing out on my American dream?"
"Emma. This is just one of the news stories out there about you. The city loves you. Someone set up a Go Fund Me account to help you get back on your feet."
"I don't need that!" I protested. Sure, I was getting by, but I didn't want charity from other people.
Funny how over two weeks' time I grew closer to Nina. I realized if I let myself open up, other people that cared about me were waiting to be let in and a part of my life. Nina routinely checked in on me, whether at the gallery, or having me over for dinner. Maybe getting held hostage together did something to our relationship, or that I simply allowed her past my own emotional walls, and she became somewhat of a maternal figure to me.
Nina convinced me to keep some of the money the community raised. I didn't need it. Not like other people needed money. Sure, I was out of a steady paycheck since Whitley Kennington informed me, they had filled my position. I was touched strangers cared enough to send it, but I always figured things out and made ends meet, no matter my circumstances. I used some of it to replace the damaged furniture in my apartment and put some decent food in my fridge. I donated the rest to a young artist's program in the local high schools that helped students prepare for a career in creative fields.
I had some sales at Nina Alexis Gallery, which was encouraging since I hadn't wanted to go back to office work. I also joined a local artist's collective that shared space for artists to create, and through that, I was able to participate in the center's ongoing artist's market.
I hadn't spoken to Connor much except for an awkward phone call where there wasn't much to say, except for the easy things like how things were, but neither of us asked the questions we really wanted to know but didn't have the guts. What happens now?
I did wonder about Connor. I thought about him when I stopped moving during the day and my hands weren't busy painting, or when I laid in bed at night. My chest squeezed tight at missing his company after having gotten used to his constant presence. He didn't call in the days after he left.
One night, when I was cleaning up a simple dinner of noodles and pesto, with the exciting plans of vegging out in front the TV for the rest of the night, a knock sounded on my door.
I wiped my hands on a damp towel and answered the door. Trevor stood on the other side with a cheeky grin.
"Hey there. Thought I'd check in on you..." he dug his hands in his pockets, suddenly nervous. "It's been a few weeks since I've seen you is all."
His abnormally shy demeanor was charming, and I smiled back at him. I also realized he had no clue what had been going on with me the last few weeks. While I was holed up at Connor's, I hadn't seen Trevor since that brief confrontation between him and Connor. "It's good to see you," I responded, ignoring his question and smiling.
I stepped aside to let him in, and he followed, looking around my apartment curiously. "Are you hungry? I was thinking of picking up takeout or..." Trevor drifted off in his usual manner of not finishing his sentences. He grinned at me, whether out of habit or shyness, but I was positive he'd disarmed more than his share of women with those dimples. Unfortunately for him, his motives were transparent as far as I was concerned. And I couldn't be less interested.
"No, I just ate," I told him. I didn't mind Trevor, but I was in such a mood over the last couple weeks (and let's be honest, I knew it was because Connor was gone) and I didn't feel like small talk.
"Cool, I thought it was worth a shot." He rocked back and forth on his heels as he studied me. "So, uh, where's...?"
"He's gone." I turned then, busying my hands with adding a plate and a few glasses to the dishwasher.
"Is he your boyfriend?"
I stilled, placing my hands on the edge of the counter and closed my eyes.
No.
Yes.
No, because if he were, he would be here right now and I wouldn't be wondering about when he would call and what happened next between us. "I don't know, Trevor." I figured honesty was the best policy, because if I open
ed my eyes, I could take a hint that Trevor was interested. And all this time that we'd been friends, I was too busy focusing on working and painting to heed him much attention.
"You okay?" I heard him take a few steps closer to me, uncertainty lacing his voice.
I turned and looked him in the eyes. "I'm fine, but thanks. Just a rough few days is all."
Understanding crossed his face. "Okay. I'm here across the hall if you need me. Beer or hugs or meaningless sex..." he drifted off, winking at me.
"Trevor!" I laughed and swatted him playfully. "Thanks."
He stepped out and as I closed the door, a hand caught it.
Connor stood in the doorway.
Thirty-Four
A lump lodged in my throat.
I stopped breathing, taking him in. He was dressed in jeans and boots, a red gingham checked untucked shirt and wool jacket. He was clean shaven yet looked as if he hadn't slept in days. He leaned against the door jamb, thumbs through his belt loops.
"Are you planning on having meaningless sex with him?" He jerked his thumb in Trevor's direction. He raised his eyebrows at me.
I shook my head, biting my lip to keep the smile from stretching across my face the way it was pulling at my mouth.
"Can I come in?"
I stepped back to let him in and he made his way to the kitchen. Instead of sitting, I leaned across the corner of the counter and waited. The silence was deafening. We studied each other for a moment, until he finally reached across and ran the back of his hand gently down my face.
"What are you doing here?" I pulled out his reach. I couldn't take it. The last two weeks were so hard not knowing if I would hear from him, and the not knowing was wearing me down.
"I retired."
His statement had me whipping my head up to meet his gaze from where I was studying my hands. "You what?"
"I no longer work for the FBI. I retired."
"Can you just do that?"
"I can do anything I want."
"Wait, back up. What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, darlin'" he paused, “I'm saying I'm back in Charleston…for good. I'm starting a business."
A multitude of thoughts went through my head at the same time. I was excited but couldn't stop the anger that boiled up. "You left me hanging for two weeks and you turn up to tell me you quit your job and now you're coming back?" My voice went up in pitch. Saying the words made this scenario sound even more ludicrous and in turn, made me angrier. "I--I don't know what to say to you." I pushed off the counter and paced the length of the studio.
He was behind me in seconds, grabbing my arms and spinning me around. "Hey..."
"No! No, you can't just do this. You don't know what I've been through the last two weeks without you here."
"Tell me." He kept a firm grip on my arms, holding me in place.
"You didn't call." I stopped, wrestling with the most important piece.
"And what else?"
I took a deep breath. "What's happening here?" I motioned between us. "I don't know about you, but I was all in. And I thought you weren't coming back." And saying the words, the anger left, and my eyes filled. I was so tired of crying, but it was there, and the tears were falling.
"Alabama." His voice repeating the familiar nickname washed over me, and he rested his forehead against mine before wrapping his arms around me. We stayed like that, holding each other up, taking comfort in each other. My body was still betraying me and enjoying the warmth of him, appreciating how good he smelled and the way it felt to be held. "I'm sorry," he whispered in my ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. I knew I needed to reconcile the FBI. I had to close out the investigation and then me retiring officially. I can't even think straight around you, Emma, you know that. No, I'm not leaving you. If you'll have me, I'm yours. If you'll let me, let's give us an honest try. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”
Epilogue
Ten months later
The oppressive heat of the summer was forgotten like a faded memory and November whipped colorful leaves around Charleston with its frigid temperatures and wind gusts. A flock of geese squawked overhead, presumably heading south. The city had begun decorating for Christmas. White Christmas lights twinkled on the lamp posts, reminding me Thanksgiving was three days away. For the first time, I was looking forward to spending the holidays with Connor, Abby and Peter and their adorable kids.
I hitched my oversized bag over my shoulder, adjusting for its weight of blank sketchbooks I liked to carry with me. The community art center was buzzing since so many of its resident artists worked later hours in the evening than I did. I didn't mind. I liked having a similar schedule to Connor's. My flexibility in my schedule allowed me to keep similar hours to his, giving us more time together each day. I checked my watch, noting that I had a few minutes to myself. I crossed the street and looked at the Charles River flowing through Charleston. It was hard to believe how much had changed since I’d arrived in Charleston earlier this year. I’d been living in Charleston for almost a year, but I was a different person now. I was living a life better than I could have dreamed up for myself.
Once Connor returned from DC to Charleston for good, that meant he'd had to give up the rental house. I was more than happy to share my studio and have his company. We couldn't get enough of each other during those first weeks.
My sales had picked up significantly, with buyers reaching out to me directly and Nina. Commissions were trickling in. My abstract animal portraits were popular, as well as the abstract women. Nobody was more surprised when Anthropologie reached out, asking about potential for textiles, and another designer wanted wallpaper.
Gianni Sgambati pled guilty to the kidnapping charges against him, among a host of other charges including illegal weapons sales and terrorism. Because of that, I wasn't required to testify. Stefano Sgambati died that day in the warehouse, and I wouldn't have it end any differently. He terrorized my life and so many other people died at his hands. The weapons he had crated and was planning to ship were evidence of even more death. Maybe it makes me a bad person that I don't regret pulling the trigger that day. He would have killed me and Caty that day.
Caty and I haven't seen each other since that day in the warehouse. Connor told me she received probation and a lesser count of the kidnapping charge, but she lost the privilege to practice law. Her family's restaurant closed, and I heard through Charleston gossip that the Drakes moved away.
Abby Donovan had been persistent in getting to know me since meeting me. She invited me everywhere. To lunch. To yoga. To the park to watch her kids play while we drank coffee. To help me put my apartment together with the replacement furniture. That last one she invited herself. She had squeezed her way in my life. I knew I was hesitant to trust, especially after Caty's betrayal, but Abby had shown me through her actions that she cared about me and followed through on her promises. It was a bonus that she was Connor's sister and we formed our own friendship.
I pushed away from the railing and walked back to the main road, ordering an Uber on the way. A few minutes later I was on the way to meet Connor at the address he'd texted me, a house he wanted me to see. We'd been sharing my studio since he returned to Charleston and left the FBI. He had since started his own private security firm. And while my studio was tiny it had worked for the time being with Connor building his business and me now working in the artist collective. House hunting with Connor felt delightfully adult, and I kept pinching myself that this was my life. Connor was adamant the studio wasn't working for us long term.
The car dropped me off in a suburban neighborhood ten minutes later. I glanced around the street and at the house in front of me. The street was quiet, with pine trees and palms dotting the street. The house where I was meeting Connor was one of the smaller ones on the street and in need of a fresh coat of paint. There was a small porch and garage and a yard that needed weeding and mowing. But my eyes didn’t see any of that. I pictured myself plantin
g flowers and sweet green grass perfuming the air in the spring.
“What do you think?” Connor greeted me as he stepped out onto the porch and gathering me in for a kiss. I breathed in his familiar scent and let him kiss me deeply.
I smiled and looked up into his face. “It’s got great potential. Is there a catch?”
He chuckled. “Always looking for the catch, Alabama. No there’s no catch. It just came on the market this morning. The homeowners passed away recently and their children decided to sell as is, rather than spend the time sprucing it up.”
I frowned. “That’s too bad about the couple. Let’s see it.” I didn’t have a long list of what I wanted in a house. Enough space for the two of us, a roof over our heads and I would be happy. A garden would be a bonus since I’d never had that luxury before, but habit kept me from getting my hopes up. So far, this house looked like a good fit to me, garden included.
The last of the evening light poured in from the windows onto the dusty hardwoods. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint but that was easy. Painting I knew. There were three bedrooms, and as we walked through the house, I mulled over how we would use the extra rooms. The kitchen was a little dated and I nodded in agreement to Connor talking about updating it. There was a backyard with another deck that I liked and immediately pictured us out there hosting a barbecue with children and dogs running around.
The house was cozy, and I thought of the previous homeowners and the life they lived here. Their children hadn’t done much to clean it up at all, but I had all the good feelings here.
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