Her Hidden Past

by Michela DiMarco

  “You boys are in so much trouble!” yelled Mary from the kitchen. “I can’t believe that Rachel caught you two opening the door trying to look at her! I know this isn’t easy, but the sacrifices you two will be making are measly compared to everything she has given up. And now you’re violating her privacy?!”

  “We didn’t see anything!” Ben yelled back as he and Gabe raced into the kitchen and jumped into the chairs at the island counter.

  “Yeah!” echoed Gabe as he shoved Ben’s arm.

  “Enough!” snapped Mary. “You both are grounded. No leaving the house today. I don’t want to hear another word about it. She’ll be down any minute.” Mary walked out of the kitchen, leaving the brothers to finish their squabble.

  Gabe kicked Ben’s leg under the table. “It’s your fault! I always get in trouble because of your bad ideas. I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day.”

  Ben smirked, whispering, “She didn’t say we couldn’t have friends over. Don’t argue back. Let’s just wait a few hours until she’ll be distracted with the new girl. Then we’ll have some people over.”

  “Are you going to call Sara?” Gabe made a pouting face at Ben. “How far did you get with her?”

  “Shut up! I’m not telling you, Sick-o!” Ben jabbed back at his brother. “Nobody is coming over, you two,” Greg said calmly as he walked into the kitchen and picked up a piece of bacon. “I’m not happy that you guys were snooping. We need to help Amber get acclimated, so can you both please try to make her feel welcome?”

  Both boys nodded in agreement. Mary walked back into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. She sat down at the counter next to her sons.

  “I mean it,” she said, sighing. “You’ll both be so grounded if you don’t conform to what your father and I see as an acceptable behavioral standard these next few days.” The boys began laughing and repeating the words acceptable behavioral standard over and over. Their mom had been known to overreact at first and then backtrack after some time had gone by.

  “I thought we were already grounded,” mocked Ben, acting confused about the condition of his punishment.

  “You are,” Mary answered. “. . . Or you’re not. I don’t know, you sort of are. Nobody’s leaving the house today and nobody’s coming over, either! We are going to get to know Amber and let her get to know us, and that’s not up for discussion,” she said before the boys could argue with her.

  Greg walked to his office and sat back down in his chair. He saw Amber coming down the stairs and got up to greet her. As she approached, he extended his hand.

  “Good morning, Amber. I’m Greg Thompson.” She shook his hand. “I’m . . . umm . . . Amber.” He led her into the office and she followed with caution, taking a seat across from his desk. As he looked at her, Greg wondered what she was like and how all of this was going to change her. It was unrealistic to assume that she wouldn’t be affected by the tragic loss of her family and her whole new living arrangement.

  What he saw was a beautiful young girl, petite at about five-foot-two. She was looking down, her hair covering her golden-dark face and pink cheeks, the color of a native Californian. Her blue eyes were clear as the sky, yet he could see no hope in them. Her arms were folded across her chest, and Greg could see she was nervous. She bit the inside of her cheek and swung her legs. She slowly glanced up at Greg not wanting to know what he was going to say.

  Her stomach wretched with pain. She gripped her arms tighter trying to control her anxiety. Her entire body ached. “Did you sleep okay last night?” he asked.

  “I don’t really remember,” she mumbled.

  “I work for the FBI, but I have a friend who works for the U.S. Marshals Service, with the Witness Protection Program. That’s how you got here, to me and my family.” He realized how insensitive he sounded. “I’m sorry to hear about your family.”

  Amber nodded. It was all she could do to acknowledge what had happened two weeks prior. Her life had been like a tornado, and every moment seemed as if it had lasted forever. Her mind began to wander as Greg started to speak again.

  “I know you’ve been moving around quite a bit between hotels and such, but we wanted to give you a home that was safe and the stability to be part of a family. You’re going to be living here with us from now on. My wife Mary and I have two sons about your age, Ben and Gabe. Mary is absolutely thrilled to have another girl in the house.”

  Amber just sat there. Her legs were still swinging, but the blue eyes staring at Greg were empty. He wondered if this was a mistake, taking someone in who had lost all she had lost, who had seen what she had seen. Maybe they were expecting too much from Amber. But it was too late to change his mind now—he had just promised her stability. “We have a pool,” Greg started again. “Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but we have two, actually. They both came with the house. The people who lived here before us must have loved swimming, because the outdoor season only lasts a few months here. Not like where you’re from. I heard you’re a great swimmer.”

  Amber’s lips moved into a half smile. “I love being in the pool.”

  For Amber, swimming had always been an integral part of her life. Her backyard in California had a swimming pool that looked out into the ocean. She spent almost every day in the pool. Her summer mornings were spent in the pool with her swim team; her afternoons were spent on a lawn chair or floating in a raft. During the school year, Amber had swim practice after school. She had qualified for the California State Meet for the last three years, but had never gone any further than that. Swimming was her alone time with her thoughts. If she wasn’t thinking, she was replaying a tune over and over in her head. No matter how fast or slow a song was or how well one knew the lyrics, a swimmer could always adapt a song and swim to the rhythm. Sometimes it would be a verse, sometimes just a line. But that same tune would repeat the entire time. Once Amber got in a groove, there was no stopping her. She could escape for hours.

  “Good,” replied Greg with a big smile. “We also belong to a country club, so if you ever want to join a team in the summer, just let us know. Or you can join the swim team at school. In fact, that’s one of the reasons we thought this would be a good fit for you. Mary and I are going to be your guardians to help facilitate your care.” That wasn’t the word Greg wanted to use. It sounded as if he were guarding a patient. “What I mean is . . . all your financial matters are being taken care of, so if you need or want anything, just ask. No big-screen TV’s or anything, but you don’t ever need to worry about money, because there has been a trust set up for you.”

  Rachel walked into the office and sat down on the chair next to Amber, putting a reassuring hand on the girl’s knee. She started to explain what the Witness Protection Program was, and why they thought she needed protection.

  Amber wasn’t paying attention. Instead she noticed the bags under Rachel’s eyes and wondered if she had slept at all. Maybe Rachel wasn’t her enemy for bringing her here. After all, she had gone to great lengths to place her in a house where she could escape in the cold waters of a pool anytime she wanted. Being in the water was second nature to Amber. She had been a swimmer most of her life.

  “So, based on the imminent danger to your life . . .” continued Rachel.

  “What?” interrupted Amber. “My life is in danger?”

  Rachel hesitated, not used to dealing with children. “Amber, I know that you’ve been through so much, much more than anyone should have to deal with in a lifetime. We believe that your life is in real danger.” Rachel looked at Greg for some sort of confirmation. “Right now there are no leads as to why your family was a target. Given the . . . the nature of the crime, we believe this is the safest place for you to be.”

  The words lingered in the air for minutes. She couldn’t imagine what happened to her family. Did they die quickly? Did they feel pain? Rachel continued to talk. Under no circumstances was Amber to make contact with her former family or friend
s. She would never return to San Clemente, California, or any place where she would be recognized.

  “Amber, do you understand?” She nodded. It wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to do this alone? Greg and Rachel assisted Amber in picking a new name, despite her insistence that she wanted to keep her name.

  “How about at least my first name? I’ll change my last name if I have to. Amber is a common name!”

  They objected, assuring her that it was for her own safety. After a few minutes, she chose her middle name, Elizabeth. She was once again shot down. She began looking at names in a baby book that Greg handed her. There had to be at least twenty names on each page with origins, descriptions of what the names meant, and the nicknames or root names that went along with each one. The entire process was overwhelming. She was beginning to get discouraged when she came across the name “Brooklyn.”

  “My dad was from Brooklyn, New York. Can I do that one?”

  “Of course,” encouraged Greg.

  “Do I look like a Brooklyn?”

  “I think you make a beautiful Brooklyn.” Rachel smiled.

  “Brooklyn Thompson,” Greg said. “That’s a pretty name. From now on, that’s who you’re going to be.”

  “I guess it’s pretty good. It’s sort of weird picking out my own name.”

  “You did great,” Greg said, trying to give her some encouragement.

  Rachel stood and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Brooklyn Thompson it is. I’ll file it with the U.S. Department of Justice. Once again, she was only about getting her job done.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  “People are going to wonder where you came from,” mentioned Greg. “I have a brother who lives in San Francisco with a daughter a few years younger than you. You are my niece, and my brother—your father—is being relocated to Germany for work for about a year. Instead of uprooting you and taking you halfway around the world, you came here to live with us for a while. The boys already know everything.”

  “Okay,” said a solemn Brooklyn. “So, I have to pretend that my family is alive on a European vacation . . . and I never had a brother?”

  “It’s for your own safety.” Those words were beginning to sound like a broken record. “In a few months, you’ll start school here and slowly you’ll become assimilated into your new life.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’ll get adjusted.”

  “What do I do until then?”

  Her blue eyes were pleading with him again. He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. He had never been in this situation. He had never taken someone into his home who needed protecting, let alone someone who was still a child. With her family’s murder, there was a statistical probability that Brooklyn would suffer from some sort of mental-health problem, educational difficulties, alcohol or drug abuse,. She was already being treated for PTSD—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in California—and would begin regular sessions with a therapist soon.

  “Greg?”

  “I’m sorry. You can do whatever you want,” answered Greg. “You can sleep in, watch movies, read books, sit in the hot tub, or eat all the junk food you want. There will be some home schooling involved so you don’t get too far behind in school, but I suspect that Mary will take it easy on you.”

  Brooklyn had never been one for sitting around doing nothing. She was used to early morning and evening swim practices with school in between. If Amber was going to start a new life, she wanted to forget about the old one. It was the only way she thought she could survive.

  “I don’t want to sit around the house and think about everything that happened. Can I go to regular school if I want?”

  Greg smiled. “We’ll see how you’re doing. Now, let’s get you introduced to my beautiful wife and my snooping sons. I caught them trying to sneak a peek at you earlier this morning. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.” She looked down. “My brother and I would be doing the same thing if there was a stranger sleeping in our house.”

  Our house. The words stung.

 

  CHAPTER 5