Rare and Precious Things

by Raine Miller

  Wow. Just wow. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this reality. I didn’t know what to say to him, or how to respond, so we just sat there in silence together for a minute. He didn’t even know about the other sordid history connected to the whole mess—the reason behind the deaths of Montrose and Fielding, Karl’s blackmail attempt, my father’s murder—were all because of that video. Lance wouldn’t hear it from me, either. The events had played themselves out, and it was time to put them into the ground for good. Nothing would ever change my greatest loss, by bringing my dad back to me.

  I cradled my stomach protectively, needing reassurance from something pure and innocent. So much ugliness in my twenty-five years—surely I could find beauty and peace moving forward. And just like a message from above, I was rewarded with a little nudge right under my ribs as if to say, “I’m still here and I know you’re my mom.” Yes, my butterfly angel, I am.

  “So, your life changed after that night…just like mine,” I said after a moment.

  “Yes. The choices I made that night changed everything.”

  WE said our goodbyes on the busy street with more of the media circus I’d experienced before, with security, and drivers, and photographers. I really needed to get back to the flat to start dinner for Ethan as this was our last night together for a week. He had to leave for Switzerland very early in the morning.

  The whole meeting with Lance had been on the bizarre side of things, but I felt so much lighter with my guilt after hearing his revelation. Still ashamed of my behavior that brought me to be on that pool table seven years ago, but a great deal of the self-loathing was freed for me. I felt tremendous relief, and for the first time, felt like the feeling might actually remain with me.

  “Thank you, Lance.”

  He looked at me curiously. “Why, Brynne?”

  “For telling me your story. For some reason, it helps me to let go…of it.” I rested a hand on the top of my belly, unable to explain such a private thought with any kind of clear understanding, but it made perfect sense to me. “I’ll be a mother soon, and I want my baby to have a mom who can hold her head up, and know she didn’t do anything wrong, that she’s a good person, who did a stupid thing in a long line of stupid things.”

  “You are a good person, Brynne…and we all do stupid things, unfortunately. And sometimes bad things happen to us without any intervention from the stupid things we do.” He looked down at his prosthetic.

  “What will you do now, Lance?”

  “Go back home and figure out what I can do now that I’m done with the Army. Learn to live with one leg. Maybe go back to school and finally get my law degree.”

  “You should do it then, if that’s what you want.” I smiled. “I bet the stuffy law professors at Stanford will just love all your ink.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, about as much as the people in D.C., but it’s good to shake things up once in a while.” His driver opened the car door, signaling that it was time to go.

  “I think you’re being summoned,” I said, gesturing toward the car.

  “Yeah.” He looked like he had more to say as his eyes studied me. “Brynne?”

  “Yes, Lance?”

  “Telling you helped me, too. More than you can ever know. You deserved to hear it from me a long time ago. So thank you again, for seeing me.” He sucked in a deep breath as if he was gathering strength. “You’re more beautiful now than when you were seventeen, and I’m so glad I got to see you pregnant. You’re going to be a wonderful mother. And I want you to remember that you’re beautiful in spite of how we sometimes see ourselves. I’m going to remember you just like you are right now.” He finished with a smile, but I could see how all the confessing was starting to get to him. This meeting had been emotional for him, for me—and now it was time for us to say goodbye to each other.

  I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his many compliments, but again, they were heartening to hear from him. “I wish you well, Lance.” I put out my hand. “I hope you get the chance to pursue your own dreams now.”

  He took my offered hand and leaned into me for a half-hug, and even a press of his cheek to mine. Then he got into the back of the limousine, the window tint so dark he was made invisible to me the instant the door closed behind him.

  And just like that, Lance Oakley was gone.

  THE drizzle was strangely comforting on my walk home. It reminded me of the dreary days I’d learned to get used to when the climate was still new to me. In the beginning, when I first moved to London, I missed the California sunshine. But as I blossomed in my new environment, immersing myself with school and the heavy cultural influences around me, I grew to love the London rain. So, as the drizzly drops scattered over my purple hat and scarf, I wasn’t bothered a bit. The rain had always felt cleansing to me.

  I walked faster, hurrying to make it home before Ethan discovered my absence, and the questions he would have about where I’d been. I knew I absolutely wasn’t ready to discuss Lance with him yet. I owned the truth about what had happened to me seven years ago at that party, and re-hashing it again in conversation was not something I was quite ready to share, even with Ethan. He would have to understand that I needed to do this my way, and trust in me to make the best decision for myself. And, in many ways, for us. Ethan should understand the process now as he was finally into therapy himself. Being forced to re-live traumatic events did not always help the victim. Sometimes it hurt badly.

  I pushed through the heavy glass doors of our building and waved to Claude as I headed for the elevator. I pressed the button and waited, feeling a little sweaty now that I was out of the rain. I dragged off my hat and figured I now sported mega hat-hair, and hoped I wouldn’t have to ride up with anyone, to spare him or her the sight of me.

  The doors opened and out came a tall blonde I’d seen before. Sarah Hastings was dabbing at the corner of her eye with a floral handkerchief, as if she were drying tears.

  She stopped abruptly, realizing I’d spotted her, and it was too late to pretend I hadn’t. “Oh, Brynne, hello, it’s me, Sarah. Do you remember me from Neil’s wedding?”

  “Yes, of course, I remember you. How are you?” What I really wanted to ask her was a bit different: Why are you coming out of my building, and were you just up with Ethan?

  I had my reasons to be wary of Sarah, though. The texts from Ethan on her phone were one annoying thing, but when she called him later that evening, my wifely intuition perked up. And now she was here at our home meeting with him? I got the feeling she was using him, or possibly something more, and I did not like it one little bit. I also knew how hard it was for Ethan to interact with her. Ethan’s worst trauma had been the loss of Mike while they were prisoners. He’d been forced to watch the murder and was tortured emotionally throughout. It was horrible for him to have to re-live the events through Sarah each time she called, or wanted to reminisce, or whatever the hell she was trying to do with my husband.

  She swept her eyes over me, took in my swelling pregnant self, and much to my irritation, the messy hair and damp skin. I knew I looked ghastly. “Oh, I’m just leaving now, but I’m fine, thank you.” She blinked and looked down at the ground. Her eyes were red and it was apparent to me she’d been crying.

  “Are you sure? You look upset.”

  “Actually, I’ve just left your husband—there was—something I needed…to give him.”

  “May I ask what that was?” I asked, boldly.

  “Um…I think you have to ask Ethan, Brynne, I’m not at liberty to say.” She shook her head and looked pained to be standing and talking to me. Sarah Hastings resented me, and if I had to peg her further, I’d say she felt guilty about it, too. Maybe she begrudged the life Ethan and I were living together…while she had only memories of Mike.

  Exactly what I was afraid of. The feelings coursing through me were unwelcome and unpleasant. I felt jealous and useless at the same time. I didn’t know what to say to her so I just nodded and stepped into the elev
ator. Sarah had already turned away when the doors closed.

  When I let myself into the flat I anticipated Ethan to be right there tapping his foot, but he wasn’t. Things were quiet. It wasn’t Annabelle’s day so I wasn’t expecting her to be around, but Ethan knew I planned on cooking tonight so we could have a quiet evening together before he left for his trip.

  I checked our bedroom, thinking he might be in there packing, but he wasn’t. I headed back through the great room toward the other side of the flat, when I smelled the cloves. The door to his office was closed, but I peeked in without knocking. The room was dark except for two forms of illumination: the aquarium and the burning tip of his Djarum Black.

  “You’re in here.” My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and caught a glimpse of his face through the shadows. He looked grim as he sat there smoking in his study. Not happy to see me. No real acknowledgment. “Is everything all right?” I asked, stepping forward.

  “You’re back,” he said idly. He just sat there staring at me, the bright lights of the tank framing him from behind, Simba and Dory swimming peacefully among the pieces of bright coral, as he ignored my question.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” I wondered if he would tell me about Sarah’s visit. It was pretty clear that he was upset over it. He tended to go on a smoking fit after a bad dream or a flashback. Meeting or talking to Sarah seemed to bring about the same sorts of coping behaviors in him, but he smoked outside now exclusively, so doing it inside his office was my first clue that something wasn’t right. I wanted him to tell me about their conversations, but so far he hadn’t shared. I didn’t push him, as I’d promised, but it hurt me that Ethan could apparently speak to Sarah about things that he couldn’t with me. She could help him but I couldn’t? I wasn’t happy with how his reaching out to Sarah made me feel, but felt I couldn’t complain or bother him with it because it would just make things harder for him. I never wanted to be the one responsible for bringing Ethan more hurt and stress than he already had to deal with.

  “How was your walk?” he asked, stubbing out his cigarette and standing. “I don’t want you in here breathing this shit.”

  “Then why are you smoking in the house?” His manner was so cold, I felt a shiver of nervousness catch me.

  “My bad.” He stalked toward me and steered me out with a firm hand to my back. There would be no resisting and no arguing, I could see that plain as day in the rigidity of his stance as he moved beside me.

  We came into the kitchen where he left me to sit at the bar. He often sat there while I cooked dinner, either working on a laptop or asking about my day. But he didn’t look like he wanted to chat when he set his phone on the granite countertop with a clap. He looked up at me and folded his hands. His eyes told me he was fuming, swirling dark blue and searing.

  I swallowed and tried again. “Ethan, did something happen to upset you?”

  He raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t answer the question. I realized he hadn’t answered a single question I’d asked him since I’d come home.

  “Where did you go for your walk, baby?” He’s answering everything with questions of his own.

  “I walked to Hot Java,” I said slowly, but getting the feeling he already knew. “Do you have something to say to me, Ethan?”

  “No, my darling, I don’t, but I very much think you do.” He picked up his phone and held the screen up for me to see.

  Lance Oakley embracing me on the street.

  CHAPTER 16

  9th January

  Switzerland

  THE young prince was quite the Renaissance man, I had discovered. He had skills on the slopes, and with the ladies as well. No wonder his grandfather was worried about him. The lad might very well be in some real serious danger here at XT Europe.

  Of death-by-fucking.

  The screaming shag-party he had going right now on the other side of the wall, fouled my mood even further. I was in sheer hell here—the teenage fuckathon next door notwithstanding. What I needed was to speak to Brynne and to hear her voice. The one thing might make the next days marginally bearable.

  We hadn’t parted well at all. A hideous row over keeping secrets. When the photos of her meeting Oakley were sent out in a Tweet, I received the alert straight away. I was utterly shocked of course, but when she got home, and I realized she wasn’t going to tell me why she would go behind my back to meet the man who ruined her life and nearly gotten her killed—I lost it.

  Lost. Exactly how I feel right now, without my girl.

  I topped off my glass from the bottle of Van Gogh and took a swig. My drink of choice—when I needed it. I surely fucking needed it to get to sleep tonight if the “oh, fuck yes’s” and “yeah, baby’s” didn’t shut off soon. Surely His Royal Highness would be shagged to within an inch of his life soon, and quiet might be a possibility. Please, blessed Christ.

  Brynne didn’t tell me anything about her visit with Oakley, during, or even after our row. I still didn’t know why she’d gone to meet him. Maybe I would never know.

  She just kept telling me the same thing over and over. I can’t talk about it right now, Ethan, and you’ll have to just accept that until something changes for me.

  When I pushed her to tell me, she got angry and bit back with accusations about Sarah and our “private” meetings, saying I was shutting her out in favour of Sarah. Was I? I didn’t think so, but then, when Brynne asked why Sarah had been to the flat to see me that night, I couldn’t tell her. I wasn’t ready yet.

  Her face had revealed how hurt she was, but I imagined mine did, too. We’d never quite been in this position before in our relationship. Both of us standing our ground on silent issues that had shaped so much of how we were made. It bloody sucked.

  I think we could have worked things out if we’d had more time.

  There had been no time, though. I’d had to come to this shitting job and leave her behind, pregnant and sad, and on her own. Well, not totally on her own. Neil and Elaina were keeping a close watch for me.

  My girl and I were due some serious attention to our problems when I returned, and I’d said as much to her when I had to leave very early the next morning.

  She had tears in her eyes, which were red and swollen, when she nodded and agreed with me.

  When I kissed her goodbye, her sweet lips melted beneath mine and her arms came up to hold me tightly against her scented softness. I hated to pull away. I had to though, and it fucking hurt me to have to do it. I had hope we’d solve our differences, and work through the doubts both of us were carrying. I wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

  She held my face with her hands and told me, “Come back to me.” I knew her words meant more than just my physical presence. I understood what she meant.

  “Nothing could ever stop me from coming back to you,” I said. “Or you, little one,” I whispered against her belly.

  And I believed that.

  THE banging that woke me was not the nice kind. In fact, whoever was doing it might need a lesson in etiquette, via my fists if they didn’t stop fucking about.

  “Ethan! Get up, man! We want to go for a backcountry run!”

  I blinked at the bedside clock. 3:12 a.m. Stumbling out of my warm bed, I answered the door to find my young charge geared up and grinning wide.

  “Now?” I barked. “You’re going up now, Christian?” I might have hoped I was dreaming him in front of me, but sadly, I knew I wasn’t.

  He laughed, “Yeah, man, suit up. It’s a dead day otherwise. We leave now and can be up at the top by daylight. I need to blow off some steam before tomorrow.”

  “You didn’t already? What was all the shag-racket from earlier then?” It was a valid question. When the fuck did this kid sleep was another. He had the world at his feet with his money, good-looks, royal status, and celebrity. He had it all going for him. I couldn’t really blame Christian for any of that, but he still managed to annoy the motherfucking shit out of me.

  “That was j
ust my bedtime story.” He shrugged happily and teetered on his toes, looking wired and anxious to get going. I highly doubted he was on anything because if he was he’d be DQ’d for doping and his snowboarding career finished. I think it was just his natural exuberance…and being bloody nineteen years old. Good Lord Bollocks. If our child is this hyper, I am fucked. Might as well crawl into an early grave and get it over with.

  I shook my head at him and rolled my eyes. “Give me a minute to get my kit together, would you?”

  “Sure thing, man.” He grinned again, and for the first time in my life I felt rather old.

  CHRISTIAN and his entourage of four compatriots chose deep snow not far off-piste, but I didn’t let that give me a false sense of security because I was well aware there were risks to doing it. I told them straight up before we set out, to have their shovel and probe kit in their packs and their beacons on them. I’d seen how people become euphoric in the backcountry, and lose sight of danger. Snowpack could change so quickly, and a span of just a few feet could have different conditions. I’d witnessed skiers on slopes right next to avalanche slides like it was a completely normal thing to do. Some of them ended up dead eventually, from just that sort of mentality, too.

  “Remember what I said—aim your board towards any trees or the ridge of the mountain if you hear a roaring sound behind you.” I eyeballed each one. “And don’t slow your ride. Keep going no matter what.”

  Christian snickered, his eyes laughing at me. “Yes, Dad,” he said. I noticed the colour of his eyes was like Brynne’s—they changed with the light, and with different hues of clothing. It made me miss her even more.