Not Quite Alive

by Lyla Payne

  I frown, thankful that the other one doesn’t show up, and press my hands together as Lucy starts talking. I expect her to sound shaky or scared, but the words spill out in a monotone that’s almost scarier. Like she’s describing her harrowing three-year imprisonment as if it happened to someone else.

  But I saw her on that cot. Know that she didn’t have light, or exercise, or a clean place to go to the bathroom. That no one cleaned up after her when she was sick, or fed her on any kind of schedule. I don’t want to hear the details and thankfully, she doesn’t go into many. She mostly just validated what Mallory said—she was taken from where she was working in Iran and transported over the ground for maybe a week before ending up with the family in Pakistan. They kept her for three long years, losing interest in her well-being as time progressed and no one came to check on her.

  “I tried to escape, maybe half a dozen times, but they always brought me back.” Tears fill her eyes then, and my heart hurts. “I don’t even know why.”

  “We never stopped looking for you,” Birdie says, her own voice strangled. “We’re so happy you’re back.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy replies, her voice soft but true. “Thank you all so much. Especially you, Graciela. You don’t know me at all, but for some reason, you’re where my mind was pulled, and I saw…I saw you trying to help. You knew me, too.”

  Her words take me by surprise and I sit up straighter, swallowing hard and feeling a little like a deer in the headlights. I’m still not a hundred percent clear on what exactly a doppelganger is, but apparently this is a thing that is possible.

  “You’re welcome,” I croak, clearing my throat. “I thought you were…dead. I only see dead people. Normally.” I bite my lower lip to keep from babbling.

  “I almost was,” she replies, her voice still soft. Her blue eyes are strong, if pained. “I’m not sure how much longer I would have lasted without all of your help.”

  The room goes still, as if we’re all grieving what might have been. I glance over at Beau to find a tortured expression twisting his handsome features, tears shining bright in his eyes. His posture is rigid, hands gripping the arms of the straight-backed chair, and my heart twists.

  Just then, there’s a knock on the front door that makes every last one of us jump. It’s as if it breaks a spell in the room and, except for Lucy, we all shoot to our feet. My heart pounds and Brick breaths out a nervous laugh.

  “I’ll get it,” he says, striding out of the room, his footsteps fading as he moves toward the foyer.

  A moment later, two people in their fifties or sixties rush into the room and run straight for Lucy, folding her in their arms. Their sobs reverberate off the walls until I want to cover my ears. The sound of their grief breaking to pieces is happy, and sad, and distraught, and there’s no way these aren’t her parents. Beau touches my arm and tips his head toward the doorway, which Birdie and Mallory are already slipping out of to give them some privacy.

  The five of us adjourn to the kitchen, where Beau pours stiff drinks for everyone except Brick, who frowns into his club soda. Pride touches my heart—he’s doing so well, even through all of this stress. I know that his friendship with my cousin has something to do with his recovery, just as that same relationship has encouraged her back from the depression that gripped her after her awful husband’s death and the madness that followed, and I’m so, so happy they found each other.

  Whatever that ends up meaning.

  We’re quiet as we sip our drinks. There’s nothing much to say. Part of me wants to apologize again for making everyone think Lucy was dead, but it’s not my fault. I don’t know everything, and clearly, things worked out fine. Extra heartache aside.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen now, if I’m supposed to stay or go home, but I do know that Beau has barely looked at me. He hasn’t touched me, except when it was necessary to get my attention. Things have changed in the blink of an eye. I find myself thinking back to the night Brick and Birdie brought Mallory to my house—the curious feeling that washed over me, telling me everything was going to change now that this strange woman was in my radar. Maybe I saw it coming and didn’t even know it.

  Brick gets a phone call and wanders out onto the back porch. It only takes Mallory about forty-five seconds to nod off after she sits down at the kitchen table and puts her head down on her arms. Birdie slams the rest of her drink, pours another, and takes it outside.

  Beau and I are alone.

  “Are you okay?” I ask without thinking, because I have to say something. Anything.

  “I’m fine,” he answers too quickly, staying safely out of reach on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “Tired, that’s all.”

  Before I can decide what—if anything—to say to that bullshit excuse, my own phone rings. It’s Amelia, and maybe another time I would have screened it, called her back later.

  Right then, I don’t mind the excuse to extract myself, however briefly, from the awkward air between my boyfriend and me.

  “Hello?”

  “Grace?”

  The breathlessness in her voice makes me grip the phone too tight. Across from me, Beau straightens up at the change in my posture.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. But I’m in labor.” The emotion in her voice rings loud and clear through the line. “Can you please come home?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brick flies back with me, leaving Birdie to stay behind and manage both Mallory and Lucy, which I imagine is going to be quite a task. Beau is coming to Heron Creek for the big event, too, but he booked a seat on an afternoon flight because he needs to tie up a few things at work. Amelia texted me and seems calmer, saying that she’s barely dilated and the doctors think she has several hours to go.

  Regardless, I’m happy to take advantage of both Brick’s money and his intense desire to get home to my cousin, and the two of us are sitting in first class seats on a flight to Charleston an hour and a half after she called me. We don’t talk much, even though I get the feeling he’s struggling pretty hard with not ordering a drink and I should probably say something. But Amelia is good at that sort of thing, not me, so I simply sit beside him and order a ginger ale in solidarity. My stomach is a tangled mess of nerves, and I’m about to have to help Millie through a big day, so it’s best for both of us, really.

  “I need her to be okay,” he tells me, his face and voice pulled tight, as we climb into the car waiting for us at the airport.

  A twinge in my chest makes me cover his hand with my palm, the way I’ve seen my cousin do what seems like a hundred times. “She’s the strongest person I know, Brick. Amelia is going to be fine, trust me.”

  Even though I’m right about her strength, the depth of his worry infects me. Having a baby might be relatively safe these days, but it’s not without risks. It seems to take forever to arrive at the hospital in Charleston—Aunt Karen insisted her daughter make the twenty-minute drive instead of the five-minute one. For once, I agree with Aunt Karen. Charleston is bigger, and they have better resources. They also don’t know us, so maybe that makes a difference in a good way.

  Brick’s car pulls into the hospital parking lot a little over four hours after Amelia called, and he and I pretty much race each other into the building. A nurse meets my anxious breathlessness with a bemused expression and points us toward the maternity ward, and when we burst into Amelia’s room, breathless and sweating, she’s playing cards with her mother, looking as cool as a cucumber.

  Uncle Wally sits on the chair by the window reading the newspaper but gets up to give me a hug and a kiss on the top of my head, then reaches out to shake Brick’s hand.

  “Brick,” he says, a pleased, familiar tone in his voice that stills the introduction on the tip of my tongue.

  I shoot Amelia a look but she’s studiously ignoring me—when did Brick meet her parents?

  “How’s it g
oing?” I ask instead, choosing to leave that question for later. She’s having a baby, after all, so maybe now isn’t the best time to bust her balls.

  And people say I don’t have any tact.

  “Okay so far. I’m only at a three…” She trails off, her face pinching in pain, her mouth rounded in an ‘o’ as she blows out a long breath.

  Brick moves to the side of her bed not occupied by Aunt Karen and picks up Millie’s hand. “You’re doing great, just breathe through it. In through your nose, good…now out through your mouth.”

  The contraction doesn’t last too long, and some of the tension bleeds from her face. She opens her eyes and gazes up at Brick, curiosity shining in her face. “Where did you learn how to be so calming?”

  His expression turns sheepish, and the slightest bit pink. “I’ve been watching some YouTube videos on helping women through labor. Just in case.”

  The whole interaction is more than a little adorable. Aunt Karen seems about to explode with happiness and Amelia’s turning red now, too. She grasps Brick’s hand tighter. “Thank you.”

  He nods and Aunt Karen gets up to stretch, pushing her cards over to Brick. “You can play, honey. Wally and I need a break and some lunch.”

  It’s well after lunch time. That, combined with the confused expression on Uncle Wally’s face as she herds him out the door, convinces me that she’s trying to leave my cousin and Brick alone. Which only proves how dense my aunt is when it comes to these things—as if she thinks they’re going to fall in love and start a new life while she’s giving birth.

  “I’m not leaving,” I inform her. Him. Both of them.

  Amelia rolls her eyes and Brick doesn’t respond at all.

  “Tell me about D.C.,” my cousin demands, shoving the cards away.

  If I’m not mistaken, Brick looks relieved at not having to play. Maybe he doesn’t know how—I can’t imagine the Draytons sitting down for a friendly game of cards, even if they are competitive as shit.

  Brick and I exchange glances, both of us clearly hoping the other will volunteer to go first. Finally, I sigh and cave in. It’s all good news, so there’s no reason to avoid talking about it…except for the fact that it makes me remember the awkwardness with Beau.

  “It was good,” I tell her, praying that she’ll honor my reluctance to go into details. “Lucy made it back to the States and she’s doing as well as possible, I’m guessing. She got to see us and her parents before going in for more debriefings with the military and probably Congress.”

  “That’s great news,” Millie says warmly, looking up at Brick with a smile. “I know how hard you all worked to find her.”

  Another contraction prevents either of us from responding, and when it’s over, Amelia decides maybe playing cards is a good distraction after all. Brick looks a little panicked, but I rescue him from having to either tell her no or explain he doesn’t know how to play Spite and Malice by taking over Aunt Karen’s crappy hand. After shooting me a glance that serves as a silent thank you, Brick grabs Uncle Wally’s newspaper. He doesn’t leave the side of the bed, though, and for the next three hours we do our best to distract Amelia through the growing contractions.

  Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally duck in and out a few times to check on their daughter, but they’re clearly happy we’ve got the pain management and distraction under control. They go home around dinner time, once it becomes clear she’s not going to be popping Jack out for at least a few more hours, but we promise to call as soon as she starts pushing.

  My heart drops into my butt when Beau arrives. He walks to my side, gives me another awkward hug that immediately earns me a suspicious glance from Amelia. But there’s no time for her to interrogate me; they broke her water right before he arrived, and things are starting to move quickly. Beau and Brick leave the room at my cousin’s request when her pain starts to get unbearable, but she’s determined not to ask for any drugs. I’ve tried to convince her plenty of times before now that there’s no shame in an epidural. Her argument is that she’s already put the baby through enough before birth, and this is the least she can do.

  “What the hell is going on with you two?” my cousin pants between increasing her death grip on my hand and clenching her teeth. So much for getting off scot-free.

  “I don’t know. I think…I thought he was upset that I was wrong about Lucy being dead, but now I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just weird, him seeing her again and everything.”

  “I’m sure it’s weird, but that doesn’t explain why he’s acting strange with you. I mean, I’m sweating my tits off here and I felt a chill.”

  “Nice,” I inform her with a stiff smile. “And I don’t know. Something is definitely off, but he clearly isn’t ready to talk about it.”

  “You can’t avoid shit like this, Gracie. Talk to him.”

  “I will, but only after I help you have this baby, okay?”

  She doesn’t answer, panting through another contraction. The nurse comes in then and checks her cervix for what seems like the millionth time since I arrived. This time she tells Amelia to start pushing.

  Everything happens quickly, or at least it seems that way to me. I call Aunt Karen, and suddenly she’s there, materializing like a ghost. Uncle Wally waits with the guys down the hall, and my aunt and I hold a hand, a knee, anywhere we can touch her, while Amelia huffs and moans. It’s not like the movies, with a flurry of movement and a room full of people—it’s only the three of us and a nurse. Then the doctor shows up, and soon after, Jack comes squalling into the world.

  He’s perfect, like I knew he would be—all Amelia. Or rather, Anne Bonny. It’s like a gift, a little piece of genetic code that didn’t get altered in the ceremony out on that plantation all those weeks ago. His deep-red hair is thick on his tiny head. His eyes, when he opens them for a moment on Amelia’s chest, are emerald green.

  We’re all crying. Sobbing, really, as the doctor and nurse clean up and tie up and get my cousin more or less put back together. Then Brick is there, and Beau and Uncle Wally, and we’re all exclaiming over this perfect new life. I have no idea how much time passes, but my stomach tells me when it’s gone too long without food. Millie’s fallen asleep, and the baby is cradled contentedly on her chest. I know that no matter how I love them both, they need time to themselves to begin to figure out this new relationship that’s going to consume them for years on end.

  “I’m going to get some food and go take a rest,” I whisper.

  Brick’s in the chair, his head nodding toward his chest, so it appears he’s not leaving. Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally are already putting on their coats. Beau’s eyes meet mine and something in them twists my stomach into a knot. I try a smile, but his return smile lacks any enthusiasm. He seems so…unsure. As if after almost three weeks away he’s forgotten how to be my boyfriend, or how to be in the same room with me without feeling crowded.

  Whatever it is, I know that Amelia is right—we have to talk about it. The longer things go unsaid—whatever those things are—the worse it will be for us both. Like a festering sore.

  So, even though I’m dirty, tired, and high on myriad emotions, I say, “Can we talk for a few minutes before I go home?”

  He nods, and we walk together toward the empty waiting room down the hall. My heart is thudding as hard as it did the first time we met, as if telling me that this moment, the one coming, will be as life-changing as the other.

  “Gracie, I’m sorry. I know I’m acting weird but I just…all of this has hit me differently than I expected.” The words come out in a rush as Beau sinks down into an uncomfortable chair, probably the same one he’s been sitting in for hours tonight already. The whites of his eyes are cracked through with red lines so bright they look painful.

  Despite my nerves, and my fear, I sit next to him and reach for his hand the way my heart wants to. He clings to my fingers for dear life.

  “Don’t apologize for having feelings. This is a lot for anyone
to handle—Lucy coming back from the dead? It’s insane.” I hear my voice shaking, but there’s no way to stop it. “I just wish you would talk to me.”

  “We haven’t exactly had much time alone,” he says, a brief smile skittering over his mouth before falling off the other side. “And I want to, but I’m not sure exactly what to say.”

  A bunch of thoughts cross my mind at once. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling, having a woman he cared about, a woman whose fate he blamed himself for, show up again.

  Forgive him.

  “I get it. There’s not a handbook for this kind of situation. It makes sense that you don’t know how to feel.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t…I kind of feel numb, but there are a thousand feelings waiting to rush through the door the minute I crack it open. And I’m scared to do it. Scared to lose control of my heart again like that.”

  “You still love her.” I say the words before I realize that they’ve formed in my mouth. They feel true on my tongue.

  I’ve caught him off-guard, but he takes a deep breath, then another, and nods. “I do. I never stopped, but when I thought she was dead, I didn’t think I had to. It wasn’t weird, to still love her and love you, too, but now…I love you both, Gracie, and I don’t know how to make sense of that.”

  My heart shatters into pieces that scatter in my blood. This man that I love is hurting, and he’s telling me he loves another woman, and together, those two things mean the last thing in the world I can do is hate him.

  I want to. I want to be mad, to scream and stomp off, but how?

  “It’s been two days. That’s not much time to make sense of anything.”

  “Why are you being so great?” There are tears in his eyes as he pulls his hand out of mine. “Get angry.”

  “I can’t,” I say, as simply as I feel it. “I love you and I hate that you’re hurting.”

  “I hate that I’m hurting you,” he replies, his voice hoarse. “I feel like an asshole.”