Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6)

by Cecilia London

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  Sophie glared at her sister, putting her arms around Jack and Caroline. “Stop being a bitch, Mo.”

  “Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Jack interjected. “She just needs a minute. Right?”

  “And where the hell have you been, Jack?” Marguerite asked.

  “Marguerite,” Christine said. “Stop it.”

  Caroline had forgotten Chrissy was still in the room. “It’s okay,” she said.

  Marguerite reddened. Her anger was getting the best of her. “No,” she said. “It’s not. Where the fuck have you been?”

  Christine pointed at her. “Stop it right now. You don’t know what your mother and stepfather went through to get here.”

  “They don’t know what we went through either. It’s been two years. Where have they been?”

  “That’s enough,” Christine snapped. “You are not going to treat your parents this way.”

  “I can treat them however I want. I want answers.”

  “You can get them later, if your parents want to tell you. For someone who wants to be dealt with as an adult, you sure as hell aren’t acting like one.” Christine turned to Caroline with a pained expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Punky. I told you they’d be happy to see you. I thought-”

  Their emotions would be the ruin of them all. “Chrissy-”

  Christine waved her off. “Excuse me,” she said shakily, and hurried toward her bedroom.

  Caroline heard the door click shut. A soft, unobtrusive noise. She felt like a spectator in her own life, watching someone else direct the scenes, make the moves, determine the outcome. Now her best friend was caught up in it. She put her head in her hands. Sophie leaned over and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

  “It’s okay, mommy,” she whispered.

  Her child could try to grant her absolution, but Caroline had to pardon herself first. Which was damn near impossible. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  “Let me handle this.” Jack patted her back, getting up from the couch. “Up until a couple of days ago we thought you were dead,” he said. “Maybe you should cut your mother some slack. She’s suffered enormously during the last two years, especially after she believed she’d lost you.” He knelt down. “Don’t get worked up, sweetheart.”

  “I told you, Jack,” she whispered. “I told you they’d be mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” Sophie said, her voice trembling. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please stop crying.”

  Caroline lifted her head up. “Don’t be mad, Mo. Please.”

  Marguerite stared at her, covering her mouth with a quivering hand. Caroline squeezed Sophie’s knee and got up from the couch, her arms outstretched. “We got here as soon as we could,” she said. “Please believe me.” She reached toward Marguerite, who pushed her away.

  “Don’t.”

  Caroline reached toward her again, and Marguerite stepped backward.

  “Don’t,” she repeated, her eyes filling with tears.

  Caroline reached toward her a third time, grabbing her in a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “I never meant to leave you. Don’t be mad.”

  Marguerite let out an exasperated breath but didn’t squirm away. “Don’t tell me how to feel!”

  “I’m angry too, about a lot of things. Please don’t take it out on me.” Her voice broke as she pulled her daughter closer. She just had to hold on. Her bold, tenacious firstborn was almost a head taller than her now, but she’d return the hug. Even if Caroline couldn’t forgive herself, surely her children were better than that. “I’ve missed you so much. Please don’t do this.”

  The slight slump of a shoulder. The lean. The arms tightening around her neck. Marguerite started to cry. “Where were you? What took you so long?”

  “We didn’t know. We thought you were gone.”

  Marguerite let out a sob. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s okay.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I’m so happy to see you, my little Mo Mo.”

  Marguerite actually laughed. “You had to stand on your tiptoes to kiss me. I’m not little.”

  This was true. “You’ll always be my munchkin.”

  Her daughter pressed her face into her shoulder. “What happened to you?”

  God, what a loaded question. Caroline hugged her close. “We don’t have to talk about that yet. I’d just like to hold you for a while.” They’d all do better if they could get past the storm and wait for the rainbow to appear. She led her daughter to the couch. “Can you please be nice to Jack even though he just yelled at you?”

  Marguerite let out a little chuckle. “I guess so.” She gave him a firm hug.

  “Hi, kiddo,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. He sat down on the couch and put his arms around Sophie, who snuggled into his shoulder.

  Caroline wiped her eyes. The door to Christine’s room was still shut. “I need to check on Aunt Chrissy.”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” Marguerite leaned in for another hug. “Now everyone is upset. I’m sorry.”

  Caroline would take affection wherever she could get it. “Don’t worry about it, Mo. I’m sure Chrissy is fine. She’s had a long day. We all have.”

  “What about you? Are you fine?”

  Getting there. “Much better now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Marguerite said. “I should apologize.”

  “You don’t have to do it right now.”

  She gave her mother a small smile. “It’s the proper thing to do.”

  Caroline knocked softly on the door. “It’s just me, Chrissy. Can I come in?” She turned to Marguerite. “If she doesn’t answer in five seconds, I’m going in anyway. Unless she locked us out.”

  Marguerite shook her head. “I can’t figure out why she ever put up with you.”

  She opened the door a crack and looked around. Christine was sitting on the bed. Her eyes were red. She didn’t say anything. Caroline wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “I lied. I have Mo with me. Can we come in?”

  Christine grabbed a tissue. “Do I have a choice?”

  Caroline pushed the door open the rest of the way. “You shall have no privacy at all while I am here.”

  She took Marguerite’s hand and dragged her inside, scanning the room. Even the prospect of living sparsely as an ex-pat in a foreign country hadn’t strapped Christine of her style. The room was sterile but tastefully decorated, with a few paintings on the wall. There was a large comforter with a subtle, classic design on the bed. Caroline wasn’t even going to speculate about thread counts. Perched on the nightstand was a large glossy picture of Christine, Tom, and their two daughters taken the day Christine was sworn in as a United States Senator. Next to it was a silver frame with a photo of Caroline and Christine, smiling broadly at the Inaugural Ball the night Jack became Governor of Pennsylvania.

  Caroline sat down on the bed. “This room is so you,” she said, picking up the framed photo of the two of them. Looking at it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. “I do like this.”

  “They don’t have Ethan Allen here but I did my best.”

  A joke. Maybe Chrissy wasn’t as upset as she appeared. “Does the Canadian government know you use their support checks to feed your unquenchable craving for high end furniture and designer textiles?”

  “No,” Christine said. “And you’re not going to tell them.”

  Well, she was no fun at all. But Caroline could humor her. For a while.

  Marguerite sat on the other side of the bed, putting her arm around Christine. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  Christine patted her leg. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “No, it is. You deserved better. All of you.”

  Caroline put her arm around Christine, reaching over to squeeze Marguerite’s shoulder. “You were being stubborn. It’s all right. It’s the sort of thing I would have done, therefore it’s not entirely
unexpected coming from you.”

  Marguerite turned to Christine. “Speaking of not so predictable behavior, did you really faint the first time you saw mom?”

  Christine reddened. “I have low blood pressure. That’s all it was.”

  Caroline and Marguerite chuckled.

  “I’m serious. It’s a legitimate medical condition.”

  Caroline gave Christine a little hug. “I found it flattering,” she said. “It’s still funny as hell, though.”

  “Has everything worked itself out?”

  “For now.” Caroline wasn’t quite ready to have the conversations that were invariably coming. “Let’s not get into the deep stuff yet. Can we play games or talk or something?”

  Christine smiled. “Sure.”

  The five of them sat in the living room and chatted for hours, careful to avoid the heavy topics. Caroline and Jack were eager to hear about what Sophie and Marguerite had been doing in school. About their friends, their hobbies, the little details of their lives. A small group of ex-pats had held occasional meetings over the past few years, debating whether to reveal themselves to the American government. They had always voted against it. But the release of the records had made their most recent meeting more difficult, and they now had to decide what course to take.

  Christine had been the unspoken leader since she arrived. Caroline assumed it was because of Christine’s relationship with her and Jack, and her role as the girls’ guardian, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud. Christine was a capable leader in her own right and finally had the opportunity to make up for any previous inaction. Representative Capwell and his wife had made it from Pittsburgh, as had one of Caroline’s favorite Midwestern Democratic senators, Roger Bailey of Minnesota. Among Brian, Roger, and Christine, their small cadre of leaders had plenty of chutzpah.

  “I think we’ve talked about ourselves enough,” Christine said. “How about we break out the cards?”

  Sophie clapped her hands. “I’m up for that.”

  Cards were not Caroline’s cup of tea since it was one of the few games she wasn’t good at. Marguerite picked up on her reluctance right away.

  “You want to make cookies?” she asked.

  Homemade baked goods. Fanciful and yummy. Two of her favorite things. “I’d love to. Anyone want to join us?”

  Christine had already started dealing a deck. “I’m going to whip your husband at gin.”

  Sophie picked up her hand. “Not if I do it first.”

  “I already know what Jack is going to say,” Caroline said. “Let’s start this party.”

  Marguerite led her into the kitchen. “Do you need a recipe?”

  “Hell no.” She tapped her temple. “It’s all in here. But I don’t know where anything is so you’ll have to show me.”

  Marguerite started bustling around the cabinets as Caroline unconsciously rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, ready to get to work. Her daughter whirled around, gasping when she saw Caroline’s exposed wrists. Bags of flour and sugar fell out of her arms, creating a small white cloud when they hit the floor with a thump.

  Caroline hastily pulled her sleeves back down. “I’m sorry.”

  Marguerite crossed the small kitchen in two steps. “Oh, mom.”

  The poor girl looked horrified. Caroline didn’t know what to do so she just pulled her daughter into her arms. “It’s okay, Mo. They don’t hurt.”

  Marguerite dug her fingers into Caroline’s shoulders. “Don’t let Sophie see those marks. Not unless you can prepare her first.”

  One of the many inevitable conversations that needed to be had but sounded so very undesirable. Caroline kissed her on the cheek. “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

  Fine. Okay. Just peachy. She shouldn’t have expected a smart kid to buy that argument. Marguerite pulled back, crossing her arms. Hell, she was almost of age. She could handle a little truth.

  “All right, I’m pretty fucked up mentally,” Caroline said. “But I’m okay physically.” She leaned in for another hard embrace. “I love you, Mo. Don’t burden yourself with it. You don’t need to worry about anything but us spending time together.”

  Marguerite grabbed a paper towel, blowing her nose. “I don’t want to think about what they did to you.”

  You and me both. “You should never have to think about it.” Caroline bent to pick up the sugar and flour. “Those goofballs in the living room are expecting cookies so let’s not disappoint them.”

  Marguerite went over to the cabinet again. “If you need to roll up your sleeves to work, I can get over it,” she said, her back to Caroline.

  They’d all have to get over it sometime. Or learn to deal with it more effectively. “I want you to feel comfortable,” Caroline said softly. Her voice caught. “I don’t want you to be ashamed to look at me.”

  Marguerite put the rest of the baking ingredients down and took her mother’s hands. “I’m everything but ashamed. I love you. I’m proud of you.”

  No such thing as too many hugs. “I’m not sure I’m going to get sick of holding the two of you. Chrissy too. I might need a lot of affection.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that. But you’re going to have to let go of me long enough to let me bake.”

  Caroline hopped onto the kitchen island. “Works for me. I’ll just bark instructions at you. Let’s see how well you replicate my work.”

  “I accept your challenge,” Marguerite said. “I’ve had time to practice. My cookies might be better than yours. Can you handle that blow to your self-esteem?”

  A snarky baker. Her favorite kind. “Oh, hush up and start mixing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’re still quite the cook, Jack,” Christine said.

  He leaned back in his chair. “‘Twas nothing.”

  “Nonsense.” She gathered up her dishes, taking care to swipe Caroline’s as well. “He spoils you, you know.”

  So said the woman who was clearing the table without complaint. “I know,” Caroline said.

  “What’s on deck for the rest of the night?” Sophie asked.

  “Bedtime for both of you,” Christine said.

  Her face fell. “Really?”

  “The sooner you go to bed, the sooner we can spend time together tomorrow,” Caroline said.

  Marguerite wiped the remnants of cookie off her fingers. “I get to stay up, though. Right?”

  They’d eaten late, too caught up in conversation to focus on making a proper meal. They probably would have spent the entire evening talking until they fell asleep if Jack hadn’t gone into the kitchen and thrown something together for all of them.

  “It’s almost eleven,” Caroline said. “You need your rest.”

  Marguerite grabbed Sophie’s arm. “If they want to send us to bed, let’s get out of here before we have to help clean up.”

  Sophie gave Caroline and Jack hugs. “Good night,” she said softly.

  Caroline stood up. “Is it, uh, okay if I tuck you in?”

  Marguerite came over for her own hug. “Both of us?”

  Was she acting as awkward as she felt? “If that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay,” Sophie said.

  “I just-” She had to play this right. “I was hoping I could hold you for a while. Unless that’s weird.”

  Sophie leaned in for another hug. “That works for me.”

  “I’m game.” Marguerite started dragging her down the hall. “I think it’s sweet.”

  She still felt a little embarrassed about the whole thing. “You two are practically grown.”

  Sophie slid in beside her. “Yeah, but you’re our mom.”

  Caroline resisted the urge to get weepy. She’d done enough of that already. “Did I ever tell you how awesome you are?”

  Marguerite motioned toward the first bedroom. “This one’s mine. I hope you approve.”

  She must have noticed Caroline passing judgment on Christine’s décor. Her room was equally simple, but eclectic. A f
ew vintage posters on the wall. Matching quilt and duvet. A picture of their family on the nightstand.

  “I do,” Caroline said. “I’m impressed the bed is made.”

  Marguerite messed up the quilt before tossing a pillow at her. “Not anymore.” She turned to Sophie. “Oldest goes first.”

  Sophie shrugged. “Fine with me. Means I get the bathroom for as long as I want.”

  She didn’t care if it was cheesy or corny or unnecessary – Caroline hadn’t said good night to her children in over two years and she was going to make it right. She spent time with each of them in turn, told them each a story about when they were born, what it was like when they got home, how they felt about each other growing up. And she held onto them, hugged them, reminded them she loved them…just because she could. It wasn’t until Sophie reminded her they had plenty of time to share stories that she reluctantly headed back to the kitchen. Jack and Christine were waiting for her.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked. “Been waiting a long time to do what used to be routine.”

  Caroline kissed him on the cheek. “I enjoyed myself, yes.”

  “Good. I get to do it tomorrow night.”

  That was sweet. And very paternal. “Now that the girls are in bed, Chrissy is going to ask us lots of questions.”

  Christine stared into her tea cup. “I was going to build up to it. If you’re not ready to talk, I can wait.”

  Jack shook his head. “There are things you need to know.”

  Christine shuddered. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “It has to come out sometime.”

  Christine squeezed Caroline’s hand. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want. The same holds for you, Jack.”

  “I don’t have much to tell. I’m sure you want to talk to my wife anyway.”

  “Go ahead,” Caroline said. “Get it over with.”

  Christine shoved her cup to the side. “I read some of those reports. Did you see anyone…when you were held prisoner?”

  Friends. Acquaintances. Enemies? “Yeah,” Caroline whispered. “Quite a few.”

  “Did anyone else get out?”

  Caroline couldn’t imagine any scenario in which they had. “I doubt it. I don’t suppose anyone here has claimed to have escaped?”