by Kim Pritekel
"I'm coming to get you. I'm on the airlines right now, getting us tickets."
"Wait, Reenie," Rachel felt her heart skip a beat, realizing she was about to rejoin her life, and she'd have to deal with the mess that had been left. Running at trembling hand through her hair, she sighed. "I can't get on a plane. I don't have anything, no money, no identification, nothing."
"Shit. You're right. Jesus Christ, Rachel! You're alive!" Reenie felt another burst of realization flood through her, bringing with it a new torrent of watershed.
Rachel smiled, feeling her own eyes brim again. "Crazy, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I've got to get you here. I've got t see you, Rachel. Give me the number where you're at, wait, I have it on my phone. Stay put! I'm going to call Carrie."
"Why?" The blonde couldn't understand why Reenie would call her publisher.
"Because she can get us a charter. Honey, we've got to get you here. Carrie is going to shit her shorts." Reenie paused, taking a deep breath. "Honey, your contracts have all been voided. You need to talk with Carrie, get all this straightened out."
The author took a deep breath, nodding with a sigh. "Okay."
"You're alive!"
Rachel smiled. Mostly.
* * *
The entire damn house was up in arms, the damn dogs barking like mad. Sighing in irritation, Carrie Tillman tugged her robe tighter around her body as she headed down the hall toward the front door. She growled in her throat as the bell was rung again. She hoped someone was dead for the disturbance.
Unlocking the many locks, chains and deadbolts, the VP yanked open the door of her brownstone, shocked to see one of her editor's on the stoop.
"Reenie? Are you okay? What the hell are you doing here at," she looked at her wrist, irritated again when she realized she wasn't wearing her watch.
"It's almost eleven." Reenie breezed by the surprised woman, who quickly closed the door and relocked it. She followed the bold woman into the living room, waiting not-too-patiently for an explanation. "You're not going to believe what I have to tell you, but I need you to listen. Okay?"
* * *
"You okay?" Keller asked, a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. The girl nodded, but she was still trembling badly. As the tall pilot watched, the girl dropped her cell phone three times. "Here. Let me help," she said softly, taking the small phone from the girl's hand.
"I'm sorry," Mia said, laughing nervously.
Keller asked for the number, dialing as the girl told her. The line was ringing as the brunette brought the phone to her ear. Picked up on the fourth ring, Keller's brows drew as a woman began speaking what sounded to be Italian. She gave Mia a questioning look. "Uh, is Gloria Vinzetti there?"
Lizbeth was beside herself that someone would have the audacity to call so late! "How dare you wake me up!" she shouted into the phone, her words slightly slurred from being woken from a deep sleep. She could not understand the woman's words, her English sketchy at best. The only thing she was able to pick out was her granddaughter's name. "She works! Unlike you." And with that, the phone was slammed down, ringing in Keller's ear.
Lowering the cell phone, the pilot looked at the teen, stunned. "She hung up on me."
"What?" Baffled, Mia looked to the cell, as though it held the answers.
"Some older lady, sounded like she was speaking Italian or something."
"Italian?" The girl was trying to make sense of this. It was nine-thirty, and her mother was always home and awake by that time. She prayed that Gloria hadn't moved, changed her number, or- Gasping, the girl covered her mouth with her hand, dark eyes wide. "My great-grandmother," she whispered. It was the only thing that made sense. Taking the tiny phone from Keller's hand, Mia quickly dialed her home phone number again, the number she'd known since she was a child. The only phone number she'd ever known. As the line kept ringing, dark eyes closed, the girl silently praying that if it was in fact her grandmother, she'd answer.
Keller sat back, watching Mia as the girl toed a dog toy, her nerves flowing through her in waves. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through the girl's mind at that moment. What was making her so nervous? The tall pilot couldn't help but put herself in the shoes of the survivors. What were they facing going back to their lives? Did they have lives to go back to? She hadn't had much chance to talk to Rachel or Dean, Dean too busy thrilling the gathered family with tales as life as an islander. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the attorney, though she couldn't wait to hear how Will reacted to finding out his lover was, in fact, still alive. Apparently Rachel's publisher was sending a chartered plane for her in the morning, and Dean was going to leave with her.
Keller's thoughts were brought back to Mia when she heard the girl begin to speak in her mother's native tongue.
Mia blushed at the most unkind names being sent her way through the phone lines. When the old woman took a breath, she spoke. "Grandma, it's Mia."
Lizbeth, yet again about to slam the phone down, stopped, at first from the Italian spoken back to her, then from the voice, then lastly from the name. She stopped dead in her tracks, stunned, and feeling as though her heart had stopped beating. When her voice returned to her, it was barely a whisper. "You are a cruel demon to play this trick."
"It's no trick, grandmamma, I swear." Mia felt a smile spread across her lips at the sound of her great-grandmother's voice; that much closer to her mother. "We survived the crash, grandmamma."
"I do not understand." Lizbeth slowly fell to a nearby chair, hand gripping the handset for dear life, the other grasping the small, gold crucifix around her neck. Surely this had to be a trick. Surely.
"We were rescued today," Mia said, her voice growing thick with rising emotions, images of her great-grandmother and mother swimming before her eyes. "They found us, finally."
"But," Lizbeth was trying to wrap her mind around this, her eyes beginning to sting as moisture gathered, hands shaking. "they said..."
"I know." Mia smiled through her tears.
"Oh, Mia! Mia, Mia, where are you, child?!" Lizbeth lightened her hold on the crucifix, feeling the strain she was putting on the chain with her suddenly desperate hold. "Thank God!" She looked to the Heavens, only seeing the water stain in the corner above the bookcase. "Oh, Mia!"
"Where's mom, grandmamma? They said," the girl was suddenly afraid to finish her sentence. What if it had all been one big lie, and Lizbeth and Paolo were now living in their dead granddaughter's apartment? Those thoughts were cut off by the older woman's next words.
"She's at work, my child."
Mia gasped. So it was true! "She's alive?"
"Oh, yes, child, though barely." The older woman was running around the apartment now, grunting as she threw on her clothes, trying to see through her tears of relief and joy. Managed to climb into the dress she'd so carefully removed earlier, she nearly dropped the phone, sliding a gout-swollen foot into her shoe.
"Oh, child, your Mamma will be so happy!" Lizbeth Vinzetti almost forgot to lock the door on her way out.
* * *
Gloria sighed heavily. It had been a long day, and just seemed to be getting longer, though her shift at the diner would end in less than two hours. It might as well have been a lifetime. She began to softly hum to herself, figuring if she had to concentrate on the tune, she'd be able to stay awake.
The waitress knew she was slowly killing herself, working fifteen hour days five days a week, then any overtime she could get on her days off. She couldn't stand being home, even though she was thrilled to have her Nonna at home waiting for her. The problem was, home wasn't home anymore. Something had died inside her the day of the crash, and Gloria felt a cold presence inside of her, slowly taking over until there was nothing left but a woman in her mid-thirties, grown old before her time.
"Gloria!"
"Yeah, Joe?" the dark-eyed woman called from the back room, where she was chopping tomatoes for a salad that was ordered.
"Someone here for ya!"
Dark brows drawn, Gloria set down her knife and wiped her hands on a towel. She had absolutely no idea who would be coming into work to see her. The answer wasn't long in arriving.
"Gloria!" Lizbeth yelled, trying to push past the man who refused to allow her into the back kitchen. Didn't he understand what was happening?! She hissed at him in Italian, his face registering only confusion and anger.
"Nonna," Gloria said, shocked to see her grandmother standing there, and in her slippers, no less! "What are you doing here?"
"Take this!" Lizbeth held out the cell phone she'd clutched to her chest the entire three block sprint to the diner. The seventy-seven year old heart was pounding wildly.
Gloria stepped out from around the breakfast counter, leading the old woman away from prying ears, just in case Lizbeth Vinzetti was starting to lose her cotton pickin' mind. "Nonna," Gloria near whispered, trying to keep her anger in check. "you ran here in your house shoes for a phone call?"
"You must take this, my child. Here! Take it." She shoved the phone at her granddaughter, the fire never burning so bright in Lizbeth's eyes. That intrigued Gloria, though she still felt her grandmother was losing her marbles.
Taking the tiny phone, Gloria put it to her ear. "This is Gloria," she heard a sniffled, then a miracle.
"Mom? It's me!"
Gloria stood stock still, her mind trying to catch up with what she'd just heard. It can't be. "Who is this?" Her voice was low and deep, filled with warning.
"It's me, Mia. I'm okay. I'm coming home in the morning."
Gloria felt tears of grief sting behind her eyelids. She sat on a stool at the breakfast counter. "You are one cruel monster to play such a game."
Mia felt her heart pounding, both in elation that her mother was truly alive, and deep disappointment at the lack of reaction she'd hoped for. Tears at the hardness in Gloria's voice were streaming down the girl's cheeks. Before she knew what had happened, the phone was taken from her.
"Gloria? This is Keller."
Gloria gasped at the sound of the pilot's voice. Hope was beginning to trickle into her anger.
"I have Mia sitting here beside me, and she's one upset kid who needs her mom."
"Keller? I don't understand,"
"She's alive, Gloria," Keller said, her voice softening, filled with understanding.
"We stopped looking," Gloria whispered, a trembling hand coming to her mouth. So overwhelmed, she didn't even noticed the small group of curious co-workers and diner regulars that had begun to gather, a proud Lizbeth standing in the middle of it.
"Well, uh," Keller picked shyly at her jeans, "Yeah, about that,"
"I don't care! Give me my baby back!" Gloria tugged her phone from her ear. "My baby's alive!" She was all out crying now. "Mia? Honey, are you there?"
"I'm here, Mamma," the girl sobbed, cradling the phone against her ear. She heard her mother's sob at the endearment Mia hadn't used since she was a small child. She felt like a small child again, lost utterly vulnerable.
Garrison pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against, watching, arms crossed over her chest. She couldn't keep the smile off her lips, feeling like she and Keller had participated in the most important even of their lives. She caught her partner's eye, and waved Keller over to her, giving Mia privacy. The tall pilot hurried over to her, taking the blonde in her arms and burying her face in the familiar hair.
"I've never for so happy in my life," Keller whispered, feeling Garrison's nod of agreement. "You should go to bed, baby. You and Duke have an early morning."
"I know." Garrison rested her head against Keller's shoulder, sighing in contentment at the peace that filled her.
"Come on." Kissing the blonde head, Keller pulled away, taking Garrison by the hand and leading her toward the basement, where Duke had set up a room for them.
* * *
Rachel sat cross-legged on the foldout couch, which was to be her bed for the night, still trying to adjust to the softness beneath her. At first contact, it had felt wonderful, but her back and skeletal structure wasn't sure what to make of the foreign feeling of padding and luxury. Sleeping and sitting on hard ground for more than a year had been hard on her body, and Rachel could already feel the effects. She felt almost as though she'd been running around without stopping for two days, too busy to feel the strain on her bones and muscles, then suddenly stopping, finally feeling the true state of her aches and pains.
Grimacing as she tried to get comfortable, the blonde laid back, hands behind her head. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking of what would happen within the next eight hours. Reenie had called the author back within an hour after they hung up, bearing news that a chartered plane would be ready for take off at six in the morning. She, Dean and Mia would all be on board, headed north.
Thoughts of her return to society quickly bled into thoughts of Denny. She wished so badly the brunette was with her, holding her. She thought about their night on the ledge for the first time since they'd been interrupted with the sighting of the plane. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Denny's hands on her body, her mouth, and could still hear the brunette's soft, sensuous words. Never in her life had she been so affected by one single person, and in so many ways: emotionally, physically and at a soul level that took Rachel's breath away. She'd never known the kind of longing and loneliness that plagued her, feeling Denny's absence acutely.
When the brunette had insisted that she leave the island, Rachel's first instinct was to feel hurt, but then, looking into the profoundly sad blue eyes, she began to understand, and could only comply. They had to let go, had to go back to their regularly scheduled lives, and Denny was trying to make it as quick and painless as possible. Quick, for certain. Painless, not in this lifetime.
Turning over to her side, Rachel curled her hands up under her chin, staring at the furniture that had been moved aside to make room for the bed to fold out, the blonde didn't see the end or coffee tables in front of her. Instead, she saw the brilliance of Denny's eyes, and heard the soft, velvet voice that had come to mean so much more than just mere comfort. Rachel's heart hurt, a burning inside that she felt could consume her.
Rachel forced her thoughts away from Denny, far too painful to be her bedmate. Instead she made herself face the reality in front of her, and decide what needed to be done. She saw Matt in her mind's eye. She knew in her heart that their marriage was over, and she needed to let him go. She, too, needed to be free and explore her own heart. Rachel couldn't think of what direction it might go without thinking of Denny, so she concentrated on the rest of her future, instead. She had a clean slate, could go wherever she wanted. Well, if she had any money, she could.
That thought scared her. From the little Reenie had said, the blonde had been left destitute. She knew that she had a place to go, Reenie would never leave her to fend for herself, but still, Rachel was a fiercely independent woman, and needed to be alone to think and explore her own heart. Staying with someone, even her best friend, did not appeal. Maybe she should find her own damn island somewhere and rot all by herself.
* * *
"Can I ask you something, Denny?" Pam asked after almost an hour of lying in the dark, attempting to get her body and mind to shut down enough to allow sleep.
"Sure." Denny was suffering from the same thing, thoughts, wanted and unwanted, continuously marching through her brain.
"What happened with you and Rachel?" The vet glanced over to her right, where she could just barely make out the outline of Denny's profile.
The coffee shop owner sighed, bringing her hands up to rest her head upon. What happened, indeed. "I fell in love with her."
"And what about her?" Pam had already known that much; you couldn't look at those two together and not see it, or feel the bond between them.
"Yeah. I think so." Denny really didn't want to talk about it. She was about to say as much when Pam spoke first.
"Why did you send her away? Why not give it a go?"
"Pam,
it's not that simple. She has a husband, I have Hannah." She studied the shadow that was her friend, then turned back to study the solid darkness of thatched leaves. "I'm sure what happened was a direct consequence of our situation. Back home," she shrugged, "who knows. We may not even have felt the same way."
Pam snorted. "Doubt that." She was about to continue when they heard something just outside their shelter. There was a ruffling sound, then the flap was pulled back, a looming figure in the opening.
"Sorry if I scared ya, ladies," Michael said in a whisper. He felt stupid as he continued to stand there. Swallowing his pride, he spoke again. "Do y'all mind if I join ya? Kinda lonely over there, ya know..."
Denny smiled, utterly charmed by the Texan. "Come on in, Michael. We've got plenty of room." Denny scooted over to make room for the big guy, the three settling in once more, finding silence. The brunette was amazed at just how cold it felt without Rachel pressed against her. She loved holding the blonde, loved the feel of her body, her warmth and smell. They seemed to fit together so perfectly, like two pieces cut from the same puzzle. As cheesy and clichéd as it seemed to Denny, it was the truest truth she'd ever known.
Denny turned her thoughts to home, and what she'd find when she got back. She wasn't sure how she'd be able to face Hannah, knowing in her heart that the researcher no longer held the spotlight as the light of her life. All the same, she would have to resign herself to the fact that what she and Rachel had briefly shared had been a wonderful experience, but could be nothing more.
Closing her eyes, Denny felt a single tear lazily trail down her cheek to settle in her ear, making her shiver.
* * *
"Please take care of yourself," Garrison whispered into her hug with Dean. "Will would kill us if anything happened to you before you get home."
