by J. A. Huss
I turn away again to hide my shame. "I don't hate you guys, I don't even know you guys. I just want to go home. I have a family, my dad is probably going crazy with worry—"
"Your dad is downstairs, Fiona. This shit is what pisses me off. That guy who took you is not your dad."
I wait that one out to see if he'll get up and walk away, or if he actually wants to have this conversation with me.
"He's not your dad," he repeats.
I guess he wants to go there, so I turn back. "A father is the person who cares for you when you're young. That guy, as you call him, is my father. And even if I was Fiona, and I'm not, it would never change the way I feel about him. That man is my father and I love him. And my mother's name is Sophia, she's been my mother since I was seven, and I love her too. I love them so much, just talking about them right now is a struggle. And all you guys care about is making me fit back into this family as Fiona. You do not care one bit that he is hurting, that Sophia is hurting, or that I am hurting. You guys dragged me through court to get your way, you forced me to come here against my will, you won't even let me call him and explain that I am so sorry this is happening."
He stares at me as I begin to cry, but I can tell my words are affecting him. "What can I do to make it easier, then? Just tell me. What can I do?"
I swoop in and make my request. "Let me talk to him in secret. Please."
He's already shaking his head before the last word is out of my mouth.
"Please, Sean. If you take me to town and help me make a secret phone call, I will participate in the family stuff, OK? I'll ride the horses, and do the chores, and show up for dinner every night at seven. Just, please!"
"I don't know…"
He's wavering so I make my move. "Just think about it, OK? I'll be good today, I'll do everything right, and I'll show you how much nicer I can make it be for everyone. But if I do this, then you have to help me."
He sits in silence as he thinks it over.
"Because if you refuse, I can get Brody Mason to help me. I'll go behind your back and I'll still get my way, but you will not get yours."
"Fiona, if Frank finds out I helped you talk to him he'll be crushed. And maybe Frank is a total asshole most of the time, but he's still my dad and maybe you think he doesn't care, but he does. He's reliving the whole kidnapping thing all over again and it's killing him. And the fact that you deny him is making it worse."
"Then see? I'll be nice if you help me with this one thing. I'll even try to fit in with Frank. It's a win-win, right? Win-win."
He looks out my window and whispers, "When?"
I have to contain my squeal of excitement. "Today, after we have a Fruit Roll-Up lunch with Brody. We can go into town and buy a card from the store and go to a pay phone and I'll make one very quick five-minute call and I promise, I'll be nice to everyone for the whole summer."
"I'm not having lunch with Brody Mason," he says with disgust.
"Good. We don't want you to come anyway. You can just drop me off at noon and pick me up at one."
He sneers. "Nice try. OK, I'll do it, but you have to do chores with Aimee this morning, show up for breakfast at eight, and then help Lindsey with her lessons in the back arena until it's time for lunch with Brody. I'll go over there with you to make Frank and Angela happy, and then we'll take a little trip into the next town over and buy the card, so no one says anything to Frank."
I sit up and hug him. Fiercely. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are my favorite brother, ever!"
Even though I can tell he's trying to pretend this doesn't make him happy, I find the happiness.
And for a moment I feel a little guilty. That these people love me because they think I'm their long-lost Fiona. But his arms come up and hug me back and all that melts away too. Because I have to admit, Sean's protective brotherly embrace is filled with something I like.
Chapter Twenty - Francesca
Sean lets me borrow another pair of jeans for my Brody lunch after a small argument. I wear yesterday's pair for chores and lessons with Lindsey. He doesn't understand why I can't just wear Angela's jeans.
Angela's jeans. Seriously, that's not even a valid question. She's old. That's like me wearing Sophia's jeans. Those high-riding things that cover your belly button. It's just absurd.
Boys have no hips, which means they don't have that curve in the waist of their pants that I hate. I like my jeans loose and low. And Sean's jeans fit me just like that.
He thinks Angela and I should go shopping to get my own jeans, but I'm not sure I want to spend girl time with her. It's weird.
I do have a nice pair of barn boots to wear though. They are new, and that's too bad because they will be covered in horse shit in a few hours, but that's another stipulation on the farm. Sean said no shorts or sandals in the barn. It's a hard-and-fast rule.
Which is understandable. I think anyone who's been around horses has had the pleasure of being stepped on a time or two. And maybe a pair of jeans isn't that much of a difference between a well-placed hoof and your bare leg, but it's better than nothing.
I slip on a tank top to combat the heat and oppressive humidity, because even though there seems to be a nice breeze blowing through my terrace doors, it's not the cool kind. It reminds me a lot of home. Except there's no salty mist to the air. It smells like lake here, which I can't really explain, but it is very different than the ocean, regardless of how big Lake Erie is.
Right now I'm listening to Aimee explain her mucking-out chores. I can sum it up in one sentence, I've done it enough myself over the years. Scoop the shit out of the stall and dump it into the wheelbarrow. I'm giving her all my attention though, acting like a good Fiona, because that was the promise I made and promises are something I always keep, even if it does involve letting an eight-year-old boss me first thing in the morning.
Once that's done she and I get to work. Normally she has to muck the entire big barn, which is like forty stalls. A lot. So today she is extremely happy that I live here now and have to do twenty of those myself. I'm pretty sure every Sullivan transplant gets their own barn to muck, because there are a lot of stinking horses here. It's not loud and busy yet because the sun is just barely up and none of the boarders are allowed to come by the barn to ride their horses until nine.
Aimee is filling me in on all this as we work. We are on opposite sides of the aisle. All her stalls have an outside run to them, so she has to take her wheelbarrow inside the stall, then out into the run to scoop it up out there too.
At least she gave me the easy side. We finish up well before eight because there's two of us now.
"Now what?" I ask Little Miss Bossy.
"Now… we talk about girl stuff." I laugh a little as she pats a large green and yellow tack box and I take a seat next to her. "Tell me what you've been doing your whole life. I mean since they took you. I want to know."
"Aimee, no one took me. I'm not Fiona, OK? You have to stop."
I expect her to be sad because it came out a little exasperated, but she just nods and smiles. "OK, they said you won't admit it, so I should just play along."
My mouth opens to argue, but what's the point? These people think I'm their long-lost family member and nothing I say will be enough to convince them otherwise. They are done with the talking and explanations, now they want proof. And proof is something I just don't have.
I sigh into my food as I endure breakfast with the entire Sullivan clan. Lindsey and Aimee keep up the conversation pretty well, Sean jumps in to try and help out a few times. And even the twins, Jake and Quinn, talk to each other a bit to make the silent moments less noticeable.
But they are noticeable. Frank doesn't look at me, but Angela does. I catch her a few times nodding her head at me conspiratorially, but I'm not sure what that means, nor am I interested in figuring it out.
Sean clears his throat and I glance over to him. He does the same head nod. "So, Francesca, you have big plans this week?"
I squ
int my eyes at him.
"Frank was telling us last night that he's got a new horse coming in tomorrow morning and since he's too proud to ask you himself, would you like to help us unload her? She's a competition-ready Grand Prix jumper straight from California."
No one looks up from their food and Sean takes this moment to mouth the words 'phone call' at me.
"Uh…" I get it now. My end of the deal. "Yeah, sure. I'd love to, Frank."
Frank looks up and smiles. "Really, Fi—I mean, Francesca?"
Oh, I feel so, so terrible, but I suck it up and continue. "Yeah, why not? I actually love the jumpers, maybe you'll even let me ride her once or twice while I'm still here? That would be a thrill."
The whole table goes silent.
"I mean… I didn't mean it like that." I figure I should just shut the hell up now.
Sean shoots me a dirty look but Frank still has a smile. "You can have a horse here, Francesca. What level are you?"
"Advanced," I say. I am. Why pretend? "I've trained all over the world."
"Where, exactly?"
His eyes are red, I notice now. And the stress on his face is too much for me to stand my ground. So I relent. "Too many places to list, but…"
He drops his silverware and grunts before muttering, "Please do not make up any more lies."
Everyone stares at me.
"Frank," I say calmly. "I was not going to lie, I just need a moment to choose one. I went to many, many schools."
"Why? Why did you change school so often?"
"One school where I trained," I pick up the first question instead of the dangerous one, "was The Gregorian Grammar School in Victoria, Australia."
He lets out a long breath, like he was holding it in. "Never heard of it."
I never imagined he would, which is why I chose it in the first place. "Well, it's a nice school, and you know, expensive and exclusive and all that. I went there as a girl, the tail end of year four and the first part of five. So I had a pony there, her name was Roller Skates because she had a very smooth canter and it felt like roller skating."
Aimee giggles at this and I look over at her and smile. "She was the perfect show pony. Snooty and opinionated." I wink at the girl who wants me to be her sister and she covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. "I don't really think I owe you guys anything—"
Sean clears his throat again.
"—but I'll try and answer your questions as thoroughly as possible. It's just, those FBI guys are using me, you know. They're using all of us to try and get to my dad. And I'm not going to give up any information about my dad. So, there. I've put my foot down. I won't do it." I look over at Sean. "And I don't care what you threaten to do to me, I refuse to play this game with the American government. They are literally ruining my life. My future has been compromised and while I understand that you guys all have skin in this game, I've given up a lot more than you have so far. A lot more."
I stop to see if they're interested in a fight, but they're not. All seven pairs of eyeballs stare back at me. Silent, but hopeful.
"So, to answer your other question, the reason why I went to so many schools was because sometimes it becomes unsafe for me to stay in one place when I'm not at home. There. Are you happy?"
"Yes, we're happy," Angela says politely. "Thank you for being open with us, Francesca."
We all stare at each other for several awkward seconds and then Lindsey breaks the moment. "Come on, Chessie. I hear the lesson kids outside, they'll be waiting for us." We both push back from the table and make a quick escape.
Chapter Twenty-One - Brody
"So… she's Fiona?"
Mike Grippo is sitting on the top of the picnic table under the garage porch that serves as my customer waiting area when they bring me their cars to fix. He just got back in town for summer break from Ohio State.
Football scholarship. Free ride.
Not that I ever needed the money to go to college because we have plenty of money, but of all of us guys who hung out growing up, Mike Grippo is easily the dumbest. He's my friend, don't get me wrong, it's just that… free ride fucking scholarship?
It kills me.
Jealousy, I guess.
Not that I ever wanted to go to college either. School was not something I was concerned with during my teen years, as most of those were spent being an asshole or taking care of my little brothers after the parents died.
No, I never wanted to go. That was always Renn's thing.
What kills me is that I have never lived up to my full potential. Before the parents died I was angry and after the parents died, I was angrier. And looking back it seems that there has never been a moment in my life where I was not angry. I've been looking for something else since that day my mom told me Fiona was missing. And even now that she's back it scares the shit out of me.
"I dunno, Grip. Maybe she is, I'm not sure," I say as I work on his brakes.
"Well, does she look like Fiona?"
"Yeah, she does."
"Does she act like her?"
I stop what I'm doing to throw him a dirty look. "She's been gone twelve fucking years, Grip, how the fuck should I know if she acts like Fiona?"
He shrugs it off but keeps up the conversation. "Well, doesn't she have any birthmarks, freckles, or fuck, I don't know, a crooked tooth or something they can use to ID her?"
I looked this up, thinking the same thing. You don't need a college degree to figure there must be some sort of physical mark that might do the trick. I know they have x-rays of her teeth because I do actually have a memory of her and Sean going to the dentist. She came back cavity-free with a squirt gun toy that I promptly confiscated. I smile at this memory because she confessed later that she picked it out of that little toy chest they had in the waiting room just for me.
But the website I looked at online about forensic dentistry said you can't use baby teeth as markers for adults. They have no real relationship to each other. And I'm sure if she had some weird lightning bolt-shaped scar on her forehead or heart-shaped birthmark on her ass, the Sullivans would've figured that out by now.
"So, she's coming over? For lunch? How'd you manage that so fast if she's not Fiona?"
I've been asking myself the same thing. One minute she's all I no Fiona Sullivan in Italian, and the next we're lying on her bed and she's asking me to kiss her. No, I correct myself. She asked me to please kiss her. I look up at the NASCAR clock on the wall. "She should be here any minute."
"Cool, can't wait to see her."
"But your car's done now, dude, so you can take the fuck off."
He laughs. "Make me, you asswipe. I'm not missing out on seeing Fiona Sullivan come back from the dead. You're out of your mind."
I bend down to pick up my tools when I hear a truck pulling up in the driveway.
"Oh, well, I guess she comes with a bodyguard today."
I open the door that connects the garage to the house and shout, "Case! Bring the food. And Sean's here, so be good."
Case appears in the kitchen directly in front of me. "Do you think he knows I've been talking to Lindsey?"
"I think he's forgotten he has a sister named Lindsey, to be honest. But be nice all the same. I don't want any complications. Now go get the food and bring it to the back porch."
"You're playing hostess?" Grip asks.
"Get out, Mike. I'm fucking busy here."
"I told ya, I'm not leaving. I'll keep Sean occupied for you, how's that? We see each other at school all the time anyway, we're friends."
"Yeah, OK," I mutter under my breath as I wash my hands in the garage sink. They are already walking over towards us. "Hey!" I call.
Fiona smiles and all the doubts and worry I've built up over the course of the morning disappear.
She walks straight into the garage while Mike greets Sean like they didn't just see each other at school a few weeks ago.
"Hey," she says back as she gets close enough to smell. She smells like flowers and she's wearing a pai
r of loose jeans that sit low on her hips, a bright yellow tank top that shows off her bronze skin, and some yellow flip-flops. A large canvas bag hangs off one shoulder and she plays with a tassel on the zipper self-consciously.
"You look nice," I say as I dry my hands off.
She blushes. "Thanks."
"How's your day going?" I ask, nodding my head towards Sean. "He keeping you close today or what?"
Fiona glances back at her brother. "No, we're going out together after this, so he just came with. Plus he gave me a ride."
I guess my little talk last night did the trick. I take her hand and lead her out of the garage. "I got sandwiches for lunch, you like subs?"
Grip, Sean, Case, and Park are already chowing down when we walk around the other side of the house to the back porch. It's nice in the summer because it faces north, so you never have sun and it stays cool. Plus it's screened in, so the bugs don't eat you alive at night.
"Fiona Sullivan. It is you!"
"Grip, knock it off."
"What?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I'm allowed to have an opinion and I'm allowed to be happy she's back. Fiona," he says turning to her. "Do you remember me? Mike Grippo?"
She nods and we all stare at her with our mouths open. "Yeah, fifth-grade birthday party, Brody's first kiss, Susie Turner, spin the bottle."
Mike actually looks stunned for a moment until he puts it together. "You weren't at the party."
I laugh. "Just ignore that ape, Fee. He's taken a few too many hits to the head."
Sean shoots me a dirty look for something, but I'm not interested in finding out why, so I turn to Fiona and wave down at the sandwiches. "I don't know what you like, so I got a turkey club, a BLT, and roast beef."
"BLT, thanks."
I hand her the sandwich and some chips and then go inside to grab some sodas from the kitchen. When I come back out it's awkward. "What'd I miss?"
