“Yes. The letters.” She opens the manila envelope and slides out a stack of papers, then she holds them out to me. “You should take a look at them.”
I stare at the papers. I can tell from here that they’re written on high-quality stationary. Something my father would have used. Will those letters confirm Jaime’s claims? Isn’t that what I came here to learn? I demanded the truth, and the evidence is right there. All I have to do it read it. It’s what I wanted. Then why do I want to run out of this room as fast as my brace will let me? Because if I leave now, I can still believe Jaime’s a liar, a deluded crazy person. But if I see it laid out before me in my father’s handwriting, there’s no way out. I’ll have to accept it.
“Arianna? I think if you read these, it will help you understand.”
With a trembling hand, I take them. I look down and am relieved when I don’t see my father’s chicken scratch. I see page after page of childish writing, often the same few words repeated over and over. “The queen is dead, long live the queen.”
“Some of them are written in crayon, eyeliner,” Dr. Ingram says. “For one of them, she pricked her finger and wrote in blood. Some of them are coherent, but for the most part, they’re the ramblings of a very sick woman.”
I scan the letters, flabbergasted that the confident, assured woman I just saw produced these. “But she knew things about him. Private things. How could she know those things unless they had some sort of a relationship?”
She opens the file and flips to the second section then quickly scans the page. “When her house was searched, she had over six hundred VHS tapes of your father. Interviews, games, news segments about him. She had two bedrooms full of magazines and newspapers from all over the world. People like Jaime are scavengers for information. They’re adept at absorbing even the smallest details and clinging to them like priceless treasures. Her delusions are built from these nuggets of information.”
Not wanting to look at them any longer, I slide the letters back onto her desk. “But just because she was obsessed with him doesn’t disprove that she had a relationship with him. Does it?”
She returns the letters to the folder and closes it. “Is it possible they had some sort of contact? Certainly. It’s not common with this type of disorder, but there have been cases where a person went on a date or had a sexual encounter and then manifested a relationship in spite of rejection from the other person. So yes, it is possible. But even if it were true, Jaime killed your mother. Whether your father knew Jaime previously or not makes no difference. The responsibility is hers and hers alone.”
The phone rings.
“Ingram,” she says as she answers. “Um hmm… I’ll be right there.” She hangs up the phone. “I have to get back to my patients. Let me walk you out.”
Dazed, I follow her to the lobby. My head is spinning with information, and I feel as though I’m trapped in a hall of mirrors. It’s impossible to tell what’s real and what’s an illusion. Jaime had me convinced. As much as I didn’t want to believe her, I did. But those letters… they’re something out of a horror movie. I just don’t know what to believe. She’s crazy, but does that make her a liar?
Chase stands when I enter the room. He opens his mouth, but I shake my head to stop him. I can’t talk in here.
Dr. Ingram puts her hand on my shoulder. “Good luck to you, Arianna. If you ever need to talk, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Unable to string a sentence together, I nod and walk toward the exit.
Chase offers me his arm to help me down the steps. When we get to the car, he places a gentle kiss on my lips. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. Just don’t keep it bottled up inside.”
“I’ll talk, I promise. I just need a few minutes to process what happened. In the meantime, get me as far away from this place as fast as you can and never, ever, ever let me come back here.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chase
Arianna stares blankly out the window as we pull out of the whack job house of horrors. A whole family was axed here, and now it’s a country club for the criminally insane. I can’t get out of here fast enough.
She remains catatonic as we drive though the one-horse town of boarded-up storefronts back to Highway 65. Not a word, not a sigh. She hasn’t even shifted in her seat. I have to look closely to make sure she’s still breathing.
We’re somewhere in Mississippi before she moves for the first time. She slaps my arm. “Pull over.”
“Huh?”
“Pull over!”
I veer onto the shoulder, and she opens the door before I come to a complete stop. I jump out and rush around to her side of the car just in time for her to puke all over my shoes.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I just sat in the room with the woman who killed my mother,” she says between panting breaths. “She sat across from me and talked to me like we were BFFs having a heart-to-heart about boys. Like it was nothing. No remorse. No guilt. Not even a hint of apology.” She looks up at me. “She told me I look just like Mom. Not in a complimentary way. Like in an ‘I’d like to cut your face off and use it as a mask’ kind of way.”
“Ari, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
She gags again and sobs. “It was horrible.”
I rub circles on her back as she fills me in on what happened with Jaime and her subsequent conversation with Jaime’s doctor. I’m not sure this could have gone any worse.
“I’m never going to get the sound of her voice out of my head. It’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Every time I close my eyes, I see her eerie smile, and it turns my blood cold.” She looks at me. “This was such a mistake. What was I thinking going there?”
I’ve asked myself the same question, but I told you so’swon’t do either of us any good. I open the back door and grab a bottle of water from the cooler, unscrew the cap, and hand the bottle to her. “You were desperate for answers, and this was the only place you thought you could look.”
“But I’m more confused now than I was when I got there. Listening to her talk, she was so convincing. When I left that room, there was no doubt in my mind she was telling the truth. She knew so many private things. Things she never could have known if she didn’t know Daddy. Birthmarks and scars. The doctor said she probably learned all of those facts from research, but that can’t be right, not for everything. She was committed before the internet was full of celebrity gossip. She couldn’t just google ‘Aiden Aldrich allergy’ and find out he broke out in hives when he ate spinach.” She clutches my arm. “She said he called her Snickerdoodle. No one outside the family knows that’s what he called me.” She sobs. “Do you think it was just his token pet name? Like he called all the women in his life that? I can’t believe he’d lump me in with his mistresses.”
She lurches forward and throws up again. This time I’m able to get out of the way.
Aiden may not have been the man we thought he was, but he wasn’t the type to recycle nicknames. I know guys like that. Every girl in their lives is “Sweetness” or “Princess.” But Aiden wasn’t that guy. I wish I could somehow put into words how much he loved Ari. His face lit up like the Vegas Strip when he talked about her. He adored her. There was nothing and no one on this planet he cherished like Arianna. When she finishes, I hand her the bottle of water again.
“There is no way Aiden ever called anyone else Snickerdoodle,” I say as soothingly as I can. “I promise you that.”
Her head snaps up. “You can’t promise me that because you don’t know for sure. We never will. We can’t trust what Jaime said, and Daddy’s dead. I’m never going to know the truth.”
I rack my brain for anything that can bring her comfort. Somehow, a memory I haven’t thought about in years comes to mind. “Remember that time—I can’t remember how old we were—you’d just won some huge tournament and he had to miss it because he had a game. At halftime, the reporter stopped him to ask him if he had a message h
e wanted to share. Do you remember? Do you remember what he said?”
Bringing her hand to her mouth, she gasps. “I completely forgot about that.”
I nudge her. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Congratulations, Snickerdoodle, I love you.’” She leans her head on my shoulder and sobs.
I run my fingers through her hair as she cries. “He set that up to send a special message to you. She probably saw the broadcast, and in her twisted mind, she thought he was speaking to her.”
“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if I knew him at all,” she cries.
“Of course you did.” I pull out my cell phone, open up Dropbox, and click on my photos. I toggle until I find a file of family photos, then I hand my phone to her. “Look at these. That’s the man we’re talking about. The man who took the three of us camping and told the scariest ghost stories until all three of us ended up sleeping in his tent. The man who took cooking classes when your mom died because he couldn’t boil water and he didn’t want all your meals to come from a housekeeper. The one who took us to Jimmy Buffett concerts, dressed in a coconut bra and hula skirt, and sang every song with you word for word. He loved you. You were his whole world. Right now, you’re trying to put him in a box. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But life isn’t that simple. Before he died, were you happy?”
She looks at me, her face blotchy and tear-stained. “Yes.”
“Was he there for you?”
“Always.”
“Did you feel loved?”
“Unconditionally.”
I take her hands. “There’s your answer. That’s all you need.”
Looking down, she picks at her chipping nail polish. “I know this won’t make any sense, but I can’t shake the feeling that if he did have an affair and bring Jaime into our lives, that he’s responsible for Mom’s death. And if I let him off the hook, I’m betraying Mom in some way. He didn’t protect her, so I feel as though I have to. I know she’s gone and it’s silly, but that’s how I feel. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to make peace with that. I feel as though I have to choose between them, and it’s killing me.”
I have an idea that may give her some perspective. “Let me ask you something. I think we can both agree Jenna and Jaime are residents of Crazytown, right?”
She cracks the faintest of smiles. “They’re cut from the same cloth, yes.”
“If we didn’t force Jenna’s parents to get her help and she did something to hurt you, would that be my fault? Would you want my family to hate me out of respect for you?”
Her jaw drops with disgust. “What? What the hell kind of question is that? Why would you even think that?”
“Bear with me for one second. Would it be my fault if she came after you? Because by your logic, it would be. Even more than your father’s because I did more than just sleep with her—I asked her to marry me. I brought her into our lives, so does that make me responsible for her actions?”
Ari doesn’t answer for a few minutes. She stares into the forest of dead trees in front of us. With each passing second, I question my approach. Instead of getting her to look at this another way, maybe I’ve just given her another thing to worry about. I’m moments from saying she should forget what I’ve said when she squeezes my hand.
“No, it wouldn’t be your fault,” she says.
“So why is it your father’s?”
She presses her lips together as though she’s afraid to say what she’s thinking.
The car shakes as a Mack truck drives by, stirring up dirt and breaking the moment. I could pressure her for an answer, but I think she’s had enough for one day. This may not be something she can come to terms with in one day. It may take a lifetime, but I hope she can find a way not to let it tear her apart.
As she stands to stretch, she looks at my feet. A laughing sob escapes her. “I puked on your shoes.”
“Yup.”
She covers her mouth to hide her laughter. “I’m sorry.”
She leans against the side of the car next to me, and I kiss her forehead. “It’s okay.”
Still chuckling, she leans her head against my shoulder. “I drag you to an insane asylum, then I puke on your shoes, snot all over your shirt, and you’re still here with a smile on your face?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I hadn’t noticed the snot, but of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
She sighs. “Must be true love then.”
Finally, she gets it.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chase
Two months later
“One of the hard realities of being an Aldrich is the press is always there, lurking in the shadows. I made my first headlines when I was four. I was at Candlestick, and the Niners were playing the Packers. At halftime, I was standing in line for a pretzel with my mother when the man behind me in line started complaining about the Niners’ quarterback with the crappy running game.”
A picture of the front page of the Chronicle comes on the screen, showing a picture of little four-year-old Ari with long curly pigtails, poking in the gut some man who had to be pushing three hundred pounds, and she had the harshest scowl on her face. The headline reads Don’t Mess with my Daddy.
She smiles at the photo. “What can I say? I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. With a father like mine, it was hard not to be. Most of the world sees him as an athlete, a philanthropist, a businessman. He was all of those things. He was successful at everything he attempted, but that’s a limited, two-dimensional look at the man he was. His crowning achievement was being a father and a role model.”
A quiet “aww” spreads through the crowd as a picture of Arianna and Aiden pops up on the screen. Arianna looks at me and smiles. She’s so comfortable up there no one would ever guess that up until two days ago, she was adamantly against giving this speech. Two months ago, Jeb asked her to do it, but she’d claimed she had an unavoidable conflict and suggested I make the speech instead. Although I was happy to accept, I was floored she declined.
I had hoped that after all the progress she made during her trip to Louisiana—going to the Super Bowl, confronting Jaime—that she’d have been happy to give the speech. Even if she wasn’t necessarily thrilled to do it, I’d thought, at a minimum, she’d be able to fake it long enough to get through a speech. But she’s opposed to faking anything anymore, especially when it comes to her parents.
Despite digging her heels in about speaking at Aiden’s memorial ceremony, she’s come really far in the last few months. It’s as though she’s finally shaken free from the cloud of depression and self-doubt she’d been living under for so long. She’s confident, decisive, and ambitious as she aggressively sets and achieves goal after goal, particularly as the executive director of the Aldrich Foundation. When Mom encouraged her months ago to take a more active role in the foundation, Ari insisted it was out of the question. I believe her exact words were, “I don’t even feel like an Aldrich anymore. I don’t know what that means.” But after the Super Bowl, everything changed. Suddenly the foundation was all she could talk about. She had a million ideas brewing, and we spent hours every day sketching out projects for the foundation. I’ve taken her interest in the foundation as a sign she’s letting go of her hostility toward her parents.
But when I asked her if she wanted to take over tonight’s speech, she always turned me down. Then two days ago, I woke up and she handed me a stack of papers then asked me to give her my thoughts on her speech. I’m not sure what sparked her change of heart, but as I read her speech, I could tell she’d reached a point of acceptance. Her words were heartfelt and touching, and as she stands before the thousand or so people at this memorial, I can tell she means every word.
After Ari has entertained everyone with funny and heartwarming stories about her father, her speech changes gears. “Since I have your attention, I want to share some of the initiatives I’m working on with the Aldrich Foundation. That’s A-L-D-R-I-C-H for when you ma
ke out your checks.”
The crowd laughs. Her goal is to raise five hundred thousand dollars at this luncheon. With the way the audience is eating out of her hand, I’m sure she’ll surpass it.
“My father had a number of initiatives planned for his foundation, however, I’ve changed the focus slightly,” she continues. “This may not have been his precise vision, but I think he would be pleased with our new direction. My father loved children and loved being a leader, a role model, and a driving force in the lives of young people. Over the past year, I’ve had to learn how hard it is to live without my father. I’m an adult, and I still feel the loss of his guiding presence every single day. For most of my life, he was my father and my mother. He had the difficult task of raising a nine-year-old little girl on his own. I know it wasn’t easy, but he made it look that way. I was a very lucky girl. When I think about children growing up in single-parent homes, or without parents at all, it breaks my heart. In an effort to keep my father’s spirit alive, the new philanthropic mission for the Aldrich Foundation will be to not only support children in need, but in particular, children who have lost one or both parents. The Aldrich Foundation will work hand-in-hand with local organizations to improve resources and services to these children. No one should feel as though they’re in this life alone.”
Pictures of children and teens she’s worked with at the Huckleberry House, as well as a few other organizations, come onto the screen.
“Additionally, I’m teaming up with a dear friend, Blake Benson, and the Heaven’s Edge Ranch for an exciting program. PETA has already informed me I can no longer claim to be a vegan if I’m partnering with a cattle rancher, but this program is so good it’s worth being shunned.”
The crowd roars with laughter, and I smile at the half vegan buffet on the edge of the room.
She flicks to a new picture of her and Blake taken a few weeks ago when they met to finalize these plans. “Blake and I have started a summer camp scholarship program to send children in the foster care system to summer programs they would never otherwise be able to attend. We want all children to be given the chance to explore their talents and interests. I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve met who found their passion during a summer or after-school program. That’s where a number of actors starred in their first roles, painters picked up their first brushes, teachers worked with kids for the first time, baseball players first played catch. These children are often forgotten, shuffled through the system, and pushed out when they’re eighteen. We hope to let them know that they haven’t been forgotten, that there is someone in their corner cheering for them. That their dreams matter.
Love To Hate You Page 49
