Full Circle

by Carol Caiton

  Jessica couldn't have disguised her happiness and didn't try when Hannah walked through an arched opening and entered the lobby. Extending both hands she met her sister halfway, smiling brightly. And with quiet pleasure, an unspoken something passed between them while Hannah's answering smile said she understood.

  They spoke for a few minutes, Jessica commenting on the unexpected beauty of the grounds, then she murmured a heartfelt thank-you and left again, accompanied by the guard.

  Returning to Member Services, she'd looked over the list of job opportunities available and decided to apply for the one at Urns & Leaves. If anyone tried, they'd easily be able to find a person named Jessica Breckenridge in Orlando, Florida, but who would suspect Max Breckenridge's daughter of waiting tables at a sex club? She'd flown into the United States at Logan Airport in Boston, Massachusetts, purchased a car, and had driven away leaving no trail. Far removed from the world of finance and investments, finding her here might be overlooked at first. Then, hopefully, she'd be a married woman—a happily married woman—by the time anyone doubled back to look again.

  CHAPTER 5

  Following the path to the wide shallow steps of the administrative building, she wondered who Simon Yetzer might be. The pneumatic doors opened as she drew near and she passed into the air-conditioned coolness of the lobby. The light, fragrant interior reminded her of the posh lobby of a Mediterranean chateau. In fact, all of RUSH, with its stucco buildings and terra cotta tile roofs, reminded her of certain areas in Greece.

  Hannah's office, if she remembered correctly, was located through the framed archway to her right. She approached the reception station when the girl behind the circular counter, identified by her nameplate as Mary Thrassing, smiled.

  "Hello, may I help you?" she asked. Dark hair swept tightly away from her face, a large spray of black tulle stood out stiffly from the barrette holding it in place. Not many women could successfully wear such a style. On Jessica it would have been too severe. But this girl wore it with panache.

  "Hello," Jessica answered. "I'm here to see Hannah Breckenridge."

  A flicker of dismay appeared in the girl's eyes then passed. Smile back in place, she said, "You're her sister, aren't you? If you'll give me your name, I'll let her know you're here."

  "Jessica. Jessica Breckenridge."

  The girl's formality fell away and her smile broadened. "You're in uniform this time. That's why it took me a minute to place you. How do you like working here?"

  "I like it very much. This is only my first day, but it went quite well."

  "I'm glad. RUSH is a fascinating place to work at." Her smile faded a little. "Hannah's expecting you. Go through the arch over there and her office will be the first door on your left."

  "Thank you."

  Butterflies teased her stomach as she turned toward the arched corridor. The first door on her left was closed so she knocked and waited. But no response came from within, so she turned the handle and peeked inside.

  Hannah glanced up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and teary, her nose was pink, and in her hand was a bundle of tissue.

  Jessica slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Would Hannah view this as an intrusion on her privacy? What did one say to an estranged sibling that would offer comfort if caught crying?

  Closing the door behind her, she walked across the thick carpet, lowered herself onto one of the guest chairs and said, "I have it on very good authority that Simon Yetzer has become a bully."

  "Really? Whose authority is that?" She sniffed, dabbed at her tears, and looked up.

  "The authority of a girl with bouncing blonde curls and very large breasts."

  Hannah stared. Then she burst out laughing. "Jessica, I love the way you phrase things."

  Jessica smiled, warmed by her sister's words. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

  "Why? Has someone been giving you a hard time?"

  For some reason, Kyle Falkner's face came to mind. He hadn't commented on the formal vernacular of her speech, but more than once she'd seen the same expression of bafflement on his face that she'd seen on many others.

  "No," she told Hannah, "not a hard time."

  "Funny looks?"

  "Yes." She smiled. "Funny looks. I've spoken English so rarely these past years, I sometimes don't structure my sentences properly."

  "Didn't you and Dad speak English to one another?"

  "No. Mandarin primarily. Because of world economics, we spent a great deal of time in China. The language is difficult to master and we both found it helpful to speak it all the time." She smiled. "Now I study discussion forums on the American Internet to better learn casual conversation."

  Hannah was quiet for a minute. "What was he like—Dad?"

  Love and loss weighed on Jessica's heart. "Loving. Stern." Then the words tripped from her lips. "Generous. A perfectionist. Formal. Caring. Respectful. Determined. He was a brilliant man. Perceptive, and extraordinarily difficult to live with at times."

  Hannah's smile was sad. "I used to be jealous of you . . . about once every four months when our mother changed boyfriends."

  "And I used to daydream about growing up without the cultural restrictions I had to learn and adjust to."

  In comfortable silence they observed one another. Then Jessica said, "I didn't know you envied me. I thought you didn't like me."

  Hannah looked surprised. "Whatever made you think that?"

  "Because we scarcely spoke the last time I saw you in New York. You were . . . distant."

  Her sister offered a pitiful laugh. "I was intimidated."

  "By me?"

  "Yes."

  "But I was only a child. You're my older sister."

  "You're smart, Jessica. A genius with languages. When Dad went away, he took you and left me behind."

  Jessica considered that. "I don't know why he took only one of us. Maybe it was an arrangement between him and our mother. But I do know he followed your progress at school. He had a file," she said. "I never saw it until after he died, but it has articles from your school newspapers inside, photographs of you as well."

  "Did you bring it with you?"

  "Yes. I thought it might be something you would want."

  "I do. You're right." Tears filled her eyes again and she dabbed them with another tissue. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. I'll give it to you when you come to visit me at my apartment."

  "Is that an invitation?"

  "Yes."

  "You told Mom you didn't want to see her anymore," Hannah said, reminding Jessica of that last painful visit.

  Perhaps this was a time for explanations. Both she and Hannah had been children when their parents divorced, neither of them mature enough to understand the decisions that were made.

  "Our mother probably didn't intend it, but whenever I came home to New York, I felt as though I was an unwanted guest," she told Hannah. "It took my breath the first time I walked into my bedroom and found nothing of myself where I'd once played and slept. Everything was gone, even my pretty white furniture."

  "I know," Hannah said softly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why she did that. I didn't understand her any more than I understood why Dad left me behind."

  Jessica nodded, but she wasn't sure how to explain further without speaking badly of the woman who was their mother and she didn't want to offend Hannah.

  Carefully, she said, "The last time I visited New York, our mother spent all of my two weeks in her studio. We sat at the dining room table and ate dinner with one another only twice during those two weeks. She had no time for me, Hannah. I didn't have the same relationship with her that you do. After the first few days passed, she phoned one of the seamstresses—Diannah—to keep company with me and take me on outings. I cried. Almost every night I cried in my guest bedroom. So I told her, just before I left, that I didn't want to come back again. Deep inside I hoped she would argue with me. But she nodded, returned to her drawing board, and one of her assistants drove me to the airpor
t."

  Hannah's expression was sympathetic. "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

  "No. It's not for you to say anything, or to apologize. I explained because I wanted your understanding. I don't want you to believe me without heart."

  "Without heart." Hannah laughed softly. "I don't believe you're without heart." She reached for a lower desk drawer and withdrew her purse. "I'm sure I've got mascara running down my cheeks. Give me a minute to put myself back together and we'll go have lunch."

  Jessica smiled, watching as her sister went, presumably to the restroom, to put herself back together as though she'd been separated into pieces like a jigsaw puzzle.

  The woman with blonde curls and large breasts had stated it well. Hannah had a wonderful fashion sense, a gift she no doubt inherited from their mother. Today she wore a short gold colored skirt, a black fitted jacket, and the white blouse whose button, or buttons, had slipped. Several bangle bracelets and a couple of linked ones jingled on her left wrist, and a chunky pendant necklace with splashes of gold, red, and black fell just beneath the buttons that had probably caused so much trouble.

  When Hannah returned a couple of minutes later her features were composed, eye makeup refreshed, and she appeared as though nothing had disrupted her day. "Would you like to leave your purse here with mine?" she asked, opening the lower drawer again.

  "Yes, thank you." Jessica passed her large handbag across the desk and said, "Will you tell me about this man who bullies you? Simon Yetzer?"

  Hannah glanced toward the doorway then back at Jessica. "He's my boss. Well, one of them. Come on. We'll talk over lunch."

  They decided on salads at an eatery called Fruits & Veggies. The chilled buffet inside stood as a large semi-circle and Jessica followed behind Hannah, dish in hand. The content of the various stainless steel pans was so varied and extensive, she couldn't identify what many of them held. By the time she reached the end of the buffet, however, a small mountain of food filled her plate.

  She was charged according to the weight of her plate and paid for it by placing her palm over a biometric scanner that added the total to her account.

  "I won't be able to eat all of this," she told Hannah as they carried their food back outside and chose a table near the central fountain. Her sister's plate wasn't nearly as full, she noted.

  Hannah glanced at her dish and smiled. "I did the same thing the first few times I ate here. Everything looks so good, you get a little carried away."

  Jessica placed her napkin in her lap and said, "I went shopping Friday evening."

  "Food shopping?"

  "No. Clothing shopping. I thought I should dress appropriately to explore one of the nightclubs. On my tour—the day I went to Member Services—I saw two girls enter the gate at Threshold and—"

  "You didn't go into Threshold, did you?" Hannah interrupted.

  "Yes, actually, I did. For all of sixty seconds."

  "Oh, no. What did you do—turn around and run back outside?"

  "More or less."

  "Didn't you see the pillory out in the front courtyard?"

  "Yes. I thought it was— At first it startled me. Then I decided it must be a prop. For ambience."

  "No. Believe me, it's not for ambience."

  "Yes, I realized that when I went inside and saw a woman with torture devices attached to her naked breasts."

  Hannah laughed.

  "When I could draw my eyes away from the woman's naked breasts everything began moving in slow motion."

  Still laughing, Hannah set her fork down and covered her mouth with her fingers.

  "The club was dark inside, as clubs will be, with clever electrical torches mounted on the walls. It was filled with men and smoke from cigarettes, and it seemed as though a hundred eyes stared at me."

  "They probably did. I'm surprised you didn't log onto your account and read about the various venues."

  "I did. But I never expected . . . ." She shook her head. "When several of the men started to get up from their seats, the chills on my arms rose all the way up into my hair."

  "What on earth did you do?"

  "I stood quite still, in partial shock I think, and had to be rescued."

  "They called Security?"

  "No, not Security. A man—I think he was leaving as I came in. He told me I didn't belong there. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and walked me back outside as though I was a child. It was all rather frightening," she laughed a little, "and humiliating, and shocking."

  Hannah lifted her fork again and said, "I've never been inside Threshold. But it would be interesting if I could be invisible for a couple of hours to observe the activities there."

  Jessica looked at her curiously. "If you've never been inside, how do you know of the pillory outside?"

  "One of the office floaters likes the wild side."

  "That's what it's called? The wild side?"

  "Or the dark side. —So who's this man who rescued you?"

  "His name is Kyle. Kyle Falkner. He used to be a policeman." She frowned. "He should still be a policeman, I think. He seems like a man with the calling to protect others."

  "Did he, uh, try anything once he got you outside?"

  Jessica shook her head. "No, not at all. He lectured me."

  "You're kidding."

  "No. And there's something I have to tell you."

  Kyle Falkner had guessed that Hannah had applied for a blue link, but Jessica had confirmed it. And now she would have to explain to Hannah how such a personal matter had been divulged to a complete stranger.

  "I broke a confidence," she said. Then she described the conversation she'd had with Kyle Falkner and confessed that he now knew both she and Hannah planned to use RUSH's linking system as a tool for matchmaking.

  Surprisingly, Hannah wasn't upset. "Don't worry about it. After what happened today, I'm thinking about looking for a job somewhere else and handing in notice."

  "But you like it here. And you just applied for your blue link. Is it that man? Simon Yetzer?"

  Hannah patted her mouth with her napkin then set it beside her plate. "It's difficult to work in an environment when someone dislikes you. And he's one of the bosses, so I can't argue back with him.

  "Do you know why he dislikes you?"

  "I have no idea. He's never been friendly, but at least he used to be courteous. Then, around six or eight months ago, he began criticizing me."

  "Did you do something six or eight months ago that may have irritated him?"

  Hannah made a helpless gesture. "Nothing that I can think of. I hardly ever saw him." She frowned thoughtfully. "The comments he made were just disapproving at first. It startled me more than anything because his criticism was unexpected. But it's gotten steadily worse. I don't see him very often since he works in a different department at the opposite end of the building. Mostly I've tried to ignore it, but now he's started criticizing me in front of other people."

  "Maybe you should speak with him, ask him—"

  "Jessica, I can't get near the man." She sat forward. "I tried, about two months ago. He gave me a once-over that was so suggestive, I'm sure I blushed all over. Before I could even open my mouth to say something, he told me I shouldn't dress provocatively if I didn't want men to look. Then he turned and walked away." She shook her head. "Today I was straightening Mary's hair clip and the top two buttons of my blouse slipped. He walked into the lobby as I circled back around the reception desk, and told me I shouldn't be working in an office environment if I didn't know how to dress appropriately." She lifted a hand to the buttons in question as though to be sure they were still fastened. "I can't keep doing this. That's why I finally activated my file and applied for a blue link. I should have done it months ago."

  "Don't let him take this from you, Hannah. The blue link, I mean. It's too important. It's your future."

  A resigned expression came over Hannah's face. She glanced down at her wristwatch. "You'd better hurry and finish. I don't want to be l
ate getting back and give him another reason to reprimand me."

  CHAPTER 6

  Simon crossed the threshold into his office and walked over to the row of filing cabinets on the wall across from his desk. About to open the middle drawer of the third cabinet, he paused when his cell phone rang.

  Brushing aside his suit jacket, he drew it from the clip on his belt and read the display. Holly McGarvey.

  "Simon here. What is it, Holly?" Perhaps she'd been unable to access the linking system without it looking obvious.

  "Simon, I have that information you asked for."

  He went still, not even breathing for a moment. "I'll be right there."

  He snapped the phone back onto his belt. But he remained standing in front of the filing cabinet for several seconds.

  While determined to know the name of the woman with whom he was supposedly an ideal match, he was reluctant as well to embark on the roller coaster of emotions he was sure to face. Nina Millering had set his methodical life on its ear when he'd accepted her folder. She'd twisted him into knots of frustration and he'd cursed that link as much as he'd wanted her. A fiery, complicated mix of need, challenge, impatience, exhilaration, disbelief, and unimaginable exasperation had all fought for dominance. And goddamn it, he'd never felt so breathtakingly alive.

  Already those same emotions were beginning to simmer again. He might tell himself he wasn't willing to turn his well-ordered life upside down a second time, but it was happening all the same. And this scrambling of emotions—he couldn't deny it—was one of the reasons he hadn't declined that blue icon without a thought. However much he viewed this second chance with bitterness and, yes, anger, there was a woman whose name he was waiting to learn and she belonged to him. She was his. And if he decided to keep her, he didn't plan on losing this time.

  Resettling his suit jacket, he turned and exited back out into the corridor. If Holly had refused to hack into the linking program, he knew now that he wouldn't have clicked on the minus button and declined the icon. He would have accepted it and would probably have made an ass of himself all over again. Going about it this way, however, he'd have some maneuvering room. This time around, he'd be the one in charge.