I hear my quick shallow breaths and think he might be right. My chest feels weighted down, my lungs struggling for air. I feel dizzy, to the point that I might pass out. Maybe this is what a panic attack feels like, because I’m definitely panicking. I loosen my scarf, but it still feels tight.
“I’ll get you some water.” Brian sets the laptop down and jumps up from his chair. Moments later he appears with a glass. I have to hold it with both hands so I don’t drop it. My body feels paralyzed from the shock. Like I can’t move. Can’t think.
“Oh my God.” I say it again, staring straight ahead.
“Drink some water,” Brian says. “You’re really pale. Maybe you’re dehydrated.”
I take a tiny sip, just so he’ll leave me alone, then hand him the glass.
Katherine is married to Pearce. That can’t be right. There must be some mistake. He wouldn’t marry her. Never in a million years. Her father, Leland, tried to kill me! Pearce wouldn’t marry his daughter. It would never happen.
Even if she wasn’t Leland’s daughter, Pearce wouldn’t marry her. He doesn’t even like her. He used to say how immature she was. How fake she was, and shallow, and deceitful like her mother. He couldn’t stand the way she’d follow him around at parties, infatuated with him. So how could he be married to her? This doesn’t make any sense. He’s married to me! He can’t marry someone else when he’s married to me.
“I need to see that.” I point to the laptop. Brian is still staring at me like I’m going to pass out, which is a real possibility.
He slowly hands me the computer. He’s probably concerned I’m going to drop it. I sit up straighter and set it on my lap. I click on the first article. It’s about a charity auction held in New York last week. There’s a photo of Pearce and Katherine. Pearce is wearing a tuxedo and looks as handsome as I remember. My heart aches seeing him again. It’s been so long. I wish I could print out a picture of him and take it with me. I have no photos of him. Only memories. Memories of what used to be. Those memories are what get me through each day, giving me hope that I’ll be reunited with my family. But now, I don’t know if I will. Pearce is remarried. To Katherine.
As I look closer at the photo, I notice there’s something different about Pearce. His eyes. They look empty. Emotionless. Dead. I could always tell how Pearce was feeling by his eyes. They always gave him away. But I never saw them look this way. This is not the Pearce I know. He’s not smiling in the photo. He’s just staring straight ahead with those lifeless eyes.
“What happened to you?” I whisper as my finger touches Pearce’s face on the screen.
My eyes move to Katherine, who’s wearing a royal blue evening gown, her blond hair pulled up and back, huge diamonds on her ears and along her neck. She has her arm wrapped around Pearce’s arm. I look at her left hand and see a large diamond ring. There’s a smirk on her face. Not even a smile. A smirk. Like a spoiled child who got what she wanted and is rubbing it in my face.
The caption below the photo says, ‘Pearce and Katherine Kensington.’ The article is about the auction, not them specifically, and their photo is one of many on the page. I go back to the search results and scan the headlines. They’re all stories covering various charity events.
I type in ‘Katherine Seymour’s wedding’ and find out that she married Pearce almost two years ago. I sink back into my chair. How could he do this to me? How could he marry her? The daughter of the man who wanted me dead?
Maybe they forced him to marry her. Jack said members have to marry the daughters of other members. And Leland is a member. So is that what happened? Is that why Leland tried to kill me? So his daughter could marry Pearce? Is Katherine that damn spoiled that her father would kill someone to give her what she wants?
What about Garret? Oh, God. She’s his stepmother. No! I won’t allow it. I will not allow that woman to raise my son. I scan the articles and see nothing about Garret. It’s like he wasn’t even at the wedding. I don’t see any photos of him. Where is he? Did something happen to him?
I search his name but don’t get much for results. It’s mostly stories about the plane crash and how he was my only child. After three pages of results, there’s something more recent. Swim meets he competed in. I smile, tears welling up in my eyes. Garret’s swimming. He’s still swimming. And he’s on a team. My little boy is on a swim team. But he’s not a little boy anymore. He’s 13. A teenager. And I’ve missed all these years of his life. I feel wetness on my cheeks as tears stream down my face.
“Jill, are you sure you’re okay?” Brian asks. He was pretending to read his book but he’s really been watching me out the side of his eye.
I wipe my cheeks. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”
“I’d let you continue using it, but I need to leave in a few minutes. I have a meeting across the street.”
I nod. “Okay.”
What else should I look up? Think, Rachel. Think.
Jack! I quickly type in his name. I almost drop the laptop again when I see the results.
A heart attack. Jack had a heart attack the night of the plane crash. He was found in his car. The article says he had a heart attack while driving and the car went in a ditch. He was dead by the time someone found him. They found the car just five miles from our house.
Tears continue down my cheeks. He’s dead. Jack is dead. He went to tell Pearce and died before he made it there. He was so close. Just five miles away. But he never made it.
Pearce was never told. He thinks I’m dead. He has this whole time. He hasn’t been looking for me. Hasn’t been trying to find a way to get me back. Instead he’s moved on with his life. He’s married to Katherine. The enemy. Whose father tried to kill me.
And I have no idea what has happened to my son. If he’s okay. Or if he’s suffering, living with that witch of a woman. Forced to be part of the Seymour family.
Oh my God. Pearce doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Leland did. He doesn’t know because Jack was never able to tell him. Pearce has no idea he’s married to the daughter of the man who tried to kill me.
I close the Internet and get up and set the laptop on my chair.
“I have to go,” I say to Brian. “Thank you for letting me use your computer.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, which isn’t surprising. I’m crying. My breathing is erratic. I’m shaking. I’m a mess. I have to get out of here.
When I get outside, I squeeze through the crowds of people, searching for a quiet place where I can sit for a moment and think. But there’s no place to go. It’s noisy and people are everywhere. Bumping into me. Pushing me along. I find myself at the edge of a busy intersection, wedged within the crowd. Across the street I spot some benches around a fountain. It’s not quiet, but at least it’s somewhere to sit, and I need to sit. I’m feeling very light-headed.
As I’m waiting for the light to turn, I glance up and see a camera aimed directly at me. Shit! I reach up to make sure my scarf is covering me but it’s not there. It must’ve fallen off. I search the area all around me but I can’t find it. And then I realize my sunglasses are also missing. I must’ve left them at the cafe. The light changes and people are pushing me to move forward. I keep my head down and hurry across the street to the fountain and find an open bench.
That camera definitely saw me. I looked right at it. Dammit!
It’s fine. Nobody’s after me. Everyone thinks I’m dead. So why would anyone be looking for me? They wouldn’t. I’m fine.
My mind returns to what I just read online. Pearce and Katherine are married. And my son is living under their roof. Oh, God. I think I might throw up. I lean over, clutching my stomach, which is twisting and churning and cramping all at once. My throat is burning as I try to hold back my tears, but I’m not doing a very good job because they’re still streaming down my face.
I sit up a little and focus on the fountain and take some deep breaths. I need to relax so I can figure out what
to do.
I watch the water flowing in the fountain and it calms me enough to think. I will NOT let this happen. I will not let that woman take my family from me. I have to stop this. I have to go back there. I’ll disguise myself. I’ll fly to a small town in the middle of nowhere and hide out. I’ll contact Pearce and tell him what happened. And when he finds out I’m alive, he’ll divorce Katherine and we’ll be together again. We’ll be a family.
It won’t be that simple. I know it won’t. I’ll be risking a lot by doing this, but I have to try. I can’t let this continue. I’ve been waiting here in Italy for nothing! For no reason. Nobody’s been looking for me. Jack is dead, and Pearce has moved on with his life.
I take a few minutes to calm down, then go back across the street to find my scarf, keeping my eyes aimed at the ground so the cameras won’t see my face. I search everywhere for my scarf but it isn’t there. It’s gone. I go inside the Internet cafe to get my glasses but they’re also gone. Someone must’ve taken them.
I return to the bench by the fountain and wait until it’s time for Celia to pick me up. She’s late and I’m stuck standing in front of the Internet cafe, where there is yet another camera that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I keep my head down and stare at the ground. My hair is long again, so I look more like myself than I did when I arrived here years ago. I should’ve gone in a store and bought another scarf but it’s too late now.
A scarf. Shit! I forgot to get a scarf. Now Celia will wonder why I went shopping and didn’t buy anything. Why didn’t I buy one? I’m so distraught over what I found out about Pearce that I can’t even think straight.
Twenty minutes later Celia finally shows up, nearly knocking over a trash can as she pulls in the spot. I quickly get in the car.
“My sister is ill. We’re going home.” She squeals out of the parking space, almost sideswiping a car. She seems angry.
“I’m sorry to hear she’s ill. Will she be okay?”
Celia rolls her window down and yells obscenities in Italian at the man in the car next to us and shakes her fist at him. I don’t even know what he did wrong. She’s usually so sweet and mild-mannered, but get her on the road and she turns crazy.
She rolls her window up. “She’s not sick. We fought. We always do. This is why our visits never last for more than a few hours.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. I thought you liked her.”
“Of course I like her!” She throws her hands in the air, leaving the steering wheel unattended. Her hands return to the wheel. “She’s my sister. I love her. But then she starts arguing with me and soon…” She continues her rant, speaking in both Italian and English. She’s gesturing with her hands and I’m getting nervous. There’s too much traffic. She needs to keep her hands on the wheel.
I keep quiet and let her drive. We can talk about this later. Now that I think about it, I do remember this happened the last time she came to Naples. She said she’d be gone a couple days but was back the same day she left.
Celia talks to herself the entire drive back. She’s talking really fast in Italian, likely replaying the argument with her sister.
I just sit back and close my eyes and wait for us to get home. When we arrive there, it’s after dark. I take my small travel bag from the back seat and tell Celia I’m tired and going up to my room. She motions me to go, still mumbling to herself.
Back in my apartment, I lie in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling which are illuminated from the street light that shines through my window.
Am I really doing this? Why do I even ask? Of course I’m doing it. I have to. I have to get back to my family. I have to get them away from Katherine and Leland. I know it’s risky but I can’t sit here and do nothing.
The decision is made. I’m leaving. I’m flying back to the U.S. If Celia can’t drive me to the airport, I’ll take a cab. I have just enough money for a plane ticket, cab ride to the airport, and bus fare to wherever I end up going when I get there.
Maybe I’ll leave tomorrow. I know I haven’t thought this through, but what’s there to think about? There’s no need to stay here. I’d be better off hiding out in a tiny rural town in America than here. At least I’d be closer to my son.
My son. Garret. I smile just thinking about him. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without seeing him. Without hugging him. Without telling him I love him.
But I’m going to see him again soon. Very soon.
The next morning, I take my suitcase from the closet, and just the sight of it gets my blood pumping with excitement. I’m leaving. I’m finally leaving. I’m going back home. Back to America and back to my family.
I empty my closet, putting all the clothes on my bed and folding them up. I don’t have many clothes. Just enough to fill the suitcase. Next, I get out my passport, which is hidden under my mattress, along with my stash of money. I take the money out too. A few thousand dollars. It’s all I have.
There are no banks in this town, and even if there were, I wouldn’t open an account. Before I came here, Jack told me to avoid any kind of paper trail, meaning don’t have things like a bank account, credit card, driver’s license, or car registration. I didn’t think it was possible to get by without those things, but I’ve done so successfully for three years now, and I’m hoping I can do the same when I get back to the U.S. Even with my new identity, I’ll need to remain hidden and untraceable.
I’ve decided to leave first thing tomorrow. I’ll spend today preparing for the trip, and then I’ll go to bed early so that I’m well rested and alert for what will likely be a long and possibly dangerous trip.
“Good morning.” Celia comes up and gives me a quick hug as I walk in the kitchen. She’s a hugger, like me, which is what made me instantly like her when we first met. “The dough is already made.” She points to it on the counter.
Usually I make the dough, so I say, “Why did you make it so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She walks back and forth through the kitchen, her arms flailing as she talks. “That Maria. She drives me crazy!”
Maria is the sister she went to visit yesterday. Celia stops abruptly in front of me. “She has a new man in her life. Twenty years younger!”
So that’s why Celia was so upset? Is she jealous? Or just worried for her sister? Her sister’s 75. I don’t think Celia needs to worry about her sister dating a 55-year-old man. Or maybe the younger man was just part of the reason for the fight.
She storms out of the kitchen into the restaurant. I know she’s upset, but I need to talk to her.
“Celia,” I say, getting her attention. She’s taking the chairs off the tables and setting them upright on the floor. I walk over to her. “Can we talk for a moment?”
“Sì.” She pulls a chair out for me and we both sit at one of the small tables.
“I was wondering if you could take me to Naples tomorrow.”
She cocks her head to the side. “You’re going shopping again?”
“No. I need a ride to the airport.”
She eyes me with concern. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving. Going back home.”
I can tell she wants to ask why, but she’s always respected my privacy so I hope she continues to do so now. Because if she questions me, I don’t know what to tell her. I haven’t had time to come up with a story.
“You’re leaving for good?” she asks.
“Yes. For good. I’m not coming back.” I feel sad as I say it, because as much as I want to leave, I will miss Celia. And she’ll miss me. I can already see the loss in her eyes.
She nods. “I will take you. What time do we leave?”
“In the morning. Before the restaurant opens. I can make tomorrow’s dough later today so it’ll be all ready for you when you get back.”
She stands up. “I’ll close the restaurant. Take you to the airport, then maybe go back and see my sister.” She hurries off to the kitchen and I know it’s because she was about to cry. She doesn’t like p
eople seeing her cry. She’ll get angry and yell and scream, but she’s not one to cry, at least not in front of other people.
I feel bad leaving her, but I have to leave. I have to get back to my family. This isn’t my home. My home is with Pearce and Garret.
Later that day, I ask Celia to tell the parents of my students that I had to leave and won’t be coming back. I didn’t want to tell them myself. They’d just ask me questions I don’t have answers to, so it’s better if Celia tells them I’m gone once I’ve already left.
At eight, I go to bed because we’re leaving at five in the morning. But I’m unable to sleep. I’m excited, but also nervous and scared and worried something will happen that will prevent me from making it home. Like maybe there will be a problem at security and they won’t let me through to the gate. Or maybe I’ll get to customs and they won’t accept my passport.
No. None of that will happen. Everything will be fine. I need to stay positive. I used to always be positive, but the day of the plane crash everything changed. I no longer see the world the way I used to. Before the crash, I was always hopeful. Always seeing only the good in people. But now? I view the world with a much darker lens. I’m much more cautious around people. I’m suspicious of their motives. I don’t trust people the way I used to.
After everything that’s happened to me, it’s a struggle to remain positive, but it’s what I need to do to get through this. I can’t give up hope. If I do, I’m letting my enemies win.
After a few hours of staring at the ceiling, I finally drift off to sleep, dreaming of Pearce and Garret and being reunited with them after three very long years.
My blissful dreamland suddenly turns dark when it’s overtaken by a nightmare that seems so real I feel like I’m actually living it. Everything’s black and I hear deep voices and then feel something covering my mouth. It jars me from my sleep and I awake to find that there really is something over my mouth. A piece of duct tape. And there’s a large man hovering over my bed.
Panic overwhelms me, fear seething through my veins.
Only Her Page 2
