Only Her

by Allie Everhart

  All the emotion I’d been bottling up comes to the surface, flooding my eyes with tears. I haven’t cried like this for years. The last time I did was that night I was in the kitchen, a few months after the plane crash. I was standing over the sink, remembering Rachel, and the tears just broke loose. Garret caught me crying and tried to help me, but I pushed him away. I’ve been pushing him away ever since, which is what got us to the place we’re at now. My son is an adult and I feel like I don’t even know him.

  “Dad.” I hear his voice. It’s very faint, and when I look up at his face, I see his eyes are closed.

  “I’m right here, son.”

  His eyes attempt to flicker open but then close again.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbles. He’s heavily drugged on painkillers and his words are slurred.

  “I won’t.” I rub his hand. “I’ll stay right here.” He’s too out of it to understand what I’m saying, but I continue. “But I have to leave in the morning. I have to wrap up some things and I need to be at the house when Jade wakes up.”

  “Jade,” he whispers.

  Maybe he can understand me. If so, he probably won’t remember this tomorrow.

  “Where’s Jade?” I feel him tense up, but his eyes remain closed.

  “Jade is fine,” I tell him. “She’s at the house. She’s safe. She wasn’t hurt.”

  He relaxes again.

  “Garret, I know how much you love Jade. And I know how much she loves you. You two are good for each other. It reminds me of your mother and me. We brought out the best in each other and had the kind of love that only comes around once in a lifetime. I think you have that love with Jade. So I will do what I can to help you be with her, but it’s not going to be easy. And if it comes to the point where your life, or Jade’s life, is threatened, I won’t allow you to continue seeing her. I want you to be happy and I want you to have love in your life, but I won’t allow you to be with her if it means putting your life at risk. Or hers. But I will do whatever I can to prevent that from happening.”

  I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I hope you can forgive me, Garret, for not being a father to you all these years. I hope you’ll give me another chance. I’m not just saying it this time. I’m committed to this. I’m going to get help. I’m going to see someone and address this grief that’s consumed me since your mother died. It’s not going to be an easy or quick process, so I can’t promise you I’ll be a new man by tomorrow or next week or even next month. But I can promise you that I will no longer be the absent father you’ve known for so long. I want to be part of your life again, and I hope you’ll allow me to do so.”

  He didn’t hear me. He’s sound asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

  I lean down over his bed and kiss his head, like I did when he was a child. “I love you, son.”

  I haven’t told him that for years. I haven’t been able to and I’m not sure why. Even now, if he were awake, I don’t think I could’ve said those words. It proves that I need help. I need to work through whatever’s keeping me from connecting with my children and being the father they need.

  After a few minutes, I leave Garret’s room and go down to the office and find Logan doing paperwork at the desk.

  “Are you leaving?” he asks as he stands up.

  “No. I’m going to stay here until morning. Do you think Garret could come home tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? I don’t know, Pearce. That might be too soon. He’s doing better, but I think it’s best if we keep him here a few days.”

  “I don’t want him here. It’s too far away. I want him at home.”

  Logan thinks for a moment. “I suppose we could send a nurse home with him so she could care for him and monitor his condition.”

  “Yes, that’ll work. She can stay in one of the guest rooms. I want the best nurse you have. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

  “I’d volunteer to stay there too, but Shelby just called and said our youngest is sick so I told her I’d be home tomorrow sometime.”

  “Does that mean Dr. Cauldwell will be taking over?”

  “Yes. As I said before, he’s excellent and lives here in Connecticut, about a half hour from your house. If you need anything, just call him. Or you can always call me. I can come and check on him after I check on things at home.”

  “No, you need to be with your family. I’ve worked with Dr. Cauldwell before. I trust him to care for Garret.”

  “I’ll need to reassess him in the morning before we make any decisions about sending him home. If he’s not ready, I can’t release him.”

  “I understand. Thank you, Logan, for staying here tonight.”

  He nods. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I return to Garret’s room and sit on the chair by his bed. And that’s where I remain until morning.

  As I’m driving home, I tell myself it’s a new day. A new beginning. I’m going to change, for good this time. I’m going to be the man I used to be. The man Rachel helped me become. The man she would be proud of if she were still in our lives.

  Rachel is gone. I’ve lost her, and my refusal to accept that nearly destroyed my relationship with my son. But I won’t let that happen.

  I’ve lost Rachel, but I will not lose Garret.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Six Years Later

  RACHEL

  I’m on my break at the restaurant. A family just walked in. They look like tourists; parents with two teen girls, each with a backpack. They might be Americans. If they are, I should see if they’ll give Pearce a message. But I’ve tried this so many times and failed that I don’t know if it’s even worth doing again.

  For fifteen years I’ve been trapped in this tiny town and tried almost everything to escape. But the past few years, I admit, I’ve pretty much given up. I’m constantly being monitored so it’s no use even trying to leave. And I don’t have a passport, so even if I could leave this town, I couldn’t leave the country.

  My break is over, so I rise up from my chair, put on a smile, grab some menus, and approach the table with the family.

  “Salve,” I say, greeting them in Italian.

  The husband raises his hand. “We don’t speak Italian. Do you speak any English?”

  “Yes. I’m American.”

  His wife smiles. “So are we. We’re from New Hampshire. These are our girls, Maddie and Emma.”

  “Hi,” I say, but they’re staring at their phones. Maddie looks to be around 16 and Emma is maybe 18. It’s the middle of May, so they’re probably on summer break and this is the big family vacation.

  “Mom, there’s no cell service in this town,” Maddie says.

  “No Internet either,” I add.

  “Dad, let’s leave,” Emma says. “We have to find someplace where I can check my phone.”

  “We’re having lunch,” he says. “You’ll live without your phone for an hour.”

  “Dad!” both girls cry out at once.

  He ignores them and talks to me. “So where are you from?”

  “Texas,” I lie, because from past experience, telling the truth has earned me a warning letter delivered to my room. That was a few years ago, and ever since then, I’ve gone back to lying about my past. I know they’re listening to everything I say. “I’ll give you some time to look at the menu.”

  “Could you recommend something?” the husband asks. “We can’t read the menu in Italian.”

  “Yes. Of course.” I give them some options and let them decide.

  I put their order in, and as they’re waiting for their food, I try to decide what to do. Should I attempt to get another message to Pearce? Doing so will earn me another warning letter from whoever is watching me. Or maybe they’d do something to hurt me. I’m sure they’re tired of me not following orders, although I haven’t even attempted this in years. Still, I know I’ll get in trouble if I even bring up Pearce’s name.

  I don’t care. I’m desperate. I have to do something. But w
hat if these people don’t believe that I know Pearce? Or what if they don’t give him the message? If they’re like everyone else I’ve asked, they’ll find it to be an odd request, and chances are they’ll never tell him. Maybe if Pearce was a regular person they would, but people are too intimidated to call up a well-known billionaire.

  When I bring out their food, Emma is looking at a magazine. It’s one of those celebrity magazines with lots of pictures.

  “Maddie, look!” Emma points to a page in the magazine. “Prep School Girls starts in two weeks!”

  Maddie shrugs as I set her food down in front of her. “This one won’t be as good as the one in Connecticut. That was the best season out of all of them.”

  Emma smiles, her eyes dreamy. “Only because of Garret.” I wait for her to move the magazine, then lay her plate down.

  “Garret who?” I ask.

  “Kensington,” they both say, and then start giggling.

  I almost drop their mom’s salad but I quickly set it down before I do.

  “Who’s Garret Kensington?” I ask innocently, but I think my voice sounded shaky. I clear my throat, then say, “I’ve never heard of him.”

  Emma looks at her sister and smiles. “He’s the world’s hottest guy.”

  “Definitely,” her sister agrees. “Emma has pictures of him all over her room.”

  They must be talking about a different Garret Kensington. My son wouldn’t be on a TV show.

  “Is he an actor?” I ask Emma.

  “No. Prep School Girls is a reality show. Garret was on it a few years ago, back when he was in high school. The show followed him and his girlfriend around, along with some other couples. Then they did a reunion show when he was in college.”

  Their mother laughs. “Don’t get them started. They could talk about that boy all day.”

  Maybe it is him. The boy they’re describing would be around Garret’s age and he does live in Connecticut, at least he used to.

  I smile at the mother, then turn back to the girls. “Where is he now? Still on TV?”

  “No,” Emma says as she adjusts her ponytail. “You don’t hear much about him anymore. The rumor is that he lives somewhere in California. People have seen him in Santa Barbara. I heard he’s married but I don’t believe it. He’s too young to be married, and besides, he’s supposed to be with Ava and she’s still single. Ava was his girlfriend on the show. They were totally in love.”

  “You know those shows aren’t real,” their father says. “Those two probably never even dated in real life.”

  Maddie rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Dad.”

  “Do you have children?” he asks me.

  I almost say yes, but then catch myself. “No. No children.”

  “Imagine if you did and he was on a reality show.” He laughs. “It must’ve been a real nightmare for his father, especially since he’s in such a serious profession. I’m sure he was embarrassed having his son on some reality show.”

  “Honey, here’s your napkin.” His wife hands it to him.

  “Who’s his father?” I ask.

  “Pearce Kensington. The billionaire CEO. Have you heard of him?”

  A nervous flutter takes over my stomach but I try to remain calm. “I think so. He owns a chemical company?”

  “Yes, that’s him.” The man bites into his sandwich.

  I should let these people eat but I have to know more. I decide to play dumb. “I thought his father was the CEO.”

  “His father died five years ago,” the man says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “He had a stroke and went into a coma and died.”

  It takes a moment for my mind to process what he said, but when I do, I feel my heart racing in excitement.

  “I’ll be back to check on you,” I say, then quickly walk away.

  Holton is dead? He’s really dead? I want to go outside and jump up and down and scream to the world that I’m free. I’m finally free!

  The bell in the kitchen rings, alerting me that an order is ready. I race over to get it and practically skip on my way to deliver it to the customers waiting at table five. They look at me funny. They’ve probably never seen anyone look so happy or smile so wide, but I can’t hide it. I’m free! I’m finally free!

  Then my happiness plummets as I realize I don’t have a passport and I don’t have the right documents to get one. Why didn’t Jack give me anything when I left? A fake birth certificate? Fake ID? Then again, if I’d had those things, Holton’s men would’ve stolen them years ago.

  Holton’s men. I almost forget about them. Are they still watching me? That man said Holton died five years ago. Oh my God. He died five years ago! I could’ve left here five years ago! But I didn’t know. I had no idea he was dead.

  I quickly think about the last five years. I haven’t really tried to leave town in those five years. Last year, I road my bike outside the town limits one day and nobody stopped me, but I thought that was just because they assumed I wouldn’t get very far on a bike. But maybe they didn’t stop me because they weren’t here. Because they stopped watching me after Holton died.

  What if this whole time, I could’ve left town and didn’t even know it? I race into the kitchen and go up to Celia, who’s taking rolls out of the oven.

  “Can I borrow your car?” I ask her.

  She sets the baking sheet down on the counter. “You can’t drive. You don’t have a license.”

  “I’m not going far. Just a few kilometers outside of town. Then I’ll come right back.”

  She turns to me and feels my forehead. “Are you ill? Your face is flushed and you’re acting very odd.”

  “I’m not ill. Please, Celia. I just need to borrow your car.”

  She’s staring at me like she knows something’s up. She pulls her keys out and hands them to me. “I’ll watch your customers for you.”

  I hug her. “Thank you!”

  She keeps her eye on me as I run off. I’m going to miss her when I leave. When I leave. It’s been years since I’ve even thought those words in my head. I guess because I’d given up hope, assuming I’d never get out of here.

  I drive down the narrow road. It feels strange to drive a car again. I haven’t driven a car in fifteen years. I haven’t done a lot of things in fifteen years.

  When I reach the end of town, I get nervous but I keep going. I go a kilometer and no one stops me. Then I go another, and another one after that. I drive five kilometers out of town without anyone chasing me or running me off the road. I pull off to the side and take a deep breath and cry tears of joy. They’re gone. Holton’s gone. Those men are gone. I’m finally free!

  Back at the restaurant, I drop the keys off with Celia and return to work. Celia keeps watching me, but she doesn’t say anything. When my shift is over, I go up to my apartment. A few minutes later, I hear a knock on the door.

  I panic for a moment, thinking it’s Holton’s men, but they wouldn’t knock.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “It’s Celia.”

  I open the door. “Come on in.” She walks in and I shut the door. “Is something wrong?” I ask because she seems more serious than usual.

  “Sit down.” She leads me to the bed.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Are you going back home? To America?”

  That’s an odd question. She’s never asked me that before.

  “Um, I don’t know.” I don’t look at her. If I do, I might tell her things I shouldn’t.

  “Are you afraid to go home?” she asks.

  Another strange question. I keep quiet.

  “Jill.” She wraps her hands around mine. I look back at her and she looks directly in my eyes. “I have never once asked you about your past. I don’t ask, because I don’t want to be asked about mine. But I know you’re hiding something. Something from your past. That’s why you came here. You had to get away.”

  I swallow hard. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’ve been in your
shoes. Scared. Alone. Afraid to trust people. I’ve watched you for fifteen years. I’ve seen the sadness in your eyes. The fear. The loneliness. I’ve seen you gradually lose hope. You used to have hope, Jill. I don’t know what you were hoping for, but there was a light in you that kept you going. Then that light went out and I haven’t seen it in years. Until today.” She squeezes my hand. “That hope is back, and I don’t want to see you lose it again.”

  I nod. “You’re right. I heard something today that gave me hope.”

  “Hope that you’ll be able to go home?”

  I hesitate. “Yes.”

  “But you can’t, because there’s someone there you’re afraid of. Someone who might hurt you.”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “Tell me, Jill. Tell me why you’ve been hiding here all these years.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.

  How does she know I’ve been hiding? Is it that obvious? I guess it is. A woman from America shows up here with nothing more than a suitcase, and stays here for fifteen years? I would find that suspicious too. And yet, Celia has never asked me this before.

  She releases my hand and sits back a little. “I’m going to tell you a story, but you need to keep this a secret, okay?”

  “Yes.” If she only knew how many secrets I’m keeping.

  “When I was 22, I married a man who I thought was the love of my life, but after we were married, his love turned into an obsession to control me. He wouldn’t let me leave the house, not even to go to the market. If I tried, he beat me. He made me a prisoner in my own home. This went on for over a year and I knew that eventually he would kill me. He drank too much and had a bad temper. One night he came home drunk and accused me of cheating on him and put a gun to my head. The gun slipped out of his hand so I grabbed it and shot him, multiple times to make sure he was dead.”

  My eyes are glued on her as she tells the story. I had no idea she’d been abused like that. And she killed him? She really killed her husband? I wonder if she’s ever told anyone this.