I walk through the airport and find a place to exchange my money for American dollars. Then I continue on to the terminal and wait to board the plane.
I’m so tired. It’s now the middle of the night and last night I didn’t sleep much. And I didn’t sleep on the long flight here. I was too nervous, afraid I’d wake up and this would all be a dream. Now I have another long flight, all the way across the country to LA, followed by another layover, and then a short flight to Santa Barbara. Maybe I should try to sleep on the plane. I need to be alert when I get there.
An hour later, we’re boarding. It’s another huge plane that takes a long time to board. As I’m waiting in line, I look over at the other gates. The one across from mine is going to Paris and leaves in an hour. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, but after being stranded in Italy for fifteen years, I may never leave the U.S. again.
The line moves up a little. A man walks past me, talking loudly on his phone. I freeze because the voice sounds very familiar. But it couldn’t be him.
The line inches forward and I glance behind me and see the man with the familiar voice. He’s in a black suit, his back to me, standing in line at the check-in desk for the Paris flight. He’s still on the phone, talking with his hands, and when he turns slightly, I see that it’s him. It’s Leland Seymour!
I quickly turn around so that I’m facing my gate. Leland didn’t see me. I’m sure he didn’t. He was too busy talking on his phone. But I can’t risk having him see me. I need to get on the plane. And fast!
The people in front of me are mumbling and pointing to the gate. There seems to be a problem with the machine that scans the boarding passes and now we’re not moving.
Hurry up! I yell inside my head. One of the airline workers goes to help the woman who was running the machine, but he can’t get it to work. He goes back to the check-in desk and makes a call.
Hurry! I plead inside my head. Please, hurry. Please, please, please.
The worker hangs up the phone, then picks up the loud speaker. No, no, no! Leland will hear the announcement and look over here. Dammit!
“I got it,” the woman running the machine says. “It’s working now.”
I breathe again, my stomach doing flip-flops from all the stress. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten anything for almost twenty-four hours. I should probably eat something, but I feel too sick to keep anything down.
The line finally begins moving again. I don’t dare look back. I can’t risk it. Leland could be looking this way. A few minutes later, I’m on the plane, stuck in another middle seat. There’s a teenage girl on one side of me, and a guy in his twenties on the other. They both have headphones on and are staring at their phones. They don’t seem like talkers, so that’s good.
The plane takes off and I end up falling asleep, waking up an hour outside of LA. I feel a little better from the sleep, but my stomach is growling. The flight attendant is walking by and I ask her for a soda and some nuts. When she brings them, I devour them, realizing I’m more hungry and thirsty than I thought.
I change planes in LA, and on the short flight to Santa Barbara, I try to figure out what I’m going to do when we land. I’ll have to get a rental car, then find a hotel. After that I’ll have to find a library where I can look up information on Garret and Pearce.
What if Garret doesn’t live in California? Maybe those girls were wrong and he still lives in Connecticut. I should’ve had Marco or Celia look that up before I came here. But I couldn’t tell them Garret’s name. I don’t want them knowing I’m a Kensington. I trust Celia, but I don’t trust Marco or the people he works with.
When we land, I get my luggage and go straight to the car rental place that has the shortest line.
“I need a car,” I say to the man at the desk. “An inexpensive one.”
He holds his hand out. “ID and credit card.”
“Oh, um, I don’t have a credit card. I’m paying with cash.”
“We require that a credit card be on file in case the car is damaged or stolen.”
“I…I’m not going to damage or steal it.” I sound nervous. I need to calm down.
“We still need a credit card on file.” He seems annoyed, his eyes on the line of people behind me.
“Do all the rental companies require a credit card?”
“Yes. It’s standard policy.”
That’s just great. So now I can’t drive anywhere.
Wait a minute. I don’t have a license. I can’t rent a car without a driver’s license. What was I thinking? I’m so tired and hungry and stressed that I’m not thinking straight.
“Ma’am, I have a line of people waiting.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I pick up my suitcase and exit the line and go outside to where the taxis are lined up.
One of the drivers sees me waiting and jumps out of the car.
“Where are you going?” he asks. He has an Italian accent and it throws me. For a moment I thought I was back in Italy. “You want a ride or not?” he asks, holding the door open.
“Yes.” I get in the back seat and he closes the door.
He puts my suitcase in the trunk, then gets in the front seat and starts the meter. “What’s the address?”
“Just take me to a hotel. Someplace not too expensive in a decent part of town. Maybe next to a grocery store.”
He glances back at me, giving me a strange look. “You don’t have a hotel reservation?”
“No. I don’t know the area that well so I wasn’t sure where to stay.”
“Most people have a reservation,” he mumbles as he drives off.
He’s right. Most people would. He keeps checking the rearview mirror, looking at me with suspicious eyes. I need to make up a story.
I scoot to the end of my seat so he can hear me better. “I’m surprising my boyfriend. He just moved here and I haven’t seen him in two weeks and I wanted to surprise him, so on a whim, I got the first flight here and didn’t even bother to find a hotel. I didn’t want to just show up at his place after being on the plane. I want to go to a hotel and freshen up.”
He smiles and nods. “That’s nice. Very romantic.”
He believes me. That’s good.
“You need a nicer hotel,” he says. “I know where to go.”
“I can’t afford much. I need something moderately priced.”
“This is an expensive town. Nothing’s cheap around here.”
We’re driving down a street that has homes hidden behind iron gates. I didn’t realize Santa Barbara was such an exclusive area.
He turns right, onto a street that has restaurants and gas stations. I spot a hotel, and next to it is a small grocery store.
“Take me to that one,” I say, pointing to it.
“That’ll be expensive. All the rich people live around here.”
“That’s fine. I won’t be here long.”
He pulls into the hotel. It doesn’t look that fancy. It’s a single-level hotel with a white stucco exterior and flowers in large pots lining the entrance. I pay the driver, get my suitcase, and go inside to the check-in.
“I need a room for the night,” I say to the woman behind the desk. “The cheapest one you have.”
She types into her computer. “The ones we have available are $250 a night plus tax.”
Wow. That’s expensive.
“Okay. I’ll take it. Just one night.” I’ll find something cheaper for tomorrow night, but right now, this will have to do. I’m too tired to find something else and my cab is already gone.
The woman holds her hand out. “Credit card.”
“I’m paying with cash.”
“We need a card on file in case there are damages to the room.”
Again? This is so ridiculous. Can’t anyone do anything without a credit card?
“I don’t have a credit card. My wallet was stolen and all I have is cash.”
She sighs. “Then call the credit card company and have them give us your number.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we’ve heard that before. Which is why we require a card.”
Now I’m getting angry. “Do I look like someone who would damage the room?” I stand back, motioning to myself in my conservative black slacks and beige blouse. “I would never damage a hotel room.”
“It’s our policy to require a credit card.”
“Can I speak with your manager, please?”
“I AM the manager,” she says, annoyed.
“So I can’t have the room? Even if I pay you double for it?”
“I need a credit card.” She sighs again and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Then I guess I’m leaving. Are there any hotels you know of that don’t require a credit card to check in?”
She laughs. “Maybe one of those pay-by-the-hour hotels they have next to the truck stop just off the freeway.”
“Thanks for your help,” I mumble. I wheel my suitcase out the front doors, then stand there, just outside the entrance.
What am I going to do? I have no place to stay. I can’t get a hotel room. And I don’t have a car.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
13
RACHEL
I’m starving, so I decide to go to the grocery store, which is closer than any of the restaurants on this street.
It’s a very small grocery store and everyone stares at me as I walk in rolling a suitcase behind me. They probably think I’m homeless, which I guess I am. I have no place to go. Where am I going to sleep tonight?
As I wander through the produce section, I say a little prayer, begging God to help in any way possible. And then begging my parents to help me. I know they’re keeping watch on me. If they weren’t, I would have gotten on that plane years ago and be dead now. Or Holton would’ve killed me after he found me in Italy. But I’m still alive, and there has to be a reason for that. I have to believe that reason was so that I could be with my family again.
I place a few bananas in the shopping cart. Fruit sounds good so I get a couple apples too, and some oranges. Maybe I’ll get some nuts. They’re filling and portable and easy to eat. As I’m rounding the corner of the aisle, pushing my cart and dragging my suitcase behind me, I run right into someone else’s cart.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s no problem, dear,” I hear an older woman say as I check that my suitcase didn’t fall over.
She goes around me and I Iook up and smile at her. She smiles back, then stops abruptly. She’s staring at me. Why is she staring at me? Does she think she knows me?
Do I know her? She does look familiar. I’m guessing she’s in her seventies. Maybe she was a friend of my parents. But none of their friends lived in California, unless this woman retired here.
“Could I ask your name?” she says.
“Um, it’s Jill…I mean Andrea.” Great. I just gave her two names, as if I don’t even know my own name.
She knows I’m lying. The name mixup is a dead giveaway.
“I have to go,” I say, but I can’t get past her. It’s too tight of a turn around the aisle with her cart right next to mine.
“Rachel?” she asks.
She knows me? How does she know me? Maybe she thinks I’m a different Rachel.
“I’m sorry, but could you please move your cart?”
I feel her staring at me. “Rachel Kensington.”
“No.” I shake my head, my heart racing. “You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Andrea.”
“No, it’s you. Rachel…” Her voice drifts off. “But how could that be? You were on the plane.” She glances at my suitcase, then back at me. “Where have you been?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to maneuver my cart around the tight corner.
She holds my arm. “Do you remember me? Grace Sinclair.”
My eyes dart to her face. That’s why she looks familiar. Grace Sinclair. Royce’s mother. She looks so much older now that I didn’t recognize her at first. “Grace?” I say without realizing I even said it out loud.
“Yes.” She nods. “Grace Sinclair. We used to know each other.”
I don’t know what to say. Do I admit who I am? Can I trust Grace? She’s part of the organization. Or at least her husband and sons are, according to what Jack told me years ago. What if she turns me in? They’ll come after me. They’ll kill me!
“Rachel.” She’s holding my hand now, lightly rubbing it to get my attention.
Her voice is soft, soothing. And I get a gut feeling that I can trust her. I always liked Grace and Arlin. I thought they were nice people. But then why was Arlin part of that group? Because he was forced to be part of it. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It’s not a choice. Pearce was forced to be a member, and so was Arlin.
“Honey, are you okay?” Grace asks in a motherly tone. And she called me ‘honey’ just like my mom used to do. She looks concerned. “Maybe we should go sit down. You’re white as a ghost.”
“I’m a little light-headed,” I say, noticing how dizzy I suddenly feel. “I haven’t eaten much the past couple days.”
“You should sit down.” She checks the area around us, but there’s no place to sit. “Is someone with you?”
“No. I’m here alone.”
“Where do you live?”
“I, um…” I close my eyes until the dizziness passes, then open them again. “I don’t live anywhere. I…I just got here. I just got off a plane.”
“Oh, dear.” She sounds worried. “We need to get you home. Do you have a car?”
“No. I walked here. I mean, I took a taxi.”
She pushes my grocery cart aside and stands next to me, taking my arm. “Let’s go to the car. My house is just a few blocks from here.”
I agree to it because I’m not sure what else to do. She’s offering to help me and right now I need help, so I’m going with my gut and trusting her.
As we’re walking away, I say, “What about your shopping cart? Don’t you want to check out?”
“It’s fine. I didn’t need much. I’ll come back and get it later.”
She leads me out to the parking lot, holding onto my arm the entire time. We stop next to a silver Mercedes. She pops open the trunk and I put my suitcase in there, then get in the car.
This is so surreal. I arrive in a town I’ve never been to, go to a tiny grocery store, and run into Grace Sinclair? I feel like I’m dreaming this.
“I normally have bridge club on Saturdays,” she says as we’re driving down the street. “That’s why I’m here. But I’ll call and tell them I won’t be there.”
Her words run together in my head. What did she say? Something about bridge? I’m not sure. I’m so out of it. I need to eat. And I need some water. I don’t feel good.
Grace’s house is one of the ones behind the gate that the taxi drove past on the way here. When the gate opens, we’re surrounded by flowers. It reminds me of my wedding. The second one. The ballroom where the reception was held was covered in flowers.
“This is beautiful,” I say as I lower my window, the scent of the flowers surrounding me.
She smiles as she parks in front of the house. “I enjoy flowers.”
“Me too,” I say. “I love flowers.”
Her house looks like a country cottage, with stone on the outside and a white bench on the porch and flowers everywhere.
We go inside her house. It’s bright and cheery, with a yellow sofa in the living room and windows all along the back wall that let the sun in.
“I love your house.” I walk over to the windows. Her back yard is huge and full of every kind of flower imaginable, separated by stone walking paths and a gazebo in the middle. “Your flower gardens are beautiful. I could live out there.”
She takes my arm again. “We’ll go out there later. Let’s go to the kitchen and get you something to eat.”
As Gra
ce makes me a sandwich, I drink three big glasses of iced tea. Then I devour the sandwich, and when I’m done, I feel much better.
“Thank you for the lunch,” I say, taking another drink of iced tea.
“You’re very welcome. I’m just glad I was in town and ran into you.”
“You don’t live here?”
“No. I own the house, but I don’t live here. But I like to come down here sometimes and visit my flowers. And as I said, I have bridge club on Saturdays, twice a month.”
“Where do you live?”
“About an hour north of here.” She looks like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you. If you need to go, that’s fine. But maybe you could just help me get a hotel. I tried to—”
“Honey, you’re not staying at a hotel.” She rubs my hand. “You’re staying with us. Isn’t that why you’re here? To see him?”
What is she talking about? Stay with us? Who’s ‘us’? The Sinclair family? We were kind of friends, but not really.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh.” She looks concerned. “I guess you don’t know. I just assumed you were here to see Garret.”
My heart takes off just hearing his name. “Garret is here? It’s not just a rumor? He’s really here in California?”
“Yes. He and his wife, Jade, live about an hour north of here, in a house along the coastline. And I live next door to them.”
I smile, tears falling down my face. “Garret’s only an hour away?” I cover my mouth with my hand. “And he’s married?”
“Yes. To Jade. Jade is my granddaughter.”
“My son is married to your granddaughter?”
“Yes. She’s Royce’s daughter. It’s a long story. I think it’s best if Jade and Garret tell you. In fact, I’d rather have them tell you everything. It might be best if you talked to Garret alone first. Why don’t I call and see if he could come down here?”
I nod quickly. “Yes. Please. I’m desperate to see him. I’ve waited so long. I have to see him.”
She gets up from the table and goes over to her phone, which is in the kitchen. She calls him, and I’m tempted to run over and grab the phone from her, but I don’t. Knowing I’m alive is going to be a huge shock to him. It’s better if our reunion happens face-to-face.
Only Her Page 13
