Didn’t these people know my father was sick?
I’d asked my father that exact question. As a reply, and to shut me up, he’d patted my arm and said, “I ain’t dead yet, Nugget. The business ain’t gonna run itself.” He’d added that being back at home had given him enough energy, or in his words, superhuman powers.
It had resulted in me pulling my hair out. Not all of it, of course, but a good wad, enough to cut into short strips and sell to the next toupé maker I’d come across. Not that I knew one, but the day was young yet.
By sunset, I was in bed, not bothering to change into pajamas, and passed out from all the day’s activities.
When the bright sun spilled into my still-pink bedroom on the third day, there was an uncanny texture in my mouth. Upon close inspection, and after a quick checkup with my pediatric dentist, who resembled the crypt keeper in his ancient years, I discovered I’d gnashed my teeth overnight, causing one of my fillings to pop out and turn into a fine, sand-like product in my mouth. Stress was getting to me. Stowe was getting to me.
After the dentist, I returned home, where my mother and her posse awaited to scrutinize each and every inch of my being. Women who lunch. They insisted they should be called ladies, but their definition of a lady was a far cry from mine. They played the “Point out what’s wrong with Chastity Hannah game”.
One said, my hair was too dark for my complexion.
Another argued, my complexion was too light for my hair.
“She could use a haircut.”
“She needs a facial and less whorish makeup.”
“She needs an entirely new wardrobe. Only women who hide secrets wear black.”
Well, damn woman, you got me there.
Meanwhile, the Novocain from the dental visit had worn off. My eyes twitched when I overheard one of the women saying I could stand to lose a few pounds. I had trouble determining who was who since they all dressed alike (pearls and twinset, pressed pants or a floral skirt, or a fugly floral dress), they all sounded the same (high pitched with a tinge of annoying), and they were either called Georgia, Georgia-Anne or Georgiana. One was called Wendy, but she was clearly the black sheep of the group, having worn jeans and a sweater with rhinestones, and stating that my leather-trimmed leggings did not make me look like I was a part of the local motorcycle gang.
From head to toe, through and through, each one had a comment about my appearance, but not one brought up my disappearance ten years ago. I refused to argue or point out the obvious, because Mother Dear was their head honcho, and I still didn’t know how long I’d be living under her roof.
As soon as I was released from their scrutiny, I ran straight to the backdoor, past the outdoor pool, and through the woods until I hit a small, familiar lake. I dropped on the grass and breathed in the fresh air. The flickering sunshine weaved itself between the lush dancing leaves of mature trees. I’d forgotten about this place. As a little girl, I’d often trudged through the forest in the middle of the day, sat on this very spot, and dreamt of jetting off to a faraway land and having my own (mis)adventures.
In that moment, surprising even myself, I thought of Charity, and asked the whistling wind what would have happened if she’d never left.
Nature had no answer for me.
The best way to sneak back into the house without detection from my mother, who had always claimed she was allergic to cooking, was through the kitchen where Chef Paul passed me a helping of lasagna. I devoured it within minutes. When I stood up to check on Daddy, Dishwasher Paul told me my parents had gone to an afternoon tea with the Mayor and his wife.
I went straight to my bedroom and searched for my phone. I stared at it before I could figure out what to do. Should I call Nica? Gerard or Jewel? No matter how much I’d love to chat with any one of them, there was only one person whose voice I would pay millions to hear right now. Unfortunately, due to a hasty and drunken decision, I’d erased Alex’s number, texts and voicemail messages. If anyone researched my life through my phone, that person wouldn’t find any trace that I’d ever been involved with the motorcycle-riding, globe-trotting, sex-on-legs photographer.
Like a magnet, my eyes drifted to my closed closet door. Hidden inside was an envelope full of memories.
I couldn’t go there again. Not now. Not yet.
Instead, I had a soothing bath. But even that turned into a disaster, when a flash of memory of Alex cursing in a bathtub after I’d switched on the cold water invaded my thoughts.
I’d panicked the last night I’d seen him outside my apartment. Why didn’t I kiss him? Why didn’t I hold him tight and ask him to stay with me, or fly with me back here? Why didn’t I tell him how I truly felt?
Sitting up in the tub, I splashed water on my face and rubbed my eyes while I admitted once again how much I missed and ached for him. If I had been honest, would he have understood?
No, he wouldn’t have, not according to his past behavior. Alex would have turned his back on me and left the way he did, searching for what would make his heart happy, complete, and to start beating once again. I saved myself from a huge heartbreak. The challenge now would be to convince myself of the unavoidable truth. Alex and I weren’t meant to be together.
Since I didn’t know when my parents would come back, I decided to explore the rest of the house. But I couldn’t stomach the visual abuse my mother had applied throughout the eleven-thousand square foot home, and the house was as dry as the clubs and bars during the prohibition. I ran to the garage and borrowed one of my father’s cars.
Stowe was a gorgeous town, attracting tourists from everywhere with activities and seasonal events throughout the year. My drive along Main Street brought fond memories of my childhood—standing wide-eyed on the sidelines as a four-year old during parades, holding my Daddy’s hand and spreading melted ice cream on my face as much as on my Sunday’s best, my annual volunteer work in the Maple Festival.
I parked in front of a quaint shop filled with trinkets Nica would appreciate. Every single piece I’d picked up would have suited Nica’s old apartment. Now that she was living with Levi, I wondered if kitschy doodads would suit their contemporary decor. I did pick up a few colorful onesies for little girl Laurent. My favorite? Had “Shits and Giggles” printed in pink, sparkly curlicue script.
Late July weather was in full swing, and instead of the cooler night air I’d gotten used to in San Francisco, Stowe’s summer nights were perfect for a nightly stroll. No one bothered me. Tourists avoided me— a scowling woman in a black shirt and jeans— and the locals ogled and whispered amongst themselves. With a population of just over four thousand, and me the prodigal daughter of the richest man in town, the news of my return had travelled fast. Whenever I saw a curious person, I veered away from them, which resulted in me getting lost.
My feet needed rest. I’d stupidly left my cell phone in my bedroom, and I didn’t have anyone’s phone number memorized yet. Even worse, I couldn’t figure out where I’d parked the damned car. Annoyed at myself, I plopped on a sidewalk bench. When I read the sign over the black and white awnings, I huffed a sigh of relief. I crossed the street and stepped into Daniel Thompson, LLP’s office.
“Hi there!” a perky—too perky for this time of the day—voice greeted.
It came from a petite woman perched behind an uncluttered desk. Her smile was infectious, and my mood lifted, but instead of returning her smile, I narrowed my eyes. Why was she so cheery? It was nearly nine o’clock, and she was still at work. Something did not compute.
“I’m Tiana,” she said, walking with an outstretched hand to where I planted my feet by the door. “How may I help you?”
I lifted a brow at Tiana. She was a lot shorter than first glance suggested, but she had major curves. Her peach skirt and cream blouse reminded me all too much of how Nica dressed. She wasn’t my best friend’s doppelgänger, but Tiana could pass as Nica’s cousin twice removed. This alone should’ve melted my iciness, but it only did a little. I shook her
tiny, manicured hand.
“Chas—Hannah. I’m Hannah. Is Danny still around?”
A quick look of surprise passed over her face when I said my name, but as a professional, and I assumed, Danny’s secretary, Tiana was quick to smooth her features. She nodded. “He is. Would you like to have a seat? He should be done with his phone call in a bit.” Tiana leaned in and whispered, “Bad divorce, cheating husband, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
Oh dear, we’ve got a live one. A gossiper. She was nothing like Nica.
“I thought Danny practiced business law?”
Tiana pressed her lips into a thin line, and nodded again. “Mmm-hmm. Yup. But it’s a favor for a friend of a friend.”
The interior office door opened, Danny walked out, and my throat clenched. Men on the cover of GQ had nothing on the way Danny looked, strutting out of his office, wearing a three-piece suit. Smarts and good looks, a lethal combination. Not to mention, Danny had been incredibly sweet with me.
“Hannah? Hi!” When he reached me, his lips tickled my cheek. “Is everything okay?” He looked from me to Tiana, who said something about a report she had to file.
“Everything’s good.”
Danny cocked his head to one side and scratched his ear.
“Okay, I got lost. I went for a drive and now I can’t figure out where I left the car.”
Danny chuckled heartily. “Where did you park it?”
“Near the city hall on Main?”
“You are on Main. Let me grab my keys and I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Okay.” Why did I all of a sudden feel I was in my teens again? Was it because of Danny?
While he went back into his office, I contemplated what I could say to Danny so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him. My mind blanked, and it was too late when I heard Danny bid Tiana a good night, and ask her if she would be fine locking up. She shushed him away and waved at me with a cheery “good night”.
As soon as we were outside his office door, Danny took off his suit jacket, undid his tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. I had expected to see a tattoo on his arm, and I had to mentally bitchslap myself when I realized I had just compared Danny to Alex. Danny spoke quietly as he led me down the street, greeting some of the locals. I kept my head low. By tomorrow morning, the local paper would be filled with assumptions about Danny and Hannah.
“How’s your dad today?”
“He’s doing well. He starts his treatments next week,” I said, stuffing my hands in my jeans pocket.
“After the party, then.”
“Party?” I stopped in my tracks, and grabbed Danny’s arm to force him to face me. “What party?”
Danny looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “Your mom didn’t tell you?”
“No. What party?” I waited to hear the horrible possibilities.
He took in a deep breath and released it slowly. “It’s your welcome back party, Hannah. Why do you think the Gee-gees were at your house today?”
I lolled my head back. It was bad, but it was exactly what I had expected to hear. “Is there a way to stop this?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I cannot let this happen. You know how she gets. She’s going to make this entire thing about her, Danny.” My hands shook. Danny held onto them, and pulled me to him. His hand rubbed over the tension built over my shoulders and neck.
“It will be fine, Hannah. I’ll be there with you the entire time...” He lifted my face up so I could stare into his hazel eyes. “Can I be your date?”
I bit my lip and agreed, “Yeah, that would be good.”
Danny quirked one corner of his lips. “I still have a tux hanging in my closet.” I wondered if it was the same one he was supposed to wear on our wedding, which was the same one he’d worn to prom.
“I’m sure it only needs a few minor adjustments.” He laughed, and I playfully slapped his chest. He held me tighter and kissed my forehead again. “Come on, let’s get you to your car.”
We continued walking, and at some point, his hand touched the side of mine, then he intertwined our fingers. I wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but I also didn’t want to lie, Danny made me feel safe. He made me feel wanted. He made me feel.
Heading back to my parents’, I saw how empty the roads were, and I couldn’t resist speeding. I was driving a Porsche Carrera after all, circa 1990. If I’d had my Harley with me, I would be doing the same thing. Ten years ago, I would have been the person who’d tsked at such reckless behavior. It would be easy to say that living in San Francisco had given me need for unruliness, but San Francisco wasn’t my first destination after leaving home. For at least a couple of years, I moved around to different states until I settled by the bay.
The reckless behavior came from me, from within.
Those few months after leaving Vermont, I was careful. Once I stopped checking to see if someone was following me, I let anger get to my head. Everything pissed me off. There was nothing stopping me. I was either going to live with wild abandon or die young. Either way, I didn’t care. It wasn’t until I met Nica that my wild ways pared down. Like a dirty mutt found by the side of the road, Nica had cared for me and forced me to see the proverbial silver lining.
When Daddy had told me about hiring his old buddy Frank, a private investigator, I was appalled, and then curious as to what the PI had reported to my father. Some of the shit I’d gotten into wasn’t for the faint of heart.
As soon as I saw the figure standing in front of the massive house, I screeched to a stop, the tires of the Carrera throwing dust and gravel in the courtyard. Daddy looked pissed off, and boy did his stance—feet hip-width apart, large arms crossed over his massive chest, head raised—bring back memories. His anger had never been toward me, of course, I had always been his good girl. But I’d witnessed his ire at Charity time and time again. I killed the engine and stretched out of the car, the gravel crunching underneath my boots.
“She runs well,” I said, throwing the keys at him.
He caught it in the air. Good to see he still had his quick reflexes. I’d have felt horrible if they’d smacked him on the head. Daddy nodded once, relaxed his entire body, and smiled. I released a sigh, not even realizing I’d been nervous enough to hold my breath.
“How was your trip to town?” my father asked.
I shrugged before I hugged and kissed him on the cheek. “It was fine. Glad to see the gossip mill isn’t dead around here.”
Daddy chuckled as we walked up the steps to the wrap-around porch. He sat on the swing, patting the cushioned seat beside him. I sat with my head on his shoulder. How many times had we sat on this very porch during nights like this? He’d always been open to me. He’d treated me like his equal, even when I was younger and too naive for the world. My last night in Stowe had ended the same way.
It was the night before my wedding. The night before a letter had somehow found its way to me and changed the course of the last ten years. It was the last letter from Charity.
“Do you miss her?” I asked because I had to know.
Daddy wrapped his arm around me and held me closer to him. “You know I do.”
“Mom doesn’t. There’s no sign around the house she even existed.” A silent wind blew, and the cicadas began their serenade to the night.
“Your mother has been in denial for years.”
The heaviness of what we were talking about pressed down on my father. His sighs became deeper and the muscles of his arms tightened. “What happened after I left?”
He shook his head, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. “Your mother went ballistic. She blamed me for losing both her daughters. She said I was the wild one and you girls inherited the genetic anomaly from me.”
“Genetic anomaly?” I raised my head to look into his eyes. There was hurt in them, in the deeper blues than mine.
“Those were her exact words. I didn’t deny it. If I hadn’t taken risks myself I never would have met her. You would
n’t have existed. But she didn’t see it that way, not for a while.”
I leaned on his shoulder again. “I bet she would never admit she was the reason Char left in the first place.”
“Of course she does, Nugget. That’s exactly why there are no photos of your sister around the house. Your mother thinks it’s a constant reminder of how she has failed as a mother.” I let this truth sink in, and wondered if all of my mother’s gaiety wasn’t a ruse to cover up what she really felt. “Tell me though, Nugget, what did you think you were going to accomplish when you left? Did you think you were going to find her?”
It had been my plan, and I hated to admit it now. I’d known it was futile even before it began. Charity had been missing for five years when I left Vermont. Several years before that, she’d run away. Char was eighteen when she’d told our parents she’d wanted to travel and see the world, to experience life in faraway places, to not be bounded by borders and rules, to figure out who she really was. Who she could be. When I turned six that year, she’d sent me a wayang golek, an Indonesian puppet doll used for theatre. The presents had continued until I was thirteen, when my sister was never heard of again.
I had intended to use a piece of the doll’s fabric in my bouquet. In the morning of my wedding, while going through boxes in my closet to look for the puppet doll, I’d come upon Charity’s unopened letter, buried under photos and mementos. It was addressed to me. I’d ripped it open and read it.
Take a risk while you’re young, Char had said in her letter.
What could she have meant? Was it somewhat similar to the risk I was taking marrying so young? I’d wondered. But there had been no danger in being Danny’s wife. I’d been completely enamored with him. I’d thought I wasn’t taking a risk.
“What risk, Char?” I’d asked myself and the humid summer air around me.
And without hesitation, I’d left to find her and ask her myself.
Chasing the Runaway Bride (Bliss Series Book 3) Page 12
