Releasing Me

by Jewel E. Ann

  The sensible part of me knew that Mac was right. Addy probably couldn’t be found unless she wanted to be, but I had to try. I wasn’t the FBI or head of Homeland Security, but I knew people who were connected to both. I was willing to spend every dime I’d ever made to find her. She either would come back to me or I would spend the rest of my life searching for her. In my mother’s words: “Find your one true passion in life and follow it. Follow it until you take your last breath.”

  It only required a few phone calls to get things going. A buddy of mine, Harrison, had been in the Army’s Special Forces and after he got out he started his own private investigation business. He was perfect for the job because he had a lot of connections and mad, raw instinct. Once I had the right people lined up to search for Addy, I focused on COVE’s connection to the fire. It wasn’t an easy task either. Since the onset of lawsuits that started nearly a decade earlier, so much information had been confiscated from the company, and with the fucking mess of lawyers and their attorney-client privileges, almost everything was labeled “confidential,” aka off-limits to the son of the company’s dead cofounder.

  What I did find out were the specifics on the product. More than one company manufactured that type of flexible tubing and my father’s company was not the only one dealing with lawsuits. The manufacturers blamed the installers and vice versa. Very few cases made it to court; most were settled through mediation. In the end, the manufacturers had a hard time making a case for themselves because patents were being filed and new lines of lightning resistant tubing were already in production.

  The obvious question by wrongful death attorneys at that point was, “If there was nothing wrong with the original product, why the revisions?” The more I looked into things the easier it became to see why my father’s life ended the way it did. Living with the guilt of innocent lives lost because of something he funded was emotional suicide. Then there was the nightmare of figuring how to keep a company going after such a huge financial hit. He employed hundreds of people and they needed their jobs. They depended on their stock in the company, health insurance, and retirement. When business is good, there’s no better view than from the top. But when something as catastrophic as a major class action law suit happens, the CEOs start to feel crushed at the bottom, not just financially, emotionally too. Success doesn’t come without risk.

  Addy was aware that I inherited a mess from my father. I was certain she did not blame me. However, I was not so certain she could ever look at me again and not see my father’s failures. I wasn’t sure if I could either.

  *

  Days turned into weeks and still no word from Addy. Harrison hit dead ends in all directions he tried to track her. I was a fucking mess. Sobriety was effortless when Addy was with me; she was my focus, my purpose, my addiction. Not knowing where she was or if I’d ever see her again weakened my willpower. Some days I exercised before and after work to stay focused on anything but taking a drink. Some days I’d stop and pick up some Scotch on the way home, read my Mother’s letter, stare at her picture, then slam the full bottle into the wall. But most days I worked my ass off to move my company’s headquarters to Chicago. That was where Addy called home and I had to believe that she would return home.

  By the end of March, I had purchased a new building space for my corporate headquarters and a beautiful wooded lot outside of Chicago. Then I found the best architect who specialized in eco-friendly design. He happened to know a great interior decorator who I hired to find all the right mismatched pieces of salvaged and eco-friendly furnishings that would make our home feel, as she quoted, “warm, inviting, and environmentally sound” and of course, Addy approved.

  Transitioning my business to Chicago took longer than I expected. Most of my employees were very willing to make the transfer, especially after I promised that all their moving expenses would be handled by the company. However, as I anticipated, there were a few who didn’t want to uproot their families to make the move, and for those I personally made sure they found comparable positions with other companies in New York. The “big move” was by far the craziest thing I had ever done in my life … which said a lot for a self-professed adrenaline junky. Packing up my personal and professional life and moving 800 miles on the slim chance that the love of my life would come back to me seemed crazy to my friends, family, and business associates. But I had no other choice. Addy had my heart, and I could barely breathe without her.

  I was surging ahead without looking back or slowing down. If I paused long enough to think what if, the bottle became my greatest temptation. What if, meant no Addy, no future, and as far as I was concerned, no reason to piss my time away on a wasted life … which was how every day felt without her. When my birthday came around, it was yet another painful reminder of how much I missed her. Both Chase and Zach wanted to come visit me in Chicago, but I insisted they wait until after I was settled. Our house was taking shape, and I no longer split my time between New York and Chicago. I rented an apartment two blocks from my new corporate headquarters. There were several choices in the area, but I chose the cheaper, more conservative one that was just under ten grand a month. I was certain Addy would be proud of my frugality.

  I kept in contact with Mac and Evan. They knew about my relocation, but I swore them to secrecy. Mac seemed like the weak link in my plan. She promised not to say anything if Addy contacted her. However, I questioned all promises made by a woman who was in her last month of pregnancy. Evan said she was the most unpredictable ticking time bomb. That was fine with me, as long as she kept her mouth shut if Addy called. I needed her to want to come back to Chicago, and if she didn’t want to see me then the knowledge of my presence there would have certainly kept her away. Mac knew that too, so I had no choice but to trust her. She wanted Addy home as much as I did. We all agreed upon one thing … if Addy was going to return, it was mostly likely going to happen in the next month. When we first found out Mac was pregnant, she promised to be there for the birth.

  *

  By the time Mac was 37 weeks, I made the assumption Addy was back in Chicago, but Mac swore she hadn’t heard from her. I checked the hotel she stayed at when she was in town for Richard and Gwen’s anniversary party, but there was no record of her there. Then I decided to look up the address of her parents’ house. I couldn’t recall her ever mentioning anything about it, and I wondered if she still owned it.

  After hours of research and several phone calls, I hadn’t found anything. Something wasn’t adding up. Not only could I not find their house, I couldn’t find record of any Brecken who had ever been an Illinois Supreme Court Justice, or attorney, or a well-known businessman. Digging deeper, I also couldn’t find an Adler Sage Brecken listed as a graduate of the University of Chicago. Then I tried Adler Sage Townsend, but I couldn’t find her under that name either. However, I did find Mackenzie Townsend and Malcolm Townsend listed as graduates. Finally, I called Mac because nothing made sense and I was becoming obsessed with figuring out Addy’s past.

  “Hey, Quinn. No, I’m not in labor, and no, I haven’t heard from Addy.”

  “Believe it or not, that’s not why I’m calling. But, how are you doing?”

  “I’m fat and puffy. I can’t sleep, everything makes me feel bloated, and my boobs are leaking.”

  Sorry I asked.

  “I’m … uh … not sure what to say,” I replied. I was genuinely interested in how she was doing, but the leaking boobs comment had me tongue-tied.

  “There’s nothing to say. You asked, so I told you.” She laughed which was a relief because I was out of my comfort zone.

  “So what are you calling about?”

  “I was wondering where Addy’s parents used to live, but I couldn’t find any information.”

  “Addy sold the place. A young family lives there now. I can give you the address if you’re curious and want to drive by there.”

  “No, it was just wishful thinking on my part that maybe she still owned it and was stay
ing there.”

  “Holy crap … trust me, if she still owned it she would never, I repeat never stay there.”

  “I figured it was a long shot.”

  “Though I’m surprised you didn’t find out the address. They were very well-known and the news of their murders was in every paper,” she responded in disbelief.

  “That’s the fucking craziest part. I can’t find any information on them. It’s as if Supreme Court Justice Brecken never existed.”

  “What do you mean Brecken?”

  “Townsend was her married name, so I assumed Brecken had to be her maiden name that she went back to after Malcolm died.”

  There was an awkward pause. “So … Addy never told you her parents’ names?”

  I felt like a complete dumb-ass. How it never came up in conversation all of a sudden seemed ridiculous. True, she never wanted to talk about her past, but I should have been a little more inquisitive. Fuck! I sighed. “No, apparently she didn’t.”

  “Her parents were Benjamin and Mabel Ellery.”

  “Ellery?” Addy had never mentioned that name. “Holy shit … the Ellery murders …” The infamous murder of the Ellerys never registered with me because my mind was stuck on the name Brecken. “Jesus, I remember that. It was all over the news and in every paper. The Ellerys were her parents?” It just wouldn’t sink in, probably because I was stunned that I’d known Addy for nearly two years but never knew who her parents were. “So why’d she change her name to Brecken?”

  “For several different reasons, anonymity for one—”

  “Security?”

  Mac hummed. “Mmm, maybe, but mostly it was a sentimental name. She wanted to carry a piece of her past with her forever.”

  I wanted to smash my fucking phone against the ground. Just when things started to make sense, Mac added another piece of information that didn’t fit.

  “What is so sentimental about Brecken?”

  “It’s not really my place to say.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mac! The whole reason Addy left is because we both somehow failed to disclose everything about our pasts. I’m not doing this shit anymore. I need to know everything so––out with it already!”

  “Addy was four and a half months pregnant at the time of the fire.”

  Fucking hell!

  “She went into labor right after the fire. They never knew if it was related to Addy’s smoke inhalation, stress, or just an unfortunate event that would have happened anyway. If the baby would have had a couple more weeks of development, it might have had a chance, but––”

  I was pissed, but not at Addy. She tried to tell me everything the day she told me about Sage, but I wouldn’t let her finish. It was killing her and I couldn’t stand to see her hurt anymore. I was pissed at the world and the total shit hand of cards Addy was dealt. She didn’t deserve any of it. At least a case could be made for the bad things that happened in my life. I had been less than innocent over the years, and I figured eventually I would have to “pay the piper.” Addy, however, was like a prison inmate serving a life sentence for a crime in which she was wrongly accused and convicted.

  “It was a boy …” Mac continued, “… and she named him Brecken.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Addy

  Auckland, New Zealand is known as the “City of Sails,” and it’s the gateway to some of the most beautiful islands with windswept beaches and tropical forests. It wasn’t The Sage, but the yacht I chartered gracefully floated adrift with the south-westerly winds. February, March, and April still fell into peak season for sailing off the coast of Auckland. Sometimes sailing simply let me forget; other times it put things into perspective. Maybe it was the vast infinity of ocean that made me feel like a single period in a novel, something so insignificant, yet its absence made something else incomplete. I’d suffered, but I had also survived. My story wasn’t the Holocaust or other atrocious genocides like the Bosnians, Armenians, Aborigines, or Native Americans. My story still had an untold ending that was mine to decide. The only thing holding me captive was my past.

  The day I left Quinn, I grabbed two things: my purse and Elena’s letter. I walked to the coffee shop down the street before hailing a cab. Quinn was too resourceful, and I figured he would have Tom review the security cameras. I wasn’t leaving any trail for Quinn because I did not want to be found. The cab drove me to the airport and from there I called Mac. She was surprisingly calm and understanding of my need to leave. I was no longer her first priority, nor did I want to be. Knowing she had Evan and a baby on the way made it easy to leave. It gave me peace of mind, which wasn’t easy to come by these days.

  Quinn, on the other hand, was a grave concern for me. He was constantly one drink away from falling to pieces again. When we were together he was strong, even through the difficulties that ensued after my attack. He was rock solid and precisely what I needed, even if I hadn’t recognized it at the time. But I needed more. I needed him to be strong without me. Playing the hero was exhausting. I had always been the giver. I moved to New York. I went with Elena to Spain. I picked myself up and survived when the drunk, angry version of Quinn no longer wanted me around. I survived his wrath when he kept trying to kick me out of his life. I sobered his ass up, and I forgave his monumental indiscretion with Olivia. Those days were gone. I had to start thinking about myself. If we were to have even the slightest chance at a future, he was going to have to hold it together and be strong without me. I did not expect him to wait an eternity for me, but I wanted him to.

  COVE was his father’s company. That I understood. Quinn didn’t kill Malcolm, Sage, or Brecken. His dad didn’t either. That, too, I understood. Nevertheless, his connection to the most tragic event of my life was hard to swallow. I wasn’t sure if Quinn’s face would represent the past that broke me or the future that would heal me. Then there was his side to consider. The ramifications of the lawsuits destroyed his parents’ marriage and eventually led to Lucas killing himself. It would not have been fair not to consider the possibility that Quinn’s feelings toward me might forever be tainted. There was a very real chance that my face would be a reminder of the worst time in his life.

  I intentionally left my phone behind. Burner phones were the safest bet to keep Quinn off my track. Mac understood I couldn’t give her any way of contacting me, but I promised to check in every few weeks. She never once asked where I was. She never asked if or when I was coming home. And she never told me that everything would work out. The few times I called her she spent most of the time telling me about her pregnancy, but she never asked how I was doing. I never told her either. It signified such an important turning point in our relationship. I had to learn to walk on my own, to figure things out, to prove I had the strength to overcome whatever life handed me. Mac had to let me go; in some ways she had been my enabler, always there to coddle me whenever anything went wrong. It was time for her priorities to shift, and I was so proud of her for recognizing it.

  *

  Out of all the emotions that dictated my life, guilt was the hardest one to let go. Over time, the pain eased and the anger faded, but the guilt wouldn’t budge. It took nearly nine years to forgive Malcolm for Sage’s death. Had she been in our bed, we would have all made it out of the house. I knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, but somehow it lessened my grief. If my mind was preoccupied with blaming him, then it was easier to not let my heart grieve for him. So nearly nine years after his death, on a yacht in the Pacific Ocean, I forgave Malcolm. Then I grieved his death. He was my husband and the father of my two children, and I did love him. Letting go of the anger let the pain creep back in. Instead of trying to push it away or bury it, I felt it. I welcomed it.

  The other part of my guilt wasn’t as easy to release. If I blamed Malcolm for Sage’s death, then I blamed myself for Brecken’s. The “what ifs” were agonizing. What if I would have gotten out of the house sooner instead of arguing with Malcolm? What if I wouldn’t have gone back in to look for them? What i
f after the fire I would have focused all my energy on the little baby inside of me instead of wishing my heart would stop beating so I could be with my precious little Sage? The biggest “what if” was in the present moment. What if I didn’t learn from my past? I couldn’t be that person, so before I docked back in Auckland, I said the hardest yet most necessary words. “I forgive myself.”

  On the plane ride back to the States, I took care of one last piece of unfinished business, Elena’s letter. I loved her like a mother, and as I prepared to follow the path that had been laid before me, I knew the time had come to open the sealed envelope. As I unfolded the letter, the first three words sucked all the air out of my lungs.

  Adler Sage Ellery,

  To the beautiful daughter of Benjamin and Mabel Ellery, the wife of Malcolm Townsend, and the mother of Sage and a little boy I have to assume was named Brecken, I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. When you walked into Quinn’s apartment on Christmas, I instantly recognized your sea blue eyes. Your family was the first wrongful death lawsuit filed against Lucas’ company. His partner never wanted to know the personal details of the lawsuits; to him it was all about the money. Not for Lucas. He wanted to put a face to every name. We had a folder filled with photos of the victims and their surviving family members. Honestly, it bothered me to see Lucas thumb through the photos every night as I watched him fall apart physically and emotionally. Some mornings I awoke to find him passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels still clenched in his hand and the photos spread out over the coffee table. I wanted to burn them. I wanted to save my husband, but I didn’t … I couldn’t. Instead, I let him self-destruct one day at a time. Other mornings I awoke to an empty house. The man who cheated on me wasn’t the man with whom I fell in love. I lost him way before the accident. Lucas could never forgive himself, and I don’t expect you to forgive him either. I just wanted you to know that the deaths of your husband and children were not only recognized by Lucas, but that he too mourned their loss.