Entangled Moon

by E. C. Frey

  Tears began anew. “Will you give him a note?”

  “Sí.”

  “Do you have a pen and piece of paper?”

  “Sí.”

  I could not begin to tell him how I felt, so instead I wrote a quick note that included my address. I begged him to write me. How does one save an all-consuming love with the stroke of a mere pen? I folded the note and handed it to the hotel employee. “Gracias.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Back in my room, I shoved everything into my suitcase. Who cared about the stupid clothes? What was clothing but a lie? They could not hide my broken heart. I could not sleep. The sweat tormented, the mosquitoes did not relent, and the memories of his touch burned into my flesh like a branding iron. My legs throbbed. By the break of dawn, I was broken, but the world would never be the wiser. I still looked like Esperanza. But that was the thing about a broken heart—it was only broken for you. The world would never treat you differently, even though you were different.

  But that had only been the beginning of the storm. The eye was the calm that hid the destroying energy of the backside. The worst of it had waited for my return to Sunny Hollow. It had waited for all of us.

  I could not believe I was reliving it. Gabriel was gone. Muerto. Dead. And my heart was breaking all over again.

  “Mommy, look out.”

  Just like that I was pulled back. It was just enough time to see my folly. Please, God. Take me, but leave my beautiful Angelica unharmed. Please pray for us and stay here, Blessed Mother. When the car hit I saw a flash of white, felt the bones in my chest crush, and heard the screams of my daughter. And then it went dark.

  7 Fiona

  I slip into my pink satin bathrobe and wrap it tight before cinching the sash. I do not mind the view in the mirror, but it might be time to get a new color. I descend gracefully and admire my reflection in the mirrored grand staircase. I am California nobility, after all. After all these years of marriage to Gavin, it is sometimes easy to forget that he is the plastic surgeon to the royalty of Los Angeles. He has tweaked the natural aging process from some of the most notable faces of Hollywood, including my own. It is up to me to enhance his image—it is necessary amongst the ever-watching glitterati. They wait for every fault and applaud the fall. This is a role to which I was born, even if I did not always appreciate it in my youth.

  As a child, my beauty was an everyday emphasis. My mother dragged me to every beauty contest within a hundred miles, and sometimes even beyond. I won more crowns than I could find a shelf for, and Mom proclaimed my right to grace the cover of every fashion magazine, dismissing those who actually did as being plain and displeasing. I never minded. Mom and Dad gave me everything I asked for and it was a small price to make up for letting my little brother, Rory, die. Still, at times the pressure of keeping up my looks was more burden than blessing and it made me the center of every drama. And there was always drama. My sisters hated me. I never knew if their malice was the reason they blamed me for Rory’s death or if they just flat-out thought I meant for him to die. After all, he was first in my parents’ eyes. He was the namesake and there never was another. But my sisters hated me for being beautiful. It was not my fault they were born plain.

  I find a stash of my vodka nips at the bottom of the stairs, tucked under a secret compartment behind a loose piece of carpeting. I empty them, then tuck each one into separate pockets.

  “Mom, I need new shoes for the dance Friday night. I want to hit Rodeo after school.” Samantha, my eldest, slides down the rest of the stair rail and lands at my feet.

  I quickly wipe my mouth. “Sam, you’re going to fall sometime and your surfing days will be over.”

  “What’s the diff between hanging a wave and a stair rail? It’s all in the moves.” Sam flexes her arms to simulate balancing on a board.

  “I see. Well, I have a luncheon today, but I’m free in the afternoon. Your sister and brother have to come with us. Abella needs to get ready for the party on Saturday. God help me.”

  “Geez, Mom. You’re totally weirded out by the strangest things. What’s the big deal about a party?”

  “We’re not discussing the issue.”

  “Why not? And anyway, Molly and Sean can come if they don’t bother me and if they don’t act like total dweeb losers! Besides, they’re old enough to stay home alone.”

  “I can’t guarantee your brother and sister will be angels any more than I can guarantee you’ll be one. And they’re not quite old enough. You’ll just have to deal.”

  “Mom! That’s so not cool!”

  Sam heads to the kitchen. “Abella! Abella!” The door swings in and out, muffling their voices. I hate the way Sam leaves me standing in the middle of the foyer, discarded like a pair of old worn shoes. I know what she’s going to say before she says it.

  “Why can’t you watch Molly and Sean this afternoon so Mom can take me shopping, por favor?”

  “I can’t,” Abella says. “I have to go to the market. I have very much to do. This party means a lot to your parents.”

  “You mean my dad. Mom hates to do anything on a Saturday night except drink a few cocktails, call her girlfriends, and cry. It’s not like any of us actually exist.”

  My nerves prickle and little stabs of heat flame in my cheeks as I cross the foyer to the kitchen. This child is testing me.

  “That’s enough, Sam. Don’t bother Abella. You have plenty of shoes. You don’t know how I feel. I do everything to protect you.” The deep scar on my shoulder tingles. It is the one flaw Gavin can do nothing about, and it is the one thing that reminds me of the past.

  “God, Mom. You act like the world is coming to a frickin’ end. Dad can’t figure you out. You’re not protecting me from anything. You’re scarring me.”

  “How dare you! How your dad and I deal with this is none of your business.”

  “I’m your daughter, Mom. Whose business is it if it’s not mine? It affects our family, but you act like we’re not even a part of your life. You just bury yourself in your own little world. You talk to your friends who you only see once a year, but you won’t talk to the people you’re with every day. Why don’t you try talking to me, Mom?”

  “You’re too young to understand.”

  “I’m fifteen, Mom. Wake up and smell the coffee and get over yourself.” She slides her Louis Vuitton book sack from the counter and heads for the door. Pushing through, the door swings in on her and knocks her back. “God! What is your problem?”

  Molly looks stunned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re sorry, loser.”

  Poor Molly. I smudge her hair—little comfort, I know, but I follow Sam anyway. I can’t let her get away without settling this. Whatever this is. I do not even know my own daughter anymore.

  “You can forget shopping this afternoon, Sam. I won’t have you treating your sister this way.”

  “Whatever!”

  “You can wear an old pair of Marc Jacobs, or Chanels, or Jimmy Choos, or whatever the hell else you have. Do you hear me? That’s half the problem, you have too much!” Now I sound like my mother. Next I’ll be looking for the little people who spirited my offspring away. I am suddenly aware that I am standing in the doorway, in my bathrobe, yelling at my wayward daughter. I tighten the loosening garment, but there is no reining in my daughter. Maybe she has been stolen away and a substitute put in her place. A changeling. I finger the little gold fairy around my neck, but it does not comfort me or give me any answers.

  “And whose fault is that, Mother?” The last word leaves a sharp imprint on my fast-reddening cheeks. Sam clears the gate and heads toward school, the top of her golden head barely clearing the spires of the wrought iron fence.

  I retreat behind the massive paneled front door. I lean my hot cheeks against the cool wood and the door warms where my cheek rests. Could something so dead gain life through one’s touch? Mariah does not believe there is absolute death. But then D
ad never did either. Come to think of it, neither do Espy or Eve.

  “Are you all right, Mommy?” Molly’s voice caresses my back.

  “I’m fine.” I wipe away a tear. “What shall we have for breakfast? Daddy is driving you to school and I’m driving Sean. How does that sound?”

  “Awesome!”

  With Sam out of the house for the remainder of the morning, I gather my composure. Liquid courage and Valium calm my raw nerves. I waited to have children until later in life. It was important to maintain my figure, but also I had never been sure if I would be up to the task of motherhood. It is a question that continues to bedevil me. Unlike Esperanza, I am screwing up the whole parenting thing. Even Heather is better at it than I am, and she is holding down a full-time job.

  I follow Sean to the car. Somehow he has grown tall and lean. Perhaps he too is a substitute, but that would not make sense. Substitutes are always smaller and withering. Of course, I could not blame the universe for doing so. After all, it is small payment for allowing Rory to drown. Or for all the other things. I am a sinner extraordinaire. But Sean is mine. He is thriving. Will he too change and become disillusioned with me? Will he someday see me for whom I really am? “Poser” is the word he uses for such people.

  I retrieve another pill from my purse and swallow it whole, without water. How many is that? I am supposed to be keeping count.

  “Hey, buddy, do you think I get weepy a lot?”

  “Yeah, a little. But that’s okay, Mom, I guess getting sad over a secret isn’t any worse than getting sad over a stupid reality show like Tommy’s mom. Now, that’s twisted, dawg.” He purses his lips, shakes his head like a bobble doll, and plants his hands under his armpits. I am becoming used to this new body language and street talk from my youngest. As familiar as it seems, it never feels right.

  “Please don’t call me dawg, Sean. You’re not from the ’hood.”

  “Yeah, but Eve is and she’s righteous.”

  “Yes, she’s righteous but she isn’t from the ’hood either. She lived in the same town as I did. It was far too privileged to be confused with the ’hood.”

  “But she’s poor now.”

  “Eve chooses to be poor because she chooses to help people.” I have never known the cold reality of scarcity, and my own bitterness, apparent even to me, perplexes me. Maybe I have been listening to Eve and Mariah’s prattling about all the ills of the world after all. There could be hope for me yet. I snort and it surprises me. There is nothing regal or graceful about the sound.

  Sean scrunches his nose and giggles. I reach over to ruffle his hair, but he dodges the gesture.

  “Is she happy, Mom?”

  “Eve is very happy, but even she gets sad like I do.” The sun, harsh and demanding, streams through the palm trees and sparkle-dances along the hood of the car.

  “Will she visit us again before she goes back to Africa?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. It’s doubtful.”

  We pull up in line in front of Sean’s immaculately groomed school. The bright flowers and perfectly pruned palm trees are a stark contrast to my emotions. All the beauty and perfection in the world cannot camouflage the corrupted soul. I find myself snorting again. I am losing it today.

  Sean looks at me with questions playing in his eyes. “I wish she would, Mom.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Sean shuts the door to the Bentley and, just like that, I am alone.

  I shift the car into gear and head to the gym. Sleek modern furniture and fixtures glisten through the tall windows. I stare at my reflection through the automatic glass doors. My legs are well-toned and tan enough, I sport a perfect manicure and pedicure, my body is sleek, my hair is thick and still blond, and any imperfections that crop up over time, well, Gavin will tweak them before anyone is the wiser. No matter what, I will attend to the illusion.

  I perform my workout and finish. Stopping at the bar to buy a protein smoothie, I pay, exchange some chit-chat and pleasantries with a couple of acquaintances, and hurry to the car. I have the whole routine down pat. My sandals click on the gleaming marble floor, but I can easily put something on the bottom of my shoes to address that problem.

  I drive the distance from the gym to home without noting a single detail of the world around my Bentley cocoon. If I don’t see them, they can’t see me.

  Abella has left to run errands, and I am alone within the ominous stillness of the great house. Then the trilling of the phone reverberates around the walls. I hurry to answer before it has a chance to ring again.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Fiona.”

  I lift the crystal top from the decanter and pour a shot of vodka into the remnants of my protein smoothie. I’ll be able to handle whatever is coming my way much better with that fortification. “Mariah? Thank God.”

  “Why do you say that? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It just seems everything is a problem these days. Gavin wants a party on Saturday.”

  “Yeah. I know how much you hate Saturdays. I’m sorry, but you’ll get through it. Listen, I’m not sure how the Charleston thing is going to go down. Heather is pretty upset. I think she might be cracking.”

  “God. That was so long ago. Why would she think he’s come back? This just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know. I won’t go into detail, but Eve and I are worried. She knows what she saw. What she experienced. Either way, it was real to her. And I believe he’s back. I feel it. We have to help her. We were all there.”

  “Us? What can we do?”

  “We need to find out where he is.”

  “But you have all the research and journalistic skills, and you’ve always been able to get whatever information you need. And you always get yourself out of trouble. I remember when you were held at gunpoint in Beirut and you talked your way out of it. You’re amazing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It just makes more sense for you to find him. Besides, if Heather’s cracking, I’m the last one to help.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because. I’m not much better.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth, but they are out before I can do anything about it.

  “Yes, you are. Listen, I was hoping you would look into where he could be right now. If he’s in Connecticut. Eve is struggling with Jerome and I have a prickly situation going on at work. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Espy yet and I just thought you and Gavin might have some contacts in Connecticut. I need your help, Fiona.”

  “What prickly situation at work?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. I’m doing some exposés on some water issues and I seem to have pissed off some big—”

  The phone clicks and I miss the last part of her sentence. “Mariah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was weird. I missed the last part of what you said.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. We’ll sort it all out in Charleston. We need to find this guy . . . together. In the meantime, I need you to help.”

  “But I can’t.” Gavin wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t know anything about my past, not really—just bits and pieces. Not the sum total, and certainly not the heart of it.

  I need another drink. God, my life is a mess. I stroke the fairy amulet but it only makes me feel worse. It is as if it is coming alive. I have angered it. Why else would I feel this way?

  “Yes, you can. I need your help, Fiona. Heather needs your help. I have to go now, but please try. We’re all Heather has. We’re all she’s ever had.”

  “What about Brandon?”

  “I don’t know. She thinks he’s part of it.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know and I can’t get there right now, but I don’t think he’s going to help her. It’s just us.”

  Hiding my head in my hands doesn’t help. Brandon! The thought of him makes me cringe. The world is just outside my fingertips. A black, bottomless pit stretches
before my covered eyes and tiny white lights spread from the middle to the very edges. I am sinking into the black hole, its existence inferred by the tiny stars circling at the center. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you when we get to Charleston.”

  “Maka Manana.” I hear the click of the receiver.

  Fuck! It would be so much easier if my friends believed, like everyone else, that I am a selfish and uncaring bitch. I walk to the bar, retrieve a cocktail glass, pour in two ounces of vodka, and empty it. The liquid warms me and fills out, softening my fired-up nerve endings. This is the first time I have not wanted to see my friends. The trip is more an obligation than pleasure, and the thought saddens me. I do not want to face my life anymore. There is no happiness, just a lot of expectations. How will I get through the party Saturday night?

  I pour two more ounces into my glass and turn back toward the foyer. A black shadow appears and vanishes towards the stairs.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence. I empty the glass and tiptoe toward the shadow. I peer around the corner, but the bright stairwell is empty. Rich bone and floral tapestry carpet laid over white marble winds its way to the upper floor, where closed doors hide all the untidiness of family life. Stranded on the round marble foyer table that is anchored to the middle of the expansive entrance hall lies my calendar. The pages are turned to Saturday. Saturday is the day our teenage world fell apart. And Saturday is the day my brother died. Funny, I had never noticed. They all occurred on the same exact date. The same date as this Saturday. A perfect trinity.

  I collapse onto the edge of the first step. I’m fucked. Why can’t everything just go away?

  8 Heather

  In a faraway land, in a dream world, a noise beckons me. I do not open my eyes. The light hovers at the frontier of my consciousness, but I am a leaden vessel in that river through the hinterlands. How can I leave? It is safe and warm here and no harm can come to me. This I know in my heart as much as my head. But the noise persists, wheedles and cajoles, and finally wins.