by Hollis Wynn
If you need anything and can’t get ahold of me, my grandson Pennington James will help you. His phone number is on the side of the fridge in my house. He has grown to be a wonderful man and I know he will take care of anything you need.
Thank you for allowing me honor of being in your life,
Owen James
* * *
“What the fuck?” I mumble to myself. “Did he really say that my father is the reason he and my mother are dead?”
“What did you say?” Penn questions me.
“Your grandfather indicated that my parents were killed because of something my father was involved in. But that doesn’t make sense. My father was an international banker. How dangerous could that be?”
“Oh.” He draws the word out and I recognize he knows something I don’t.
“Spill it, Penn. What do you know that I don’t?”
He looks around the room and avoids making eye contact with me. We aren’t going to continue down this road, so I place my hand on his thigh. Turning back toward me, he says, “You should probably get another glass of wine for this.”
Uh, oh. Sounds like this is going to be a long night. “Would you like one also?”
“There are a couple beers in the fridge.”
Pushing myself off the couch, my legs wobble as uncertainty runs through my body. Using the furniture as props to hold myself steady, I make my way to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of Blue Moon and a bag of perfectly sliced oranges from the fridge. Quickly I pop the tops and slide oranges into each bottleneck.
Walking back to the couch, I hand one to him, before settling down back in my seat. “Talk. Please.” I look at him with pleading eyes.
“The story goes, Gramps was retired CIA.”
Shit. My jaw falls open, and I stare at him. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. How do I respond to that?
“But Owen was just an eccentric old man. For all the years I knew him, he didn’t really work. Just traveled the world.”
“You’re not wrong. He was both eccentric and traveled often. But the travel was agency related and as for his personality, that was all him.”
I snicker at that. Owen was extremely over the top, but so many of my favorite memories include him.
“Wow. I can’t believe there was so much more to his life than I ever knew. But how does this relate to my father?”
“Your father also worked for the agency. Gramps was his handler.”
I shake my head quickly. “Wait? What?”
“Yep. Your father’s cover was international business, and he traveled all over the world, working on some of the most complex cases. A couple of times, he stumbled into the underground world where anything goes, and light doesn’t reach.”
“My father . . . worked for the CIA? Did my mother know?”
He nods.
I shake my head again and throw my hand up in the stop motion. “How do you know this? I don’t even know this?”
I take a long pull from the beer bottle before setting it down on the side table.
“The last couple times I saw Gramps before he died, we sat right here and he told me stories of his life at the agency. That includes your father and how he became like a son to him.”
“I can’t even process this. My father worked for one of the most clandestine agencies in the world and I didn’t know.”
Looking over at the man next to me who holds the secrets to my past and my future, I slump back into the couch. Ainsley is sleeping soundly, heart to heart, and my eyes well up with tears.
“She should be getting hungry soon,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m going to make a bottle so she won’t have to wait.”
Walking to the entry where I stashed the stroller, I grab the diaper bag, and then take it to the kitchen to make a bottle for her. I can feel Penn’s eyes follow me with every step I take, but I don’t know what to say. It feels as though everything I’ve known about my life is a lie. My parents taught me lying wasn’t acceptable, yet they based our whole life on one.
Where do I go from here?
“Did you always know Owen was CIA?” I ask, placing my hands on the bar, my head hanging down as if it weighs a thousand pounds.
“Not always. When I applied to DEA, we had a long talk about the bureaucracy of government work and what it means for one’s life. We discussed my need to serve and then he told me about his service. It was one of the wildest conversations I’ve ever had with him, mostly because my father didn’t know.”
I can see Ainsley is stirring and I walk back to the living room, placing the bottle next to his beer.
“Does he know now?” I ask him. My mind is spinning at all the secrets this house—both houses—hold.
“Only if Gramps told him. When he told me, he asked me not to tell them. Since it wasn’t my story to tell, I never said anything.”
A shrill cry interrupts us and Penn shifts Ainsley to a cradle position. I notice that she’s a bit flushed, but it sometimes happens when she cries, so I push the concern from my mind.
He doesn’t miss a beat getting her settled to eat, and she quiets back down. The only sound is the slight suckling of her lips on the nipple.
I watch her for a few seconds and then turn back to the box. “Might as well see what else is in here.”
Next, I pull out a small box that looks like it holds some type of jewelry. Opening it, I discover more than I imagined. My mother’s wedding rings, a necklace, her diamond earrings, and the rose gold pinky ring she wore every day are in here. Even my dad’s Rolex and his wedding ring are in here.
“I don’t understand. My mother wore her wedding band and pinky rings all the time. I don’t think I ever saw her without them.”
His eyes flutter back and forth between Ainsley and me. I watch him watching me and am slightly unnerved.
I pick up the heavy gold band with diamonds inset and automatically I’m overcome with feelings of my father. Sitting on his lap when I was little and his hands rubbing my back. Allowing me to sleep on his side when I had nightmares—he always had his ring on.
What other secrets are going to be revealed in this box of horrors?
Chapter Nine—BellaRose
From the corner of my eye, I watch Penn feed and burp Ainsley while I stare at the contents of this box. What else am I going to find as I dig through these things?
He clears his throat, breaking my concentration. “Where is the diaper bag? This little girl needs a change.”
“It’s on the bar, but I’ll take care of it.” Turning to him, I hold my hands out to take her, but he doesn’t move.
“I’ve got this. It’s not the first diaper I’ve changed. I have nieces, remember?” He stands up and takes long strides into the kitchen, and I stare at his strong frame and sexy butt.
Despite my current circumstances, his smokin’ hot body and willingness to take care of a child that isn’t his makes me smile.
My hands fly up and I lean back. “No problem. Let me know if you need help.” I wink at him and hold my laugh in because this girl puts out some serious poo, despite her size.
He slings the bag over his shoulder and heads into the bedroom.
I place the jewelry back in the box and make note to ask more questions later. The police told me there was an issue with the gas line to the house and that’s what caused the explosion. There was nothing salvageable and considering how hot the fire burned, they were lucky to be able to even identify my parents.
The next thing I pull out is a large bank bag. Slowly, I slide the zipper open and drop the bag to the floor.
“What the fuck?” I screech.
“Are you okay?” Penn says loudly from the back bedroom.
How do I answer him? I don’t think I’m okay—at all.
“Uhm . . .” is my only response.
I stare at the myriad of passports laying at my feet. Why would there be more than their passports in here?
Bending over, I scoop them up, placing
them in my lap. I open the first one. My father’s face stares back at me. His name Henrick Weston Rogers and signature. Well, that’s a good start.
The next one is a Canadian passport. Holding my breath, I open it. My mother’s face stares at me, but it isn’t her name listed. Elizabeth Claire Tremblay isn’t my mother.
I continue looking at each passport, one by one. The Irish one has a picture of my mother with a red wig, which shocks me. She’s always had long wavy dark blond hair. That was one of the things I always loved about her. Her appearance was always the same, unlike some of my friends’ moms. Some days they would come home with new colors or styles or even fillers in their face. To each his own, but I loved the fact that Mom was always Mom.
Each of them has multiple United States documents. One with their real name and one with alternate names. Jessica Lauren Phillips has long dark hair and glasses, but it’s obvious it’s my mother. In some my father is wearing a tweed jacket and others it’s T-shirts. Staring at each of them, I’m shocked at how easily one can change their appearance with the addition of glasses or a different colored hair.
They have so many names I don’t know how they kept up with them all, and there is no way I can see my father as a Mitchell Thomas Phillips or a William Robert Tremblay. For goodness sake, William Robert is nothing more than a glorified Billy Bob, which my father is not.
Penn comes back out with Ainsley. Glancing over, I notice her hair is wet. “Why is her hair wet?”
“She was kind of warm when I changed her, so I used a cool rag to wipe her down.” He sits down on the other end of the couch.
“Must be all your hotness that’s making her overheat.”
“Are you saying I’m hot, Miss Rogers?”
I smirk at him and look back at the collection of passports in my lap.
“Whatever you think, Mr. James.”
His hotness is totally wrecking me. Until now, I didn’t know how turned on I could get by a man holding a baby. Ainsley lies on his lap, fussing and watching the ceiling fan as it turns above us. She doesn’t seem much like her usual happy self.
“So, what else did you find in there?” he asks, pointing at the box.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I try to make light of it, but my voice cracks and the uncertainty is all over my face.
Holding up a handful of passports, I allow him to come to the realization on his own.
“I wish I could say I am shocked, but I’m not. Gramps kept a go bag in the basement at all times and there were a variety of passports in it from his younger days.”
“Based on what you told me about him, that makes sense. Honestly, I’m reeling about all the truths that I’m learning tonight.”
“Take your time. It took me months to process everything Gramps told me. Thankfully, he spread it out, and I didn’t have to deal with everyone all at once.”
He’s right. Sliding all the passports into the bag, I decide to take a few minutes to process everything I’ve seen so far. I notice a large manilla envelope and pull it up from the bottom. Flipping it over, I open the clasp and two smaller white envelopes fall out, both with my name on them. One in my mother’s handwriting and one in my father’s. I pick up the one with my mother’s handwriting and run my fingers over my name.
I can picture her at the bar in the kitchen and filling out all kinds of papers with my name on them. BellaRose Rogers in her beautiful penmanship.
* * *
My darling BellaRose,
Tonight is your eighteenth birthday. We’ve had a wonderful day together. Dad made your favorite onion burgers, and I made a cherry chocolate cake. We talked about your future and all the things you dream of for your life. I’m over the moon excited for you to follow your dreams. Your kind spirit and loving nature are some of the best qualities anyone could ask for. No matter what happens in your life, I want you to know how much I love you.
We love you.
As you grow, you will come to understand that sometimes things happen that are out of our control. Those same things could be both a blessing and a curse at the same time. For us, that’s what your father’s job is—a collision of saving the world and taking care of his family.
You see, I met your father when I was quite young and in a terrible place in life. I was in love with a dangerous and wealthy man. All I could see is that I wouldn’t have to live in a small shack and sell myself to make a living. However, what I found was worse. I’m sure he loved me in his own way, but I later learned he was married and wanted a woman who would keep his bed warm and do his bidding.
I was that woman.
Things progressively got worse and I couldn’t imagine how I would get out of that situation. He was a narcissistic fool, who I fell for, hook, line, and sinker. One day after he beat me black and blue, I decided to leave him. I did not know how I was going to do it, but I was determined not to be his mistress anymore.
Not long after that, your father showed up, and I begged him to take me with him. I didn’t care who he was because I knew anything was better than where I was at. Thankfully, I was correct. Your father is a wonderful man and I know you became who you are because of him.
I tell you all of this because if you’re reading this I’m gone, possibly we are both gone. For years, I’ve known that someday your father’s job would be the end of us, but I didn’t care because we loved each other—and you—so much.
Your father and I have been on edge the last couple weeks because he received news that one of his targets is in the US and has been searching us out. I know that if we’re found, he won’t allow us to live.
I’ve left this letter and some other things for you with Owen. He may not be your real grandfather, but he’s the one we chose for you. He will take care of you until his dying day, and probably even after. The house at Lake Rosemary is yours. Remember to tell Owen you love him and thank him for everything. I can’t imagine anyone else loving you or taking care of you the way we do.
Be careful who you trust and who you bring into your life. Sometimes the monsters don’t lurk under the beds, but in them.
I love you, my darling Bella. I pray that I’m old and we’ve had a full life when you finally read this. That I watched you graduate from high school, college, and get your first job. I dream of being there when you pick out your wedding dress and walk down the aisle. When you have your first child and everything else you dream of.
On the off chance that you’re young and still have so much of your life left, please know first and foremost that your father and I love you. Everything we’ve done is for you—so you will have the best life.
I’ve given Owen some cash to help you get through the hard times and my wedding rings and jewelry. I want you to have something of mine, even when I’m gone.
There aren’t words to express my love for you, BellaRose. I hope you find the kind of love you and your father have brought to my life.
Forever, my darling,
Mom
* * *
I read the letter twice before it falls from my fingers into my lap. My parents knew they were going to die and didn’t tell me. Anger bubbles up in my gut and the tears flow again. I’ve cried more in the last week than I have in the last ten years. Wiping away the last of my tears, I remind myself that I can’t change the past, so I’m going to work to make the future the best it can be—for both of us.
I lean over and pick Ainsley up from his lap, snuggling her to me because I need someone to hold on to, and I don’t think Penn is ready for the drama that is my life right now.
Immediately I realize she’s more than just warm. She’s hot. Fever hot. “Do you have a thermometer here?” I ask Penn.
“Let me go check the bathroom.” He stands and rushes to the bathroom. I can hear him opening and closing doors, muttering under this breath.
“Found one,” he shouts.
He hands me an old digital thermometer. I guess it’s better than nothing, but I don’t know how to take her
temp with this one.
“Thank you, do you know how to use it?”
“My sister must have left this here when the girls were little. I think you just stick it under their arm.”
Well, it can’t hurt to try. I unzip her sleep suit, and she cries. “Oh, baby girl. I’m so sorry,” I quietly whisper to her.
I click the button to turn the thermometer on and slide it under her armpit. I hold one arm down and try to soothe her with my words while I wait for it to give me a reading. When it beeps, it says her temperature is over 101.
“Crap.” I spout off while redressing her and cuddling her to me. “It’s over a hundred and one. She’s never been sick before, and I don’t know what to do.”
I rock her back and forth, patting her back and whispering in her ear. My heart speeds up and my stomach tumbles. I can’t take her to the hospital—they will ask too many questions. They’re going to arrest me for kidnapping. What do I do now?
A lightbulb goes off. I stand and head to the kitchen to dig my phone out of the bag.
“My best friend is a peds nurse. Let me call her and see what she recommends,” I say to Penn, who is quietly observing my panic state.
Me: Lake! I’m sorry it’s late. Ainsley has fever.
Laken: No problem. I’m up.
One glance at the clock and I realize it’s after ten already.
Me: Sorry! What do I do?
Laken: Is she vomiting?
Me: No. She’s just fussy and Penn said she was warm. When I picked her up, she’s hot. Her fever is over 101.
Laken: Um Bella. How did you take her temp?
Me: Under the arm. How else did you do it?
Laken: LOL. Usually in the booty.
Laken: If it’s that high under her arm you should take her to Urgent Care or the ER.
Me: But . . .
Laken: I know. Don’t worry. They shouldn’t ask for a birth certificate or anything. But if they do, say you filed for it and the social security card and haven’t gotten it yet.
Me: Are you sure?
Laken: Yes. Don’t worry about it.
