Let's Move On (The New Pioneers Book 4)

by Deborah Nam-Krane

  He shook his head. "No. I feel the need for more extensive negotiations."

  "Dinner, then?"

  "Breakfast. Lunch. Maybe even dinner. At the location of my choosing."

  "Okay," she shrugged. "But remember, what I do for you to get an investment, I have to do for everyone else. So where to?"

  "I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning. And dress warmly."

  "Yes, sir."

  ~~~

  Richard saw Zainab walk in to the café and sighed. Of course it had occurred to him what an idiot he’d been. Of course he had known that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. But it was one thing to think it and another thing to feel it.

  "Hello," Zainab said as she kissed his cheek. Richard was surprised, then hopeful. But then she sat down. "Sorry you had to come out all this way to get my key."

  "Uh, it’s no trouble," Richard said, trying to smile. "It was my idea."

  "Right—I could have come to your house you know."

  Richard shrugged. "Too many people."

  "They are my friends too."

  "Of course they are—I mean, they should be. You should be. But I—I wanted to see you alone."

  Zainab handed back the key to Richard. He smiled and nodded, but clenched it in his hand. "Why did you want to see me alone?"

  "Because I wanted to say I was sorry, and while I don’t mind apologizing in front of all of them, they’d either hang on every word of it, or they’d make a big joke out of it."

  "Jordan especially."

  "True."

  "Well thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For the apology." Zainab said slowly. "I appreciate it."

  "But I didn’t do it yet."

  "You just told me that you were sorry."

  "I said I wanted to say I was sorry—"

  "So you want to say it but you’re not going to?"

  "Huh? No. I mean, I didn’t say it yet."

  "Okay."

  Richard needed a moment because he was confused. Then he saw Zainab look at him with a mixture of concern and apprehension, but almost no other emotion. "I’m sorry," he said at last. "I’m sorry for the way I treated you the last few months. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but I wasn’t smart enough to work out my problems without doing that. And you didn’t deserve it."

  "Thank you," Zainab said with a smile. He forced a smile back, but now he was irritated by her almost complete lack of emotion. "But of course, I’m sorry too. I had no idea I was putting that kind of pressure on you, and I had no idea...I mean, I always knew that something was wrong between you and your mother, but I didn’t know how deep it went. Of course you weren’t ready."

  "Of course," Richard said, because he couldn’t think of what else to say.

  "How is your mother?"

  "My mother?" Zainab nodded. "She’s—very well. I mean, she was devastated by the DNA results. I think she still can’t believe what Tom did. And she’s falling all over herself trying to make amends with Jessie. She feels terribly guilty now. She can be—well, you know what she can be—but she’s not a monster. She would have helped if she had known."

  Zainab smiled, and Richard felt like he was making a connection again. "But it’s the knowing, isn’t it? You never know when you really know, do you? You always need maybe just a little more proof, because you want to hold on to the doubt because doubt is your friend. The doubt is what’s going to let you hold onto the world as you know it."

  "I’m sorry," he repeated sincerely, "that I gave you reason to doubt me."

  Zainab smiled, but she didn’t move. "I really hope we can be friends, Richard. Your friendship means so much to me."

  "Friends? Of course. We’re friends—we’ve always been friends."

  "Good." She looked at her watch. "But I have to run." She stood up. "I’ll call you next week, alright?"

  Richard stood up too. "Don’t you have anything else to ask me?"

  Zainab shrugged. "No, not really." Then she kissed him goodbye and left.

  Richard walked to Michael’s house in a daze. "Richard?" Michael said as Richard walked in and sat on Michael’s couch.

  "She didn’t ask," he said in quiet astonishment.

  Michael handed him some seltzer and nibbled on some carrot sticks. "She didn’t ask what?"

  "About Sophie."

  "I’ll bite," Michael smiled. "Are you still seeing—or whatever—Sophie?"

  "No," Richard said in frustration. "I broke it off for good the day you were shot."

  "Good."

  Richard looked like he wanted to cry. "But she didn’t even ask!"

  CHAPTER 10

  Miranda was walking to the corner where Michael was parked when her phone rang. Twenty seconds later, she hung up and smiled. "Who was that?" he said when she got in.

  "Jessie. She says hi and hopes you’re feeling better."

  Michael raised his eyebrows. "That’s sweet."

  "Mm hmm." She put on her seat belt. "So, chief, where to for breakfast?"

  "I was thinking," he said as they drove off, "bagels."

  "Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "No, I don’t think I want bagels with you. Not unless you’re going to feed it to me."

  "Is that what you want?" he asked slowly.

  "That is how I like them best."

  "Okay, but since you dictated those terms, I’m going to have to insist that this not fall under your precedent rule."

  "How about I’ll only do it again for an investor that’s offering more money?"

  "Maybe Richard should handle those negotiations."

  "I don’t know," Miranda shrugged. "If I can get this much money out of someone, I don’t know why he wouldn’t want me to do it again."

  "I hope my investment has certain unique fringe benefits."

  "I can’t make any promises until I know what those benefits are," she said before she traced his thigh. "And I think I need to confirm the investment first."

  "Uh huh." She laughed as he blushed and looked at the road ahead of him. "Music?" he asked a minute later as he put in a CD. First was The Man Who Got Away, then She Blinded Me with Science. Cheek to Cheek. Miranda gasped when Any Old Time came on. "I think you’re pushing the bounds of professionalism here."

  "What? We can listen to music and still be professional. What would really be unprofessional is if I started singing—" but Miranda forwarded to Something About You before he could.

  "Oh look!" she said ten minutes later. "Bagel shop."

  He pulled into the parking lot. She jumped out of the car but he caught her before she could go in. "You have to let me open the door for you."

  "But your arm still hurts."

  "Stronger and stronger every day," he said, pulling the door open. "And you’d be amazed at what this whole process is doing for my stamina."

  "Oh, I bet," she said as she passed him.

  She took his hand as they waited in line. "This is a freebie," she whispered before he could say anything, and then he squeezed her hand.

  He ordered her an everything bagel with veggie cream cheese and a pumpernickel bagel with cream cheese and jelly for himself. They found a table away from other people, and he broke off a small piece of her bagel and fed it to her. She giggled which made him giggle in return. "Okay, my turn."

  "Oh, I don’t think so," he said. "Things would take a distinctly unprofessional turn if you did."

  "If you say so. But then you have to explain your weird bagel combo." Then Michael launched into a story about meeting a very famous celebrity chef when he was in London after she’d accidentally hit his car. Apparently, she wasn’t a great driver, but she convinced him to let it go in exchange for an advance copy on her upcoming cookbook as well as a home-cooked meal with her family. It was there that he was introduced to the combination of pumpernickel, cream cheese and jelly.

  Miranda shook her head when he was done. "I’m not going to believe any of that until I see the cookbook."

  "And I’m not going to show you the coo
kbook until you let me cook dinner for you."

  "If you promise you’ll let me eat it, you’ve got a deal. Was that your plan for dinner?"

  "Dinner I was going to play by ear," he winked. "Come on, this was only part one." She laughed as he dragged her out of the bagel shop, and didn’t hide how much she enjoyed listening to him when he sang again.

  Thirty minutes later, he parked the car. She hadn’t been keeping track of the direction they’d been driving or any of the exits. If she had, she would have recognized where they were headed.

  He got out of the car before she could say anything and opened her door. She clenched her fists and hopped out. "Well done," she spat. "But not well enough. Because I happen to know that there is a bus that runs out of here to Gloucester."

  "But not that regularly on the weekends," he said calmly.

  "Then lucky for me this town isn’t so little that it doesn’t have a taxi, you son of a bitch."

  "I’ll thank you to leave my mother out of this."

  "Yeah? Well screw you, since you can’t leave mine out." She turned and walked away towards the solitary Magnolia Taxi.

  He caught up to her before she reached it. "Please don’t be angry," he said. "I knew you’d never come with me any other way."

  "Did it occur to you that I might have my reasons? Good reasons that you shouldn’t play with?"

  "Yes, but it’s worth risking you being upset with me for a little while if we can work through this."

  "Right, because it’s nothing to drag me through whatever you need to as long as you get what you want."

  "Is that what you think?"

  She didn’t want to respond to his hurt feelings. "This is not yours to work through. This is my family, my home. Not yours."

  "Mine too," he said quietly. "My family too. And you know that."

  "What do you want? Take it from me; ghosts don’t answer when you ask a question."

  "I want to know what happened."

  "Is that so hard to guess?"

  "I want to know for sure."

  "You sick bastard!" She didn’t want to dishonor all of those people’s memories any more than she had already. "Isn’t it bad enough…?" She took a deep breath. "The body count wasn’t enough for you? I didn’t realize you were one of those people that liked to watch train wrecks."

  "You’re not a train wreck."

  "This is not about me!"

  "This is about us."

  She pointed to the grandest house on the beach. "That, Michael, is where you want to go. That was the house that your grandparents used until your father was nine. Then they sold it and they never set foot here again. One of the few decent things that man could manage, because I think it would have killed my great-grandmother to have to look at him after what he did and know that she could never touch him."

  Michael clenched his jaw. "I never got to meet him, but I think he must have been an awful coward."

  "Like father, like son, because your father wouldn’t even acknowledge my mother." She pursed her lips as if she could keep her bitterness from spilling out. "And he certainly never set foot here either."

  "My dad was a coward," Michael said quietly. "But he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I swear."

  "What do you want?"

  "Tell me what happened."

  "She was your father’s nanny for the summer, and your grandfather raped her right before they left." She poked the air with her finger. "Dot, dot, dot."

  He stepped closer. "If this is why you’re so afraid of being with me, then I deserve to know what you do."

  "It’s not going to make you feel any better."

  "I have the man’s name," he said painfully. "If you’re going to look at me and remember that, then let me know what he did."

  She didn’t want to look at him. "Fine. But then it has to be there," she pointed to the beach and turned to walk toward its sandy shore. He ran back to the car to get a blanket, and then hurried after her.

  He set the blanket down on the sand. She was looking at the grey sky and sea. She reached her fingers out a little ahead of her, as if she were trying to touch something and pulled them back to her lips when he stood next to her, but she didn’t look at him.

  "Her name was Eve Hamilton," she said at last. "But she was called Evie. She was smart and pretty and had two parents who thought she was the world." Her lips trembled with anger. "She looked like my mother. I found a picture last year in the attic. She had the same blonde hair and green eyes...just like her mother did before her. And she had her whole life to look forward to." She turned around and snapped her fingers. "But then she didn’t, because he got to her when she was just fifteen. Right on this very beach. You’re a big guy, just like your father. What do you want to bet your grandfather was too? She was probably pretty easy to overpower, probably even more so because she wasn’t expecting it. He was old enough to be her father."

  "I’m so sorry," he finally managed as he reached for her.

  She pulled her hand away. "She was going to be a junior in high school. She was supposed to read Romeo and Juliet and have boyfriends and maybe start looking at colleges, but she didn’t get to do any of that. Instead she hid from everyone so they wouldn’t know that she was getting bigger by the day with the child of a rapist she couldn’t get rid of. It was the Sixties, and she didn’t have a choice. Her parents couldn’t touch him because he was an Abbot and he could do whatever he wanted.

  "She had the baby, but she slashed her wrists a month later. Two little girls," she said bitterly. "One who never got to grow up and one who grew up without a mother. Did they make one real person?

  "Her father died of a broken heart and then it was just my mother and her grandmother Helen. She met the love of her life, and then he was gone too." Miranda closed her eyes. "But from him she had me and that was a good enough reason to finally get the blood money that man had given to make sure he didn’t have to atone for his sins. She thought it meant she had a family waiting for her. Because she didn’t know the ugly truth and her grandmother thought she could protect her. But you can’t ever protect anyone, can you? Because everything always comes out." She glared at Michael. "Are you happy now? Is this what you came for?"

  "I’m sorry," he finally said. "I’m sorry about what my grandfather did. I’m sorry about what my father did. He—that Michael—left his mark on my dad too. I think he really wanted a family too."

  "Why do you have to do this?"

  "Because I don't want you to think I'm Tom Bartolome," he whispered.

  "Stop it," she hissed.

  "I loved you from the day I saw you. Maybe sometimes I didn’t know what it was. I don’t care what that sounds like. I don’t care if anyone else thinks that’s wrong or crazy. It’s true. I’ve always loved you, and I haven’t been able to stop."

  "I know Michael." She touched his hand but still wouldn’t look at him. "And I knew that the night I sent you away. I…I would have thrown myself into the ocean if I hadn’t been such a coward. I'm not even brave enough to crash my car like you. I just hoped I’d freeze to death. All I had to do was stay still and let it happen." She felt herself on the edge of a memory she knew she couldn't touch. "But then Alex showed up and ruined one more thing."

  Michael turned her around. Tears were streaming down his face. "You have finally given me a reason to thank that man," he said with raw emotion in his voice. She wiped away his tears. "Why Miranda? Why did you send me away?"

  She looked down at the sand. She needed to remember herself before she spoke. "Because I thought it was what I was supposed to do."

  "What about now?" he whispered.

  She looked up. She traced his lips with her thumb. "I already told you. I made my choice when you got hurt. I can’t have anything else now."

  "Tell me you don’t look at me and see the other Michael. Tell me you don’t look at me and see my dad. Tell me you love me despite everything. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me it doesn’t matter. Or tell me it does and then tell me w
hat I can do to fix it, because I have to fix it."

  "Don’t Michael," she said and closed her eyes as she rested her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "It’s not yours to fix."

  "They left you without a family."

  "As they did to you."

  "No, I had Richard."

  "So did I. And I had Israel."

  "But it wasn’t the same," he said sadly. "I’m sorry I pushed everyone else away."

  "I don’t blame you," she said, taking his hand.

  "Then say you forgive me."

  "I forgive you. You know that."

  "I don’t care—" He looked up at the grey sky. "I don't care about that man. It doesn't change how much I love you. But I know—you must think of him when you think of me. You must wonder how much I’m like him."

  "I don’t. You’re not cruel."

  His voice cracked. "Now whoever thought you’d say that?"

  She touched his face again. "Maybe it doesn't matter. I can't live without you."

  "Then don’t live without me. Have me right now."

  She looked up and laughed. "Sorry, we’re still in negotiation mode. I guess someone else can have true confessions from me, but I don’t think I want to set that precedent."

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. "I’m afraid you’ve been had, darling. I signed the papers with Richard last night."

  She ran her fingers through his hair. He grabbed her by the sides. "No, you’re the one who’s been had. Richard told me this morning." She smiled again as he laughed. "Gotcha," she whispered before she kissed him.

  It felt like they were there forever, but it wasn’t long enough. It was as if they were in their own world again, and they wanted to stay there. He stroked her face when it started to get dark. "I want you to show me the house," he said. "The house where you grew up."

  "A disadvantage of the games you like so much," she sighed, kissing him. "You didn’t give me any indication that I needed the key."

  "Damn," he muttered, then kissed her again. "Then we have to get off this beach right now."

  "Why?" she said, giggling. "What are you afraid of?"

  "You know very well," he whispered.

  She started thinking that her mother was conceived on this beach, and that she probably was too. She started thinking that it was fitting—but then she stopped herself. "You’re right," she said quickly, pulling herself up. "Okay, where to now?"