Traded

by Tess Thompson

  He nodded. Words never came easily to him, but right now they were impossible.

  “It’s been a good hand for the most part,” Flora said. “Now, don’t give me that face. I’m going to be fine. Snip, snip and a little radiation and I’ll be good as new.”

  “How’re you feeling? Do you need anything?” he asked.

  “I’m tired. It’s this cold—that’s all. Nothing to do with the tumor. Doctor Waller instructed me to stay in bed until it passes. Such a nuisance.”

  “Doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders.”

  Flora took his hand, holding it between her cold, dry ones for a moment before tapping the top of his Super Bowl ring with her index finger. “I’m proud of you.” She made the motion of the cross over her chest. “If only your dad could have been there.”

  He twirled the ring around his finger, avoiding eye contact for fear he’d burst into tears. Flora’s kind face always did it to him. “Yeah, I know.”

  “But he was up above, watching,” she said.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m positive.”

  He wanted to believe it, but he wasn’t sure. Grief had caused his faith to falter, whereas it strengthened Flora’s belief. “Doc wants me to hire someone to look after you and Mom.”

  “Someone to replace me?”

  “No, not to replace you. A nurse to take care of you. At least until you’re both back on your feet,” he said.

  She dropped his hand and brought hers together over her chest. The comforter rose and fell as she took in a deep breath. “It’s my job to look after this family.”

  “You’ve done enough for long enough.” He smiled to ease the message. “Even the best quarterbacks have to retire at some point.”

  She blinked and fiddled with the sheet. “Retire? Don’t be silly.”

  “I’ll take over the cooking.”

  “Preposterous. You can’t cook,” Flora said.

  She had a point there. “You can finally relax.”

  “I don’t want to relax.” Her face had turned to stone.

  “I want you to. It’s time. Think about it. You can sleep late. Go to the beach. Take my credit card and go shopping in town for fancy hats.” Flora loved hats.

  “Hats?” She sighed and shook her head.

  “You can enjoy spending time in your room watching old movies.” Per her request, he’d had the room decorated with wallpaper peppered with pink roses. Dark furniture contrasted with white bedding and pillows. Lampshades sparkled with pink crystals. Even the shades were a light shade of pink called blush if he remembered correctly. “You love your room.”

  “I can’t live here and not work,” she said. “I’m no mooch.”

  “For God’s sake, Flora. You’re one of the family. You know that.”

  “Someone you pay is not a family member.” She sniffed and looked up at the ceiling.

  She was the most obstinate person he’d ever met. Regardless, this time she wasn’t getting her way. He could be just as stubborn. “It’s not a choice. I’m hiring someone, and you’re retiring. You’re going to travel and take cruises and have fun. I mean it.”

  “And leave you here with a stranger? No, no. Not after what happened with that hideous girl.”

  “Samantha?”

  “Right, yes. Samantha.” Flora spat out the last word with more venom than he thought her weakened state would allow. “I won’t have it again. No, sir. That girl did enough, selling our stories to the tabloids after claiming to love you.”

  Yes, he knew that now. If only he’d been able to see behind her beautiful exterior to discern the ugliness within. “She was a girlfriend, not an employee. Anyway, we’ll make sure we have our legal ducks in a row.”

  “Ducks?”

  “We’ll have her or him sign a confidentiality agreement. Honor makes sure all the people who come to work for us sign one.”

  “I’ll only agree to it if you promise that as soon as I’m recovered from my surgery, you’ll let me resume my duties.” Flora crossed her arms over her chest and sucked in her bottom lip like she had when he was a child, and he’d done something to displease her. “And I get to decide who we hire. As in, I have veto power.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, making a great show of smoothing her hair. “I hate being in this bed all day. It just gives me time to think, which is not always a good thing.”

  “What’ve you been thinking about?”

  “I’ve been thinking about my parents. I haven’t seen them in over forty years, and yet I can still hear their voices. Mostly saying bad things.”

  Brody knew Flora was estranged from her family, but he didn’t know why. When she’d come to work for his parents, she was no older than twenty and had no family to speak of. Not any she wanted to speak of anyway. Whenever he or Lance had asked her about her parents, Flora’s mouth had tightened into a straight line, and her eyes hardened into blue glaciers. “If my mother could see the places I’ve lived, she would never have believed it was possible, especially for me. She didn’t think much of my abilities. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “She was cold and particularly proper. Unforgiving of mistakes. Not like your parents. Until I saw your family, I didn’t know what good parents were. Not perfect, of course, but loving and supportive of who you boys are. I admired your father for not making Lance play sports if he didn’t want to.”

  “Or insist that I be a scholar?” He smiled.

  “You’re plenty smart. Just different from Lance, that’s all.”

  “He’s so much better looking than me too,” Brody said, pretending to be hurt. “It’s not really fair.” Brunette like their father, his brother was good looking enough to be an actor, with even features, full lips, and dark blue eyes that melted women.

  She slapped his hand. “Don’t be vain.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But you know it’s true.” Brody was only sought after for print and television ads because of his football status, not for his appearance. A sports writer had once described him as intense and brooding. He suspected he frightened people.

  “Doc thinks your mother’s depressed,” Flora said.

  He sighed, ready to dismiss this whole idea. “She was married for forty years. It’s to be expected that she’s a little lost.”

  “It’s been two years. She needs a new husband.”

  His head jerked up. A new husband? Had he heard her correctly? “What? No, she doesn’t. She just needs time. She’ll be fine.”

  “She’s lonely. Like you, she needs a partner,” Flora said.

  “You just worry about yourself right now. I’ll worry about Mom.” His voice caught. “She’ll never love anyone like she did my dad.” None of us ever could.

  She patted his knee. “We all need to move on, Brody. Your father wouldn’t want you two down here boohooing.”

  “You’re the one always telling me to connect to my feelings,” he said.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t do anyone any good to wallow.”

  Time to change the subject. “Will you eat a little soup if I bring it?”

  “Maybe later. Now, I’ll just take a short nap.”

  He leaned over to give her a kiss on her soft, weathered cheek. “Rest as long as you like. Call me if you need me.”

  “Just a short nap,” she whispered. “And then I’ll make dinner.”

  We’ll just see about that.

  HIS MOTHER SLEPT ON top of the comforter with a blanket over her. Not wanting to wake her, he sat in the chair next to the bed. The lump from the cast made her appear lopsided. She had grown too thin, with hollowed cheeks and jutting bones. She seemed old, not his vibrant, sharp-minded mother.

  She stirred. Eyes the color of an inky night sky stared up at him. “Brody?” She blinked.

  “Hey, Mom. How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m so embarrassed I fell. D
oc gave me a million pills, and I can’t feel a thing, and my mind’s as fuzzy as can be.”

  “Doc said you’ll be healed in no time. Just in time for spring.”

  She fixed her gaze on the ceiling. “I suppose so.”

  Janet Mullen had always been reserved—more scholarly and career-oriented than social. “I didn’t spend three years in law school for nothing,” she had often said. While the women in their social circle enjoyed tennis games and lunch at the club, his mom aimed to save the world, one human rights violation after the other. Despite this, she and his father had been such a great match. A football player and a scholar were a weird combination, but they’d been more in love than any couple he’d ever known.

  “Opposites attract,” his father had said. “I’m a dumb jock, and she’s the smartest woman on the planet.”

  After they’d lost his father, her vitality had died with him. She’d abruptly decided to retire at fifty-nine and had agreed to move in with Brody without a fight.

  “They’re talking about you on the TV—saying you’re the best quarterback that’s ever lived. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  He chuckled. “Dad always said the minute you start agreeing with the hype about yourself is the minute you become useless.”

  Tears gathered at the corners of his mother’s eyes.

  “Don’t cry, now.” Brody swiped a tissue from the box on the table and placed it in her hands.

  “During Sunday’s game, I kept flashing to the two of you on the lawn when you were just a little boy. You must have thrown that football to your dad hundreds of times a day. Simon never once complained.”

  “I used to say to him, ‘just five more minutes’ until he made me go into the house.” Brody wiped his own eyes with a fresh tissue from the box.

  “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so much like me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You don’t now, but later, you might see it differently. This drive you have—this ambition—won’t keep you warm at night.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about all the trips I took when you boys were young. All the games I missed. That sort of thing.”

  His mother’s tears disoriented him. Normally stoic, she almost never cried. It must be the pain medication. He brushed a lock of damp hair from his mother’s eyes. “Mom, your ambition didn’t hurt anyone in this family. We were always proud of you. Dad especially.”

  “Your father knew what he was getting when he married me. We never tried to change the other person. That was part of what made us work. And, truth be told, Flora made it possible for me to have a career and you kids too.” She looked back at him. “Did Doc tell you about her diagnosis?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “She’ll be fine. She has to be,” his mother said.

  “Doc thinks I should hire someone to help me take care of you two.”

  “Flora won’t like it,” she said.

  “I know, but there’s no choice. I already told her, and she agreed, if its only temporary. She wants the person to leave as soon as she’s back on her feet. Which is insane. I mean, after all this time, she deserves to retire. I want to give her as much as she’s given us over the years.”

  “Ah, yes, but that’s her way of protecting herself. She feels that she can’t stay here unless she’s working.”

  “She doesn’t get it. We think of her as family.”

  “Flora’s prickly, but underneath all that is a soft heart that loves us all very much. You know that.”

  “I do. She also said she gets veto power over who we hire.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, there’s a loophole for you. No matter who we hire, the poor thing will never do anything as well as Flora thinks she should.” His mom smiled. “She’s stubborn as a goat.”

  “I’m stubborn too,” he said.

  “Yes, a little.”

  “I wish Lance was here. He has a way with her.”

  “He’s like your father. Good with people. Gentle.”

  “Does Lance know about Flora?” Brody asked.

  “Doc called him this morning.”

  He thought about that for a moment, imagining his tender brother on the other end of that phone call. “I’ll call him later.”

  “I wish he’d come home to stay for a while.” His mother’s eyes filled again. “I miss you boys.”

  “Mom, Doc said he’s worried you’re depressed.”

  “I’m fine, honey. It’s this weather the past few months and you two boys being gone. And I miss your father.”

  “You’d tell me if you needed help, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. But I’m fine.”

  “You rest now.”

  She closed her eyes. “Just a short nap.”

  He watched her sleep for a few minutes, thinking of all the years his mother and Flora had made him and Lance the priority. Now the tables had turned. Was he up to the task? Whether he was adequate or not, he and Lance were all they had. As his father used to say: Suck it up, buttercup, because you’re up.

  Chapter Five

  Kara

  Kara sat across from U.S. Marshal Whittier at the small table in her hotel room. Whittier was in his late fifties. With the persona of a middle school vice principal and a radio announcer voice, he made her feel like a school girl.

  “I’m here on behalf of the agency,” he said. “Now that you’re finished with your testimony, I’m here to help you transition into your new life.” Whittier’s gray caterpillar eyebrows furrowed. “When I’m satisfied you’re ready, we’ll get you to your new home and you can start building a life.”

  Her pulse quickened. She squeezed her hands together under the table. The moment she’d been waiting for—the moment that would take her from purgatory to the land of the living—was finally here. The weeks of testimony had been hell. Dare she hope for redemption?

  Whittier passed a manila envelope across the table. “Enclosed are all the documents you’ll need for your new life: passport, social security card, birth certificate. Your nursing license has been changed from your old name to your new one. However, you’re not licensed in the state you’re being sent to, so you’ll have to take the state boards and such, which won’t be any trouble if your past grades and test scores are any indications. I’ve included a thumb drive with your resume and other documents that you’ll need to get started. We’ve changed your transcripts from Penn State to George Mason University. If anyone were to check, it would look like you attended George Mason for both your undergraduate and graduate degrees under your new name, Kara Eaton.”

  “Kara Eaton?” Eaton. She repeated it in her mind several times, trying it on for size. How would she ever remember who she was supposed to be now? What if she signed the wrong name?

  “That’s correct. Your name is Kara Eaton now. There will be no trace of Kara Boggs. It will be like you never existed.”

  “I get to keep my first name though. That’s helpful.” She cringed at the pitiful tone in her voice. Was this what it had come down to? Grateful for her own name?

  “Yes. We’ve found it’s better that way, as it makes you less likely to slip up when someone’s calling to you.” He continued, rote and unemotional, like he gave someone a new identity every day. Perhaps he did. This is his job. He snatches people from their lives and thrusts them into new ones.

  “We’ve found a small apartment for you in the California seaside town of Cliffside Bay. My understanding is that it’s about an hour north of San Francisco with a population of around five thousand people. Few people move there or move out. It’s a sleepy little town. Unusually sleepy.”

  “The seaside?” A kernel of hope popped inside her chest. The sea? She would live by the ocean. Salt and surf were sure to heal her wounds.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s a small place most people have never heard of. Rumor has it the residents don’t want anyone to find their town. They take down roadside signs and such. The state of California finds it annoying, but it’s the p
erfect place to disappear.”

  “Is it warm there?” Kara asked.

  “Marin County is cool and damp in the winter months with an average temperature somewhere in the forties. Summers are in the upper seventies. Fall and spring somewhere in between. Quite a bit of rain. A lot of fog. You can’t ask for better.” His lips twitched. “My boss made sure to place you someplace good. He says you’ve been through a lot.”

  “Please thank him for me.” The kindness of the men and women who made up this agency made her want to cry, especially considering the ugliness they must witness every day.

  “Your apartment is nothing more than a room and a bathroom, but it’s right in town. There weren’t many rentals, so it was the best we could do on short notice. It’s up to you to find a job, and rather quickly. We have a stipend for you, but it won’t last long.” Whittier frowned as he flipped through a small notebook. “There is a doctor’s office, but only one. Whether they have an opening for a nurse practitioner is anyone’s guess. Otherwise, you can look for work elsewhere. If you decide to move to another town, however, you must notify us.”

  “Right. Yes, sir.” Starting over. New home. New town. New job. What if she couldn’t find anything?

  His stern features softened as his eyebrows loosened to form two caterpillars instead of one. “I’m sorry, Kara. I know this is hard.”

  No, you don’t. You get to keep your job that you probably worked so hard for. She nodded and managed a smile. “Thanks. I’m grateful for the new start.”

  “Okay, well, let’s get started on the transition. Tonight, after I leave, you’re to memorize the details of your made-up past. When I come back tomorrow, I’ll quiz you. Once you’ve passed the test, you’ll be ready to go.”

  “How long does it usually take?” Kara asked.

  “Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Depends on the person. Also, you’ll need to practice your signature until it becomes second nature.”

  A few weeks? Alone in this hotel room. Kara fought back tears.

  Whittier continued. “You must never contact anyone from your past. You are never to come back to Philadelphia, or your former schools, or the hospital where you’ve worked for eight years, or any of the places where your father had homes. You must remember that you are to never, and I mean never, under any circumstances, tell anyone about your real past. The only times we’ve lost witnesses in this program have been when they’ve broken the rules.”