He Saved Me

by Whitney Barbetti

  Mira had talked about it on the ear piece while she was going through Hawthorne’s office, but with everything that had happened afterwards, I’d forgotten about it.

  I wasn’t ready. After what happened to Mira and listening to Six the night before, my heart was too raw.

  The clock across the room said it was eight in the morning. I knew that Julian would get up shortly, so I went ahead and made his tea and some toast, hoping he’d jump into writing the moment he was done with breakfast. When I opened the trash to throw out the tea bag, I saw, on top of the other garbage, the bowl of spaghetti I’d made Six the night before. He’d thrown the whole thing out, the spaghetti, meatballs, and the bowl.

  If I thought my heart was broken the night before, I was wrong.

  I carried the tea and the toast up to Julian, waking him up with smiles that I hoped concealed my inner turmoil.

  He sat up in the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He smiled sleepily at me and my heart turned over in my chest. There was something heart-achingly beautiful about watching a man you loved wake up.

  He reached a hand for me and I leaned in, kissing him on the lips, pouring my love into the kiss. I pulled back slightly and he ran his hand through my hair. I didn’t want to lose this with Julian. The path I was following wasn’t one without risk. I knew I risked more than just me in this journey, and I needed to make sure that Julian remained out of the line of fire.

  “What are your plans today?” he asked as he took the first sip of tea.

  My mind warred with my heart. My mind won.

  I knew that I’d do anything to protect him in my pursuit of a final freedom.

  Loving Julian was breathing; it didn’t require thought or choice. Which was why I’d made the choice to protect him, to lie to him, as I invited the darkness back into my life. Lying was easy. Loving Julian was easy. But if I lost Julian, it’d be like losing my ability to breathe. Suffocating.

  So I smiled and laid my head further into his touch, allowing him to massage my temple. “I’m going to go for a run,” I said. Not a lie. “And then probably read some shit.”

  Julian choked on his tea. He pulled away. “Are you saying I write shit?”

  “No,” I said with a grin. “Who says I’m going to read your book?”

  “Do you have many other options?” he asked with a lifted eyebrow as he took another sip. He knew I didn’t.

  “Then I guess I’m going to read your shit.”

  Julian tugged lightly on my hair. “Want to read what I’m working on right now?”

  While tempting, I knew reading it would slow my progress with my plan to leave clues to connect my disappearance to Hawthorne.

  “One book at a time,” I answered. I stood up, pulling away from his touch. It was harder to lie to him when we were connected. “I’m going for my run now. I’ll leave you alone until lunch. What would you like to eat?” I hoped I didn’t sound as eager as I felt.

  Julian sat up straighter in the bed. “Are you running on the treadmill?” he asked.

  I paused by the doorway. “No, I’m running on the beach.”

  Julian set his mug down on the side table. “I heard Six yesterday,” he said slowly. His face betrayed the apprehension he felt about me running outside.

  “Six left this morning.” I picked up a jacket on the floor and slid it on, avoiding his eyes the whole while. “I need the air, Julian.”

  I put him in an awkward position. He didn’t want to tell me what I could or couldn’t do, I knew that. But ultimately, he wanted me safe.

  “I’ll be good.” My first bold-faced lie.

  Julian nodded, clearly uncomfortable dissuading me. “Just be careful, okay?” His eyes were troubled.

  “Sure,” I lied through my teeth.

  I ran like I said I would, all the way to the library. I pulled out the scrap of paper I’d kept in my sweats and logged into the computer, bypassing Anita completely.

  While waiting for the screen to show my email inbox, I wiped my hands on my pants.

  There was one new email.

  My entire body broke out in sweat.

  “You’re back,” a voice came from behind me. I nearly fell over.

  Anita stood directly behind my chair, one hand on her waist and the other eyeing me shrewdly. But again, not with malice. I felt no threat from her other than her being nosy.

  “Yep,” I answered. “I wanted to get a head start.”

  She looked me over for a moment. “Remember, twenty minutes.”

  I knew I wouldn’t be here longer than that, but that didn’t change the fact that I was annoyed by her. “Unless no one’s waiting, right?” I asked with syrupy sweetness.

  Something flickered in her eyes. Annoyance? Whatever it was, she smoothed her features right away. “Correct,” she answered before turning and walking away.

  I turned back to my computer and took a deep breath before I opened up the browser window again.

  I looked around just to make sure Anita hadn’t crept up behind me once again. When the coast was clear, I turned back to the computer and exhaled a deep breath the moment I opened the email.

  Like the one I’d sent Hawthorne, the reply was one line. And it still held the power to send chills down my spine.

  How’s Oregon, Cora?

  I let out a captive breath and rubbed my hands over my arms. I read my given name on the screen a dozen times. I felt equal parts relief, anxiety, and fear. I was twisted inside and out, wondering what to reply.

  So I didn’t. I logged out of my email and waited a moment before getting up to leave.

  “That was quick,” Anita called to me on my way past her desk.

  “It was,” I agreed, and walked out of the library without another word.

  When I arrived back at the house, I was a restless ball of nerves. I did some strength training that Mira had taught me while I tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do about Hawthorne. My idea was to get him to come to me. But then what?

  I wanted to get him to confess to my mother’s murder. I knew that much. I didn’t know if I could. There was little doubt that he was responsible in my mind.

  There was no way my mom would have killed herself. That had never made sense to me. I was only a teenager, but I was a perceptive one. My mom wasn’t sad or angry.

  She didn’t keep medication in the house. Why wasn’t a bottle found? The only person I knew who was using pain killers was my aunt, Hawthorne’s wife. And she was going through cancer treatment. It had to have been costly.

  The moment my aunt died, Hawthorne sold the house and downsized. He never complained about money, but that could be explained by the living expense disbursements from the trust account Julian mentioned.

  And even if he wasn’t responsible for my mother’s death, which I deemed unlikely, he had hurt Mira. And Six. He’d stolen from them, just as he’d stolen from me and that knowledge alone lit a spark of rage in my bones.

  I paced the house while I thought, as if moving my body would help move my thoughts in the direction they needed to go.

  My eyes fell upon the box with my mother’s notebooks, sitting on the table. I walked to it cautiously. Would I find answers in these pages?

  I lifted the lid of the box and pulled out the first notebook. It had a blue linen cover. I held the notebook in one hand as I brushed my fingertips over the top of it.

  I brought the notebook to the living room and curled up on a corner of the couch to read it.

  I wanted to take my time reading them, but there were about a half dozen in the box, so I knew I needed to skim them for now.

  William gave this to me a week ago and it’s taken me this long to open it and put a pen to this page.

  William. Six’s given name. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d given her notebooks.

  He says I’m a writer, that the dozens of letters I sent while he was gone should be framed. While I disagree with him, I do appreciate that he values them that much.

  I
didn’t know what she was referring to, with Six being gone. What did that mean? I skimmed the first page, which was mostly my mom talking about her day-to-day activities.

  Beth is sick again. She told me when I called her that she was getting some tests done. In the same breath she asked for more money. She’s my baby sister so I’m supposed to protect her, to help her, but sometimes being a sister feels more like a prison sentence than a gift.

  Beth, Hawthorne’s wife. I always thought it was odd that the only family that came to our Sunday “family dinners” was Six. Beth and Hawthorne didn’t live that far away, but they never came to dinner.

  Being a single mom to a seven-year old gets lonely. At night when Cora’s fast asleep and breathing evenly, I marvel at the person she’s becoming. Not having her father around to see this, to witness her soul blossoming before my eyes is heart-wrenching.

  The questions about her father come less frequently now. I don’t know whether to be thankful or sad about that. How can I tell her that her father chose a life that didn’t lend itself to fatherhood?

  I spoke to him a few days ago. Each time hurts less and I wonder if I loved him as much as I thought I did.

  I closed the notebook and set it aside, my heart feeling heavier with more questions than answers. My mom still talked to my biological father after I’d been born? My aunt was asking for money from my mom years before my mom died?

  And most of all, feeling my mother’s words, hearing her voice saying them in my head. It was equal parts wonderful and painful. Something I could only take in small doses.

  After setting the notebook on the table, I closed my eyes.

  “Andra,” Julian’s voice pulled me from the dream world into reality.

  “Hi,” I croaked. I rubbed my throat and looked around. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. “What time is it?”

  Julian lifted his wrist. “It’s noon. Are you okay?”

  I pushed myself up to sitting. “I’m fine.”

  Julian looked skeptical. As he should. I was lying to him more and more.

  “What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the notebook on the coffee table.

  I didn’t have to lie to him about that. “My mom’s journal. There’s a box of them on the dining table.”

  “Six brought them?”

  I nodded. “I started reading this one but it got to be a little too much, especially with everything that’s been going on the last few days.”

  Julian rubbed my knee. “Give yourself a break, Andra.”

  I smiled softly at him, but I didn’t speak what I wanted to answer. I couldn’t break now.

  Hawthorne knew I was in Oregon. I’d given him that much and now I wouldn’t reply to his email. It would only piss him off. And I wanted him mad enough to come find me.

  This time I wouldn’t run away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Julian made us lunch and we ate it on the back porch, looking out over the sand and sea. I listened to the sounds of the water and was reminded once again how much I missed Colorado.

  “Do you miss your family?” I asked Julian after he’d set out plates beside us.

  Julian didn’t answer at first. Instead, he grabbed my hand, encouraging me to look at him. With the wind ruffling his hair and his hand squeezing mine, he said, “I’m with you.”

  It was enough, for now.

  I turned back to look out at the water when he spoke again, “What do you think is next?”

  In my mind, I said what I’d loosely planned: Lure Hawthorne to Oregon. Figure out a way to get him to confess to my mom’s murder and then kill him myself. I suppressed the shiver that came over me then and said what Julian expected to hear, “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay to not know what’s next.”

  I wrapped my other arm around my legs and pulled tighter to myself. “But I don’t want to just sit here.” I met his eyes. “This place is nice, but it’s not home.”

  “I know,” he sighed. “Thanksgiving is coming. What would you like to do?”

  “It’s going to be just you and me.” I didn’t think I’d be seeing Six anytime soon.

  He nodded. “I know. But it’s our first one. Let’s make it the best one.”

  Julian needed some normalcy. As much as he closed himself in the room to write, he still needed normal. Our future was on pause while we lived in the limbo of this beach house.

  “We don’t have anything to cook.” The idea of celebrating a holiday right now didn’t feel right. I’d come up with a hundred excuses to just wallow.

  Naturally, Julian was persistent. “I’ll make a run to the store. Make a list.”

  With an eyebrow raised, I looked him over. “Me? Make a list? You’re the chef here.”

  “True. It’d be olives and tea if you’d planned it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shoved against him. “I’m in if it means you’re cooking. And I’m eating.”

  “You know I love watching you eat,” he said, squeezing my hand. He grabbed the plates and stood up, pulling me with him. “I’ll make the list tonight and go shopping tomorrow,” he offered as we went back inside the house.

  I nearly protested, wanting to escape to the grocery store with him. But I knew that Julian leaving meant I could be gone longer from the house. I glanced at the calendar by the sink. “Thanksgiving is in two days,” I said, watching Julian load the dishwasher. “The store is going to be packed tomorrow.” Which meant I could have even more time away from the house.

  Julian washed his hands in the sink. “I’m a big boy. I’ll be okay.”

  I smiled, grateful at Julian’s ability to make me smile even when I was in an odd mood. “I hope so. Do you have more writing to do?”

  I watched as he ran the white towel over his hands. “A couple more hours. Want to watch a movie later?”

  “Sure. I’m going to go through my mom’s journals some more.”

  Julian set the towel down and walked straight for me, placing his hands on either side of my face. “Let me know if you need me.”

  I nodded, unable to move my eyes from his. My hands came to grip his wrists and I squeezed gently. I rose up to kiss him and then he was gone, up the stairs.

  I opened the notebook on the coffee table and skimmed through the parts that sounded like basic day to day stuff. I moved on to the second notebook in the pile, which was written when I was around nine years old.

  William is home. I could write that sentence one hundred times, and my elation would never waver. William, my best friend, is home.

  He came over for Sunday dinner and spent time with Cora. Her sassy attitude was on full display. He introduced himself as Six, and at one point Cora asked if that was as high as he could count. William seemed to enjoy being around us, but he was mostly silent. I think transitioning is going to be hard on him. I don’t know how to help him.

  I was right. So far, I had more questions than answers. Where had Six been? What transitioning was my mom talking about?

  I skimmed a few pages.

  Beth is finally in remission. She needs to get frequent scans done, but for now we can breathe a little easier knowing that she’ll be okay.

  Not that this news has lessened her requests for money.

  I don’t know what to do. She’s my sister. We’ve never been close. I know she spent most of her inheritance on the house and then whatever was left over went to the hospital bills. She’s not like me, so I have trouble understanding her.

  She called me last night and pleaded with me to send her something.

  How many times can I say no before she listens? How many times have I kept her afloat?

  I try to make an effort. I’ve taken Cora to see her a few times since she got out of the hospital but Beth has never shown interest in developing a relationship with Cora. And her husband is never around for me to get to know him.

  I skimmed a few more pages.

  A financial planner has advised me to make a will. I feel a little irresponsible for not
having one already, after all Cora has no one, no one.

  I sat down with Beth and Hawthorne and discussed naming them as Cora’s guardians should something happen to me. Beth was exhausted and didn’t seem altogether there for the conversation, so it was mostly Hawthorne and I talking. He asked a lot of questions.

  It was my first real conversation with him. And it didn’t make me feel better about naming them as guardians.

  I stopped reading when the disposable phone rang.

  “Six,” I said after reading the caller ID.

  “Andra,” he said. “I will be gone for the next week or so.”

  Right to the point. Gone was the emotional drunk Six I witnessed the night before.

  “Okay,” I answered. I looked at the notebook in my hand. “Hey, have you read these journals?”

  There was silence for a moment. “No. Listen. I am going to figure out a way to deal with Hawthorne. I want you to stay inside the house.”

  “Okay,” I lied. Lying over the phone was so incredibly easy.

  “Don’t just say ‘okay’ to appease me, Andra. I’m serious. Stay the fuck inside the house.”

  I gritted my teeth. I knew he was only trying to protect me, but I hated feeling like a child in time out. “I said okay, Six.”

  “That documentary comes out this weekend. It’s a mini-series. It’s getting a lot of hype, so it’d be smart if you listened-”

  “And stayed the fuck inside the house,” I finished. “I get it, Six.”

  “I’ll call you next week,” he said before I heard the dial tone.

  He was more abrupt than usual, which signaled to me that he was still dealing with Mira as well as Hawthorne.

  But I wanted to get to Hawthorne first.

  That night, as Julian loaded the dishwasher, I walked out to the sand and did something I hadn’t done in a while.

  I prayed.