Amber and Blue

by K. R. Rowe

  His lips grazed her forehead, and he climbed into the truck to leave. She wrung her hands and stared after them, when the truck pulled out, and drove away.

  Anne stood, open-mouthed, after watching the affectionate display in front of her. She turned to look at Alex but he was stone-faced and emotionless, except the tightening of his jaw, as he clenched his teeth.

  "Matt wasn't kidding around," Anne whispered to Atticus. "This is a very delicate situation."

  Alex persevered. The first week passed quietly while Grace settled in. Most days, she kept to her room, but when she strayed out, she avoided him like a naked old man. Alex could see that Grace was still plagued with tremors, but her late night calls to Lucien finally ceased. Still, the man would not go away. Alex was no saint, and he could not pretend to be unaffected by Lucien’s irritating presence. Each time his black sport bike pulled in for a visit, Alex would stomp to his truck in a furious huff, and discreetly leave the property.

  A second week rolled by and Grace began to venture from her room more often. From time to time, Alex would catch her looking at him curiously, but would quickly turn away when caught. She was still wary of him and kept her distance. He was not sure what to do anymore and his hope began to falter.

  Would things ever be the same?

  Near the end of his shift, he stood at his usual post on the landing. Relaxed with his arms crossed, he leaned back, but his posture was deceiving. He was vigilant. His eyes squinted from the glare of the sun, as he scrutinized the back garden. Everything was normal and in its place—

  "Hello," she said from beside him.

  Startled, he jumped away from her, and stumbled over a potted plant, spilling black clumps of peat moss across the landing.

  "I’m so sorry!" she said and laughed. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  "I don't mind," he said. I’m such an idiot! he thought.

  "I’ve been meaning to apologize," she said. "I’ve been rude."

  "But you haven’t—"

  "I have … and I’ve never thanked you and it’s long overdue."

  "You don’t have to—"

  "But I do," she said. "You didn't come to Montréal just to scare me. It just took me some time to realize it."

  "It was never my intention." He gazed down, and captured her eyes with his. "I'm not usually so …."

  "Worked up …." Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat.

  "Not in that way," he said and took a step closer.

  "Lydia told me—well—never mind." She wrenched her eyes away from his as a pink flush tinged her cheek. "Anyway," she said. "I just wanted to say thank you." She cut herself short and turned away abruptly to go back inside.

  He held his breath as he watched her walk in. She turned back, and for a second, he thought he saw her smile. He exhaled, and leaned back on his post—but missed.

  ******

  Chapter 25 Committed

  The twitch became uncontrolled as André waited for his father's arrival. He stood smiling and proud, like a potty-trained three year old, while he kept a loud disjointed monologue with persons unknown.

  "Ahh, if it isn't my wayward son!" Montcalm greeted when he entered the room. "I'm told you have some kind of news for me." He watched with concern as his son anxiously wrung his hands.

  "Yes father, I have news, but it isn't good." André's delighted smile contradicted his words. "It's Lucien. He’s betrayed the family, killed one of our men, and has stolen my ransom."

  Montcalm stood silent. His heart teemed with gratitude. What is the life of a replaceable man, and the measly price of a ransom compared to the welfare of his son? André was here, just as he requested. Lucien had done exactly what was asked of him and Montcalm was not concerned with his methods.

  Jacques entered the room quietly and stood next to his father with his arms crossed, his expression serious. They both hoped this would go smoothly but had very low expectations.

  "Son," he said. "Lucien is the least of our worries—"

  "What do you mean?" André yelled in disbelief.

  "I’m not concerned with what Lucien has done," Montcalm said.

  "The man is a traitor!" he shrieked. His eyes bulged wide as he screamed and long quivering strings of saliva swung over his lip and soaked his filthy white shirt. "They said he deserves to die!" He paced the room in a wild rage. "Your precious Lucien, and his evil little toy, haven't seen the last of me! We will hunt them down and destroy them!"

  André was out of control, and Montcalm found himself out of options when he motioned to his men to take charge.

  "What are you doing?" André bellowed when they took a firm hold of his arms. "Get your hands off me! You will pay for this! Pigs! I curse you all!" His rambling tirade echoed through the cold marble halls, before finally fading to silence.

  "Who are they?" Jacques asked.

  "The voices."

  ******

  Chapter 26 Competition

  The day was perfect for shopping. Grace and Lydia had been gone only minutes before the two men’s discussion in the study became heated and loud. Anne reached in and discreetly closed the door.

  "Atticus, you can't do this. The man’s a criminal." Alex struggled to control his temper and stay in his seat.

  "Not anymore." Atticus passed Alex a drink. "His political asylum has been approved by the USCIS. He's deemed to be no threat, and has gained official refugee status. There’s no way the government would allow him to stay if they thought otherwise," he said. "The mental evaluations they have these days are astounding. The brain scans can detect lies before they’re even spoken."

  "That’s beside the point," Alex said.

  Atticus took a breath and continued, "The US Consulate in Canada investigated and confirmed his story. He's come clean, Alex. He’s told them everything." He poured himself a shot of brandy, downed it, and poured another.

  "But you don't have to sponsor him!" Alex said. "Let him settle somewhere else! Not here! Not in this city!"

  "I know I don’t have to," Atticus said, "but I owe the man. He saved my daughter, just like you did, and he asked nothing in return," he said. "He deserves a second chance with his life, away from the horrors of Canada."

  "Well, you'll have to excuse me," Alex said, "because personally, I don't give half a shit about him or his chances!"

  Atticus continued while ignoring the comment. "He's betrayed the son of a very powerful man for her. He risked his life. He's here to stay, and you have to accept that, and unfortunately, at the moment, he's the only person she trusts." Atticus paused, cleared his throat, and threw back another shot of brandy. "Trust me, I’m not thrilled with it either but—"

  "You could’ve fooled me!"

  "They’ve asked to go out tonight."

  Alex jumped to his feet, "What? You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re letting her leave this house with that goon?" he said. "She don't even know who she is! How could you do this, after all she’s been through?" He slammed his glass down and shoved his hands in his pockets. "He’s hunted by the same man that abducted her! The man beat and starved her! Her risk is doubled when she’s anywhere near Lucien!" Alex began to pace, "You can't let this happen! It defies reason! You can't!"

  "Alex—"

  "Jesus, Atticus! You’re her father!" he said, with his voice rising in disbelief. "You’re supposed to protect her!"

  "He’s no threat to her!"

  "Then explain this!" Alex shouted. "Why does everyone seem to be forgetting that he was the one who abducted her the first time? Not only that, I suspect it was his idea! I saw it in his eyes that night at the bunker! I saw it!"

  "That's an unjust aspersion that you can’t back up," Atticus countered. "Not only that, those men won't dare step foot in this city again, and my personal security is tighter than ever." Atticus said. "And do you remember, that now, it’s her choice who she sees?"

  Alex continued to pace with no response.

  Atticus shouted, "Do you remember?"

  "Y
es!"

  It was final. The conversation was over when the old house rattled on its foundation as Alex stomped out, and slammed the door behind him. The jealousy that welled inside him was bitter and he was sorely unprepared for the taste.

  ******

  Chapter 27 Epiphany

  They did not go shopping. At least, not the typical kind of shopping that young women usually do. A brief stop at Lydia's began what would be an interesting day. The sort of interesting that flows from an epiphany—a realization of something overlooked.

  It was taller than both women, and the gun safe stood out of place in the feminine bedroom. It was pea green and ugly, like a tank, in a field of daisies. The combination lock twirled fast under Lydia’s fingers, and the thick door clicked, and slowly swung open. Grace was stunned when her eyes fell on the vast cache of weapons inside.

  "Are all of those yours?"

  "Yep—well except the rifle, it belongs to Matt."

  Lydia knelt in front of the safe and drew out a pink silk case, edged with gold roping. A single snap in the front secured it, and when opened, a thick white Sherpa lining padded the inside.

  "I want you to have this," Lydia said.

  She pulled out a pistol and slowly turned it over. The gun was contradictory in appearance, having a cold hard silver barrel and slide, with a warm soft pink flowered grip. Grace stared at it like a venomous snake.

  "I don't know …." she said, afraid to touch it.

  "Here, hold it—feel it—be the gun," Lydia said and laughed. "Don’t worry, it’s not loaded."

  It was a small gun, yet dense and heavy in her hand. She slowly wrapped her fingers around the soft rubber grip. It fit, as if they molded the grooves just for her. She raised the small pistol and curled her finger around the trigger.

  It felt good.

  It felt powerful.

  It felt like control.

  She turned it over in her hands and ran her fingers over the cold, smooth steel of the barrel. This gift was more than an object to be seen, felt, or perceived. It was a gift of empowerment, and a gift of fortitude. This could be her equalizer.

  Lydia watched her face as the apprehension drained, and a knowing smile took its place.

  "We need to get you a holster."

  Grace looked at her, unable to find words that expressed how she felt. "I don't know what to say," she said. "Thank you just doesn't seem to be enough."

  "You're welcome." Lydia smiled with understanding.

  "It’s—"

  "I know," Lydia said, "it’s about damn time."

  "Will you teach me to shoot it?"

  "Of course!" she said. "And I'm gonna teach you a little self-defense too. Oh, by the way, don't mention this to Alex or Matt."

  "Well, Alex and I aren't dating anyway."

  "What?"

  "Mom was supposed to give his ring back this morning."

  "Oh Grace—No …."

  "She told me that she wouldn't let me do it because of what happened with Sebastian."

  "But he adores you! Oh Lord, what happened?" she said with a frown. "I just don’t get it." Lydia massaged her temples as if to ward off a growing headache.

  "Well, I don't really know him," she said. "And I’ve thought about everything you told me."

  "So what’s going on?"

  "To be honest," Grace said, "he's kind of scary. Most of the time, he looks mad, he slams doors, and has a really big gun strapped to his side! I mean—like—without a second thought, he could pull it out, and just blow somebody’s head off."

  Lydia laughed. "Well, it’s Lucien’s head he wants to blow off. He’s jealous. Put yourself in his shoes. You were getting married, and you disappeared the night before your wedding. Grace, you should have seen him, he was devastated. Then … along comes this slick-talking Frenchman—"

  "Québécois," Grace corrected and smiled.

  "… slick talking—however the hell you pronounce it—out of the blue, with his paws all over you, and so, Alex goes a little nuts-o. I can totally understand," Lydia said.

  "So … he wasn’t like this before?"

  "Not at all."

  "I don’t know …."

  "Well," Lydia said, "he can be a little over-protective sometimes, but considering what you’ve been through, it’s probably not a bad thing. Trust me, he’s a great guy." She closed the gun safe door.

  "He is awfully cute, and he has the bluest eyes …." Grace sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed while scrutinizing her toes.

  "See there!" Lydia said. "You’ve been so caught up with Lucien that you haven't even noticed. You have to give him a chance," she said and started to laugh. "Besides, I bet that really big gun he pulls out is a lot bigger than Lucien’s."

  "Lydia!"

  "What?" Lydia asked with a dirty-minded smile.

  "Are you sure we got along? We were happy?"

  "Happy is an understatement. The way you gushed over him, sometimes made me wanna puke," Lydia said. "Just consider it, ok?"

  "Ok, I'll think about it," Grace said. "But tonight, I have a date with Lucien."

  Lydia flinched. "It makes my head hurt to hear that." Lydia pressed her fingers against her temples. "I just don’t trust him. A zebra can’t change its stripes," she said, "and a tiger can’t truly be tamed, because in his heart … he’ll always be a tiger."

  Grace smiled and sighed. "I know."

  "Oh, good Lord!' Lydia said and threw up her hands. "Now who has the dirty mind?"

  Grace sat, still looking at her toes.

  "Before we go anywhere," Grace said, "let’s go get our nails done."

  That evening, Lydia decided to hang around Grace’s house until Lucien picked her up. She planned to give him the stink-eye when he came to the door. The doorbell rang while Anne and Lydia stood talking in the foyer. Atticus answered and Lucien stood at the door holding a fresh picked bouquet of yellow lilies.

  "Good evening, sir."

  "Good evening, Lucien, please come in." Atticus waved him inside.

  "Oh—my—God," Lydia said under her breath, and openly ogled the man at the door.

  "Yeah, I know," Anne said from beside her.

  With all of the drama lately, Lydia had failed to notice what a gorgeous man Lucien actually was. His light brown hair hung straight to his shoulders, but he had tied it neatly at the nape of his neck. A dark blue button down shirt, flattered a lean, muscled frame, and long dark jeans hung over his black leather boots. He had his sleeves rolled loosely, half way up his arms, and a watch with a thick brown leather band hugged his wrist. When the breeze blew over him from the open front door, the scent of spice and rum settled over them.

  And his eyes—

  "Lucien!" Grace smiled when she entered the foyer.

  He bowed, and his gaze never strayed from her eyes, as he touched his lips to the back of her hand. "Ma Belle," he said, with a radiant smile. "Shall we go?" He lightly brushed her back with his hand, as he turned and led her to the door.

  "That is so old-fashioned," Anne said leaning close to Lydia, "but so romantic!"

  "Poor Alex," Lydia whispered.

  "Yeah, I know."

  Her stink-eye attempt had failed miserably, and Alex had his work cut out for him. He was going to need a whole lot of help.

  "He’d look even better with a haircut," Anne said.

  Lydia looked over and fanned herself with her hand. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

  ******

  Chapter 28 Second Chance

  A fifth of dark rum lay abandoned on its side. Only a few drops of the brown liquid remained, while nearby, another sat empty. Inches away, her engagement ring lay untouched on the kitchen counter. It had been there for more than a week. Pounding on the door drew Alex from his misery, as he suffered alone in the dark room. He had thrown thick blankets over the curtain rods, in an attempt to block out the glare. For some reason, the light was irritating lately.

  He refused to step foot in the Astor home since his fight with A
tticus. He could not stomach working there another second. Nor did he have the will to watch another man annihilate his dreams, his whole life, his whole world. He could no longer be there to protect her. Having failed miserably three times already, he guessed it made no difference. He accepted an offer from the Police department, and the academy would start in two weeks. With nothing better to do, he brooded in solitude, and wallowed in a quagmire of self-pity.

  The pounding continued until he reluctantly peeled himself from the recliner and opened the door.

  "You look like hell!" Lydia said.

  Matt stood, without comment, by her side in the doorway.

  "Thanks," he said, and invited them inside. He pulled two chairs from the table and slid them across the floor next to the recliner. "Please … have a seat." He motioned toward them but Lydia plopped into the recliner instead.

  "Wow, this is nice," she said, reclining back as far as it would go.

  The large room was empty, with only the recliner, and an old beat-up table, with four mismatched chairs.

  "Where's all of your furniture?" Lydia asked.

  A grinding pain settled across his brow. "Well, we were going to pick out our new furniture together, before … well, you know." He sighed, and sat down on a ladder back chair.

  Matt took a seat in the chair at his side.

  "Have you slept?" Lydia asked.

  "No." He took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the floor.

  "Have you eaten?"

  "No."

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  "No."

  Her look of concern slid to the liquor on the counter, and then to the loaded pistol on the table. "You can't just lay down and die!"

  "I’m already dead."

  "Alex." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm, "Look at me."

  His swollen, bloodshot eyes lifted to reveal the unshaven stubble of a four-day-old beard.

  "You have to fight for her."

  "I don't know how to fight this," he said. "She doesn't even remember me, I’m a stranger to her." His voice fell to a broken, pain-filled whisper. "A complete stranger .… "