“My father? He’s a lawyer and…honestly, I couldn’t ask for a better dad. We moved back in with him after my mom left us–-”
Suddenly I catch myself. I pause for a second and say, “You know, this is all I’ve ever known. It’s the only story I’ve ever told. Now I don't know what to say. I don’t know what to think. Anyway, my dad is a great man. He’s really active in our church and he cares about us kids. So many kids today – their dads leave them or they don’t even know who their dad is. I’m lucky. I’m the person I am today because of my dad.”
Two days later I fly back to Stanford. Blake will return to UCLA in two days. As long as the flight coming to Thailand seemed, the flight back is even longer. Not only is the flight itself a few hours longer, but I’m consumed with my thoughts.
A mere week ago, I flew all by myself to a strange country. I remember my night on Khaosan Road. I wish I could block this part of my trip out of my mind forever. I found out my mom died and learned more about her than I knew my whole life. I met a great guy who saved me in so many ways and showed me all around Bangkok. I feel like I lived a lifetime in just a week.
The time I spent with Blake was amazing, but coming back on the plane I wonder what just happened. Did we have something real or was it just a vacation romance he’ll forget as soon as he gets back?
My question is answered when we land and I take my phone off “AIRPLANE MODE.” A text pops up that Blake sent last night:
Blake
-----------------------------------------------------------
Today, 9:40 a.m.
Hi Hope. Did you get home safe? I miss you already. Can’t wait to see you again. Don’t forget about me.
I text back:
Today, 5:01 p.m.
Not a chance!
– CHAPTER 16 –
L ooking to my left and then my right, it’s all so intimidating. I came from a good high school, but this is Stanford University. I’m in a classroom with over two hundred of the smartest kids in the country. I can’t help, but wonder if I really belong here.
We’re in a class the size of a large gymnasium. It looks a lot like a big theater. There are rows and rows of long tables that are slightly curved so everyone can see the professor. I find a spot on the second row from the front. A good-looking guy comes in looking like a typical college student. He’s wearing a red STANFORD t-shirt, cargo shorts, tennis shoes, and a black backpack. He sits right next to me and introduces himself, “Hey, I’m Thomas.”
“I’m Hope.”
He puts his backpack on the floor and takes nothing out. He sits beside me and starts tapping on the table like he’s playing some drums or bongos. “Where you from?” he continues.
“I’m from Austin.”
“I’m from Tampa,” he says even though I didn’t ask. “I’m a junior.”
The professor comes in without the usual introductions and hits the ground running. There’s a giant screen at the front of the room and he starts flipping through slides with a remote in his hand while he talks. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to just listen or take notes. I open my Macbook and start typing as fast as I can to keep up.
Obviously, Thomas takes a different approach. He never so much as takes out a pen. He leans over and whispers, “Are you a freshman?” I nod my head without stopping. Not deterred in the least, he whispers even louder, “There’s a party at my frat this weekend.”
I keep writing like I didn’t hear what he just said. Right then my phone, that’s sitting on the table, announces with a chime as loud as a siren that I have a new text message. The professor stops everything and, in a stern and angry voice warns, “Turn off your cell phones when you come into my classroom.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” Thomas teases.
I grab my phone as fast as I can and switch it to silent before glancing at my text and putting my phone in my backpack.
Blake
-------------------------------------
Today, 9:06 a.m.
Have a great first day at school! Can’t wait to see you this weekend!
A smile spreads across my face bigger than Dallas!
Back in my dorm, I sit at my desk looking over my notes and getting ready for tomorrow’s classes. I reach in my drawer to get a yellow Sharpie and see my blue folder with “MOM” written on it. I put it on my desk, pull out the sketch of my mother, and stare into her eyes like I’ve done several times since I got back. Returning the sketch to my folder, I see the folded pictures right where I left them.
I open my Chrome browser and put “Austin Investigation Services” into Google. The website proudly announces they’ve been “Serving Austin Over 25 Years.” It looks like they will, for a fee, investigate just about anything and everyone. I print out the website and put it in my blue folder.
CHAPTER 17 –
B lake and I get together every chance we can. We alternate back and forth every other weekend. Stanford is located in Palo Alto – just south of San Francisco. You can see the Santa Cruz Mountains on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other.
UCLA is in Los Angeles. I drive down to LA and two weekends later he comes up here. My dorm isn’t too keen on guys coming in and out and it’s kinda awkward on my roommate. I like going to LA since he has an apartment with a roommate and his own bedroom. He likes coming here because the whole bay area is full of so much culture and things to do.
I plan on going home for Thanksgiving, but Grace doesn’t want to wait that long. We have lots to catch up on, I haven’s seen my beautiful Bonnie in a while, and she wants to meet my new boyfriend, so she flies in on the same weekend Blake comes down. They hit it off great (of course.)
We’re eating dinner at a cool spot overlooking the ocean. Bonnie’s wearing a pretty purple dress and a bow in her hair. Grace orders her some spaghetti and I sit beside her and feed her every bite making sure she doesn't get anything on her dress. “She’s really talking now,” I say.
Bite by bite, she eats it all. Taking care of her almost feels like taking care of my own baby. “What a pretty girl you are,” I say wiping her face.
Grace puts down her fork and says, “Well, I have some news. I thought I’d tell you first.”
“No way,” I say anticipating this news. “You’re pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant!” she confirms.
I get up from the table and give her a big hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
We settle back into our chairs and I start eating my dinner. I’ve been so busy with Bonnie I’ve practically eaten nothing. Blake finishes his plate and then answers Grace’s many “so tell me more about you” questions. Even I learned things I didn't know. Finally, Grace asks, “So, how’d you guys meet?”
Ah oh….here we go! I look at Blake hoping he doesn't say too much. “She was on the street outside her hostel and she ate a fried grasshopper,” he says.
“No you didn’t,” Grace says in shock.
“I did. You had to be there. Everyone was yelling and cheering. I was pretty stuck.”
“How’d it taste?” she asks.
“You know, they put some Thai seasoning on it that covers the taste. It kinda tasted like eating a cracker or something.”
“Did you eat one too?” she asks Blake.
“My buddies and I ate a scorpion.”
“Oh my god! I’m sorry… count me out,” she says. “So that’s your cute-meet? You were eating insects and fell in love?”
I can’t believe she just said that. Blake and I haven’t had the “I love you… I love you too” moment. I doubt he loves me after a month and a half. Before she came down, I told Grace the ole’ “I think I love him,” but that was just sister talk.
“Pretty much,” Blake says taking my hand. “At least for me.”
Back at Grace’s hotel room, I play with Bonnie on the floor. We play with her Barbie dolls and then color or a while. For her age she does a great job staying in the lines.
“What color is that?” I ask each ti
me she switches colors.
“Brue,” she proudly says.
“And what color is this?”
“Gween!”
Each time she finishes one part of the picture, she holds it up and says, “Aunt Hope, look what I did.”
“That’s wonderful. What about her eyes? Where are her eyes?” I ask her.
“Right here!” she says pointing at the picture.
When she finishes the eyes, I ask, “Where’s her feet?”
“Here!” she smiles pointing at the feet.
After we finish coloring, Grace tells her it’s time for bed. “Read me,” Bonnie says, so I read one book and then another, before she finally falls asleep on my hotel bed.
I quietly get out of bed and, grab my blue folder, and explain everything to Grace. I start with the sketch of our mom. She looks at it like she’s studying for an exam or something. She takes her finger, touches Mom’s cheek, and says, “This is incredible. It really catches who she was. So Mati drew this?”
“Mali,” I say. I hand her the picture of Mali. “This is her.”
She looks back and forth at Mali and then at Mom again. “This was her best friend?” she asks.
“Yeah, she was with her when she died.”
I see Grace’s eyes tear up. “You know, this is probably the last image ever made of Mom. It looks so real. She looks sad – really sad.”
Actually she is right. She does look sad. It’s only a sketch, but she looks thinner and her eyes don’t have the sparkle you see in the photos of her at the resort.
Next, I hand her the four crumpled photos. She opens the fold and looks at each while I look on beside her. The first two pictures are with the blonde guy. “That’s the River Walk in San Antonio,” I say.
Grace looks at both photos and then up at the ceiling shaking her head. “What?” I ask. “You know him?”
“You don't remember him?” she asks.
“No.”
“You were little – maybe four years old. This is the first guy Mom dated after Dad. They were just divorced. It seemed like we were always running into him – at the mall, the park, or wherever – and they’d act like it was some big surprise – like we were stupid or something. Mom was crazy about him, but I hated him. He always acted like “Mr. Cool” asking about my school or my friends. He had a daughter a little younger than me. I liked her.”
“I remember her,” I say. “Didn't we go to that carnival together? I thought she was your friend.”
“No, that’s how Mom made it out – like we came to see her. It might have been better if they didn’t keep up this “we’re just friends” charade. They’d hold hands or kiss and as soon as we came up they’d act like nothing was going on.”
“So what happened?” I ask.
“He dumped Mom. Come to find out he was married. I don’t think Mom cared. All she cared about was being with him. Colt and I got so sick of it. I think he went back to his wife or something.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I think he ghosted Mom. She just couldn't get over this guy. She’d cry all the time. She’d go in her room for days and just stay there. We’d drive by his house for no reason. She started using my computer to stalk him. We had that one little computer on the old desk upstairs. Do you remember?”
“Not really,” I say.
“Well, I’d log on and see she’d been on my account. Sometimes she just left it open. This guy was back with his wife and kid. I tried to tell Mom to get over him, but she wouldn’t––or couldn’t. I told her to stop using my computer, but I knew she didn't stop. I hated him.”
“That explains it,” I say. “This guy set Mom up. He probably wanted to get her out of his life.”
“I don't know. Mom started dating other guys. I was her unpaid babysitter. I’d want to go to my friends and I’d have to watch you guys. It was one guy after another.”
“What about Colt?”
“Colt? Colt always wanted to live with Dad. He screamed at one guy “You’re not my dad!” and took off.
“He ran away?” I ask.
“Several times that I know about. He’d go over to Dad’s for a day or two until he calmed down and Dad would bring him back. He wanted to live there, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it. She took him to some doctor to find out what was wrong with him She put him on medicine, but when Dad found out he went ballistic and it stopped.”
“Jesus,” I say.
Grace moves her attention to the other two photos - the one with Mom painting and the torn photo with Mom walking on the beach. She looks at the photo with Mom on the balcony and says, “Wow, what a beautiful picture of Mom. I didn’t even know she painted.”
“Me either,” I say. “Do you know when this was taken?”
“I have no idea,” she says. “Looking at her face it looks like it was one of the last photos taken of her. Look at the robe she’s wearing. I’ve never seen that robe before. It looks like a hotel robe – a nice hotel robe.”
“What do you make of this?” I say handing her the picture torn in half with Mom walking on the beach.
“Well,” she begins, “this wasn’t torn by accident. It’s too coincidental that it’s torn where it is. Mom was holding someone’s hand. She obviously wanted the guy out of the picture. She told this embassy guy that her boyfriend set her up, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“That’s probably him in the picture.”
I turn the picture over and show her the “AUSTIN INVESTIGATION SERVICES” stamped on the back. “Do you see this? These look like professional photos. I think Mom was investigating someone else. Maybe she was investigating this guy – the guy from Thailand.”
Grace looks at the back of all the photos and then turns them over and looks at the front. “These photos weren’t taken close in time. Look at Mom’s face. Look at her hair. She looks younger, and her hair is shorter in these photos,” she says pointing at the pictures with the blonde guy. “These photos were taken at the same time,” she says pointing at the photo of her painting and the other of her walking on the beach. “Her hair is longer here, and she looks a little older.”
“You’re right,” I say.
“It makes no sense. If Mom was investigating someone then why is she in all the pictures? Why is there a photo of her painting all by herself? You can see she has no idea someone’s photographing her. Why are there pictures of Mom in Thailand? I don't think Mom was investigating someone. I think someone was investigating her––and investigating her for a while.”
“Who?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe it had to do with the drugs. Maybe it was the police or the FBI. I can tell you this, if Mom was set up then someone at this Austin Investigation Services knows all about it.”
– CHAPTER 18 –
T he next time I see Grace is at Thanksgiving. It’s my first break from college, so she and her husband drive down from Dallas with my little Bonnie. I convince Grace to let Bonnie sleep in my bed every night. We cuddle until she falls sound asleep.
My first day back home, I get together with a group of friends from high school. Everyone’s back from college. Several of my friends are going to the University of Texas right here in Austin. One comes in from Texas Tech and two are going to Texas A&M. My best friend is going to Cornell. The last two are going to The University of Colorado and Florida State. I have a friend going to college in Europe – some college in Vienna. We stay out late doing some harmless partying.
The next day I take Bonnie for the day while Grace visits with some of her own friends. I’m so excited to spend time with my favorite three-year-old.
I take her to Barton Springs to play in the playground and get some shaved ice. She’s the gutsiest little girl I’ve ever seen. “Higher Aunt Hope,” she says on the swings, and “Faster Aunt Hope,” she says on the merry-go-round. We ride the train around the park. She has a laugh that’s contagious.
Next, I take her to Chick-fil-A to eat. I loved going
here when I was a little girl and now it’s exciting being the adult taking my own little girl – I mean my little niece – to eat here. There’s a playscape that she climbs up and slides down into my arms. “Again,” she says each time I catch her at the bottom.
When our food arrives we return to our table and eat our chicken nuggets and waffle fries. “Do you like your nuggets?” I ask her.
“Like nuggets,” she says.
A good-looking guy sits down at the table next to us who looks about thirty years old. “Pretty little girl you have,” he says.
Do I look old enough to have a three-year old? “Thanks,” I answer.
“How old is she?” he asks.
This man freaks me out. “She’s three,” I say.
I haven’t eaten fast food since my first day in rehab. I only came here for Bonnie. Maybe it’s the chicken nuggets, or the sauce, or the guy who keeps looking over at us, but something makes me feel sick. I want to get out of here so I help Bonnie eat a little faster. When she’s finished eating, I clean her up and say, “Come on, let’s go home.”
“Ice cream,” she says.
“Well, you’ve been here before haven’t you?” I say. “Shaved ice and now ice cream? Your mom’s going to kill me.” I pick her up and bring her to the counter. “You want an ice cream cone? I ask.
She smiles, nods her head, and says, “I cream cone.”
The man from the table comes up from behind and says, “Can I get an ice cream cone too?” I take our ice cream cones and go straight to the car.
He walks out to the parking lot just as I’m buckling her in her car seat. “Have a good day,” he says.
There are some things girls have to worry about that guys don’t give a second thought. Strange guys in a restaurant––or worse, in a parking lot––is one of them. I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t feel right. He seems like he’s up to something. I get in the car and drive off without continuing the conversation.
The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2) Page 11
