by J.D. Tynan
I tossed and turned again and buried my head in my pillow to try to shut off my brain. No wonder I couldn't sleep. I'm a freak who has to analyze everything to death.
***
"Morning," I grumbled, and sank down on the barstool across from Gregory. Gregory has perfect skin and exudes energy in the early morning. I hate him. "Coffee?" I mumbled.
"Espresso!" he said a bit too cheerfully. I think he had had too many shots already this morning. "I'm off to shop for Vermont. Is there anything special that you want?"
"Alcohol, and lots of it," I said. "I think Bella is trying to fix me up with Darien and since I think he's hot, I should probably just be drunk all weekend so I can blame all my drooling and stuttering on the booze."
"Good plan. That man is hot."
Gregory usually doesn't sound gay. In fact, if I hadn't known better I would never have guessed that he was. Well, I guess I would now because he just called another man hot, but other than that, he's pretty much a regular Joe.
Two hours later, I finally got enough courage to open the door to my cottage and nothing seemed wrong. Everything seemed to be in the same place I left it. I finished packing for the weekend, and then met Bella by my Expedition for our trip to make me over.
"Hair?" she asked. "Or nails first?"
"Hair? What's wrong with my hair?"
"Duh." She was such a girl. "It's only one color. You need at least three colors, let's go." She prodded and I jumped up and headed to Gigi's on the north side of town.
Gigi used to do Nicole's hair before he accidentally turned it green before an interview. The bitch actually sued him, so he moved his shop from New York into a little strip mall in Greenwich. Bella had known the man since she was three, so she continues to use his services—behind her mom's back, of course.
"Baby girl," Gigi cooed, and Gigi is not gay. He acts gay and sounds gay because that is what his clientele expects, but he's all man and he likes T and A. He's a closet heterosexual.
"Can you do anything with this?" Bella flipped her hand under my chin length hair and took a seat. Sometimes I have a hard time believing that she is only twelve, or…excuse me…almost thirteen, as she likes to say because her birthday is in two weeks. Unfortunately, I will be in Oregon and she will be in Florida, so I have been trying to contrive some sort of celebration before she leaves.
I waited under the hood of the dryer and again had a bad feeling in my gut. Call me completely deranged, but I felt as if everyone was looking at me. They were, because I looked like a model. I couldn't believe what he had done to my face. He waxed my brows for the first time in my life and yeah, it hurt.
He curled and conditioned my lashes and he even tinted my brows and cut some wispy bangs to accentuate my eyes more. Whatever.
What can I say? I walked into Gigi's a regular woman and I emerged a babe. Bella was right; I can be beautiful when I want to be. I kept the make-up on and carefully stepped out into the sunshine. I looked around, it seemed safe enough, so we headed to my SUV and went straight home to prepare for what could be the most relaxing weekend of my life.
***
Vermont was beautiful and relaxing and I didn't feel threatened or paranoid the entire time. Darien ended up bringing a bona fide supermodel with him, so I just got drunk with Gregory a lot, lathered myself with sunscreen and lay on an air mattress the entire weekend. I think I got out of the lake to sleep at night, but I ate, I drank, I read books and felt sorry for myself from the water.
Bella actually felt bad for her lame attempt at fixing me up with her dad's best friend. It was fine though. It wouldn't have worked out anyway because I happen to know that I would not feel comfortable dating a man who looks in the mirror ten times an hour. Furthermore, I don't think I could sustain a relationship with a man who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. The man was stupid. Not just dumb. Stupid.
When we returned home, I found everything as it should be. I had no strange underwear on my bed, no G- men hiding in my closet. I just felt that I was home and I was safe.
That was three weeks ago and I can safely say that I think the past is behind me and whoever it was that pulled those little pranks on me, was most certainly out of my life for good and I preferred it that way. It had been a quiet few weeks with not much to do, just a couple of play dates. There was a trip to New Jersey to watch the U.S. Open, a movie premiere or two and school clothes shopping with Bella.
Bella was off with her friends and I had just sat down for a late lunch when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Did you get my gifts?"
My throat closed up around my vocal chords. I didn't recognize the voice, but it was foreign. "Who is this?"
He didn't answer. I heard a long slow breath exhaled as if someone were thinking real hard…or smoking.
"DuLucere?"
I heard laughing and I didn't think it was funny. "Non, it's me, Bellavia."
Cute French guy? I'll kill him.
"You have a lot of nerve, pal!" I shouted and waited for an explanation. At that point, I was undeniably disappointed that my theory was once again incorrect. I guess I had wanted to believe Ryan was the one stalking me and leaving me sexy underwear.
I need therapy.
"Sorry." He fumbled with his words. "Russo asked me to deliver that postcard while I was in the States and I just thought you would look good in those panties. I did not mean anything by it. Really, I did not."
"Haven't you ever heard of a phone? You broke into my house. You scared the crap out of me." I inhaled sharply and regained my composure. The French are weird.
"I did no such thing. The door was open and I slipped the postcard into the mail slot. I tried to reach you many times, but there was always no answer and then you were gone when I came to say hello."
"Oh."
"I did not mean to frighten you, I just thought maybe you wanted to have dinner, but I'm home now, in Paree, so some other time."
"Jesus Christ. Next time call me first—geez." I wiped the sweat from my brow and let out a chuckle. "So, did you get to see NASCAR?"
"How did you know?"
I laughed and leaned back against the counter. I, too, have my ways.
We talked and he apologized repeatedly for what had happened in Armenia. He wished that he could have told me, but he knew nothing about it until it was over. He did admit that he has a huge crush on me and would very much like to see me again. After all, it wasn't everyday that a woman who looked like me could kick his ass.
He informed me that he and Russo survived the crash with only semi-serious injuries. He lost his spleen and they put a rod into his shin to help his leg heal properly. It was nice to hear that everyone was doing well and it was somewhat cool to have an admirer. I'd rather it had been Ryan and not Frenchy, but it was nice just the same.
Chapter Thirteen
My brother, Dave, The Doctor, picked me up from the airport on Friday night in Portland, Oregon. Dave looked a lot like Mom and me. Dark hair, slim build and he was a couple inches taller. Dockers were his pants of choice, but they looked good on him, because he's an intellectual. It seemed fitting.
His one-year-old son, Marcus, was already asleep in the back. His wife, Carrie, was cordial and standoffish as always, but then loosened up a bit when I pulled her into my arms for a hug.
"I'm sorry that I've never taken the time to get to know you better." I stepped back and gave her hand a squeeze. It had been awhile since I had seen her, but she looked much thinner, more ashen too.
She looked at me and then threw up on my new shoes.
"She's pregnant," Dave said as an apology and helped me clean up while Carrie continued heaving until there was nothing left. It was a good thing that she had the foresight to weave her long black hair into a French braid.
I looked at her all hunched over and ill and I couldn't believe that I was so anxious to go through all that. Maybe I could put it off for several more years.
I helped her into
the minivan and took my seat beside baby Marcus. The entire three-hour drive, I had a wonderful heart-to-heart with my brother and apologized for not keeping in touch and told him that I wanted to do better. I wanted to be a better sister and I knew that I couldn't blame him because he did what Daddy wanted and became a surgeon.
"I did it because I wanted to," he said. "Dad had nothing to do with it and if you hadn't been such a damn rebel all the time, you would have known that all Dad ever wanted was for us to be who we wanted to be. You just didn't listen, Charlie. He wasn't trying to force you into medical school. You just assumed it because you were so hell bent on doing the opposite of whatever he said. I still can't believe you joined the damned Army." He shook his head with a disbelieving scowl. "And why the hell did you stay eight years? Did you really like it, or were you just trying to piss Dad off?"
"I loved it, Dave. I really did."
He looked at me in his rearview mirror. "Then why did you quit?"
I wasn't going to answer honestly, we weren't that close.
"I wanted to be a nanny."
"So, are you going to be a nanny forever, or are you going to grow up?"
I could've lied to his face and said yes, but I chose to remain mysterious and shrugged my shoulders.
It was past eleven when we got to my parents' house in Bend and I crept quietly into the house, knowing that my parents weren't night owls and had most likely gone to bed at nine as they always did.
My room was actually clear of all Mom's sewing projects and it was nice to feel welcome. That was perhaps the only time in the past four years that I had come home because they invited me or because I had wanted to. In the past, theywere usually forced visits because I had lost my job. Not this time. This time it felt different.
The sun woke me early because the thin curtains were no match for the central Oregon sun. I heard commotion downstairs, some crying by Marcus and, of course, the ruckus of my mother cooking breakfast. I popped up out of bed and raced downstairs.
"Morning," I said with a bright smile. My mother and father were lip-locked in the kitchen standing over the pan of Garden-Sausage. Carrie and Dave were feeding Marcus waffles and trying not to watch the horror of our parents making out. They were always making out. When we were young, we were usually afraid to bring friends over to the house because our parents were sex fiends. Now, I just thought it was romantic and I hoped that someday someone would want to make out with me for forty years.
My father was the first to round the kitchen island and give me a hug. "It's good to see you, Charlie." He pushed me back and gave me a long slow once over. "What did you do to yourself? You look wonderful…and happy."
"I love your hair," my mom gasped.
I knew she would notice. She noticed everything. I once didn't come home for a three-year stretch when I was in the Army and the first time she saw me, she noticed every new scar, every scrape, and every bruise. She had asked me if I had an abusive boyfriend. Huh, that was hard to say. I don't think Brick was ever abusive in the way that she meant, but he was a cocky bastard.
"Bella gave me a make-over and said I needed three colors." I rolled my eyes and grabbed a piece of bacon off the counter. "How are you two? Still humping like rabbits?" I grinned at my parents and dodged my brother's noogie. He eventually got me and I let him have his fun.
"Oh, my God! I almost forgot," my mother shouted, ripping off her quilted apron. She was so beautiful and full of life. Her hair was still the color of dark chocolate, probably fake, but it looked natural. She usually keeps out of the sun, so she has a face like a cherub. I hope, when I'm her age, I still know how to live life to its fullest. She disappeared into the dining room and then came back dragging a great big box into the kitchen. "This came for you a couple of days ago. It's from Africa."
"Africa?" I winced. "Hhhhm."
"We heard all about that girl you baby-sit on the news and in the paper. How her father thought she died and then found out she was alive" My father shook his head. "Where were you when all this happened?"
"I was with her."
My father dropped his coffee cup onto the floor and the man was a surgeon, he rarely dropped anything. He had nerves of steel. His hands were shaking. He sat down hard at the kitchen table while Dave ran for a knife to cut open the package, and my mother cleaned up the spill.
"What do you mean, honey. You were with her… where?"
"In Africa," I said, and then noticed how pale my father was. Perhaps this wasn't the time or the place. "It was all just a big misunderstanding. He heard that her plane went down, but it was a different plane. We were just fine."
"But…but…?" my father stuttered, then closed his mouth when Dave finally opened the package and took out a very impressive large gold and ivory tribal mask. Embossed with copper and brass and from the looks of Dave's strained muscles, it was heavy.
"What is it?" My mother tilted her head to the side and watched me read the letter.
I chuckled a couple of times at how sweet the letter was. I even felt tears well up behind my eyes.
"Who's it from?" my father asked, looking much calmer.
"Just a man I met in Africa." I folded the letter and put it in my pocket.
Some things should just remain in the closet.
I walked Ruger after breakfast and held my head high. It was nice to feel appreciated. It was nice to feel acknowledged and it was nice not to feel that twinge of jealously that I had felt my entire life when I was in a room with my two perfect brothers. Mostly, it just felt nice to have family that I loved.
My parents' neighborhood looked the same as it always did. Mr. Jenkins was already in his front yard sprinkling fertilizer in his overalls and sun hat. The man loves his lawn. Rick was washing his Porsche, Lewis Riley was playing catch with his son and I was walking Ruger. It was almost as if no time had passed at all since the last time I had been home.
When I arrived back at the house, Dave was sitting on the porch. He grinned and patted the concrete next to him.
"Let's talk, little sis."
I squirmed. Dave was never the serious one. Dave was the prankster, the goof-off, the clown. I don't think we have ever had a serious talk in our entire lives.
He pulled the letter that I got from Prince Armand out of his pocket.
I narrowed my eyes.
He was also a sneaky bastard.
"You want to explain why the Prince of Gaborone sent you an ancient tribal mask that is probably worth a half-a- million dollars and why he thanked you over and over again for saving his life—and his country for that matter."
I swallowed hard and stared out into the grass. It needed water. I stood up to do something about it and was pulled back down by the strong arm of my big brother.
"What aren't you telling us and why are you keeping it from Mom and Dad? What happened to you in Africa? I saw the news. I know that they thought that little girl was dead for something like six days. Where the hell were you?"
"Jesus, Dave, I don't think you want to hear any of this," I said sternly.
"I do know what's going on in the world, little girl, and I know all about Prince Armand and the uprising in his country when they feared he had been assassinated. I do keep up on my current events. Is what he said true? Did you save his life?"
"Yes and no." I smiled and sat down. I had no idea how to tell my brother what I was about to tell him. How does one blurt out that they'd been trained to do what I do? I thought I'd start with one little confession and hope that my brother, the vascular surgeon, could put two and two together.
"Do you remember when I told Mom and Dad that I joined a special traveling unit during my second four years in the Army?"
He nodded. "Yeah. So what about it?"
"Did you ever wonder why I never talked about it when I came home?"
Dave chuckled and gave me an apologetic smile. "I just figured you couldn't get a word in edgewise because Josh had just signed with the Glousterhawks and I made medical review
for the third time. Is there something you aren't telling us?"
Let's see. What am I telling them? Oh well, I had to tell someone eventually. It might as well be my big brother.
"I was with a special unit called Sector 72G." I smiled as I said it to lessen the blow. Sector 72G wasn't as well known as the Navy SEALS, but anyone who knows anything about our military, knows about the Army's special tactical unit.
Dave stood and raked his fingers through his thinning, dark hair a couple of times. I wondered if this was something that all men do when they felt stressed or was it something that I was doing to them, because I have never seen so many men play with their hair in my life.
"Jesus, Charlie." He exhaled sharply and sat back down beside me. "Those are some bad-ass soldiers."
I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. "What can I say? I'm a bad-ass." That wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Perhaps it was time to tell Mom and Dad the truth about my other life.
"Shit. You're serious aren't you?" He looked amazed, even impressed. It took him a moment to speak again. I think I had completely blindsided him and he needed a minute to re-group. Then he grinned. "Do not tell Mom."
Okay, so maybe it could wait. Dave was right. Our mother would flip out, then continuously fret and end up in church five times a week to say endless rosaries to save my soul.
"Like I would," I chuckled and then gave him a hug. "Please don't repeat this to anyone and let's keep that letter between the two of us, okay?"
He handed the letter back to me and narrowed his eyes. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he had many more questions than I was prepared to answer.
"Charlie, have you ever killed anyone?"
I glanced back over my shoulder and winked.
Josh and his two children, his wife Julie, and her parents all arrived around five for a barbecue in the backyard. I was already in the pool soaking up the sun on my mother's fancy air mattress and playing with the kids by the time Josh even realized that I was home—but that was just Josh. Josh's world revolved around Josh and Josh alone.
