A Change of Plans (25 page)

I
WOKE ONLY
a couple of hours later feeling hungry, so I tiptoed down the stairs to get a piece of fruit. As I slipped past the door to the family room, I heard my name and stopped. I had never been an eavesdropper before, but curiosity made me pause.

“... I understand, Elle,” Mal was saying, “but since she doesn’t have anyone else, we need to understand how she grieves. Was this how she reacted when her fiancé died?”

Elle let out a heavy sigh as though in surrender. “No. When Jace died, she cried that night, but once we visited that girl in the hospital, she never cried over him again.”

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

“At first I thought it was a good sign she didn’t waste any time grieving the scumbag. I admired her strength until I realized she’d refused every invitation for a date. She’d come with me to group activities, but any suggestion that we go on a double date and she had other plans. And God help any guy who asked her out, because she’d turned into an ice queen.”

“So she cut herself off?” Mal asked. “Do we need to
schedule some therapy for her? Should we talk about Braedon or should we avoid discussing him?”

Aislinn said, “I think she needs to talk about him ... and she needs to know we’re grieving too. Don’t you think she did well talking to me in the car today, honey?”

“Yeah, she did,” D’Arcy replied. “Mal, unless she’s covering things up, I think she’s done pretty well considering everything. We have to remember she’s not just worrying that Braedon will never be found; she’s lost her parents too. I wonder if I’d do as well if I’d been through two years in survival mode only to come back here to find—” his voice cracked, and he paused before continuing, “to find Aislinn and Kate dead, you gone off to Timbuktu, and my home sold ... hey, lovey, don’t. I’m sorry.”

Aislinn had begun to cry, so I crept away, went back upstairs, and crawled under my covers. It bothered me at first because I didn’t like people talking about me, but then I felt ashamed. They hadn’t been malicious. They were concerned about me. These wonderful people had stopped their lives and come halfway across the world to help me. I could pretend they only did it for Elle, but I knew they weren’t being fake.

An almost overwhelming desire to tell Braedon how much I loved his family filled me. Nighttime was hardest for me anyway. I ached to feel his body close to mine, and his arm around my waist as I drifted to sleep.

For a fleeting moment, as sorrow gripped me, I wished I had never met him. Then I shuddered as an even greater pain caused me to gasp. No Braedon? That was the stupidest thought I had ever had.

E
LLE AND
Mal came over the next morning while we were still eating breakfast. Eggs were what I craved the most. I had missed them on the island, and they were easy to cook in a variety of ways—without salt.

Pulling up the chair beside me, Mal flipped it so he could sit on it backward. “Lyn, we keep getting calls from the press. Everyone wants to interview you—and I mean
everyone.
I even got a call from a big daytime talk show. You know, that classy Native American, Olivia Howard. She wants to do an entire show about you.”

Aislinn bristled. “Lyn’s not interested, Mal, and we support her.”

“I’m good with that,” he said easily. “But as the family spokesman, I need to provide some kind of statement.”

I stared at him. “Family spokesman?”

D’Arcy put his arm around his wife. “During the search for the catamaran, we were being pestered by the press, so we designated Mal as the family spokesman. He specializes in communications, so he’s comfortable in front of a camera, and he was more emotionally removed from what happened.”

I regarded Mal and Elle. They probably would have never met if not for the pirate attack. I raised my orange juice in a toast. “To unexpected blessings.”

Everyone raised their glasses and murmured agreement.

CHAPTER 25

O
VER THE
next few weeks, I finally stopped jumping at the sound of any phone call, thinking the Coast Guard might be calling to tell us they had found Braedon and the boys. I stayed a couple of weeks at Aislinn’s house and a couple with Elle. I got used to wearing clothing again and forced myself to sleep in a bed. I could even drink a cup of hot chocolate at three-quarter strength.

I spent a lot of time on the Internet reading about world events and catching up on what I had missed. Having such a huge gap left me feeling even more disconnected. We had a new president, and I knew nothing about the campaign issues.

Aislinn had a piano, and I spent a lot of time playing. It was in a room far from the bedrooms, so I could use it when I had trouble sleeping without bothering anyone. I lost myself in the music and found it therapeutic.

I continued to dislike being in public, but Elle and Aislinn lured me out one morning with the temptation of looking for sheet music. When we arrived at a small shopping complex,
I started toward the music store, but Elle snagged my elbow. “We’re going to hit the music store
after
the spa.”

Aislinn took my other arm. “We’re going to get manicures and pedicures, and you’re going to have your hair done.”

I pulled back. “Not my hair.”

“Yes, your hair,” Elle insisted. “It’s not healthy, Lyn. We brought a bag so you can keep what they cut off.”

Aislinn held up a gallon-sized plastic bag.

They shepherded me into a high-class spa. I had always frequented the dollar cut type places. Wary, I checked for other customers, but we were the only ones there except for the receptionist.

After she confirmed our appointment, she led us through an elegant door and down a hallway with a plush carpet, expensive artwork, and velvet-covered chairs. As she separated me from the others, I glared at Elle.

The receptionist left me with a hairstylist, who complained about my hair and asked what I had been doing to let it get so damaged. All I could think of was everything Braedon and I had gone through to make our rudimentary soap. The memory made the scar on my leg itch. I was done.

I stood up just as the owner approached from behind me. “My name is Patricia,” she introduced herself and turned to the hairstylist. “I’ll be doing Mrs. Randolph’s hair.” When the other woman left, looking abashed, Patricia gently pushed me back in the chair. She picked up one of my hands, rubbed the skin, and examined my nails.

“I assume they have you on a good vitamin regime now.” She then pulled at a few strands of my hair. “I’m sure your limited diet contributed to the poor condition of your hair and skin.” She dropped the strand and smiled. “Under the
circumstances, I would have expected your skin to look much worse.”

The fact that she knew who I was and was so matter-of-fact about it put me at ease. I rubbed my hand, which looked much better than it had on the island. “I made a sort of lotion from coconut milk.”

“I can’t even imagine how much work that would take. Well, we’ll provide everything you need today, and I’ll give Mrs. Armstrong a list of products to help.” Patricia’s eyes twinkled. “And you won’t have to make any of it yourself.”

I spent the rest of the morning being soaked, deep conditioned, buffed, and painted. I tried to argue that my hair looked so much better after being conditioned and didn’t need to be cut anymore, but Patricia was resolute. I finally gave in. She kept it long but had to layer it to cut off the damaged ends.

I had only one more unpleasant experience. During the full-body massage, I got to thinking about the island. When the therapist saw the tears running down the sides of my cheeks, she asked if she had gone too deep.

Patricia, who was sitting to the side, came to me and asked, “Are you all right?” She seemed to understand it was more than physical pain.

I shook my head and whispered, “No, but I will be.”

She watched me, sympathetic. “Tell me if I can do anything.”

I looked away to the wall. “You can’t bring him back.”

Patricia touched my hand. “No, I’m sorry to say I can’t.” She nodded to the therapist.

When everything was done, including the application of a little makeup, Patricia stood behind me before a full-length mirror. She fluffed and patted my hair as I examined my reflection.

“Mrs. Randolph, I think you’ll be able to move around in public a little easier now. You don’t look so much like the wild woman dressed in animal skins from the news.”

I smiled.

After we purchased some music, we had lunch at a nice restaurant. No one gave me a second glance. I began to believe I might yet fit back in the real world.

D
URING THOSE
weeks, in the back of my mind, I waited. It was more than the limbo of waiting for the slim chance that Braedon and the boys might be found. I needed to do something, but I didn’t know what. The last two years of my life had been focused on surviving, and before that, my job had given me purpose. While I began to feel like a civilized woman again, I still felt lost. I needed to move ahead, but I had no idea what direction to take.

I decided to ask Marc if anything was left from our parents’ estate during a chat the following week.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dismayed. “You were declared dead, and I inherited everything. I sold the house, but once I paid off the mortgage and the funerals, there was barely enough to settle my school loans.” Marc perked up. “Hey, my car’s paid off. I can get a loan against it and send it to you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I just need to do some traveling, and I don’t have any money.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll see about getting a job. You did what you should have, so don’t worry.”

His face became somber. “It must be strange for you, not having a home to go to.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Aislinn entered the den. “She does too have a home, Marc— here. You of all people know that.”

He put on a brooding expression that shifted to a mock seductive leer. “Hey, Ash! You’re lookin’
good
... as always.”

Aislinn looked at me. “Your brother is such a flirt.”

I eyed him. “Into older women now, huh, little brother? What would your Georgia peach think of this?”

Marc waved a hand at me. “She knows about Ash.” He turned puppy dog eyes to Aislinn and exhaled. “The one who could have been the love of my life ... if I’d been born
twenty
years earlier.”

“Ouch!” Aislinn cringed, laughing.

Marc twisted in his seat when someone called his name. He turned back. “Hey, I gotta run.” He gave me the sign language symbol.

“Love you, too,” I said, and Marc logged off.

I grinned at Aislinn. “I can’t tell you how weird it still is that you even know him.”

She came to sit beside me. “You do have money. Or you will when we work through the legal issues.”

“What do you mean?”

“Braedon’s estate.”

I held up my hand. “That’s yours.”

“It is not!” She sat up. “It belongs to his wife. We could’ve had him declared dead a long time ago, but we decided to wait the seven years. D’Arcy, Mal, and I have been talking. We think we should appeal to the court for a death declaration now. If there’s any legal concern about your claim to his estate, I’ll just gift it to you. There’s close to a million dollars in the account.”

I gaped at her. “I can’t take that.” I felt dizzy. “Why would you even consider this? I have no legal claim.”

Aislinn slid her chair until we were facing each other. “I wish you could have seen Braedon before he met you. He dated plenty, but it was like he was just going through the motions. Even that first day when the ship was departing and we met you on the deck, I saw how he looked at you.” Her smile became sad. “He was so devastated when you wouldn’t see him. This is his money, and he would have wanted you to have it.”

She took my hands in hers. “I’ve already been in touch with our attorney, and he’s working on it. In the meantime, we’ve opened an account in your name. You said last night you have some business to take care of before you decide what to do long term. Well, you’ve got the money to do it.”