“It’s empty,” she announced.
“That’s right. It’s empty. Do you know why?” James asked.
She didn’t answer.
“It’s because you don’t exist. There is no such person as Kei Sallee. You are not the niece of Oliver and Mariah Winters. They both have siblings, but none of them are your parents. As a matter of fact, I have no idea who your parents are because there’s no way to trace you—no credit cards, no loans, no school records, nothing. She’s playing you, Cab, acting like she’s your friend when the truth is she’s getting her claws in. She’s got ulterior motives and is using you, plain and simple. From the most I can tell, she was the Winters’ maid during the summers and they grew a close connection with her. That’s about the extent of it.”
Without saying a word, she walked toward the door.
I touched her elbow as she passed. “Don’t leave. This isn’t a big deal. I don’t care about any of that.”
She yanked her arm out of reach. “Wait right here.”
James and I didn’t speak while she was gone. I was too angry, and he was too scared.
As soon as she came back, she dug through the bag she was carrying, pulled out a wallet and passport, and threw them at James.
“My name is Anna Beth Sallee. I’ve been called Kei since I was eight years of age. Oliver and Mariah Winters are not my blood relatives. Mariah and my mother were childhood friends. They always referred to themselves as my aunt and uncle, so that’s what I call them. I have no records of any kind because I’ve never been enrolled in public school and I’ve never bought anything on credit. My parents are missionaries in Gulu, Uganda, just like I said. They’ve lived in Africa for twelve years. Their names are Rhys and Grace Sallee. Cabot met them himself.”
James started to open the wallet, but I ripped it out of his hands and handed it back to Kei.
“I’m not using Cabot for his money or his fame.” She grabbed the passport and opened it and shoved it to within inches of James’ face. “There I am, James. Nothing for you to be scared of. I’m not trying to destroy your meal ticket.”
He didn’t respond.
She let him see the document for a few moments before shoving it in the bag and walking out of the house.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” James called out.
She never answered.
“What the hell was that?” I screamed.
“I already told you. I didn’t feel good about her. I still don’t. Something’s fishy.”
I stepped to within inches of him and put my face in his. “You do one more thing, search one more database, make one more phone call about Kei, and you’re fired. Do you get that?”
He nodded.
“She’s off limits to you, James. As far as you or anyone else is concerned, she doesn’t even exist.”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting from her!”
“Cab, I—”
“You’re a good manager, James. I like you.” I looked toward the main house and then back at him. “But I love her. Don’t make me choose. You’ll lose.”
He shut his eyes and nodded. “Fine.”
“Not one more accusation or question.”
“I got it.”
“Now leave. Go back to your hotel. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”
“Cab, I—”
I grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him toward the main house. Once inside, I finally let go of his arm but led him to the front door, shoved him outside, and slammed the door behind him.
My stomach was upset, like I’d drunk spoiled milk and run a mile in the heat. Part of me felt the need to throw up, but the majority of me wanted to find Kei and make everything right again. I searched the house for her but never found her.
“That man’s slick as an eel,” Millie said from her doorway. “I set it up perfectly, made Oliver go out there and tell that big whopper of a story to get you two to kiss. And what happens? That snake scares her off.”
“I didn’t tell him to do it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I told you Anna was skittish. She might never trust you again.”
“I’m running out of time, Millie. I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ve got to tell her the truth, no matter what your fears are, Cabot. It’s time for you two to tell the truth.”
C H A P T E R
29
I saw very little of Kei the rest of the week. Oliver invited me to co-produce our film, so my nice, relaxing trip to Asheville with Kei had partly turned into pre-production meetings. I was in meetings with the production team, and Kei’s time was spent huddled away with Mariah and Millie as they planned a fundraiser. Oliver and Mariah were putting on a charity auction for the Sallees’ missions projects. I donated a signed copy of the script from my latest film but chose not to attend.
When the night arrived, I turned all the lights off in the guesthouse and sat in the overstuffed chair in my bedroom. I could see the party guests as they mulled around the backyard and inspected the various auction items, but I didn’t see Kei.
After more than an hour of people watching, I closed the blinds, turned on the television, and plopped down on the couch.
Just then, the front door opened and Kei stuck her head inside. “Care for some company?”
“From you?”
“Of course.”
“Always.”
She was wearing an orange silk dress. If it hadn’t been for the fancy stitching around the neck, I would have thought it was a nightgown. Only thin straps held it up, and the shiny material almost reached the floor.
“Better yet”—she pulled a plate from behind her back and held it in front of her as she walked into the room—“I brought you food. I thought you might want to get to enjoy the appetizers even if you couldn’t enjoy the party.”
I turned off the television. “What about you?”
“I already ate.”
“No. I meant, are you enjoying the party?”
“Not really. Large productions like that aren’t my cup of tea. I prefer more intimate gatherings.”
“Me too.”
I got off the couch, followed her into the kitchen, and watched as she pulled the aluminum foil off the plate. “I got you two of everything except the eggrolls. They were the best, so I got you several of those. I’ll go back and sneak you some cake after they cut it.”
“You look amazing.”
“Thank you. Mariah got me the dress and the shoes. I don’t think I’ve worn something worth this much money in my entire life. It’s pure silk. It feels wonderful, the fabric, I mean. Not necessarily being all dressed up. That doesn’t feel so wonderful. My feet hurt.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell. You’re stunning. Course, you don’t have to be dressed up for that.”
“You’re embarrassing me. Eat your food.”
She pushed the plate toward me, so I sat on the stool and started eating as she jumped onto the counter. She almost slid off but managed to hold on and scoot back.
“Are you still angry with me?” she asked.
“Angry with you? For what?”
“For the way I acted with your manager?”
“Of course not. He was the one out of line. I was never angry at you. How could I be?”
“Because I made a row about it all. He’s just trying to protect you. I should’ve understood that.”
“He violated your privacy, and he went behind my back to do it. That’s not okay.”
“Then you believe me, that I don’t have ulterior motives.”
“Of course.”
“Splendid.” She pulled her dress up to her knees and then folded her legs underneath her on the counter. “I want to tell you something, and this can in no way compete with anything you’ve ever done or winning surfboards or anything, so don’t snicker.”
“All right.”
“Three of my photographs were sold during the auction tonight.” Her smile lit up the room. She was obviously proud and excited.
“You’re kidding? That’s great.”
“I can’t stop smiling about it. I can’t imagine that something that I did is going to be hanging on someone’s wall. And they didn’t just buy them; they won them. They outbid other people who wanted them as well. They seemed genuinely happy to receive the pictures.”
“I’m sure they were. Your pictures are very powerful. They tell a story, and people are drawn to impactful stories.”
“When the auction was over, a woman came over and asked if I would be interested in selling some in her gallery.”
“Are you going to take her up on it?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Of course.”
“That’s what I thought. Even if I could just make a hundred dollars on a picture, that would buy ten mosquito nets for the children’s home or send one of the children to school for a year. Imagine what I could do if I could sell several.”
I was floored. She owned hardly anything. I’d only seen her in a handful of sets of clothes since I’d met her. Yet there she was, about to make a couple hundred dollars, and the first thing she thought of was buying things for other people. I knew that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind to keep the money for herself. Even when Oliver had given her money for the movie, she bought me candy with it. In the months that I’d known her, I’d never seen her buy anything for herself or even heard her talk about it.
I made fifteen million dollars on my last movie. Of course, more than half went to taxes, and a percentage went to James, my agent, and everyone else who makes up my entourage, but the rest was sitting in a bank, waiting to be spent. I’d shopped for houses but couldn’t justify spending a lot of money on something I’d barely ever see. I considered buying a car but realized that it would sit in my parents’ garage the majority of the year while I was gone. I’d even met with several businessmen about possible ventures. Other than trying to buy my parents a new house (which they turned down), I wrote checks to charities every once in a while or donated items to be auctioned, but I never put a lot of time and energy into it.
“The three pictures made over three thousand dollars tonight,” she continued. “My parents are going to be so excited when they find out. I’m thinking maybe we should go ahead and use the money to get the new van they need. I don’t know how much they raised altogether over there, but it seems like a lot.”
I’d stopped eating, and she’d noticed.
“I’m sorry I’m gabbing on. I’m just excited. I’ve never done anything to raise that much money for the mission before. I finally feel like I truly helped out somehow.”
“You’re not gabbing on. Keep going.”
“I don’t know. I’m just starting to wonder if this is it. Maybe God can take my passion for the children and love of photography, put them together, and use them to promote my parents’ missions program. I’ve gotten butterflies, I’m so excited thinking about it. What if I’ve actually found my purpose?”
“It sounds like you might be onto something.”
“Which leads me to you.”
“Me?”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“You have?” She wasn’t the only one getting butterflies. Her words caused an all-out swarm in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes. You have an amazing gift in acting, but you don’t seem to enjoy the life that goes along with it. I don’t think you see the purpose in all of it.”
“That’s definitely true.”
“You’re recognized all over the world. You influence what people watch, what they wear, how they think. What if you used all that for good? What if you found something you were truly passionate about and directed some of your time and attention toward it?”
“I’ve kind of been wondering the same thing since meeting you.”
“It could be anything, whatever excites or interests you.”
“I hate the idea of using my celebrity to promote a political or religious agenda. I’ve never liked it when people do that.”
“You can serve others without having to disclose your political or religious views. My religious views are only obvious because of the work I do, but I’ve worked alongside hundreds of people, and I didn’t have a clue where they stood spiritually or politically. You did too while you were there. Those physicians at the IDP camp, did you know anything about their politics or religion?”
“No.”
“See. You don’t have to give that information out. You just serve. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s true, I guess. Until I met you, I never really thought about the world outside of myself. I admit it; I’ve been completely self-absorbed. I’m so new to all this that I don’t even know what all’s out there. I do want to find out, though. I’d like to do something that makes a difference, do some good with what I’ve been given.”
“What are you passionate about, Cabot?” She leaned toward me and smiled. “What wakes you up in the morning? What catches your eye or captures your imagination?”
“You.”
She bolted upright in shock. “Okay. That’s not the answer I was expecting. I thought maybe you’d say animal cruelty or something.”
“It was the truth.”
“Well, I meant more along the lines of humanitarian or environmental issues.”
“Then you should have been more specific. But while we’re on the subject—”