CHAPTER NINETEEN
I look into Taylor’s eyes for a moment, taking in one last second of peace before things may change forever. I am about to change everything he thought he knew about his life. If there is anyone who knows what it feels like to have the sad truths you knew about your past to be a lie, it’s me.
“Can you sit?” I ask.
“No. Just go ahead and say it,” he says sternly. His hand remains limp in my soft grasp.
“I don’t know where to start. When, when you told me about C.O.S, I started looking into things. You know I get curious. You said it yourself. And I found out there were others like you. I didn’t know at the time that I was one of those people. But I got curious, because I don’t know, I thought maybe we could find out more and maybe if we had more knowledge, we could use that to help you.”
I pause for some sort of reassurance and to collect my thoughts, but Taylor remains completely silent. His only movement is that of his chest rising and falling with each breath.
“So when I called MacAllister about the texts, I asked him to look into C.O.S some more. I never told him your name, or that you were involved in it. In fact, you probably know your identity was kept private.”
Still, not an utterance.
“Well, he called back and told me that your mother’s body was never found at the scene. I found this out on the same day Eric broke into the condo. I didn’t expect to have all this knowledge and I didn’t know what to do with it. But I didn’t want to tell you because, she might still be dead, and it was pointless to bring anything up unless we could find evidence she might be alive. She is presumed legally dead, but it didn’t sit right with me or MacAllister.”
Taylor looks up and away for a second pulls in his lips as if holding something inside of him. He returns his stare at me, remaining eerily stoic.
“And with the Eric stuff happening, I didn’t want to compound it further unless I knew for sure. So I paid him to look into her, but we hit a dead end. Everyone from C.O.S who might have known something, believe she was murdered by Alan Peters.”
My father.
“But MacAllister and I didn’t believe it. If Alan was evil as we all know he was, why would he let you live? It didn’t add up. But we were stuck, until my mother told me the truth about me. She thought Lyla was dead too, but she had some empty postcards that were sent to her and we thought that maybe, just maybe it was a clue. It was a longshot.”
Finally, Taylor’s stoic facial expression breaks, his eyes weigh heavy, his jaw tightens, his breathing becomes louder, as if he knows in his soul what I am about to say next.
“Taylor, we found her. MacAllister is sure of it. Your mother is alive,” I say as I rise to stand in front of him. He doesn’t respond, and for a moment I wonder if he understands what I just said. “Taylor,
she’s alive
.”
His jaw tightens further. He looks down at my hand, and pulls it out of my grasp.
“Please say something Taylor.”
“My father. When you two spoke, did you talk about this?”
“Listen, I can’t speak for him, but I did confront him. I asked if he knew her body was never found and he said he knew. He figured she was still dead, and if she wasn’t she may as well be, so he never told you. At the time I didn’t know she was alive. I ‘m not sure he would have wanted me to tell you, but I think you have a right to know.”
Taylor stands still, I imagine trying to process everything. So many things no longer make sense now that she is alive.
“I know where she lives.”
“What has she been doing all these years?”
“She started a new life. She got married, but she’s a widow now. She had another child. I believe she works at a hardware store…”
The change I see in Taylor’s facial expression is so sharp, it frightens me.
“What gave you the right?”
“Wha…What?”
“Who gave you the right to investigate my past, my life, talk to my father without ever telling me?”
“I didn’t know it would go this far. Your father asked to speak to me.”
“Of course, you just hired a P.I. hoping for nothing.”
“I didn’t know what to expect, but I just had a feeling in my gut there was more. Apparently my hunch was right, there was so much we didn’t know.”
“You went behind my back. This has been going on behind my back? For months! How many secret phone calls? How many lies, Shyla?”
“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”
“Stop trying to protect me! Fucking stop it!”
“I know, that’s why I am trying to get this all out at once. No more secrets, I swear.”
“What do you want from me, huh? You want me to hop on a plane and reunite with this woman? You think that somehow everything will magically be better? If you don’t want me how I am, if you think I’m broken or something, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
“No. I don’t know what I wanted you to do, but I thought you had the right to know. And I want you to feel better for you, not for me.”
“Shyla, if I wanted to know every little detail, I could have found out a long time ago. This is my fucking life. My life! You ran an investigation behind my back, without my consent, about me and my past.”
“It’s my life too now! I’m with you now, and I was with you then. Our mothers were best friends, your mother and you put yourselves on the line so I could get out. I want to know about her too. I have a right too, this is my past too.”
“She’s
my
fucking mother!” His voice booms, punctuating the argument, as he stabs his finger into his chest. I stand there silently, allowing him to stew. I know how he feels, his head must be spinning, trying to trace back his entire life and think of every time he was told a lie relating to her, every instance where someone could have told him the truth, but refrained. Or maybe he’s rueing the day he met me, when his life was lonely, but much simpler.
He presses his fist against his mouth, his eyes bouncing with hundreds of thoughts. “I’m going to the condo tonight. I need to be alone.”
“No, no, no. I’m sorry Taylor. I swear to god, there are no more secrets. This is everything. I had to tell you. It’s the truth. Just because it changes everything, doesn’t mean it’s not the truth.”
“I’m leaving. I’ll be back in four days.”
“Taylor please. If there is anyone who knows what you are going through, it’s me.”
“You don’t know shit about what I’m going through.”
I know what pains him more than anything. It’s not that she’s alive, or that I did all this behind his back, at least that’s not the crux of it. He could have continued to live with the image of her as a cold-hearted cult follower, or even a child deserter, but no, she left him there among the dead bodies and moved on. She had another family, raised another child. As much as he speaks of moving on, he never really has. It’s not that she was dead to him that hurts so much, it was that he was dead to her. He thinks I don’t understand that feeling, but I do. I have lived with it all my life: the image of a father I grew up with, who was so much more real to me that the one I just learned of, abandoned me too. He left me to be with his drugs.
I could say all this to him, but I know his mind is far too crowded to listen to me right now. He needs his space, just like I needed mine when I ran out of the condo after my mother broke the news.
“I’m going to go now. I’ll have Harrison come back and bring my bags in the morning.”
“I can do it.”
“No, he’s got it.”
I don’t push the matter. He grabs his wallet and keys, heading the the bedroom door.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say to him as he passes through the threshold.
“Don’t worry. You’re not the first woman to do that to me. I’ll be fine.”
His comment almost stops my heart, it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.
“I love you so much,” I barely utter as leaves my sight. I’m not sure he hears me.
***
I wake up to the sound of someone fumbling in the bedroom. The worst possible scenarios pass through my mind. It can’t be Eric, he’s somewhere hidden in a jungle, but who knows anymore? I reach over to the nightstand for anything I can use as a weapon.
“Who’s there?” I ask in a shaky voice.
The closet light turns on.
“Shyla. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.” It’s Harrison, thank god. I forgot Taylor sent him to pack his bags.
“Oh no, it’s fine. I should have slept in another room.” But I wanted to sleep in the bed we share, so I could smell his scent on his pillow and pretend he was still here with me.
It’s 6am, so I stay up. I observe Harrison grabbing items from the closet for a few minutes before I speak up.
“Let me do it.”
“It’s fine, I’ve done it for him before.”
“Please, allow me. I know what he likes to wear when he travels.”
I need to do this.
“Okay,” he nods gently.
Wistfully, I grab the remaining items he will need for his trip. I pack them lovingly, hoping somehow he’ll feel it when he opens the bags. I stare at the open luggage for a while, it feels incomplete and I can’t close it until I figure out what is missing. Then it hits me.
I rifle through my jewelry box, looking for the small card that he gave me in St. Petersburg. I place it on top of his clothes and finally, I am able to zip up the bag and send it off to my distressed love, hoping somehow my he will feel me with each garment he pulls out of the bag. As I drag the luggage out of the closet, I pass my jewelry box again. Peering out is the black velvet bag holding the necklace I have yet to return to Emily’s family. I don’t know why I haven’t, but I think it’s because I had plans for it. It should be returned ceremoniously, not delivered by a FedEx carrier.
Harrison reenters the room when he hears me fumbling with the luggage and relieves me of it. “Can you tell him that I wish him a safe trip?”
“Of course,” Harrison smiles.
I grab the satchel out of the jewelry box. I may have shattered someone’s world last night, but today, I am going to make someone whole again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“
This is Chad at Rubix Marketing. I am unable to take your call. Leave a message.”
“Hey Chad, it’s Shyla. I forgot to tell you, Bella from Bella’s Intimates wanted me to meet her at her store today. She has some new projects she wants to discuss, so I’ll be coming in after lunch. Let me know if you need anything.”
I throw on a pair of jeans, red rain boots as the weather looks questionable, a chunky sweater and my army green anorak. My hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail, and I put on some natural makeup tones to disguise my puffy eyes. A quick google search on my phone yields the address of Emily’s parents’ home. It’s about two hours north, so I estimate I can make it there about 9am, spend a little bit of time chatting if they are home, and make it back by twelve-ish.
A sense of responsibility consumes me. I must return this safely into the hands of Emily’s parents. She is part of the unfortunate club of those who have loved Taylor and never received the same in return. It is maddening enough to love him and be loved back by him, and so I can only imagine how bewildering it must be to love this man only to find out he will never feel the same way about you. That every kind gesture, every moment of seeming tenderness was for himself. That you were just a tool for him to work out his own pain and desires. That you could be replaced in an instant. I don’t think I could survive if I found out he felt that way about me. Unlike Emily, I have hope that he will return to me, but she knew she would never see the world through the same lens again, she would never be able to walk through the
e
arth on a Taylor Holden high. Taylor can convince himself that she moved on, that her death had nothing to do with him, but he doesn’t understand the power he has over those who love him. I do.
Harrison drives Taylor to the airport
,
making it the perfect time to deliver the necklace without anyone being the wiser. I hop into Ladybug and embark on my lonely voyage as a proxy for Taylor’s redemption.
As I arrive into the small quaint row of houses on the town’s main street, a misty rain begins to settle in. Through the windshield wipers, I look for street signs to lead me to the Brown residence. Finally, after a few turns, I pass a modest white house with a small porch. A weathered hunter green rocking chair sits to the right of the front screen door. I park on the side of the street, as to not intrude on the driveway, which is occupied by a Subaru station wagon. This indicates to me someone must be home. I sit in the car
as
the squeaky song of the windshield wipers plays rhythmically as I pull the necklace out of the velvet pouch and admire it for one last time. I give myself a quick once over in the visor mirror, wiping some smudged makeup from my eyes and take a deep calming breath before stepping out of the car and onto the Brown’s front lawn.
My stomach twirls. I hate knocking on stranger’s doors, but this isn’t about me. I ring the door bell, but after no response, I am not sure it works. I open the unlocked screen door and just as I lift my fist to knock, the red wooden door opens. On the other side is a woman who appears to be in her 50s. She is very thin, her weathered face bordered by a salt and pepper bob. Her face is bare and she is dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a plaid button down shirt.
“May I help you?” She asks with suspicious politeness.
“Hi, I uh, I’m an old friend of Emily’s. I was hoping I could speak to you for a moment. I have something of hers I would like to give to you.”
Just as I complete my sentence, my phone rings, but it would be too rude of me to look, so I ignore it.
Her face becomes solemn, but warm as she tilts her head. “Yes, of course,” she says holding a faint smile as she steps to the side and welcomes me in.
“I hope I am not keeping you. I thought I should come personally, and I didn’t have a phone number.”
“Oh no, I am just going about my morning routine. I was planning on going to the garden store, but this weather means I won’t be able to do much anyway. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“Tea please.”
“Come join me in the kitchen.”
I sit at an old wooden table as she places a tea kettle on a white gas stove. I stare at the flames, reflecting upon them for a moment before revealing the memento.
“How did you know Emily?”
“We worked together at Holden Industries.”
“Oh, she loved it there. But then she met Evan and wanted to start a family back here,” she smiles. “I didn’t know much about her friends in the city. In fact, I didn’t know any of them. No one from Holden Industries that I know of came to her funeral.
Were
you at her funeral? I don’t recall.”
“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t know about her passing until after the funeral. I think that was the case for many of us at H.I.”
“I’m sorry, it was such a shock when it happened.”
“No, please don’t be. As you said, you didn’t even know of me. We were work friends, we lost touch after she left.”
“You said you had something for me?” The tea kettle screams. “Chamomile or peppermint?”
“Peppermint please.”
She pours the steaming water into two old teacups, rimmed in gold, with curvy handles, adorned with dull pink and purple flowers and green leaves. She steeps the tea bags
in
each cup and slowly places mine in front of me at the table.
She sits across from me, waiting for me to complete my original thought, tails of steam lazily dancing up to her face.
“So, I worked at H.I. until recently and well, I came upon something, that after some investigating I believe belongs to your daughter.” I pull out the pouch from my pocket, untie the rope and open the mouth of the bag, pouring the necklace onto the table.
Her eyes well up. “I can’t believe you found this. How? I dreamed I could bury her with this. She told me she had lost it before moving back and she was so devastated. We both were, it was her grandmother’s, who gave it to me, and then I gave it to her. She was very close to her oma who passed a few years ago.”
“I know it was important to her, so I didn’t want to mail it. I wanted to make sure it arrived safely.”
“Where did you find it?”
“It was caught behind a drawer in a filing cabinet of all places.”
She clutches it in her hand and presses her fist against her chest, a look of strained joy on her face. “Thank you,” she says in a breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Finally, something I didn’t completely fuck up.
“Would you like to see some photos of her? There are some on the mantle with her wearing this necklace.”
“Of course.”
“You know it’s so nice to talk to someone who knew her. Sometimes when someone dies so young, it’s hard to keep their memory alive. She had no children, no husband. Just me and her father.”
“Didn’t she have a fiancé?”
“Evan? Oh, Evan,” she says with pity. “He took her death the hardest I think. I’ve never seen anyone collapse the way he did when they found her body in the river. He searched like a mad man for her and he kept apologizing that he had let us down by letting her leave the house that night. He was a mess, so much so that I was more focused on helping him grieve than myself those first few weeks. Then we found out she was pregnant and it got even worse.
After her funeral, he skipped town
.
I think this whole place reminded him of her too much and the life they would never have,” she says, cupping her tea in her hands.
“Oh my goodness. I had no idea that she was pregnant.”
“Of course, you mentioned you lost touch after she left her job. I didn’t mean to spring that on you. Well, we are a small town and me and her father know everyone. The coroner did us a favor and kept the pregnancy out of the papers.”
“I’m sorry, we have been talking here all this time, and I never asked you for your name.”
“Sure honey, it’s Evelyn. People call me Ev.”
“I’m Shyla.”
“Come, let me show you some photos.”
She guides me further into the house, to a sitting room with old fashioned bluish-gray settees and oak tables with Queen Anne legs. On the wall furthest from us is a large white fireplace, the mantle crowded with far too many photos. I walk over cautiously.
“You can pick them up. I know there are a lot, but I like to pass by every day and think of her.”
“Of course,” I say.
The photos are arranged in chronological order from left to right. Some bald baby photos, a giggly toddler, a toothless third grader, a cheerleader in a red and white getup with a high side ponytail, proud parents beside their only daughter holding up her college degree. Then there is a picture of her holding a big smile for the camera, a hand wrapped around her shoulder. I follow the hand to its arm, which leads to the tall young man beside her and I can’t help but take a few steps back, stumbling into the table behind me and nearly knocking down a lamp.
“Is something wrong?” Ev asks.
“Uh no. I’m sorry. Who…who is that?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but hoping that I am somehow miraculously wrong.
“Oh, that’s right, you never met him. That’s Evan, bless his soul.”
I stare at the photo in disbelief, silently praying my eyes are deceiving me, but I know. I know that dirty blond hair, those freckles, those pale eyes, that crooked smile, those lips that stole a kiss from me.
It’s Eric, oh my fucking god, it’s Eric.
I do my best to hide my shock and disbelief. All my mental resources are focused on doing this, leaving very little to piece together what it all means. He wanted me to find this, he wanted me to look into Emily Brown. I look at the clock above the fireplace to pretend to read the time.
“Oh no. I have to run, I have to get back to the city for work. I am so sorry, I wish I could stay longer.”
“Okay Shyla. Thank you so much for this. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I nod with the biggest smile I can muster, which is hardly existent. As I approach the door, I give her one final goodbye and she embraces me, not just a friendly embrace, but one filled with gratitude and it makes me feel like a fraud. Once I get to the driveway, I stumble across the street to Ladybug, frantically digging for my phone to call Taylor. The call goes straight to voicemail.
Shit.
“Taylor, it’s me. Listen, I know you’re upset, but I just found out something huge. Eric is Evan Sumner…Evan Sumner was Em’s fiancé. Eric was engaged to Em. This is crazy,” I say in a shaky voice. I pull out onto the rain soaked road, the droplets hit the windshield like mini battering rams. “So, I don’t know what this means, but something feels off. Something is not as it seems. Call me as soon as you get a chance.” I recall that I had received an earlier call and see it is in fact from Taylor. The rain, flurry of emotions, and handling of the phone makes my driving erratic, so I pull over on the isolated two lane road onto the dirt shoulder for a moment to collect myself.
I retrieve the voicemail. “Hey Shyla, it’s me. I just want to hear your voice. I found the card you packed…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with all this, and I know you were trying to help, but my god you are such a pain in my ass. But that’s what I love about you. You are so fucking hard to handle, and it drives me fucking nuts. So, when I get back—”
A loud rap on the windshield makes me jump from my seat. Through the raindrops cascading down my windshield I see the black barrel of a gun just inches from my face. I think about slamming on the gas, but by the time I reach for the gear shift, that gun will have blown my face away.
The barrel taps against the windshield again. “Unlock your doors, Shyla. Hands up on the steering wheel.” the voice says calmly. I cautiously abide.
Seconds later, a rain-soaked Eric slides into the passenger seat of my car. “Start driving.”
All the while, Taylor’s voicemail murmurs in the background.