Losing Francesca (12 page)

"That's not what I said.
You
said that. I said you can't ask about them. Ask about something else."

He squints his eyes at me for a few seconds, then nods his head. "OK, then tell me what you do with the feet pictures."

"Oh gosh! That's not a good one either! It's…"

"What?"

"Embarrassing, really. It's embarrassing. Something I've been doing since I was a girl. Not that I'm not a girl now, but a smaller girl. My dad started it first. Everywhere we went he took a picture of our feet near something famous, or that represented that place." I stop to smile and remember the first one in Rome. We dangled our feet in the Trevi Fountain and he took a picture of them surrounded by coins. "And then he'd put it in a special photo album of our trips. It's the only way we could be in a photo together. Just our feet."

"Why can't you be seen in a photo with him, Fiona?"

I make a buzzer sound. "Sorry, sir, that question is out of bounds. Now, I answered your question so you have to answer mine."

"Wait, but what will you do with the one of our feet?"

I smile. "Put it with all the others. I collect them now, since I'm older and I go all over. I take a picture of all the places I see, or if I'm doing something fun or cool. And then I put it somewhere special. My turn. Who was the first girl you kissed?"

It's a bad question, and it's none of my business, but I want to know.

"Susie Turner, fifth grade, spin the bottle, Mike Grippo's birthday party. My turn—"

"No, wait! I get a follow-up!"

"Says who?" he asks, grinning.

"Me! OK, follow-up to kissing Susie Turner. Was she the one you wanted to kiss, or did you just get stuck with her because of the game?"

"Stuck. My turn. What is the best place you've ever visited?"

He's sneaky. He can't ask me where I live or where I've been, so he asks for my favorite place. "This is skimming the edge, you know."

"Nope, this one is valid, it's a simple one, really. You answered the best day of your life one, so, best place you ever visited?"

"I have to think about this one. Give me a second." His fingertips play with the skin on my shoulder, twirling in little circles, driving me so crazy I can barely keep my mind on the task of choosing a favorite place. I look over at him and the words come out impulsively. "Please, kiss me."

I expect him to smile or laugh, but he doesn't. His fingers stop their tease and he sits up a little so he can lean over me. My chest starts rising a little quicker as my heart picks up the pace. I can look at nothing else but his face. His mouth as he licks his lips. His eyes as he stares into mine. His hand as it cups my cheek.

He traces the outline of my lips with his thumb and dips his mouth down to my ear. "I want to, Fiona. I really, really do. But I told you, when I kiss you it will be perfect. And while this day seems like perfection right now, I have a feeling it can only get better from here. So let's not jump the gun and cheat ourselves out of that perfect first kiss."

Holy crap, I wonder if people can die from swooning. He just made my whole body tingle with heat, my heart jump a few beats, and my mind spin from the blood rushing to my face. "OK," I reply weakly. I'm not about to argue with that reasoning.

"And I think it's time I go before I attack you right now and ruin everything." He smiles as he gets up and then kisses my hand. "Wanna meet me at my house for a Fruit Roll-Up lunch tomorrow? I gotta do some actual work, cars lined up in my shop that need to get finished, especially since I blew this whole day off. But I take a lunch from noon to one. Can you come over?"

"I'll be there," I say breathlessly. And then before I can say anything else, he's through the door and I can just faintly make out his footsteps as he crosses the terrace.

I think maybe I might like to be Fiona after all.

Chapter Nineteen - Francesca

The edge of the mattress dips down with his weight. I've been listening to the bustle of people outside my door for a few minutes and I was wondering if they'd make me get up and help today.

Well, I have my answer.

"I know you're awake, Fiona," Sean says, not unkindly.

"How come you're the only one who cares about me?" He actually laughs and I open my eyes and turn towards him to see what's so funny. "What?"

"We all care about you, we're just afraid of you."

"Why?"

"Because you come back refusing to speak English, you've been asked over and over if you're Fiona Sullivan and you either lie outright by making up really stupid stories that everyone knows are false, or you pretend not to understand the question." He stops and frowns down at me. "We think you hate us."

I turn away again to hide my shame. "I don't hate you guys, I don't even know you guys. I just want to go home. I have a family, my dad is probably going crazy with worry—"

"Your dad is downstairs, Fiona. This shit is what pisses me off. That guy who took you is not your dad."

I wait that one out to see if he'll get up and walk away, or if he actually wants to have this conversation with me.

"He's not your dad," he repeats.

I guess he wants to go there, so I turn back. "A father is the person who cares for you when you're young. That guy, as you call him, is my father. And even if I was Fiona, and I'm not, it would never change the way I feel about him. That man is my father and I love him. And my mother's name is Sophia, she's been my mother since I was seven, and I love her too. I love them so much, just talking about them right now is a struggle. And all you guys care about is making me fit back into this family as Fiona. You do not care one bit that he is hurting, that Sophia is hurting, or that I am hurting. You guys dragged me through court to get your way, you forced me to come here against my will, you won't even let me
call him
and explain that I am so sorry this is happening."

He stares at me as I begin to cry, but I can tell my words are affecting him. "What can I do to make it easier, then? Just tell me. What can I do?"

I swoop in and make my request. "Let me talk to him in secret. Please."

He's already shaking his head before the last word is out of my mouth.

"Please, Sean. If you take me to town and help me make a secret phone call, I will participate in the family stuff, OK? I'll ride the horses, and do the chores, and show up for dinner every night at seven. Just,
please
!"

"I don't know…"

He's wavering so I make my move. "Just think about it, OK? I'll be good today, I'll do everything right, and I'll show you how much nicer I can make it be for everyone. But if I do this, then you have to help me."

He sits in silence as he thinks it over.

"Because if you refuse, I can get Brody Mason to help me. I'll go behind your back and I'll still get my way, but you will not get yours."

"Fiona, if Frank finds out I helped you talk to him he'll be crushed. And maybe Frank is a total asshole most of the time, but he's still my dad and maybe you think he doesn't care, but he does. He's reliving the whole kidnapping thing all over again and it's killing him. And the fact that you deny him is making it worse."

"Then see? I'll be nice if you help me with this one thing. I'll even try to fit in with Frank. It's a win-win, right? Win-win."

He looks out my window and whispers, "When?"

I have to contain my squeal of excitement. "Today, after we have a Fruit Roll-Up lunch with Brody. We can go into town and buy a card from the store and go to a pay phone and I'll make one very quick five-minute call and I promise, I'll be nice to everyone for the whole summer."

"I'm not having lunch with Brody Mason," he says with disgust.

"Good. We don't want you to come anyway. You can just drop me off at noon and pick me up at one."

He sneers. "Nice try. OK, I'll do it, but you have to do chores with Aimee this morning, show up for breakfast at eight, and then help Lindsey with her lessons in the back arena until it's time for lunch with Brody. I'll go over there with you to make Frank and Angela happy, and then we'll take a little trip into the next town over and buy the card, so no one says anything to Frank."

I sit up and hug him. Fiercely. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are my favorite brother, ever!"

Even though I can tell he's trying to pretend this doesn't make him happy, I find the happiness.

And for a moment I feel a little guilty. That these people love me because they think I'm their long-lost Fiona. But his arms come up and hug me back and all that melts away too. Because I have to admit, Sean's protective brotherly embrace is filled with something I like.

Chapter Twenty - Francesca

Sean lets me borrow another pair of jeans for my Brody lunch after a small argument. I wear yesterday's pair for chores and lessons with Lindsey. He doesn't understand why I can't just wear Angela's jeans.

Angela's jeans. Seriously, that's not even a valid question. She's old. That's like me wearing Sophia's jeans. Those high-riding things that cover your belly button. It's just absurd.

Boys have no hips, which means they don't have that curve in the waist of their pants that I hate. I like my jeans loose and low. And Sean's jeans fit me just like that.

He thinks Angela and I should go shopping to get my own jeans, but I'm not sure I want to spend girl time with her. It's weird.

I do have a nice pair of barn boots to wear though. They are new, and that's too bad because they will be covered in horse shit in a few hours, but that's another stipulation on the farm. Sean said no shorts or sandals in the barn. It's a hard-and-fast rule.

Which is understandable. I think anyone who's been around horses has had the pleasure of being stepped on a time or two. And maybe a pair of jeans isn't that much of a difference between a well-placed hoof and your bare leg, but it's better than nothing.

I slip on a tank top to combat the heat and oppressive humidity, because even though there seems to be a nice breeze blowing through my terrace doors, it's not the cool kind. It reminds me a lot of home. Except there's no salty mist to the air. It smells like lake here, which I can't really explain, but it is very different than the ocean, regardless of how big Lake Erie is.

Right now I'm listening to Aimee explain her mucking-out chores. I can sum it up in one sentence, I've done it enough myself over the years. Scoop the shit out of the stall and dump it into the wheelbarrow. I'm giving her all my attention though, acting like a good Fiona, because that was the promise I made and promises are something I always keep, even if it does involve letting an eight-year-old boss me first thing in the morning.

Once that's done she and I get to work. Normally she has to muck the entire big barn, which is like forty stalls. A lot. So today she is extremely happy that I live here now and have to do twenty of those myself. I'm pretty sure every Sullivan transplant gets their own barn to muck, because there are a lot of stinking horses here. It's not loud and busy yet because the sun is just barely up and none of the boarders are allowed to come by the barn to ride their horses until nine.

Aimee is filling me in on all this as we work. We are on opposite sides of the aisle. All her stalls have an outside run to them, so she has to take her wheelbarrow inside the stall, then out into the run to scoop it up out there too.

At least she gave me the easy side. We finish up well before eight because there's two of us now.

"Now what?" I ask Little Miss Bossy.

"Now… we talk about girl stuff." I laugh a little as she pats a large green and yellow tack box and I take a seat next to her. "Tell me what you've been doing your whole life. I mean since they took you. I want to know."

"Aimee, no one took me. I'm not Fiona, OK? You have to stop."

I expect her to be sad because it came out a little exasperated, but she just nods and smiles. "OK, they said you won't admit it, so I should just play along."

My mouth opens to argue, but what's the point? These people think I'm their long-lost family member and nothing I say will be enough to convince them otherwise. They are done with the talking and explanations, now they want proof. And proof is something I just don't have.

I sigh into my food as I endure breakfast with the entire Sullivan clan. Lindsey and Aimee keep up the conversation pretty well, Sean jumps in to try and help out a few times. And even the twins, Jake and Quinn, talk to each other a bit to make the silent moments less noticeable.

But they are noticeable. Frank doesn't look at me, but Angela does. I catch her a few times nodding her head at me conspiratorially, but I'm not sure what that means, nor am I interested in figuring it out.

Sean clears his throat and I glance over to him. He does the same head nod. "So, Francesca, you have big plans this week?"

I squint my eyes at him.

"Frank was telling us last night that he's got a new horse coming in tomorrow morning and since he's too proud to ask you himself, would you like to help us unload her? She's a competition-ready Grand Prix jumper straight from California."

No one looks up from their food and Sean takes this moment to mouth the words 'phone call' at me.