Losing Francesca (8 page)

I turn to the side a little and watch her. She's still got her hands resting lightly on her stomach, and her legs are crossed at the ankles, but then she turns towards me and her arm falls over my stomach.

And that's it. I'm in. I slip my arm under her shoulders and pull her into my chest until her cheek rests in the crook of my arm and I enjoy her. Maybe she'll be gone in a few hours. Maybe she'll have to go back to the Sullivans' house, or maybe someone will come take her away. The person she really belongs to will surely want her back. How could they not want her back? She sure doesn't sound like she's happy to be here.

It doesn't matter, though. I'm in. Even if it's only for five more minutes, five minutes with my Fee is better than nothing. It's a dream fulfilled compared to where I was a few days ago, which was pretty much looking forward to nothing but working on my Jeep and playing father to Case and Parker while Renn does his whole ambition thing down in Georgia.

Because life since Fiona disappeared has been one long fuck-up after another. I don't really blame Frank and Sean for not liking us. I haven't exactly been the model young adult. Even after my vow to be good after the parents died, I had some slips. Arrested twice for fighting, once for underage drinking, and once for possession of pot. But that was as a juvie, so it barely counts.

I laugh at that. It counts, but it's forgiven. Tucked away as just another tragic childhood mistake by Brody Mason—that poor kid who lost his parents and his neighbor and never got over either one.

Everyone knows it, it's no secret how I felt all these years. Although it's been a while since anyone's brought it up. I'd finally put it behind me and this happens. Just when you think you've got life under control, it yanks your chain and tells you to heel.

My Fiona sighs, mumbling something in Italian that sounds a lot like
I am not Fiona Sullivan
. "Sure thing, Fee. You keep telling yourself that, hon. But the truth is, you are Fiona Sullivan and I'll be damned if I'll let you get away again."

She stirs and for a minute I hold my breath because I don't want her to wake up and push me away. I just want to have her to myself for a little while. She quiets down and then her hand pulls on my shirt and she snuggles closer.

I am so content right now, it scares me.

What must the Sullivans be thinking? They know I took off after her on the bike, but they don't know if I found her and picked her up. Although even Abe the Asshole's fifth-grade deduction skills could solve this one. I'm sure they're at my house right now. I pull out my phone and check the time, which makes Fee mumble "
No
," in her sleep. Again, it's in Italian, because it's got that sharp end to it, not an American no.

My chest goes up and down with a sigh and I take my attention back to my phone. It's only two in the afternoon and no one has tried to call.

I consider texting Sean to tell them she's OK, but fuck it. They have my number. If they wanted to call, they'd call.

The phone vibrates in response to my challenge and I silence it, looking down at Fiona again. She's out. I don't clear the home screen, just read the text from Case as it comes in.
Cops are here looking for you.
They could probably triangulate our location just by having the phone on, but I'm not running away with her. Besides, there are no cell towers on our land, and they have to know we're on our land. It's not like they could even come look for us without a warrant.

So screw it. I'm not gonna worry about the Sullivans or the police or what's gonna happen a few hours from now because if there's one thing I learned after my parents' death, it's that you really need to enjoy the moment.

They'd worked their asses off for almost twenty years to save up to buy a vacation house in the Bahamas, and they even had a trip scheduled to go look at places, and that fucking drunk driver took it all away. All those years of work, wiped out in one evening.

All our lives, changed.

We never did take that vacation. We took a trip to the morgue instead. They didn't want to let me in the room with Renn to ID the bodies because I was only fifteen at the time. But Renn never treated me like a kid even when I was a kid, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna start that day, not when our parents were dead and he needed me to help him through all the legal shit just as much as I needed him to help me grow up a bit.

It's the only time I can remember that Renn needed anyone.

And he definitely needed me that day.

Since then we've been pretty even, because the day I heard that Mrs. Sullivan and Fiona had gone missing in Italy, I needed Renn in the worst way. We're six years apart so he was already a teenager when that tragedy struck. I needed Renn for many years after that day because I just couldn't come to terms that the girl I was going to marry had up and disappeared.

I watched the TV endlessly for days afterward. The Cleveland news stations made the two-hour trip out here to Woods on the Lake and parked at the end of the Sullivans' gated driveway for weeks waiting to report something. Waiting to report that their bodies were found (and the first time I heard that this was even a possibility, I was traumatized. I'm pretty sure I had to sleep with Renn for weeks after that) or that there was a ransom note. The Sullivans are pretty well-off, so that was not outside the realm of possibilities. I liked this idea better.

That played out for a while, but then they started talking about foul play or that Mrs. Sullivan ran off. That Frank was an asshole and she was getting ready to file for divorce and she took her chance in a foreign country.

But why take Fiona and not Sean?

I imagine that if I was Sean, and my sister and mom went missing for twelve years and then one of them reappeared, lying to everyone about who she was, I'd be pretty broken over it.

Like they left him on purpose. With
Frank
, of all people.

Fee moans a little.

"Fee?" I lean into her face and her lips are so near my own it would take nothing for me to kiss her. "Fiona," I breathe next to her cheek.

Her eyes flutter but they remain closed. Like she's dreaming. I pull back because if she's thinking about someone she left behind it feels wrong to take advantage of that.

She tries to turn over and I loosen my hold on her and let her settle again. She presses her back into my chest and I bury my face in her hair. The heat from the grass envelops us, makes us both hot and sweaty, but I don't care.

This counts as one of the most perfect days of my whole life. When life gives you something like this, gives you a gift that has no explanation, you just have to accept it.

So I do.

I close my eyes and I fall asleep next to the only girl I've ever cared about and I hope like hell that she'll still be around tomorrow, but if she's not, at least I have this day. This one perfect day. The day my Fiona came back and I got to rescue her on a dirt bike and sleep with her in a bed of soft green grass.

Chapter Thirteen - Francesca

I wake from the best dream.

In it I'm seven years old and we're in San Antonio, on the River Walk, just outside our hotel. The heat is oppressive—it's Texas, it's August, and it's noon. I'm watching boatloads of tourists being floated down the canal, licking some pineapple-flavored shaved ice, and holding Sophia's hand. I love her already and she's my new mom and this day is special because we're on vacation as a family for the first time.

Given the fact that we can go anywhere in the world, and on most days I'm one hundred percent on board with kicking back on my favorite South Pacific beach, San Antonio was not that special. It's sorta dirty, there's no water anywhere except for the river, and my dad was working for most of it.

But that vacation was perfect and the dream that allowed me to relive it while napping in this summer field in Ohio is also perfect.

The sunlight is beating down on my face and I'm sweaty and itchy from the hot grass, but I don't open my eyes and get up because I like how the sun makes the inside of my eyelids blaze yellow.

Brody lets out a little snore next to me and I'm pulled back to reality.

I sigh and sit up. He stays still, breathing deep. His arm is half-heartedly wrapped around my middle, but it slips off when I move.

I study him.

He looks like he belongs on a South Pacific beach himself, with that shaggy light blond hair that is the same shade on top of his head, on his chin, and even down his perfectly bronzed and muscular arms. I want to touch him, but I don't—because I want to go look at that creek that is bubbling away just off to the left, and while I wouldn't mind sharing lots of hours in my day with this boy, I have to pee something fierce and it's just better to do that when he's sleeping.

I extract myself carefully, then head off towards the sound of running water. There's a grove of trees that separates the field from the bank of the creek, and I stop to pee just inside there, then walk down the gently sloping hill to the stream. My foot slips in the mud and I slide all the way down and splash in the river.

I laugh, because what can you do?

When I get to my feet I turn around to look at my butt, and yes, sure enough it is covered in mud yet again. I kick off my shoes and wade out into the rushing water. It's not deep, only about a foot along the edge and when I wade over to a large flat rock sticking up in the middle of the water, it's just past my knees. The current is quick, but not strong, so I have no problem standing there.

The cool water rushes past my legs and I let out a sigh.

Water is where I belong. I know Lake Erie is close by, and that's a very big lake, like an ocean, Mrs. Marco told me on our way over to the Sullivans' house. And I know the Sullivans' own lakefront property, again courtesy of Mrs. Marco—not to mention I saw a bit of it, even if it was more swampy reeds than open water, when Angela and I went looking for that filly.

So I plan on finding my way back to that little marshy meadow and the lake I know must not be far away. Maybe I can't be on a South Pacific beach, but I'm lucky enough to be near the water here, so I might as well make it work.

I take a seat on the flat rock and let the creek jostle my legs as I think about other times my legs have been jostled in rivers. Not all of those times have been with my dad, but enough of them were to make me miss him again.

I sigh. I really need to stop dwelling, it's not like this is the first time I've been a bind alone.

But it is the first time I've been in a bind alone and got stuck there.

My life is not over
. I say it like a mantra.
My life is not over
. One month, that's it. Seven weeks really, the lawyers said, and Fiona will be eighteen and they cannot keep me here against my will. I can go home and see my dad.

I wonder what he's doing?

And that's all it takes to start the tears. They slip out, silently, of course, because I don't do the ugly cry, like
ever
. The tears ride the curve of my cheek until they tickle and I have to wipe them away. I'm sad, I reluctantly admit. Very sad.

And scared.

I wipe the tears one more time and catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. Brody Mason is watching me from the top of the river bank.

I tilt my head up towards him, my vision a bit blurry from the water in my eyes and the mist in the air as the river splashes against the rock, and shrug as I say it out loud.

"I'm scared."

"I'm so sorry, Fee."

I shake my head at this. "You can't call me that. I'm
not
Fiona."

He sighs as he jumps down the hill like a boy. "Yeah, whatever. I talked to Sean yesterday and he says you failed a bunch of polygraphs, they know you're Fiona. Why lie?"

He kicks off his shoes, wades over to me and takes a seat on the rock. His muscular body pushes against me, since we are sorta squished. He bends down and pulls up his pant legs, exposing his legs, which are the same golden tan color as the rest of him, and then reaches over and does the same for me. His fingertips slide up my leg with the jeans and make me shiver. He turns his head up towards me and smiles at that.

It's like my leg just blushed.

I laugh at this thought.

"What's funny?" he asks, straightening up and waving his feet around a bit in the rushing water.

"Nothing."

I stare up at him to see if he'll accept that answer and the look on his face stuns me.

It's… longing.

"Do you remember me?" he asks.

"No," I say without hesitation. "I am not Fiona Sullivan. You people do not give up, do you?" I'm instantly sorry because he turns away with a painful expression.

"OK, fine. You're Francesca, but I officially dub you Fee because I can't stop saying it."

"So you'd rather hurt me with that nickname than call me by my own name?"

"Your name's not Francesca, Fee. Sean said they found several fake passports in your luggage."

"Yeah, but I was using the Francesca one, which is my real name." I kick my feet in the water as he stays silent for a few moments, then the gap in conversation makes me uncomfortable and I continue. "Sometimes I need to get away in secret, so I am always prepared. This was nothing but a mistake, that's all."