I was down to one ciggie a day now. Almost always at night, right before sleep. The symbolism of that habit was something I wished wasn’t so obvious, but anything I could do to help keep away the dreams and a flashback was useful to me.
Brynne excused herself to go to the ladies, and I returned to the scrolling ticker for football scores and messages on my mobile. It was looking like I would be heading to Switzerland for the XT Europe Winter Games in January. Normally, I jump at a job like that, but this one had some concerns. Prince Christian of Lauenburg’s qualification in the snowboarding thrilled the young prince, no doubt. His grandfather—the King of Lauenburg—not so much. Royalty was tricky, and in this situation, more so. The grandson was the sole heir. Heirs are everything to royals. If that lad got hurt, it would be my reputation shot to hell. And we couldn’t forget the threat of terrorism that gained momentum like clockwork at any high-profile international event that ran. There would be a round of veiled threats put about, I predicted. The crazies couldn’t resist the opportunity for some dependable worldwide press.
I resigned myself to making the job work out as I always did, but the spark of interest was not really there for me. As long as my traveling schedule stayed clear for February, I’d be good, I decided. Baby wasn’t due until the end of the month, but I wouldn’t take the chance of being out of the country when it was Brynne’s time. I felt my stomach tighten at the thought. If I was honest, I was f**king terrified about the birth. Hospitals, doctors, blood, pain, Brynne suffering, baby struggling. There were a motherfucking myriad of things that could go wrong.
A text from Neil alerted me that something required my immediate and undivided attention. We had synchronized alert ringtones for emergencies. I read his text.
And felt my blood run cold.
The news ticker on the TV had switched off sports and over to politics.
No. Oh, f**k no.
THE look on Ethan’s face when I returned from the bathroom, told me something was very wrong. I followed Ethan’s eyes to the TV and felt my knees go weak when I saw his face. I listened to what the reporter said about him. I read his name in letters across the screen.
Seven years was a long time.
It had been seven years since I’d looked at his face. More than seven years, actually. I would be lying if I said I’d never thought about him over the course of that time. Of course I thought about him sometimes. Things like, “How could you do that to me?” Or, “Did you hate me that much?” Or, the very best one of all, “Did you know I tried to kill myself over what you did to me?”
The reporter told the whole story for me with perfect, efficient words that I didn’t want to hear, or be faced with having to comprehend.
Second Lieutenant, Lance Oakley, was one of the critically injured yesterday, when outside the Interior Ministry headquarters in Baghdad, a bomb killed five people and wounded eight more, in what is believed to be a terrorist incident. The bombing came at morning, just as workers were arriving for their day at a block of government buildings, where he was stationed as one of the few remaining US troops working in an ambassadorial capacity on the ground in that country. No terrorist organization has claimed responsibility for the attack as of yet, but that is expected to change due to the nature of Lieutenant Oakley’s connection to the inner circle of US politics at the highest levels. Lieutenant Oakley is the only son of United States Senator, Lucas Oakley, Vice Presidential candidate alongside Benjamin Colt, in the upcoming US elections held in early November, every four years. Colt’s campaign bid for highest office in the United States has been rife with tragedy since its beginning. The death of Peter Woodson, US Congressman, in early April in a fatal plane crash, led to Oakley being vetted as a replacement for Woodson. The Senator is said to be enroute to see his son, who is receiving care at Lord Guildford Hospital in London. Lieutenant Oakley, and the other wounded, were airlifted out of Baghdad to the UK for specialist care and rehabilitation. There are reports that Lieutenant Oakley’s injuries have necessitated the amputation of part of his right leg, below the knee. The news agencies are flooding officials here at Lord Guildford for any information on the status of Lieutenant Oakley. Political analysts are already weighing in, considering the effect this will have on the outcome of the presidential election in the US in less than one month. Reporting live for CNN in London…
ETHAN took us straight to the flat from our lunch at Indigo. Both of us quiet on the ride home. I wondered what he thought about the whole thing, but I didn’t really want to discuss it with him. He read me well. He didn’t ask any questions or make any demands. My man just took me home and let me be.
This was Dr. Roswell territory for sure.
Ethan was working in his office when my phone rang. I knew who it was before I ever checked. “Hello, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, did you see the news about Lance?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you feeling about it?”
I took a very deep breath and was very grateful that my mother lived in San Francisco and we were separated by an ocean, because I quickly figured out where this conversation was heading, and I didn’t like it. “I’m feeling like I don’t want to hear his name, or see his picture, or hear about his father running for Vice President, or knowing that it will be everywhere in the news—”
“—Brynne, listen to me. Senator Oakley will want you to go and visit Lance in a show of support and ties to your friendship, and since you live in London I think you should consider—”
“No! There is no way in hell, Mom! Have you lost your mind?”
Silence. I could picture her lips pursing in measured frustration with me.
“No, Brynne, I have not lost my mind. I am thinking of you and trying to make you see that for the good of your happiness and future peace of mind you should go and make a visit to an old family friend.”
“How can you ask that of me, Mother? You want me to go visit the man who hurt me and made a video that nearly destroyed me? You want me to do this? Why? Because his dad is running for Vice President and it will look great for our family to be connected to his family? Is that…why?” It hurt me to ask the question, but I had to know. I hoped she could tell me if it was true. I doubted it, though. The tears I wanted to cry didn’t come. Instead my heart hardened a little more toward the woman who’d given me life. She claimed to love me, but I didn’t believe it anymore.