Read Next to Me Online

Authors: AnnaLisa Grant

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BOOK: Next to Me
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My father could get pretty bold with his bragging, whether it was about me and my dancing or him with his ability to create a locking system no one could break into…no one except him. My father learned a lot about breaking and entering when he was running the streets with his crew back in the day. The first thing he learned quickly was how not to get caught. Dad wasn’t about running fast or even talking his way out of things. Dad was about mastering skills that would leave no evidence you were there in the first place. Except, of course, for the missing goods. He thought it was so unnecessary for guys to smash and grab, leaving a mess everywhere. He told me he was classier than that. So, Dad would do things like seal up a glass display case and work for hours and days at a time to break into it without leaving a single scratch. That’s what made him so valuable to a collector like Dellinger. And now that Dellinger knows I carry the same skills as my father, he’ll be after me to pick up where my father left off.

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to go to your sister’s? I’m already

concerned about you! I don’t want your family in danger, too,” I protest.

“No one is going to look for you there. She’s not really my sister. She’s the sister of a guy your dad and I used to hang with. When he got pinched back in the day, your dad and I promised to take care of her, so, we’re family. Our five minutes is up. Let’s go.” Oz opens the back door and I take one last look around the kitchen and into the living room before passing him and stepping outside.

Before I know it we’re on the highway and crossing into Maryland. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head, tired. I’m tired from crying. Tired from the whirlwind of the last hours. And already tired of running. I close my eyes thinking it best for me to give in to my need for sleep, but all I do is relive the moment I found my father dying from a gunshot wound under a tree that, up until that moment, held nothing but fond memories. I shudder at the thought of how many people were probably around at the time, totally unaware that a man had most certainly attached a silencer to his gun, walked up to my father, and shot him at close range without even saying a word.

We used to fly kites in the park, and Mom would read to me as we leaned against that tree. One year for my birthday we picnicked under the shade it provided. That was the year Dad got me one of those motorized boats. I barely had it out of the package before I was headed straight for the pond declaring that I just
had
to drive it in the water.

So many fond memories all washed away in a matter of moments.

“I just left him there, Oz,” I whisper. “I just left him there to die.” I begin to cry again and Oz puts his hand on my shoulder. “How could I do that?”

“You did it because he told you to. Bobby would have been so mad at you if you stayed there and watched him die. Even madder if Dellinger’s guys had come back and found you,” Oz tells me in a soft, but straightforward tone. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make this any easier.

“You pulled two envelopes from the kitchen wall but only gave me one.

What’s in them?” I ask deciding to move onto the logistics of the situation.

Dad had those files hidden for a reason. They must contain some pretty important information.

“Get some rest. We’ll be at Paulina’s in about an hour. We’ll talk then.” Oz puts both hands back on the wheel and all his focus back to the road.  I agree only in my lack of objection and rest my cheek back on my knees, sure that I won’t be able to fall asleep because of everything that keeps running through my head. I stand corrected, though, when the car stops and Oz nudges me awake.

“We’re here already?” I ask as I rub the sleepy saline from the corner of my eyes.

“Yep.” Oz is out of the car and pulling my bag from the hatch in a flash. “Ronnie, let’s go. C’mon,” he rushes.

I follow quickly from the car to the front door as it is being opened by a woman who looks more like she belongs on the Jersey shore than she does in north Virginia. Her dark brown, almost black hair is big and poufed up in the front. Her leopard print leggings are only slightly less distracting than the ultra-plunged neckline of the black top she’s wearing, and the gold chains that are tucked awkwardly into her cleavage. Her chest is huge and I can’t help but think that if I were a guy my eyes would be glued to that golden trail. However, her distracting exterior is quickly overshadowed by her warm and inviting personality as she embraces me and Oz and moves us into the large kitchen.

“I’ve got your favorite meat loaf and mashed potatoes ready for you, Ozzy. I hope that’s good for you, dear,” she says in the most warm and motherly voice. It’s sweet and kind, and if this is where Oz has taken me to start a new life, then I think I might be ok.

“Yes, that’s great, thank you,” I tell her.

“You’re the best, Paulina,” Oz says. She just smiles and nods and goes about finishing making our meal. Oz pulls out the envelope he stuffed into my bag and puts it on the table.

“What about the other one?” I ask him, curious as to what is in both of these mysterious envelopes.

“The important things you need to know now are in here.” Oz opens the envelope and pulls out a small stack of papers and a smaller, letter-size envelope. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment before he speaks. “You know that when I offered to help you guys out financially Bobby immediately shot me down. What you don’t know is that six months later Bobby came to me with a compromise of how I could help.” Oz slides the papers he took from the large envelope so they’re right in front of me. He nods, giving me permission to view them.

I flip through the pages, not fully understanding what I’m seeing. All of the papers and forms I’m staring at have someone else’s name on them. I open the smaller envelope and pull out a Social Security Card with the same name as is on all the paperwork: Jenna Rockwell. I sort through the rest of the cards and find credit cards with the same name, finally finding a driver’s license with my picture, bearing Jenna Rockwell’s name.

“I don’t understand, Oz,” I say quietly.

“Bobby came to me and asked me to have a new identity created for you. He didn’t know when, but he knew that his term with Dellinger was going to end badly. Once he was gone, he knew Dellinger would come after you. He had me put every penny I offered him into an investment account for you, well, for Jenna Rockwell. You’ve got plenty of money to start your new life wherever you want, Ronnie.” Oz’s delivery is straight and unwavering. It makes me wonder how many times he thought about, or even practiced, what he was going to say to me when the time came.

“What if I don’t want to be this Jenna Rockwell? I
like
being Veronica Matthews,” I tell him in protest. “Why can’t I just stay here with Paulina?”

“Unless you want to become an indentured servant to Dellinger, too, Veronica Matthews has to cease existing,” he answers.

“So, what? I’m supposed to just, what, start over? Where?” I fluster at

Oz, picking up the pieces of my new identity then tossing them back on the table.

“You can go wherever you want. You can do whatever you want. There are high school transcripts and an impressive SAT score for Jenna Rockwell. You can get into any school in any city and do anything. You may not have a choice in starting this new life, but you have a choice where you start it.” I don’t ask because I probably need to maintain plausible deniability, but it’s most likely that one of Dad and Oz’s old friends knows how to manipulate computer systems and forge legal documents, giving me my new identity.

I take a deep breath and let what Oz just said soak in. I don’t have a choice about starting over because I’ve decided I never want to be connected to Senator Dellinger in any way. I saw what he did to my father. Dad had been full of life, even in the face of tragedy with Mom. Once Dellinger roped him in to doing his dirty work for him, Dad died a little with ever job, knowing how disappointed Mom would have been.

“So…what do I do now? How long do I have to decide where I want to go? What I want to do?” I ask Oz as I surrender to the reality of my circumstance. I’ll handle the logistics of everything now and then resolve to crying myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life.

“Do you still want to be a nurse?” Oz asks softly, seeing my defeat. “Had you already decided where you wanted to go to school?”

“Yeah, actually. Dad and I had been saving. I was hoping to apply and start at Radians in January. But…there are some really great teaching hospitals in Chicago. I had wanted to go there, but didn’t want to leave Dad,” I tell him.

It was during a writing assignment on the greatest cities in the world during my senior year that I discovered the greatness of Chicago. A lot of people wrote about London, Paris, New York and LA. I started to write about New York, too, but stumbled across an article about the shopping on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. That article lead to another and before I knew it was learning all about the Windy City and totally falling in love with it. I decided that one day I wanted to visit so I scanned a copy and kept every article I read saved on my computer, along with the paper that I got an A+ on.

“Write down all the specifics and I’ll take care of everything.” Oz slides the envelope he hasn’t shown the contents of to me and pulls a pen from a drawer in the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Oz leaves me sitting in the kitchen, staring at this large, blank envelope.
How did this happen?
I ask myself. I know how it happened. Senator Henry Dellinger happened. It’s probably best that I’m leaving DC for good. It wasn’t just Dad’s lock-picking skills he taught me. I became a really good shot with the gun in the case in my bag, and I spent more than enough time in the gym training to know how to kick ass if I had to. If I ever see Dellinger again I’ll be putting all my skills to use.

“Here you go, hon,” Paulina says sweetly as she fixes a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes and sets it in front of me.

“Thank you,” I tell her with a small smile. “It smells and looks delicious.”

“It’s Ozzy’s favorite. I was glad I had everything on hand when he called.” Paulina smiles warmly and a part of me wishes that I really could just stay here with her.

“When did he call?” I was with Oz the whole time and I never saw him call her.

“He was talking all hushed, so I think you must have been sleeping,” she tells me.

“Paulina, this is amazing. I’ve tried to make your meat loaf a hundred

times and it never comes out this good!” Oz kisses the top of her head as he comes into the kitchen. She’s already got a plate with a double portion ready for him. “How ya doin’, Angel?”

“I’m ok, I guess. At least I still have you, Oz.” I smile weakly, a mix of

sadness and joy filling me. I’ll be eternally devastated at losing Dad, but am finding a level of joy at knowing I have my second dad in Oz.

“Actually…you don’t.” Now Oz looks sad.

“What do you mean? Why won’t I have you?” Fear fills my eyes and begins to overflow.

“You can’t have any contact with anyone in DC. It’s too risky. Dellinger will most likely have me monitored and if I start getting calls from a Chicago number he’ll put it together. I know it sucks, but it is what it is. I’m so sorry, Angel.” Oz takes my hand in his two huge ones and looks into my eyes. “Even though I can’t be with you, I’ll always take care of you. You’re the daughter I never had, Ronnie. I hate it that you’re having to do this, but I know that you can do it. Your dad did a great job  preparing you for anything.”

It’s not fair. I’m giving up everything of my life in DC. What are the few friends I had going to think? And my dance instructors? They’ll think I walked away from the one thing that I loved more than anything. But…this is it. I either stay in DC and let Dellinger control me like he did my father, or I become Jenna Rockwell, which means I get to have the life my father wanted me to have.

I breathe a sigh and extend my hand to Oz, taking the first step in assuming this new life. “Jenna Rockwell. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Six years later.

 

I stand here, watching them as I have so many times before. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and sometimes grandparents. They all look on and wait for this person whom they love dearly to die, too many of them long before their time. They cry and get angry, letting rage fill them at times. I saw a sweet looking mother in her mid-50s clock the hospital chaplain in the jaw with a pretty good right hook one time. Her 31-year-old daughter died from Lupus that day.

Today though…today is one of those times when a family has chosen to have peace. I’m always amazed at these families. I understand the right-hook-momma a lot more. The patient’s parents and siblings have all gathered around this once vibrant and handsome 38-year-old man to watch cancer take its final bites out of his life. Mom strokes his hair, while his father holds his hand. They both whisper how much they love him and how proud they are of all that he accomplished. He gives them the faintest of smiles that I know took every single ounce of energy he has in him to give. He’ll slip into an unconscious state soon, and then it really will just be a matter of time. But…as I see the look on his family’s faces, I know they’re going to be some of the luckier ones who grieve and are able to keep living their lives.

I sigh as the hospital chaplain comes in and the patient’s nurse comes out. “You doing ok?” I ask Mercy. She’s been a nurse longer than I have and I see the same look on her face every time she’s about to lose a patient.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Thanks, Jenna. I’ve been doing this for eight years and it just never gets easier. They’re a sweet family, and he was a sweet guy,” she says. Mercy is a doll of a girl at just 5’3”. Second generation Italian-American, she’s the living example of “you can take the girl out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the girl.” She’s smart, feisty, and the kind of girl you want to have on your side. She’s turning 30 this weekend but still looks like she’s 20 with her soft features and brown eyes. She gets carded every time we go out, and would tonight, too, if we weren’t going to our regular hangout, Duke’s.

BOOK: Next to Me
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ads

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