Rare and Precious Things (23 page)

I cradled my stomach protectively, needing reassurance from something pure and innocent.
So much ugliness in my twenty-five years—surely I could find beauty and peace moving forward. And just like a message from above, I was rewarded with a little nudge right under my ribs as if to say, “I’m still here and I know you’re my mom.”
Yes, my butterfly angel, I am.

“So, your life ch
anged after that night…just like mine,” I said after a moment.

“Yes. The choices I made that night changed everything.”

WE said our goodbyes on the busy street with more of the media circus I’d experienced before, with security, and drivers, and photographers. I really needed to get back to the flat to start dinner for Ethan as this was our last night together for a week. He had to leave for Switzerland very early in the morning.

Th
e whole meeting with Lance had been on the bizarre side of things, but I felt so much lighter with my guilt after hearing his revelation. Still ashamed of my behavior that brought me to be on that pool table seven years ago, but a great deal of the self-loathing was freed for me. I felt tremendous relief, and for the first time, felt like the feeling might actually remain with me.

“Thank you, Lance.”

He looked at me curiously. “Why, Brynne?”

“For telling me your story.
For some reason, it helps me to let go…of it.” I rested a hand on the top of my belly, unable to explain such a private thought with any kind of clear understanding, but it made perfect sense to me. “I’ll be a mother soon, and I want my baby to have a mom who can hold her head up, and know she didn’t do anything wrong, that she’s a good person, who did a stupid thing in a long line of stupid things.”

“You are a good person, Brynne…and we all do stupid things
, unfortunately. And sometimes bad things happen to us without any intervention from the stupid things we do.” He looked down at his prosthetic.

“What will you do now, Lance?”

“Go back home and figure out what I can do now that I’m done with the Army. Learn to live with one leg. Maybe go back to school and finally get my law degree.”

“You should do it then, if that’s what you want.” I smiled. “
I bet the stuffy law professors at Stanford will just love all your ink.”

He laughed. “Yeah, about as much as the people in D.C., but it’s good to shake things up once in a while.” His driver opened the car door, signaling that it was time to go.

“I think you’re being summoned,” I said, gesturing toward the car.

“Yeah.”
He looked like he had more to say as his eyes studied me. “Brynne?”

“Yes
, Lance?”

“
Telling you helped me, too. More than you can ever know. You deserved to hear it from me a long time ago. So thank you again, for seeing me.” He sucked in a deep breath as if he was gathering strength. “You’re more beautiful now than when you were seventeen, and I’m so glad I got to see you pregnant. You’re going to be a wonderful mother. And I want
you
to remember that you’re beautiful in spite of how we sometimes see ourselves. I’m going to remember you just like you are right now.” He finished with a smile, but I could see how all the confessing was starting to get to him. This meeting had been emotional for him, for me—and now it was time for us to say goodbye to each other.

I wasn’
t quite sure how to respond to his many compliments, but again, they were heartening to hear from him. “I wish you well, Lance.” I put out my hand. “I hope you get the chance to pursue your own dreams now.”

He took my offered han
d and leaned into me for a half-hug, and even a press of his cheek to mine. Then he got into the back of the limousine, the window tint so dark he was made invisible to me the instant the door closed behind him.

And just like that, Lanc
e Oakley was gone.

THE
drizzle was strangely comforting on my walk home. It reminded me of the dreary days I’d learned to get used to when the climate was still new to me. In the beginning, when I first moved to London, I missed the California sunshine. But as I blossomed in my new environment, immersing myself with school and the heavy cultural influences around me, I grew to love the London rain. So, as the drizzly drops scattered over my purple hat and scarf, I wasn’t bothered a bit. The rain had always felt cleansing to me.

I walked faster, hurrying
to make it home before Ethan discovered my absence, and the questions he would have about where I’d been. I knew I absolutely wasn’t ready to discuss Lance with him yet. I owned the truth about what had happened to me seven years ago at that party, and re-hashing it again in conversation was not something I was quite ready to share, even with Ethan. He would have to understand that I needed to do this my way, and trust in me to make the best decision for myself. And, in many ways, for us. Ethan should understand the process now as he was finally into therapy himself. Being forced to re-live traumatic events did not always help the victim. Sometimes it hurt badly.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors of our building and waved to Claude as I he
aded for the elevator. I pressed the button and waited, feeling a little sweaty now that I was out of the rain. I dragged off my hat and figured I now sported mega hat-hair, and hoped I wouldn’t have to ride up with anyone, to spare him or her the sight of me.

The doors opened and
out came a tall blonde I’d seen before. Sarah Hastings was dabbing at the corner of her eye with a floral handkerchief, as if she were drying tears.

S
he stopped abruptly, realizing I’d spotted her, and it was too late to pretend I hadn’t. “Oh, Brynne, hello, it’s me, Sarah. Do you remember me from Neil’s wedding?”

“Yes, of course, I remember you. How are you?” What I really wanted to ask
her was a bit different:
Why are you coming out of my building, and were you just up with Ethan?

I had my reasons to be wary of Sarah
, though. The texts from Ethan on her phone were one annoying thing, but when she called him later that evening, my wifely intuition perked up. And now she was here at our home meeting with him? I got the feeling she was using him, or possibly something more, and I did not like it one little bit. I also knew how hard it was for Ethan to interact with her. Ethan’s worst trauma had been the loss of Mike while they were prisoners. He’d been forced to watch the murder and was tortured emotionally throughout. It was horrible for him to have to re-live the events through Sarah each time she called, or wanted to reminisce, or whatever the hell she was trying to do with my husband.

She swept her eyes over me, took in my swelling pregnant self, and much to my irritation, the messy hair and damp skin.
I knew I looked ghastly. “Oh, I’m just leaving now, but I’m fine, thank you.” She blinked and looked down at the ground. Her eyes were red and it was apparent to me she’d been crying.

“Are you sure? You look upset.”

“Actually, I’ve just left your husband—there was—something I needed…to give him.”

“
May I ask what that was?” I asked, boldly.

“Um…I th
ink you have to ask Ethan, Brynne, I’m not at liberty to say.” She shook her head and looked pained to be standing and talking to me. Sarah Hastings resented me, and if I had to peg her further, I’d say she felt guilty about it, too. Maybe she begrudged the life Ethan and I were living together…while she had only memories of Mike.

Exactly what I was afraid of.
The feelings coursing through me were unwelcome and unpleasant. I felt jealous and useless at the same time. I didn’t know what to say to her so I just nodded and stepped into the elevator. Sarah had already turned away when the doors closed.

When I let myself into the flat I
anticipated Ethan to be right there tapping his foot, but he wasn’t. Things were quiet. It wasn’t Annabelle’s day so I wasn’t expecting her to be around, but Ethan knew I planned on cooking tonight so we could have a quiet evening together before he left for his trip.

I checked our bedroom, thinking he might be in there packing, but he wasn’t.
I headed back through the great room toward the other side of the flat, when I smelled the cloves. The door to his office was closed, but I peeked in without knocking. The room was dark except for two forms of illumination: the aquarium and the burning tip of his Djarum Black.

“You’re in here.” My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and caught a glimpse of his face through
the shadows. He looked grim as he sat there smoking in his study. Not happy to see me. No real acknowledgment. “Is everything all right?” I asked, stepping forward.

“You’re back,” he said
idly. He just sat there staring at me, the bright lights of the tank framing him from behind, Simba and Dory swimming peacefully among the pieces of bright coral, as he ignored my question.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” I wondered if he would tell me about Sarah’s visit
. It was pretty clear that he was upset over it. He tended to go on a smoking fit after a bad dream or a flashback. Meeting or talking to Sarah seemed to bring about the same sorts of coping behaviors in him, but he smoked outside now exclusively, so doing it inside his office was my first clue that something wasn’t right. I wanted him to tell me about their conversations, but so far he hadn’t shared. I didn’t push him, as I’d promised, but it hurt me that Ethan could apparently speak to Sarah about things that he couldn’t with me. She could help him but I couldn’t? I wasn’t happy with how his reaching out to Sarah made me feel, but felt I couldn’t complain or bother him with it because it would just make things harder for him. I never wanted to be the one responsible for bringing Ethan more hurt and stress than he already had to deal with.

“How was your walk?” he asked, stubbing out his cigarette and standing. “I don’t want
you in here breathing this shit.”

“Then why are you smoking in the house?”
His manner was so cold, I felt a shiver of nervousness catch me.

“My bad.”
He stalked toward me and steered me out with a firm hand to my back. There would be no resisting and no arguing, I could see that plain as day in the rigidity of his stance as he moved beside me.

We came into the kitchen where he left me to sit at the bar.
He often sat there while I cooked dinner, either working on a laptop or asking about my day. But he didn’t look like he wanted to chat when he set his phone on the granite countertop with a clap. He looked up at me and folded his hands. His eyes told me he was fuming, swirling dark blue and searing.

I swallowed and tried again. “Ethan, did something happen to upset you?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t answer the question. I realized he hadn’t answered a single question I’d asked him since I’d come home.

“Where did you go for your walk
, baby?”
He’s answering everything with questions of his own.

“I walked to Hot Java,” I said slowly,
but getting the feeling he already knew. “Do you have something to say to me, Ethan?”

“No, my darling, I don’t, but I
very much think you do.” He picked up his phone and held the screen up for me to see.

Lance Oakley
embracing me on the street.