Twisted Proposal (15 page)

Jackson was in the driveway leaning against a black Porsche. He tapped the ash from his cigarette and frowned with a sour expression on his frat boy face.

“May I have one?” I asked, amused by his startled twitch. Instead of answering, he took another deep drag, blowing the smoke out slowly through his nose. I swung around to face him and swiped his cigarette.

“You can’t just force your way into my life and expect me to like you.” I took a puff. Peppermint and strong.

“I don’t expect anything.” His eyes avoided mine.

I laughed. He was the worst liar. “Right and I have butterfly wings. Truce, okay?” I handed the cigarette back to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.  He held me close for a few seconds.

“Smile,” Morgan said from behind us. As we turned, a camera flash popped. I blinked a few times. I started to move, but Jackson wouldn’t let me.

“Relax. She wants to get a few pictures of the dress.” He said.

“Okay.” I leaned against him. She snapped a few more, then suggested I pose alone.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never posed for photos like these before.  After a few more minutes of my turning and mugging and Morgan snapping the camera, Mr. Van Buren hurried her into a waiting limo.

Jackson touched my hair and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Get some sleep, Beautiful, and lay off the liquor. It makes you look cheap,” he said and eased into the driver's side of the Porsche.

Part of me wanted to pick up a rock and throw it at his back window, but I stopped myself.
Screw him.
I returned to the house where Stuart was waiting for me in the foyer.

“What? I apologized. What more do you want?”

“I know it’s your first time attending anything remotely important, so I don’t expect you to fit in right away.” I noticed he held a cocktail. He drained it and set the empty glass on the table with vase of lilies.

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking, Dad?” I marched into the dining room. I wasn’t going to listen to his crap.

“Mr. Van Buren is my boss, and his impression of my family is very important to me.” He followed me, his voice rising as he walked.

“And this has what to do with me? Can’t this wait ‘til morning?” I threw over my shoulder.

“No it can’t. Petra’s worried that what happened between Jackson and you might affect the rest of us.”

I paused in front of the coffee pot long enough to pour a cup, then scurried into the plant room. “I highly doubt Mr. Van Buren’s concerned with his son’s business, let alone anyone else in this family.” I settled into one of the comfortable wicker chairs and sipped my coffee.

“That very well may be, but Jackson is a guest and –“

“And I treated him like one. I’m not going to do something that I don’t feel comfortable with, just to make his life any easier." I hesitated. "Or yours.”

“No one’s asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. Just be polite,”

“Polite? Is that what you call it? Why am I here, Stuart? What was that garbage before dinner? I know you two were talking about me.” It pleased me to see him flush. Clearly I had touched upon a sensitive point.

He began picking off the dead heads of a nearby plant. “Nothing. It’s a minor misunderstanding.” He started toward the kitchen.  “Good night, Addison. Tomorrow we’ll discuss your drinking.”

“I’m not finished talking.”

              “I am.” He shut the door behind him. It was obvious he was lying about the Van Buren’s, but why?

Chapter Fifteen

              I came to in a hospital bed. “Mom?” I raised my arm but something pulled it back. An IV.

“Addison.” Sandy was sitting next to my bed.

“Mom, I have to get to Mom!” I tried to get out of bed but couldn’t figure out how to sit upright. Everything felt so heavy. Sandy’s face held a mixture of emotions: anger, sadness, and utter disbelief.  We were alone. I blinked a few times. Where was my Mom?

"They gave you a strong sedative,” Sandy said, and I struggled to gather my thoughts. Was she really gone? A nurse entered the room and handed me a glass of water.

"Where did you get the black eye, honey?" the nurse asked. "Do you remember?"

I looked at her, took another sip of my water. “Where’s Mom?” I asked Sandy again.

“I’m sorry, but she’s gone, dear.”

              “No, no, that’s not true. You're lying.” I sounded drunk.

“I’m afraid not. She’s really gone, Addison.”

              I started crying. “What happens now?”

“Let’s not worry about that now. I’m so sorry, Addison.” It sounded liked Sandy was a million miles away.  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

“Addison?” someone said, and I opened my eyes to see a different nurse staring at me. Turning away from her, I faced the wall.

She leaned in close and whispered, “I wanted to let you know that the hospital does have a pastor…if you…wanted to talk to one.”

“No
-
-” I sat up. Everything tilted, forcing me to lie back down. The sedative, I remembered.

The nurse smiled. “It’ll wear off. I’ll be back to check on you later.” She left. 

Gripping the side rails, I pulled myself to a sitting position. Where was Sandy? A plastic bag with the hospital's name on it lay by my feet. Inside were Eve’s clothes, a pair a grey sweats, a blue spaghetti strap shirt, and her jeans jacket. “Mom,” I cried. After removing the jeans jacket, I wrapped it around my shoulders. It still smelled like her. I clutched it, hoping Mom would magically return.

It was dark outside, and rain pounded against the window. Maybe they were wrong; perhaps Eve was still in her room. I no longer felt dizzy when I sat up, so I peeled the medical tape from my arm and ripped out the IV needle, wincing from the pain. Then I covered my wound with the tape and slipped on my shoes. I had to find her! I crept down an empty hall where I made it to the stairs unseen. I ran up to the fifth floor. The hall was deserted; Mom was in room 519. I didn’t care if she was dead or not. I needed to see her.

I walked into an empty room. The bed had been stripped, and there was an old man cleaning the mattress with disinfectant spray. Everything was gone, empty, taken, leaving behind a strong smell of bleach.

“May I help you?” he asked. I shook my head and quickly left the room. It was stupid to believe she would actually still be there. She was probably in the morgue! Could I go down there? What if…what if she was in pieces or something?

I took a deep breath and forced myself to go downstairs. Cold air blew from the vent in the hall, and I pulled her jacket tight around me.

“Addison.” A whisper came from behind me.

“Mom?” Afraid to turn around, I held my ground.

“Addison, turn around,” the voice beckoned.

“No.” Crying, I knelt to the ground, my breath coming out in white puffs. What was going on? I had to look. I forced myself to look over my shoulder, and Mom was hovering above the ground in her hospital gown. Blood was splattered all over. I screamed.

***

I shot up in bed gasping for air.
Mom!
I fumbled with lamp by my bed and clicked it on, illuminating my room. I was still alive and in bed. I wiped my face with my hand and trembled.
No, not Mom, but Elizabeth. I didn’t know my mother.

I had to get a grip on these dreams or memories, whatever they were.
Maybe Elizabeth was trying to communicate with me.
No that was stupid. They were just nightmares.

Lying back down, I pulled the covers around me and shut my eyes. The memory of Elizabeth leaning over me clouded my mind, so I got up. There was no point in sleeping anymore.  Turning on the television, I noticed a bag sitting on my desk.
What was that doing here?
I glanced around the room again. Nothing else seemed to be out of place. I walked over to the bag, and it was empty.  There was a note on the desk. I turned on the desk lamp.

“Why don’t you just leave? No one wants you here anyway!”
Lexus’s signature was scrawled across the bottom.
Fine.
I wouldn't stay here since it was obvious I wasn’t wanted. Not to mention, I didn’t want to wait to see what the Van Buren’s had planned for me. I formulated a scheme as I packed a few outfits and headed downstairs. If I could make it to the main highway and hitch a ride, that might buy me enough time to figure out my next move. Things would be better this way, plus I would be in control. Just the way I like it.

I smelled coffee as I made it to the foyer. Pausing, I set my bag near the door. One cup before I left couldn’t hurt. I tiptoed through the dim dining room. The fragrance of mild roasted Columbian greeted me, and I smiled. I would miss this. Cradling the mug in my hands, I turned around and froze.

Stuart was sitting at the table reading the
Wall Street Journal
. “You’re up early. Did you sleep well?” He didn’t look up.

“Good morning. And no.” I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially him.
Did he ever sleep?

“Care to join me?” Our eyes met.
Did I have a choice?

“I guess.”
What was I going to do now?

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

“Ready to tell me why I’m here?”

“As I previously stated, you’re here because you're my daughter. Nothing more."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I sipped my coffee not believing him. “Fine, don’t tell me, but it’s only a matter of time. Besides, I’m leaving anyway.”

“Is that why you’re up early?”

“Yes, I found a note from your daughter suggesting it. So rather than being an inconvenience to anyone else, I’m gone.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “You know she’s just threatened by you, especially since Jackson seems to like you. You’ve caught his eye.”

“That’s because you set us up.” The cook entered the room and began getting things out of the fridge. Shifting in his chair, Stuart went back to his newspaper.

I rinsed my cup in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher. “I’m going now.” I started for the front door. I didn’t have the energy to deal with the secrets anymore.

Just as I stepped out on the front porch, Stuart grabbed my bag ripping it from my hands and tossing it in the ground. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me.” I went to walk out the door and he stiff-armed me, pushing me forward. One foot went forward, the other slipped to the side landing me on my butt. Not exactly the escape plan I had counted on.

Stuart leaned over and offered a hand.

I smacked it away. “Give me my bag back,” I said getting to my feet, ignoring the pain in my knee hurt.

“You’re not leaving.”

“Fine, keep it.” I jolted down the steps and ran up the steep hill out onto the street. Stuart padded behind me, so I picked up my pace.

Running had always been one of my strengths and I enjoyed it, but no matter how I much I pushed forward, Stuart stayed close behind me. I’m sure to an onlooker we appeared to be going for a morning jog. The sun rose, pouring light through the trees as we made our way past a park and down another street. Pain shot up my legs, but I commanded them to keep going. 

After yet another cul-de-sac, I bent over to catch my breath. Stuart joined me seconds later.

“Ready to head home?”  He wheezed slightly.  At least I had given him a challenge.

I glared at him and sat down on the asphalt road. “That’s… not… my home.”

His phone jingled. He turned away to answer. Part of me wanted to take off again, but I couldn’t feel my legs.

He hung up and faced me. “Come on, we've got to get back. I have to go to work.”

“I’m not –“

“Enough, Addison.” He pulled me upright. I jerked my hand away and pitched forward, scraping my knees. I bit back tears as I surveyed the damage. No blood, just few bright pink scratches.

“Come on,” he said again.

This time I ran next to him, both of us keeping the same pace. Even so, I was out of breath by the time we reached the sloping driveway.

Stuart watched me collapse in the front yard. His eyes were cold. “When you’re finished, come inside.”

The tears didn’t come until after he was gone. I sat up, but my legs refused to move and so I lay back, propped up on my forearms. I screamed out in frustration and hit the ground. No one came to check on me, besides it wasn’t like I was going anywhere.

After stretching for a few minutes, I was able to stand and go inside. I wasn’t finished with our conversation yet. The cook was scrambling eggs as I limped into the kitchen.

              “You’re back,” Petra said from the island, her voice full of disappointment. She wore a short gray robe and no makeup, making her look old. A Bloody Mary was in front of her, complete with a stalk of celery sticking out of it like a straw.

              Leaning on the counter in front of her, I said, “Look, Petra, I know you don’t like me, and honestly, I can say the feeling's mutual. So if you’d kindly convince your husband that everyone would fare better if went back to Illinois, I would greatly appreciate it. You can do that, can’t you?” I pulled the celery from her drink and bit into it, watching her mouth drop open.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Stuart said, taking the celery away from me and pitching it in the trash. He gave me a dirty look as he kissed Petra on the forehead. I turned away and was handed a cup of coffee and a plate with eggs and toast by the cook.

“Thanks.” I sat down.

“The next time you decide to run off without as much as a word of where you’re going I’ll be calling the cops. Understand?” Stuart took a seat across from me. His face was still flushed from the run.

              As if that would deter me.
“I’m not going to stay somewhere I’m not welcome.”

“Enough. Now I’m due at the office for at least a few hours. I want things to move smoothly while I’m gone.” He turned to Petra. “I know this is hard on you, honey, but I had to do what I thought best.”

              Petra shook her head. “I can’t believe you let her run around with a black eye. What will the neighbors think?”

              “I’m sure no one saw anything. Besides, it’s almost gone,” he said.

“But what if they did? And I still can’t believe you left in the middle of the day and brought back your ex’s kid. You didn’t even consult me! Dr. Paul says you should have consulted me!”

I couldn't help but grin.
I could only imagine who Dr. Paul was.

Stuart sighed. “She didn’t have anywhere to go. There were no options. I had no choice but to bring her back.”

              I dropped my fork and stood. I hated when people talked about me like I wasn't even there. “Excuse me, but it wasn’t
my
fault my aunt died. And believe it or not, I
can
take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for the eleven years. I never asked either of you to step in and make a mess of things.”

They just stared at me, speechless. Even the cook gaped at me.

“You know what? Screw this.” I bolted through the dining room to my room.

              Stuart pushed open my bedroom door a few minutes later. “Addison?”

              “Go away.” I buried my face in my pillow.

              “I’m sorry. We all have to adjust.”

              “Just leave, please.” The door slammed shut. They didn’t know the meaning of the word adjust.

*  *  *

Later that day, I called Dr. Franklin, just to talk, but got her voicemail again. Tired of leaving messages, I hung up without saying anything. It was obvious she wasn’t going to call me anymore. But I needed to vent.

When I stumbled downstairs, I ran into Petra waiting in the foyer. She’d changed into another flowered mini dress that exposed too much leg and chest for a woman her age.
Why did she insist on dressing like a teen?

“Where are you going?” She seemed surprised to see me so soon.

“Nowhere.” I past her and headed into the kitchen, where I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She was standing right behind the door when I shut it. I stepped back.
What did she want?

“You were right earlier, but that doesn’t change the fact that you will be doing things I wanted my daughter to do,”

              “What are you talking about? And why would you assume that?”

She followed me as I moved to the end of the island. “Addison, you’re gorgeous. Don’t play dumb with me. Look around. You’re in California. Perfect example--Morgan Van Buren is making clothes specifically for you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”