Two Thousand Miles (21 page)

Mason still wouldn’t look at me.

“So, are you just not going to talk to me?”

“What do you
wanna talk about?”

“Last night, maybe.”

“It’s not the time, Kat.”

“Figures,” I spit.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you decided when we would kiss for the first time. You decided when we were officially dating. You decided we shouldn’t have sex the night you dumped me—” “I didn’t dump you,” he interrupted, finally looking at me.

“You broke my heart and then disappeared. I’m pretty sure that’s the textbook definition of being dumped.”

“That wasn’t what I meant to happen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s what you let happen.”

“I did what I thought was right at the time—for both of us.”

“So, if sleeping with me then wasn’t right, why did you do it last night? Did you feel sorry for me? Did your conscious force you to pity fuck the girl with all the problems?”

The look Mason gave me cut me to the core. I knew what I’d said wasn’t true at all and I regretted it. Mason glared at me, a half smirk on his lips. “We both know that if all I wanted was to fuck you, I wouldn’t have had to wait two months to do it. I could have had you anytime I wanted. I knew it the moment we met.”

“Nice,” I said, my face turning red from hurt and anger. “I guess I should thank you for not instantly taking advantage of my attraction to you.” Tears welled in my eyes.

Mason’s demeanor changed, softening. “The fact that I didn’t, should tell you somethin’ about the way I feel about you. You’re not just some girl to me, Kat. You never were.”

“If you have all of these feelings for me, why did you dump me?”

“For the last time, I didn’t dump you. You left! I was tryin’ to talk to you, to be honest with you. I said what I was feelin’ and you got pissed off and left.
You
left, not me.”

“Yes, I left, but what did you expect, Mason? I was hurt and a little embarrassed. I put myself out there for you and you rejected me.”

“I didn’t reject you, I wanted you, Kat.” Mason gritted his teeth. “I wanted you, but I had to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself!
From what? Me,” I laughed. The thought was absurd.

“Losing you!
I was afraid of falling in love with you and having to watch you leave knowing that once you did, you might never come back, but it didn’t make a difference. It happened anyway.”

“You’re in love with me,” I said in disbelief.

“I thought I made my feelings pretty clear last night.”

I shivered thinking about it; Mason and I together, was the perfect balance of sweetness and intensity.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” Mason finally said.

My heart ached. I didn’t know how to answer him. I knew I should say something, but my head and my mouth couldn’t agree
on what it should be.

Mason looked at me; he gave me a light smile that was supposed to make me believe he wasn’t hurt. My heart wanted me to fall into his arms and never let go, but my head knew I couldn’t.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you,” Mason said and disappeared into the crowd behind him. I wanted to go after him, but time had run out. Even though it wasn’t how I wanted to leave things with Mason, I had to go. I had to get on the plane.

The flight home wasn’t full, and I was glad. I wouldn’t have wanted to subject a stranger to my incessant blubbering— especially a stranger in first class. Not behaving there was frowned upon. It was the one time I would have preferred traveling by private plane, but at least the flight attendants kept their distance.

Marion had sent a car to pick me up from the airport. The driver took me straight to the hospital. I’d tried to keep my head clear during the ride over, but I couldn’t help but wonder what condition my dad would be in when I got to see him—if he would still be bandaged and full of tubes. Would he know what happened to him? Would he recognize me?
Or more importantly, would he
remember
me?

Marion was pacing around the hospital lobby, talking on her cell phone. She was nodding her head as if she was taking mental note of whatever she was being told. When she saw me, she waved me over. “Thank you, Lenny,” she said into the phone. “I’ll be in touch.”

Marion ended the call and then hugged me, which was unusual. She’d never hugged me before.

“How was your flight?”

“Fine. How is he?”

“He’s still groggy, but I told you to expect that. I got to sit with him for a while this morning. He’s talking, but doesn’t remember anything from the night he was shot yet.”

“Do the doctor’s expect him to have brain damage?”

“They say time will tell, but so far, he’s been extremely lucky.”

“Can I see him now?”

“You can,” she said and we walked in the direction of the elevators. “How did you like Cajun country?” Marion asked. Thinking about what I’d left behind was hard, but still, it made me smile. “I liked it very much
.”

Before we reached my father’s room, Marion looked at me. “He looks a little different than he did the last time you saw him. If you seem surprised, it may worry him.”

“How different?” I asked, fear filling my throat. Marion’s phone rang. “I have to take this. You’ll be fine. Just keep a smile on your face.” She answered her phone and walked away, leaving me in fear of what was on the other side of the door.

“Excuse me,” a nurse said, sliding past me
, and entering my father’s room, giving me a quick glimpse of him before the door closed. He was pale and thin—too thin. His cheeks were sunken in and his formerly clean-shaven face was covered in a short, wild looking beard. He had small touches of silver in his hair that I hadn’t remembered seeing before. He only had one small bandage on his head and no tubes, but he looked so small and frail that I wanted to cry. The door to his room opened again and the nurse exited without saying another word to me.

I caught the door before it closed and slowly stepped inside the room.

“Hi, daddy,” I smiled, forbidding myself to cry in front of him.

“
Katara.” His voice was dry and unsteady, but after months of not using it, I guess that was to be expected. He opened his hand, lying on the stark white sheets that covered him. I placed my hand in his. It felt paper thin and cold. “I’m sorry if I worried you,” he said, and feebly squeezed my hand.

I smiled. “I knew you were too tough not to make it through this. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, too, my girl.”

“Have they said when you’ll get to come home yet?”

“I’ll have to hang around here for a few more days, I’m sure. But you’re old enough to spend a night or two at home without me,” he grinned. Then he looked at me as if lightening had struck him.

“Your birthday—I missed your birthday.”

“It’s okay daddy.” I patted his hand.

“Eighteen,” he sighed
, and then mumbled, “where has the time gone?”

I
thought of how quickly time had passed. Not just while I was growing up, but over the past couple of months in Slidell.

“You look so much like your mother,” my father muttered. “I wish she was here for you.”

“I know, daddy.”

Even though she’d been gone thirteen years, there was a portrait of my mother hanging in our house in Malibu. She was dressed in a sheer ivory gown, flowing and trimmed in lace. She was nine months pregnant with me, standing on the beach, looking down at her hands cradling her belly, her blond hair curving down to her waist.  She looked beautiful, but she’d always looked beautiful in the photos I’d seen of her.

Isobel hung the portrait in the foyer of the Malibu house, instead of slinging it in the attic to collect dust. She said it was because the portrait was beautiful and just as much a portrait of me as
it was of my mother, and that no matter what I felt my mother had done wrong in her life, her choice to bring me into the world was a gift I should cherish.

As I got older, I let go of the resentment I felt toward her and decided to love my mother for the things she’s given me, instead of
hating her for the things she hadn’t. I’ve since decided to do the same for Isobel.

Marion entered my father’s room, the three of us talked for a while before she, and I left the hospital to get something to eat.

“I think you should stay with me until your dad is out of the hospital.”

“Why?” I asked, unintentionally sounding like a spoiled twelve-year-old.

“I hired a private investigator to look into Veronica’s background—” “Veronica’s dead. She’s not a threat to me.”

“She’s not a threat, but whoever killed her could be.”

“I thought she killed herself.”

“Her wrists were slit, which is why it was first thought so, but that’s not how she died. Veronica was suffocated. And once the news gets out that she was murdered and your dad is awake, the press will be everywhere trying to uncover details to report.”

I put my hands over my face and breathed out until my lungs were empty. “We probably have another day or so before the autopsy report is released. But they know what you look like and as soon as you’re spotted, they’re going to be all over you and I don’t want you to have to deal with it on your own.”

“Okay,” I agreed. Staying at home alone probably wouldn’t have been smart anyway.

“I still have some work to do, but Ray, the man who picked you up from the airport will take you to my place. I’ll call the doorman and let him know you’re coming. He’ll show you in.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, even though I didn’t want to.

Marion paid the check and left. I finished my food and waited for Ray, whom I was positive, would also be acting as my
bodyguard. I figured this because Ray was built like Mike Tyson. And because he came inside the restaurant to let me know he’d arrived instead of waiting for me to come out and find him. He’d also accompanied me inside Walgreens when I asked him if we could stop.

I’d never been to Marion’s before; she lived in a nice high-rise building, with,
like she’d said, a doorman who was expecting me. The doorman politely handed me off to a man dressed in the same navy blue uniform as he was, standing in front of an elevator. He took me to the tenth floor and let me into Marion’s apartment and told me that if I needed anything to press the call button on the speaker box next to the door.

The place was contemporary
; steel blue walls and white furniture. Her dining table and chairs were Lucite.

I found a bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror for a while before emptying the Walgreens bag. I opened the box of brown hair color I’d bought and skimmed the directions. I’d never colored my hair before, but figured it couldn’t have been that hard. I’d bought color foam and just had to work it into my hair like shampoo, wait twenty-five minutes, and rinse it out. I did it in the shower so I wouldn’t make a mess all over Marion’s white marble floor and vanity top.

One I’d finished, I found a brush and a hairdryer in the linen closet and dried my hair, making sure to stay away from the mirror until I was done. I wanted to give myself one of those
surprise reveals I’d seen on television—not that I expected mine to be that dramatic.

But
it was.

I laughed when I saw myself—out of shock. I looked nothing
like I had thirty minutes before. I wished I could have shown Shelby and Bit. They would have gotten a kick out of it.

I knew I’d have no trouble fooling the press and was glad I wouldn’t have to worry so much about avoiding them. I got in my suitcase and put on the clothes Shelby lent me to wear to New Orleans. I asked the front desk to call me a cab and left Marion a note. I needed to see
Olivia. I had to know what was going on with her—why I hadn’t heard from her while I was in Slidell.

When I exited the building, instead of a taxi, I found Ray waiting for me—proof that he’d been assigned not to let me out of his sight
. Apparently, the building employees had been made aware of Ray’s assignment as well. My new look hadn’t made Ray flinch at all, but he had seen me buy the hair dye.

Ray helped me into the back seat of the black sedan and asked me, “
Where to?” I gave him Olivia’s address, which he repeated to his GPS. Ray drove as the female voice instructed until I asked him to stop the car.

I’d never been nervous about seeing Olivia before, but that was before she’d decided to stop speaking to me for whatever reason. I asked Ray to borrow his phone. I figured it would have been easier for me to call Olivia instead of just showing up and knocking on her door in case she didn’t want to see me. Even better, I thought, would be calling from a number she didn’t recognize. Maybe then, she would answer. I dialed the number I’d known by heart since Olivia had given it to me four years ago
, feeling my heart bang around in my chest from nerves.

She didn’t answer.