Deception by Aleatha Romig
“We’re going to the hospital in Rye,” I said after I had us both in the car. Though I had him belted in and his seat reclined, he continued to jerk his head forward and mumble things I couldn’t make out.
“WHY WON’T THEY tell us more? It’s been hours,” Angelina said as she stood again. Up and down, back and forth. It was as if she needed to keep moving.
“Because he’s an adult.” I didn’t like the answer any more than she did, and obviously he hadn’t acted like an adult, but nevertheless, according to his age, it was the truth. It was the hospital’s policy. It didn’t matter who brought him here or who was paying the damn bill. Fucking regulations.
My ex-wife finally spun toward me.
“I want you to be honest with me.”
“About?” I’d fallen into that trap too many times to count.
“About tonight. It doesn’t make sense,” Angelina said, wringing her hands as she again paced the small waiting area.
Sitting back in an orange vinyl-covered chair, I stretched out my legs. There were red droplets on the leather of my shoes. I’d washed Lennox’s blood from my hands, but my suit and maybe my shoes were probably ruined.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her blue eyes darkening. “What did you do?”
“Me? I saved our son’s life.”
“We’re family, Vincent and I. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t have a reason.”
“He said he was teaching Lennox respect.”
Angelina lowered her tone. “Lennox or you? Why’d he call you and not me?”
I stood and tried to keep my volume low. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t want his princess cousin to show up in the warehouse district and watch her son beaten to death.”
“You promised something, didn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Money. He wants more.”
Her lip disappeared between her teeth like it did when she was thinking. “Money doesn’t show respect. He wants more.” She straightened her neck. “Tell me.”
“He wants Lennox to work for the family.”
Angelina’s blue eyes widened in panic. “Tell me you didn’t agree. Please, Oren, tell me you said no.”
“Fuck, have you ever said no to Vincent?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t answer. I purposely left it unanswered.”
“Then I will.”
I spun like a caged animal, unable to move more than a few feet in any direction, and ran my hand through my hair. “No. It’s not a woman’s—”
“It’s a mother’s place,” she declared.
“How does it look when Lennox’s mother is the one who faces Vincent, fights his battles?”
“It’s not his battle yet. I’ll talk to Vincent before it gets to Lennox. And I’ll tell you how it looks. It looks like we’re still a family…” She motioned between the two of us. “…like we still talk, and that we both still care about our son’s future. It looks like the princess finally decided to take control of her reign.”
“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Demetri?” the small woman in light green scrubs asked.
We both turned and answered in unison. “Yes.”
“You can see your son now.”
I reached for Angelina’s hand. “I’ll talk to Vincent if you want me to. I’d never ask you—”
She squeezed my fingers and smiled. “No. You didn’t ask. Let me do it. It’ll go better. I’m certain.”
She was right. It probably would.
“The money is his,” I confirmed. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“You do. You care and not just about the money. I guess I always knew that. I was just too hurt and lonely to see it. We’ll do this. Lennox deserves more than what we had.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off of my ex-wife. Sometime during the last twenty years she’d become more, or had it just been since our divorce? “Angelina,” I began.
She squeezed my hand again. “Oren, stop. This is about our son. We’ll make it right.”
“I’m just…” I searched for the right word. “…awed.”
“Don’t be,” Angelina said. “It took me being me—seeing the world alone—to finally figure it all out. I’m sorry I couldn’t have done it when we were married.”
“I never…”
She smiled a sad, knowing smile. “We both did what we know. Whether Lennox ever admits it or not, he needs both of us.”
He did. Lennox needed us, and he deserved more than his mother and I had. I’d never be the hands-on baseball dad who cheered my son on from the stands, but I would do what I could to ensure that he had the chance for a future without all of the strings that had been attached to mine.
I was a hard man. Life had made me that way. My heart was shielded, a fortress that was accessible to few people. The woman beside me would always have her place. We’d shared too much to let something like divorce also serve as an eviction notice. The young man down the hall was part of me. His place was secure. The only other person who resided in my cold heart belonged to someone else.
While I didn’t see the last changing although I’d sell what was left of my soul to make it happen, Adelaide still was part of me and among the three people who would forever be my priority. Whatever I had to do, I would do. Whether it was from the sidelines or in their face. Having only three people to care about allowed me to stay focused when the world around me became unclear.
I let go of Angelina’s hand and we walked to Lennox’s hospital room.
I SETTLED AT my desk in my office, moving my mouse and summoning my computer to wake. Water dripped from my freshly washed hair as I wrapped the sweater around my shoulders, relishing its warmth. The apartment was tepid and lonely. It had been a couple of weeks since Nox took me out on our date, and over that time I’d developed a love/hate relationship with what had been my purple friend. I loved what Nox could do with it while I hated how much I craved the things he did.
It was as if my body operated with a series of switches that only he could flip.
Low.
Medium.
High.
Out of this world.
I was addicted to everything about Nox.
That was all right when we were together, but for the last two nights, he’d been out of town. Thankfully, he was due back this afternoon. I tried for other relief.
Glancing out the window, I decided that the blue sky was deceiving.
Earlier this Saturday morning, I’d gone out running with Patrick. When I did, I’d nearly frozen my fingers. Late October weather in New York was as diverse as any I’d ever known. No doubt that in Savannah, as well as Palo Alto, the mornings were without frost. Here, the afternoons could warm to a pleasant temperature, but the mornings resembled a scene from Disney’s Frozen. Thankfully, the skies hadn’t decided to snow, but by the way I stood under the shower’s spray for longer than normal this morning, trying to return warmth to my extremities, I doubted it would be long.
My legal methods paper had been turned in and the next writing project was started. The outline was growing as I found more and more references. Sometimes I wondered if there would be more to law than reading, researching, and writing.
Over the last few weeks, I’d decided not to apply for the internship that Dr. Renaud had suggested. I would have tried for it in California at Stanford. I knew I would have. But life was less complicated there. Though my faculty counselor seemed disappointed in my decision, I had my reasons, none of which I felt compelled to share.
Although Patrick sometimes referred to me as a rich, spoiled princess, I wasn’t narcissistic or self-centered enough to believe that my life was more complicated than those of my classmates. Yet I knew my limits—well, some that didn’t involve a certain blue-eyed, sexy-as-hell man.
I knew how important school and success in my classes were to my future. I also knew that the internship would open doors and look great on my résumé. Nevertheless, I was only capable of focusing on so many things at o
I adored the man whose bed I shared—Lennox Demetri was a force of nature, the centrifugal force that steadied my world’s rotation. His presence cemented the tilt. It overwhelmed me while at the same time bestowing gifts. Equal measures came and went that were forever fluid—giving and taking.
His strong, steady commands brought a sense of balance, grounding me with an anchor of love and support. Never did an evening pass that he didn’t ask about my day—classes, concerns and even my family and friends.
Through the weeks and months, we’d had ups and downs. He’d had business successes and disappointments. There was something happening in California with Senator Carroll that had dominated more of his time than he’d wanted.
Often he’d ask if I could travel with him. Only a day or two at a stretch, but with law school, I couldn’t.
The necklace that Deloris had made for me may have bothered me before the shooting in Central Park. Now, I found it comforting that there were people who cared about me and my safety. It was nice that the information was limited and not available to everyone as it was with the GPS on my phone.
Though my mother and I had scheduled a few meetings, they’d never occurred. Something had always superseded her plans. I was tiring of the anticipation.
I didn’t want to visit Savannah, but with each week, my mother’s messages were more evasive and cryptic. I spoke often to Jane, but I couldn’t get a real feel for what was happening at Montague Manor. The last time we were supposed to get together, Jane called to let me know that instead of coming to New York, my mother had decided to travel with Alton out west.
She decided? I found that hard to believe.
It had been nearly a month since I’d spoken to Tina Moore, yet I’d only received one voicemail from Chelsea. The number on the phone she used was blocked, so I couldn’t call back.
I’d replayed her message over and over, searching for a clue. I’d listened so many times that I had it memorized.
“Girl, Mom said you called. Things have been hectic. You know what we said? Life throws us curves, but we learn to swerve.”
What the hell?
I knew the song, but we’d never said it to one another. The next line said: ‘Me, I swung and I missed and the next thing you know, I’m reminiscing… ’
I had no idea what she was trying to tell me or why she couldn’t just say it.
Had she tried something that didn’t work? Was she reminiscing?
I missed her humor and her smile, the way she’d cut through the bullshit and tell it like it was. I missed my friend. The apartment by Columbia was sitting empty.
As I tried to concentrate on my paper, I saw the notification for unopened emails. Mostly I avoided them. Maybe it was the cool morning, my uncertainty about my mother, or the quiet apartment. Maybe it was my way of avoiding my paper that I had to write, but for whatever reason I decided to skim the subject lines and senders.
One name jumped from the screen: Millie Ashmore.
Why would Millie be emailing me? Wasn’t she busy with her wedding plans?
I shook my head, wondering if I should open the email, wondering if she would actually have the nerve to send me something as ridiculous as an invitation to a wedding shower or worse, expect me to help plan it.
With better judgment on hiatus, I clicked open the email.
To: Alexandria Collins
From: Millie Ashmore
I’m so sorry you couldn’t help plan it, but I would just die if you didn’t come. My bridal shower is going to be the Friday after Thanksgiving. I had Leslie schedule it when we thought you would be in town.
I understand that you might feel uncomfortable with Chelsea there, but you shouldn’t. You know we’re here for you.
Love and Kisses,
Millie
What the hell?
I stared at the screen in disbelief. Not only had she had the audacity to think I wanted to be at her shower, but Chelsea was going to be there?
I did what I’d sworn not to do.
Being sure my location was turned off on my computer, I logged into Facebook.
First, I searched Chelsea Moore. The last posting she’d made was late August. It was a picture of her in the hospital bed with thumbs up and said that she was well.
With a feeling of impending dread, I searched Millie Ashmore. Her page was full of posts and pictures. There were wedding dresses and wedding cakes. The picture that caught my eye and turned my stomach was of Millie and several other women in a booth at a bar. I recognized the location as one of the bars on River Street. Most of the women were laughing and holding drinks. And on the end, looking scared and reserved—two adjectives I never thought I’d use for my best friend—was Chelsea.
I clicked the picture and made it bigger.
Chelsea’s hair, which over the years had been every color from fuchsia to green, was a rich amber, pulled back in a low twist. Her royal blue dress was formfitting yet modest. As I stared, I had a flashback of standing with her at a full-length mirror in Del Mar, talking about how we could be sisters. For the first time, I saw the resemblance.
She looked like me.
She could be me.
My good sense told me to exit out and forget what I saw.
I didn’t listen.
My hand had a mind of its own as I scrolled Millie’s page. The magnitude of information was a wealth of Savannah’s twenty-somethings’ social life, all compiled in one place. As I rolled my mouse, it all played out before my eyes: people with whom I’d attended academy living the high life in clubs and mansions, by pools as well as in rooms with chandeliers. It was the life where I was raised, and in picture after picture over the last month, Chelsea was present.
And then my breath caught in my chest, painfully stagnant, unable to flow in or out of my lungs. The screen blurred with tears as beside my best friend, with his arm draped over her shoulder, was Bryce.
I thought he’d given up on me, finally freeing me from his plans.
But that wasn’t what had happened. I wiped the warm, salty droplets away from my cheeks with the back of my hand. I wasn’t shedding tears for Bryce, but for Chelsea.
Sometime while I’d been preoccupied, she’d stepped into my life. Granted, it was the one I hadn’t wanted, the one I’d rejected, but that didn’t lessen the pain. My best friend had become me.
Time passed as my work on my paper was forgotten, and I searched the Internet for clues that could help me understand.
It was only a shred of self-control that stopped me from dialing Bryce’s number and asking to speak to Chelsea. Would she be with him? Why?
It was the photo in the news article that opened my eyes.
The picture showed Bryce and Chelsea walking into the courthouse in Evanston, Illinois, hand in hand. They were both named in the caption and following Chelsea’s name was the descriptor: longtime girlfriend. The article pertained to Bryce’s most recent depositions. Though the Evanston police were promising that they were close to issuing an arrest warrant for Edward Carmichael Spencer for his involvement in the disappearance of Melissa Summers, the defense claimed insufficient evidence. Supporting Bryce’s claim of innocence was his own testimony as well as Chelsea Moore’s. Mr. Spencer claimed to have been in California visiting Miss Moore at the time of Miss Summers’s disappearance. Miss Moore’s statement, as well as Mr. Spencer’s travel records, substantiated his claim.
Visiting her?
Do I feel jealous?
No.
Dazed and confused was more like it.
Bryce hadn’t been visiting Chelsea. Then I remembered that she’d said he’d been to her hospital room. She’d said that she barely knew who he was, certainly not that they were involved.
Had she lied to me? Had he been at the hospital to see her and not me?
My head ached as I tried to unweave truth from fiction. The two were twisted too tightly to unravel.
The sound of the front door knocked at my consciousness, the
“Charli,” Nox’s deep voice resonated through the apartment.
Mindlessly, I realized that my hair had dried in unruly ringlets, and I was without makeup. I wiped my cheeks and nose with a Kleenex as I peered up to the doorway.
He instantly recognized my angst. I didn’t try to hide it. I couldn’t hide anything from Lennox Demetri even if I wanted to. He knew me better than I knew myself.
“Charli, what’s going on?”
I shook my head. “Y-you’re home?”
He came toward me, and I drank him in: his long legs covered in jeans, white v-neck t-shirt that hugged his chest, showing enough definition to make me want to reach out and touch it, and the wool suit coat that emanated the sexy aroma of his cologne.
Nox reached for my hand and pulled me to his muscular chest. “Is it your mother?”
He knew I’d been concerned about her.
I shook my head. “I-I don’t understand.”
I didn’t know how to explain what I’d learned. Would Nox misconstrue my feelings as jealousy? I wasn’t jealous. I had him. I didn’t want Bryce, but I didn’t understand how Chelsea was with him, living my life. Had she set me up all along? Had our friendship ever been real?
“What, princess?”
“It’s Chelsea.”
His body tensed. “Is she all right?”
I narrowed my eyes as I leaned back to scan his features. Emotions ricocheted through his pale eyes. Concern was present, but it wasn’t alone. Something was off.
“You knew,” I said.
His tone, smooth as velvet, tried to lull me to think otherwise, but it was his body’s reaction to her name that convinced me he had previous knowledge—more than he wanted to admit.
“You knew about her,” I accused. “When I told you that she was in Savannah, you already knew, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure…”
I took a step back. “You lied to me?”