In a lull filled by my short breaths, Einar turned the SUV around. Approving or disapproving or just plain annoyed, not a word floated my way. Streetlights yielded to ragged pines then early morning sun. I rested my chin and arm on the window sill, simultaneously trying to forget and remember the way Marc's mouth fit on mine.
I needed that. He needed that.
A rueful sigh fogged the glass panel.
Nik didn't.
We were single, but I used to love him. And several occasions since we'd broken up had proven I still did.
My younger years, when kisses were starlight and love was clumsy hands at a dance, felt like a dream from someone else's life, but back then there'd been boys I was desperate to kiss and, soon as the weekend arrived, I lost the urge to kiss them again. Maybe tonight marked the return of my former self, that kittenish filly not yet jaded by betrayal and secrets. I wanted to be that naive again, free and unbridled by consequence.
Except, according to Marc and everyone else these days, I was a bear and there was no going back. The only thing standing between me and companionship was myself. I couldn't have everything I wanted, because everything I wanted wasn't one person.
"You lucked out," I told Einar. My fingers drummed the dash before flicking on the radio, desperate for relief from the noise in my head. "Now I don't feel like playing cards."
He ignored my scowl until the volume lowered to whispered weather reports. "I've reached my limit of soulful conversation today."
I groaned. "What are you, a magic eight ball?" No, he was a headache. And he'd be a problem in Boston.
His boorish grunt justified my assessment. Later, while Einar quizzed flight attendants on security protocol, I ducked into a bathroom and called Becky for an update -no change on any front- then requested she try and 'borrow' a set of handcuffs from police.
*
Amaranth fog drifted across a waxing moon as the jet landed. Apartment and office lights winked cheerily from a low horizon of violet-shaded towers and buildings. Boston was smooth and sweet and vibrant like wine coming into its age, so much richer than I used to think it was after spending time overseas.
The last time I'd set foot in this bustling airport I was deep in mourning of the lost relationship with Logan. I'd possessed slightly more anonymity then, something I missed now that Einar was a sharply-dressed thunder cloud in my periphery, but I didn't miss that sinking finality of broken dreams. That ache I never wanted to feel again.
Maybe that was why I'd become so reluctant to pulled the trigger and take a chance.
And then emerged that wonderful aroma of my go-to fast foods and cinnamon and salt and ground coffee- all things Norway had, just not quite in this blend.
My boots echoed across the tiled floor as a kind of confidence entered the sway of my hips- one that drew my chin higher and my shoulders squarer and more than a couple eyes on me. This was my city. I grew up here. I belonged here. I was home.
A gentleman a little older than myself offered to help me to my cab and asked about coffee (until Einar loomed nearer). I declined with the cheery, inward smile, and squished into the yellow car beside my bodyguard.
It was nice to be noticed, especially after coming off an hours-long flight where I'd spent the majority of my time drooling into a tiny pillow.
After everything had transpired there hadn't exactly been a lot of room for romance- nor should there be when you're traipsing across the Norwegian countryside, smelly and frizzy-haired and scared for your life. But life marched on and amorous thoughts -of wanting and being wanted- couldn't be held at bay forever.
There was a cozy familiarity to the crunchy plastic cushions and the dark stains on the cab floor. Knowing Einar wouldn't care to hear about Boston's changes and classic locales, I kept stray observations to myself and simply basked in the glow of neon signs and stop lights.
But that satisfying warmth faded as the cab dropped Einar and I off outside my parents' brownstone. Framed in dark sandstone walls, Mom's goldenrod curtains, normally paled by the glow of her reading lamp, barely stood apart from the somber hues. I craned my neck, counting off the windows on each floor. Not a light to be found.
Phone prepped to dial Becky's number, I jogged the steps to the doorbell.
Half a minute later the door creaked open. Becky stepped back in a checkered towel, wild red hair chopped in uneven, clumpy patches and far from wet. "I was in the shower," she said, wiping at muddy raccoon eyes.
Maybe two hours ago. The retort died before it hit my tongue, strangled by the realization that, God, she'd been sitting here in the pitch black crying alone in an empty house. "Not in the dark?" I asked in a weak voice, crossing the threshold to join her in the gloom.
She nodded. Damp lines tracked the curves of her cheeks like cracks in a statue. A strong lip couldn't mask the shattered structure within.
"Becky..."
Quiet green eyes fixed on mine. When my hand rose to flip a switch on and the stark light bounced down the hallway, I realized my face was a mirror of hers.
Apologies and sympathies and missed yous, all poured into a single, powerful hug. Everything we'd done or hadn't or wished to do, all forgiven and forgotten. True friends weren't like other friends. They understood you at a deeper, nonverbal level that time and distance and all the woes of life couldn't destroy.
You never lose a true friend.
But you do eventually have to introduce them to the man filling the door frame with frowned impatience. Becky stared at Einar. Einar stared at Becky. And I thought, Marc would've made this easier.
Flashing Becky a tentative smile, I laid a hand on each of their arms, drawing them closer.
"I'm quite sorry."
"Thank you."
The two shook hands.
Waving Becky upstairs, I walked Einar into the kitchen, where toppled cartons of barely-touched lo-mein and burger wrappers sullied the granite counter-tops. Gathering the trash, I pointed a chopstick to the drawer beside the fridge. "It's too late to thaw anything. Number for pizza's inside. Order whatever you want. We'll eat it. I'm gonna get her into some clothes."
The drawer rolled open with the homey squeak I didn't know I'd missed. Einar's shuffling was loud enough for me to hear over the rush of water as I rinsed soy sauce off my wrist. "Ma'am?"
I reached for a dishcloth. "Yes?"
His eyes were dark, brooding but more empathetic than I'd ever seen. He turned abruptly, lifting the menu to block his face as if his reflection in Dad's copper frying pans spooked him. "Cheese and pepperoni?"
My eyebrow jagged skyward. What was that all about?
-"You coming, Al?"- Becky's voice demanded more than questioned.
"Be right there." I shouted. Einar focused on the menu. I put my hands on my hips, puzzled at the reclusive display, but finally shrugged and slid a finger along the greasy granite island. After Becky went to bed I'd purge the kitchen in preparation for Darcy's parents and (a few days out) mine. "Alright, cheese and pepperoni. Ask for garlic knots, too. They're so good Dad stopped making his from scratch because we always complain about how inferior they are."
"Yes, ma'am."
On my way upstairs I paused. "Please relax and watch some tv. This is my home. We're safe here."
"Can't do that."
Of course not. I wrung my hands around the railing post. "Try," I insisted, before bounding after Becky.
*
Becky spun in the desk chair of my former bedroom, drenched in the highway-construction brilliance of a powerful work lamp. Dad's tools and unopened paint cans lay scattered in haphazard locations across the covered floor. He'd halted renovations shortly after I went missing. Losing the hallowed ground of childhood to a second office bothered me something fierce, but despite what sentimentality clung to barren alabaster walls, I'd outgrown the space and didn't want it back for anything but holidays.
Becky'd thrown on an stained, ancient track sweatshirt and ripped yoga pants from the storage containers stacked in the closet. I winced. A year ago my fashion forward friend would've burned those and dragged me to the Prudential Center for shopping. "I've got clothes that are a little less vagabond."
Nothing.
The room felt stuffy and hot, like she'd set the heat to ninety. I retreated to the window.
My fingers traced the shaky A-L-L-i-E in the sill's base wood, where a troublesome young girl had once proudly carved her name. When news of my misdeeds reached the states my parents couldn't stop federal agencies from taking a lot of my things for investigation, not that I had much, barely able to afford my apartment's monthly rent, but they preserved that section of wobbly penmanship like it was my baby blanket. Even if I'd been guilty of the queen's accusations, I don't think they'd ever have filled in, pried off, or painted over my claim.
"Don't pull the curtains." Becky spoke so suddenly I jumped.
"Why not?" I leaned against the frame, lifting an end panel just wide enough to glimpse a thousand radiant beams walking the moon over slanted Victorian roofs like a luminous spider.
She hugged her knees to her chest. "Emma's out there."
The curtain fell back into place with a soft rustle, but not before I cracked the window. Heat escaped into the night as cool air rushed in. "Tomorrow night she'll be here," I promised.
"Without her father." Her face disappeared into her thighs. "There's a strong chance Darcy won't wake up. Doctors say prepare for the worst, but how can I? How can I prepare in a day for a lifetime without him?"
I didn't answer because there wasn't one. Lips pressed into a grim line, I settled on a desk corner. Sobs rattled her back, calming slightly at my touch on her shoulder.
When her head finally rose, she'd pulled the hood cords so tightly her face was nothing but a teary mouth. Her nails dug hard into the sweatshirt's sleeves. "Five and a half liters of blood, that's all a normal human has and I swear I watched every drop soak into the couch... But you know what's haunting me?"
She loosened the hood and knocked the damp polyester onto her shoulders. A preschooler's self-inflicted haircut was more even than what she'd done.
"Couldn't wash him out of my hair...I felt so dirty, guilty, disgusted. Turns out panicking and chopping off your hair doesn't alter those feelings." Dull green and apologetic, her eyes were windows to a sad soul. "The scissors won the battle for your bathroom."
My mouth sagged into a thin smile. "Can't be worse than Ellebelle in shedding season. She's a yipping snowstorm."
"At least she looks groomed." Nose wrinkled, Becky picked at patchy strands.
"Nothing a hairdresser can't fix," I assured her. "All this does is draw attention to your pretty face."
"Guess I'll be needing that again. My days of makeup-free bliss are over."
"Don't say that."
Her shoulders dropped in time to a downtrodden sigh. "Love was never my thing, but with him it could have been."
Not even my strongest, most insistent tone stood capable of convincing her tonight, but I squeezed her hand and tried igniting a tealight of hope in her darkness. "Nik survived. Darcy can, too. He's young and strong."
"Youth doesn't matter. We aren't immortal. He was just a man. A good man."'
"Is." Outside, sirens wailed. The neighbor's elderly beagle loosed a raspy howl. Becky's gaze shot towards the illuminated curtains- more resigned than hopeful, as if she were expecting a solemn knock. As blue and red flickers faded I tapped a wooden stirrer along the edge of a paint can, drumming up the only positive note I found. "We don't have a say in his future, so let's focus on the lives we do. How's the search for your mom?"
Becky's lashes glittered with moisture. She curled her fingers in a sleeve and wiped them with the cuff. "She's not a criminal mastermind, thank God. They'll find her eventually."
"But we can find her faster."
One foot at a time, her toes slid across the canvas drop cloth and stretched. Fearsome elegance possessed her as she stood and rolled her shoulders back, a hungry lioness summoned to the hunt. "Rules and protocol don't bind me. They want me to sit at a kitchen table with my cell, waiting around for a call that won't come. Like hell I will. And if you brought that guard for me-"
"Hence the cuffs request. You grab 'em?" I managed a genuine smile. There's the Becky I knew.
Pride flashed through her eyes, a welcome shift in her demeanor, even if it was temporary. "You remember Marty? Cop who told you Interpol came for Logan? Turns out your tears weren't a fluke. He's really sympathetic when the waterworks start."
"What'd you tell him?"
"Mostly the truth. They're for that witch who called herself my mother."
I recognized the bitter tone immediately and made a note to ask Nik to check in with her at a later date. My mother and I didn't typically see eye to eye, but she had my best interests at heart. Nik and Becky had the unfortunate experience of being utterly betrayed by the person who'd brought them into this world, and I couldn't imagine what that felt like. "And he just gave you them, no fuss?"
"Well, he's retiring next month so I don't think he cares all that much. I wouldn't." She lifted a container out of the closet and pried the top off. "What're they gonna do to a dinosaur like him? "
I hopped off the desk to join her, lowering my voice even though I knew Einar couldn't hear us all the way up here. "Keep them out of sight until we're ready to leave. I'm not exactly sure how we're going to cuff him."
She tilted her head, rubbing her hands over a striped tee contemplatively. "You know, I own half a dozen of the fuzzy kind. No offense, but Eyeball or whatever he's called doesn't seem like the kind of guy whose lost a lot of keys in bouts of passionate romance."
Covering my grin, I watched her peruse better options than what she had on. "I don't trust them to get the job done."
"They aren't made out of plastic." She balled the tee and tossed it onto the desk, moving onto the next victim, a lace-detailed workout tank. "Not entirely. God, I hope they put a fashionista on your council."
"Most days I just wear what they put out for me."
"Smart." She ripped the sweatshirt off and pulled the tank over her head. It glamorized her lean body better than it did mine- I wasn't a slouch but Becky had a way of looking fashionable in anything. I threw that same shirt on and the only thing people wondered was if I was going to or coming from a run. Some people just had that magical ability to look polished wearing mud, and she was one of them.
"If left to my own devices it'd be jeans and a sweater everyday."
She continued to fish through the container, a bit perkier now that she had a direction. "So when are we leaving? We're gonna have to get grungy."
"Tomorrow."
"No."
I removed a second bin from the closet, one with some of my dresses. Her mom wasn't someone I came into frequent contact with, largely because she hung out at the wrong kinds of bars and alleys. The right amount of skin and liquor got information flowing a little easier. "She's not going to hurt Emma. I don't believe that and neither do you. We don't know where she's holed up, and you're exhausted. You need sleep. And a breakfast that isn't half grease."
She cursed.
I put my foot down. Friends look out for each other, especially when the other one can't help themselves. "That's why I'm here and what we're doing."
Whatever fight she had waned in a wide yawn. "Thanks."
My fingers paused on my favorite black dress, the dress I hadn't worn since the missed anniversary at Cava. Lifting it to my cheek, the soft fabric still bore the faintest scent of Nik's favorite perfume. I let out a deep breath and hunted down a hanger for it to rest overnight. "We should probably head downstairs. Find something mindless to watch while we wait for pizza."
"Yeah, sure." Becky tossed me a cobalt-faded ombre infinity scarf. "Just throw this on before you answer the door."
"Did you not see me open the window?" Coarse snowflake sequins rubbed my fingertips. Another present from Nik, back on our first Christmas together. "You have the heat cranked. I'm sweltering."
Her mouth remembered the curves of a smug grin. "I imagine you were, at the time."
I stared. "The hell are you talking about?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah?"
Refusing to let me ditch the scarf, Becky dragged me into the bathroom, which was truly worse than all the hairballs Ellebelle generated. Hair filled the sink and tub and got onto the toilet seat and spread across the floor. She pulled my hair off my neck and turned my cheek to the mirror. Curious, I stared into my reflection, hunting for the origin of her teasing grin.
And there it was, a giant hickey on my neck.
"Oh, shit!" I wrapped the scarf tight, hunkering down in embarrassment and nearly as red as the mark itself. No wonder I suddenly possessed the ability to turn heads in the airport! Einar hadn't scared that guy off. He probably glimpsed my neck and thought twice. Next time I saw Marc he was getting an earful. As would Einar for not telling me.
Becky bounced behind me, beaming at my horrified expression. "Guess the royal couple's back together?"
"That wasn't Nik."
Her eyebrows rose, and her huffed surprise was filled with intrigue. "Really?" She grabbed for the scarf, interest magnified a hundred times.
"I don't think it was intentional. I might've gotten him just as bad." I batted her hands away, proud of the kissing but guilty that I was covering this up with Nik's gift. "Tonight's about Emma."
Becky's eyes fluttered shut. "I can't stop thinking about her and where she is and how she's being abused. Distractions are good. Please, Al."
I frowned. "It doesn't seem appropriate."
Opening her eyes, she squeezed my shoulder. "Have a normal conversation with me. Since this happened no one looks at me normally. They just rub my back and 'mhm' and keep their mouths turned down. It's exhausting, stewing in your own grief."
With a nod and a smile I unwound the scarf and let her touch the bright mark. "What do you wanna know?"
"All the dirty details." I could see in her eyes the way she was forcing herself to ask- as if saying she was distracted made it true.
"It was about as dirty as a shirt in the dryer."
"Goodness, me!" She drawled, fanning herself with a sequined edge. "I hope you brushed your teeth before you kissed him with that filthy mouth!"
Breaking into a laugh, I elbowed her gently and found the scissors to try and even out some of her more obvious haircut mistakes. "Stop," I said, but I was happy to be teased.
She winked. "What setting did you use? Low?"
Snipping away, I told her what I remembered and wished I had more. I wanted to touch in a way words couldn't convey, wanted tactile memories alongside that thrilling blaze of heat. "So now I'm thinking I made a huge mistake," I finished, setting the scissors down to massage my neck. "Next time I see him...I don't know what to do. But I've got this urge to feel his heartbeat underneath my palm, you know?"
"Some kisses are about love, others are about making it." Becky shrugged, though not without a Cheshire grin. She reached behind to pat my neck. "It's okay not to have both. And this, this ain't both. This is passion, and you've fed the fire."
I trusted Becky in her infinite wisdom on this subject but still blushed. "This isn't me, though. My hands started to wander and weren't interested in stopping. It took me two years before I bought condoms and I kiss Marc once and my mind's whisked off to the gutter."
"When you bought them, you were finally ready to ditch the chastity belt. Circumstances being what they are, you haven't, but that doesn't mean you're regressing or have to press a reset button. Maybe you give into temptation and try him out."
"He's looking for more than that."
"I'm sure you could convince him." On the mirror she traced the scars of my shoulder. "Besides, you almost died a virgin. You gonna risk that again?"
"Ideally, no." I sighed. "What about Nik?"
"You're single, right?" She watched the mirror for my nod. "You've never separated love from lust. The decisions you make are big, maybe life-changing. That's just the way you are. There's nothing wrong with being discerning, especially considering the fact that technically he broke up with you. "
The doorbell rang. Becky looped the scarf around my neck and sent me off to answer it.