Hey guys,
I just wanted to thank you all so much for reading and for ALL of your lovely comments. I love reading them, and I'm really moved by the passion some of you feel about this story! I just wanted to say thanks, truly, and keep 'em coming. :)
This story is quite dear to my heart and the fact that it has reached just the right people on the same mental wavelength as myself - and, as the story - is better than I could have imagined.
I hope that you keep enjoying it, and I'm really glad I get to share it with you.
Thanks.
S.
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Chloe
She stared wide-eyed as she croaked, “You know.”
I shrugged, “Lucky guess.”
She stared dumbfounded at me.
The silence was unnerving. “You see a stranger more than twice in this city, you’ve gotta be related to them.” I was trying to make light of the situation, even though there was nothing light about it. It was all weight.
She sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” I murmured, my heart racing. I couldn’t believe I was staring right at my mother.
My boyfriend had been arrested; I had nowhere to live; and yet all I could think about was the fact that she was standing right in front of me.
“I always imagined this differently,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t,” I replied.
“Really?”
“I never imagined it,” I said with a shrug. All my life, I’d tried not to think about her. Annie and Harold told me about her when I was about eight years old, and before I could fully process it, they were dead, and then, they were all I could think about.
“You can’t stay here,” she said, non sequitur.
“It’s warmer inside the truck,” I replied quickly.
“I have an extra room,” she said.
No.
“I can’t . . .” I trailed off with a frown, “I’m fine.”
“Chloe—” she began.
“No. I’m fine, really. I stayed here for a week when I first got to the city, and I was fine. I’m tougher than I look,” I said, trying not to think about Fitch just yet, or I might break down. I needed to be alone to do that.
“A week?” she asked wide-eyed and appalled.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I replied.
I couldn’t tell if she was more disgusted or scared, as she shook her head. “Please don’t stay here. I don’t even know how long it’ll take to get him a hearing. Even if you don’t stay with me, I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t here.”
I swallowed, “He’s going to be fine, right? Fitch?” I felt my eyes well up, and I blinked back the tears. I would not cry in front of this woman, even if she had been the first to see me ever cry; I couldn’t handle her sympathy or pity.
She nodded, “Yes, he’s going to be just fine, I promise. So are you.”
Just when I’d start to think of her as Fitch’s lawyer, I’d remember: This is the woman who gave birth to me. What was I supposed to do with this information?
She began, “Look, it’s more practical, Chloe. I’m Fitch’s lawyer and I’m your best route to him. If you’re in my custody, they can’t take you back to your foster parents. You won’t even see me; I’ll stay far out of your way.”
“I know it makes more sense, but I just want to know that you’re doing it for that reason, and not cause you feel some kind of obligation to me,” I stated plainly, trying not to sound harsh, but failing; I wasn’t trying to be harsh, but I’d been a charity case all of my life, and I’d just started to feel less like one; her kindness was stirring it up again.
She sighed; I couldn’t tell if she was exasperated or hurt.
“I’m doing it for Fitch. He asked me to make sure you didn’t get sent back to Pennsylvania and that’s what I’m doing. Also, I assume he’s going to want to see you at some point, and that’s not going to happen if you go in by yourself. It’s not about me and you; it’s about Fitch.”
Oh yeah, she was a lawyer all right. Her voice was steady and unwavering; her face blank under the rising moon, and the twist was perfection. Before I realized it, I was climbing out of the truck and trailing after her towards the exit.
It was a limousine. We walked down the street to her car, and it was a limousine. Who was this woman?
I got in and she sat across from me.
She pressed a button and opened the partition, “Ryan, we’re going to pick Hal up and then we’re going to my apartment.”
“Yes Miss,” he replied and we swiftly edged out of the parking spot and onto the street. Would people wonder who was behind the tinted windows?
“Hey Katie,” she said into her phone as she closed the partition, “Can you make it to my apartment in a half hour? Also, I’m going to need you to get Consuela to come in tonight; the guest bedroom needs to be done.”
I glanced at her; how could there be so much authority in a single sentence?
She hung up and called somebody else, “Hey dad . . . Yeah, I did . . . Yeah . . . I’m going to stay at my apartment tonight . . . Yeah,” she said, glancing at me, “Can you send me James Ford’s number? I might need his help with a case . . . It’s a pro-bono; am I allowed to do that? . . . thanks . . . Love you too.” I couldn’t help but notice the change in her voice.
Then she called somebody else. Did she ever pause? It was amusing, yet interesting to watch.
“Jake, hey.” Her voice changed again – completely, “I’ll be there in about an hour . . . Traffic . . . Can you make sure they don’t talk to either of them alone? I think one of them is a minor . . . They’re not? . . . Okay, see you soon . . . Thanks.”
I frowned in thought.
She glanced at me.
“Is that about Fitch?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“You said either,” I added.
“Oh yeah, his brother was arrested too. It’s probably all a misunderstanding.”
No, it wasn’t. It certainly couldn’t be. If Ricky was involved, I truly believed Fitch must have done it. That realization sent a chill down my back.
We stopped across the road from the apartment, and it looked like it always did. I don’t know what I expected. What would Kayla think when she got back to the apartment; she was probably still at work at Daisey’s. Would she think we’d all just gone out? Would there be a mess inside?
“Chloe, see that van parked across the street? That’s for you and the guy who owns the place; you can’t go in.” She must have caught my expression.
“I know.”
I heard a car door slam shut and the partition opened, “Miss Barron.” I recognized the guy from the park.
“Thanks Hal,” she said, to which he grunted in response, as we began to move again.
She picked up her phone again, “Hey Jerry. I think I’m going to need your help . . . Yeah, I’m still going to make it . . . Eight-thirty? . . . Yeah, I need your help . . . Not now . . . Okay, see you then.”
Then, silence.
Her phone broke the silence.
“Hello? . . . This is she . . . Oh! Hi James . . . Yeah . . . Tomorrow morning . . . Yeah, sure . . . No, pro bono . . . Are you sure? . . . Thanks.”
She hung up and let out a sigh, falling back into her seat. She looked at me and gave me a small smile, which I really tried to return, but failed. I looked away and stared out at all of New York just whizzing by.
This was an alternate universe, and I wasn’t sure I liked it at all.
*
You know those pictures you see in magazines? The ones that make you feel so much worse about your house than you did before? That was how Sarah’s apartment was. And it was neat as a pin.
The expanse of the living room alone was so ridiculous, I thought that might be all of the apartment, but then I saw the kitchen – I don’t know the exact terms for all the sleek silver contraptions, but I could see my reflection in nearly everything. The bedrooms were massive – mine, Fitch and Kayla’s combined. The bathroom was in the same league as the rest of the house, with a ridiculously sophisticated shower, a hot tub, and one of those talking toilets. What did she do with all of the space? From what I could see, there was no room for any other children and there was no ring on her finger, so I assumed she lived alone, but I couldn’t understand the space.
However, the thing that really got me was the view. I tried not to let my amazement show, but I failed miserably. I could see everything; the expanse of the city’s skyline, the cars speeding by, the hustle and bustle, and yet it was practically silent.
As I stood looking out of the glass window that took up an entire wall, the front door opened, and a blonde girl who looked only slightly older than Kayla walked in.
“Sarah?” she called and then stopped short when she spotted me, “Um . . .”
“One second, Katie,” Sarah called from her room.
A few minutes later, she stepped out all changed, and I had to do a double take. It was all so . . . what’s the word? Glamorous? A white cross-backed dress with a low neckline, a necklace that looked like it could weigh me down, and her hair was done in a chignon – I’m surprised I even know that. She was holding a pair of black heels in her hands.
“Hey. Chloe, this is Katie, my assistant; Katie, this is Chloe . . . my . . . Chloe.”
“Hi,” Katie said with a smile.
“Hi,” I replied, barely audible.
Sarah walked over to where I was standing, and sat on the couch, pulling on her shoes, “Chloe, I’m going to see Fitch now. Is there anything you’d like me to tell him?”
“Now?”
“I have to be there when they’re questioning him and his brother. I don’t know if you wanted me to give him a message,” she answered questioningly.
Everything I wanted to say to Fitch could only be said to Fitch, “Um . . . I . . . no.”
She stood up, “Okay. Well, I’ll only be a couple of hours. I have to make a quick appearance at a thing but after that, I’ll be back. Then, we can sort all of this out. Katie’s going to get you dinner; anything you want. Also, I know you don’t have a change of clothes or any other necessities, so somebody’s going to come over with a couple of things. If you need anything, get Katie to call me and I’ll be back in ten seconds.”
She was so fast. Everything was so fast.
I nodded, “Okay.”
The only thing or person I needed was behind bars, so that was unfixable, for now. And then, it clicked; she was taking on a case for my boyfriend for my sake. I mean I know she might have been doing it out of an obligation, but it was still selfless.
“ . . . I’m going to the campaign office,” she was saying to Katie, “The reporter from the New York Times moved the interview to eight-thirty. Betty’s going to come over with a couple of things Chloe might need; give her mycredit card, and there’s a hundred bucks or something in my other bag, for dinner. Take-out only, okay? She does not leave this apartment for a second.”
“Got it,” Katie replied, “Are you seeing James Ford tonight or in the morning?”
Sarah pulled on her coat and grabbed a bag, “Morning. Actually, make it about three. And call Judge Barks’ assistant ASAP; I need to see him in the morning. And get somebody to bring Roxy over in the morning.”
Now, I smiled. The only thing in that sentence I was familiar with.
“Chloe, make yourself at home,” she said, turning to me as she made her way to the door.
“Sarah?” I called as she pulled it open.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled, “For Fitch, right?” And she was gone.
*
Make yourself at home, she had said. I nearly scoffed. What did that even mean? I felt so awkward; I wasn’t even sure how to stand.
“What would you like to eat?” Katie asked, as I perched on the arm of a sofa.
“It’s okay, I’m not hungry,” I lied, hoping my rumbling stomach wasn’t louder than I thought. I just wasn’t in the mood to eat, really.
Could you blame me?
My boyfriend was possibly going to jail.
I was in a strange house and environment with a stranger.
And of course, I’d just met my very own mother.
Could you blame me for not really wanting to eat?
“Okay, well let me know when you’re hungry. Whatever you want,” she said, moving over to the sofa across from me to sit down.
I couldn’t imagine the next ten minutes of absolute silence being anything but awkward, but it only got worse and worse as the minutes trudged on by.
“So, how do you know Sarah?” Katie asked suddenly.
“Um . . . she’s my boyfriend’s lawyer.” It was the truth, just not all of it. Why did it need to be? I didn’t know this woman, and I’d barely come to terms with it myself. Was there a feeling I was supposed to get that made it seem real? Was there a moment when my mind would stop being amazed at the fact that I had found the most crucial part of my past? However un-crucial it was to me. The fact of the matter was, I knew what kind of person I was; I knew what I liked; I knew what I wanted – to make it through my days as content as I could be – and I’d known all of that before I met Sarah. So, what exactly was the point? I felt complete with Fitch, with Trey, with my life above the auto shop, so I ask again, what was the point of Sarah?
“Would you like to watch TV?” Katie asked, breaking into my thoughts.
It was only then that I noticed what looked like a black expanse of space in the wall, which I now realized was a TV. Below and on the sides was an entertainment system of speakers, a DVD player, a record player, a music player and a mass of DVDs and records. The choices were endless. It would certainly mean less small talk.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
“Any preferences?” she asked.
I didn’t watch enough TV to have a preference, so I shrugged and shook my head. I didn’t see what she put in the DVD player and I didn’t ask, but I looked up at the screen and there was a caterer decorating a cake.
There was a knock at the door, and Katie hopped up to answer it.
“Hey Betty,” she said, “Come on in.”
A woman with a high bun and a suit, that made her look more like a CIA agent than . . . – I wasn’t even sure who she was – walked in, her hands full with about thirty shopping bags.
“Hi Katie, how are you?” she asked, not waiting to hear the answer. She walked over to me, “You’re Chloe right?”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Sarah said you needed a couple of things, so I’ve brought some things in different sizes,” she said brusquely, her voice all business-like. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman I could hesitate with, “What’s your clothing size?”
“Um, two,” I replied, trying to match her tone. I didn’t particularly want clothes; I was perfectly happy to wear the clothes on my back ten more times if I had to, but to tell it to this woman who was starting to pull out top after top, would be madness.
“Choose what you like,” she said, handing me a selection of outfits. I picked up a pair of jeans and a top.
“That’s it?” she asked almost threateningly.
“I don’t know how long I’m going to be here,” I said, not really liking the idea of mooching off a woman I barely knew. It was all making me very uncomfortable.
She gave me a bored look, “Miss Barron just asked for clothes. I brought you about four outfits.”
I grabbed five more random items, barely looking, and murmured, “Thanks.”
“Now, nightwear,” she said, handing me another bag, “These are all the size twos. You don’t need to choose.”
“Thanks,” I murmured again, wishing this could all just go as fast as possible, and I could be in Fitch’s arms again.
She nodded, “Now, underwear.”
I felt my face flush. If this wasn’t all terribly uncomfortable before, it certainly was now. Katie sat unfazed on the couch, as she stared at the TV screen.
“You wear the same size in bottoms all through, so that’s sorted. Bra size? I’m guessing you’re a B-cup?” Betty asked.
“Yeah, thirty-two,” I said, barely audible, avoiding her eyes.
She ruffled through the bags and handed me a smaller bag, with I added to the others at my feet.
“These are other necessities – toothbrush, bath gloves, the works,” she said, handing me a smaller paper bag.
Before I could even thank her, she’d already gathered her bags and was headed for the front door.
I suddenly missed Fitch very much. I don’t think the realization that I wasn’t going back to the apartment tonight was really setting in. I kept hoping it was all a thorough misunderstanding. But at the back of my mind, I knew it was bigger than I must have known. I mean, we all ended up in the apartment above the auto shop somehow; this would be the perfect explanation. Things were never really less complicated when it came to our lives.
“I’m a little tired,” I said aloud.
Katie sat up, “Okay. Good night. I’m going to order a pizza or two and leave them on the counter; if you get hungry a little later, come get it.”
I nodded, “Thank you.”
I gathered the bags and walked to the room Sarah had pointed out as the guest room, where I curled up into the bed without turning on the lights. I recognized the heartbreaking, miserable and longing sensation I was feeling – homesickness. But home long since stopped being about the place than the people, and I missed my people more than I could have ever imagined.
So, after I texted Kayla with as brief a lowdown as I could manage – explicitly excluding the mother thing entirely, I picked up my phone and called the only person who could help ease some of my pain right then; the only person I could reach.
“Hey you,” he said, his soft voice filling my ears like a sugar rush.
“Hi Trey,” I croaked, feeling myself instantly break down.
*
“Chloe?”
I lay still as the door opened up.
“Are you up?”
I didn’t even know what time it was, but it felt like it had been hours.
“Chloe, Fitch wants to talk to you.”
I jumped up, and then realizing how it must seem, I sunk lower into the bed.
She turned on the light and smiled, “I knew that would do it,” she said, walking over and handing me the phone. Two forty-seven a.m., the clock read.
“Give me a shout when you’re done,” she said walking out.
“Fitch?”
“Hey baby,” his voice travelled through the phone and right through to all my senses, causing my eyes to well up, until I couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“Hi,” I said, wiping my eyes, “Are you okay?”
“Now, I’m good. I’m sorry about this. This isn’t how I really wanted you to meet your mother.”
“I don’t care about that. I just want you back with me,” I replied.
“That might take a while,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“I confessed. I did it. Sarah’s going to try to get me off on self-defense, but I’m going to jail,” he said slowly.
I swallowed. My heart dropped.
No.
God, no.
“Chloe, say something. Please.”
I don’t think I could. I really tried, but my mouth had gone very dry.
“Chloe? I had to confess. I had to get Ricky out of here,” he added, “Please say something.”
I swallowed.
“Um . . . Sarah needs her phone,” I lied. If this was an ending, I couldn’t let it happen; this was my mechanism. A bad one, but mine nonetheless. I was scared, so I hid from disaster before it happened.
I could tell he knew I was lying as he sighed, “I love you.”
“You too,” I replied, hanging up.
This is a nightmare. Nothing more.
I got up and followed the sounds coming from the living room to find Sarah at her kitchen island, pouring herself a glass of red wine.
She smiled, “You’re done?”
“Yeah, he had to give the phone back,” I muttered, placing her phone on the table.
She frowned skeptical, “Really.”
I shrugged and started to make my way back to the room, but stopped, “Does he have a shot? At winning this case?”
She sighed, “It’s going to be hard, but I think so. I personally think he just confessed to save his brother, but what do I know? Do you think he did it?”
“Did their father die right away?”
She frowned, “I think he was in a coma for about six weeks before he passed away.”
“Then he didn’t do it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“If Fitch wanted to kill somebody for Ricky’s sake, that somebody would be dead. Instantly.”
“I don’t know if that’s poetic or scary,” she replied.
“Maybe both, but he’d never give Ricky up. Never,” I said.
There was silence for a few seconds and then she began, “If you’re hungry—”
“Actually, I’m just tired.”
She nodded, “Okay, good night.”
“Thank you for the clothes and all the stuff,” I said, with as polite a smile as I could muster, as my heart crumbled.
“No problem. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I’ll fill you in, in the morning.”
I nodded and walked back to the room, feeling more like crying with every step. The life I’d started to love dearly was breaking apart around me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
*
The first couple hours of the next morning were a complete whirlwind. As the minutes trudged on slowly, I thought the day might never end, but before I knew it, I was seated in the interrogation room at the NYPD offices, two detectives or agents seated across from me with the whole intimidation persona intact, and Sarah at my side.
“I don’t get it, what are you even doing here?” one of them asked, his voice full of scorn.
Sarah smiled, “Contrary to what you might think, Fowler, I don’t enjoy these meetings either. She’s a minor, and you can’t speak to her without a legal guardian present. Cue in, me.”
The man I now knew to be Fowler clenched his jaw, and muttered, “Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“Hi Chloe, I’m Jake. I’m going to ask you a couple questions about your foster parents, okay?” the other guy said. Clearly, he was supposed to be the good cop. Only a blind person wouldn’t have noticed how his gaze kept drifting to Sarah, who was looking at Fowler with a bored look.
Jake continued, “So, tell me, how did you end up in New York?”
“I took the bus,” I answered blankly.
He smiled, “I’ll rephrase. Why did you run away?”
Ignoring this question, I thought back to the events of the morning . . .
I hadn’t slept a wink. So, when Sarah knocked on my door to wake me up, I was still wide-awake. Her apartment still in dead silence, I had a shower – which I must admit, was the most refreshing I’d had in a really long time – and got dressed. I nearly had a panic attack when I saw the price tags on the clothes; they were all worth more than every single thing I owned in life. And then some.
At first, I was just going to stick to the clothes I’d had on, but I knew enough not to chuck a gift horse away, right in front of the giver, and my old clothes were filthy with remnants from the junkyard. Also, I knew enough to know that Sarah must be somebody important; minus the bodyguards and over-priced possessions, it was just the way she carried herself. I couldn’t explain it. To be seen with me in my rags would probably tarnish her image, so I pulled on the red or wine or maroon pants – I’m terrible with colors – a black blouse and the ballet flats, feeling more pathetic by the minute; I’d gone way beyond charity case.
Then, there was breakfast. Thankfully, she didn’t make any comment about the clothes, but simply said, “Morning. Breakfast?”
“That’s okay. I’m not hungry,” I replied. I was, but I wasn’t in the mood to sit awkwardly across from her, while I wolfed down some exotic assortment.
She smiled, “Well, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. So, here you go,” she said, pushing a plate of sausages, an omelet, bacon and what was a very well decorated collage of fruits in a bowl. “If you take a bite and you’re still not hungry, then just throw it out, okay? But I can’t have you starving to death on me; I just had the carpets cleaned,” she joked.
I tried to hold back the smile, but failed; it was such blunt humor, I couldn’t help it. I sat across from her, and I don’t know how, but in ten minutes, I’d wolfed everything down.
A lady in a jumper dress walked in and said, “Morning Miss Barron.”
“Hi Consuela. I’ll be back at about one or two. If dad stops by, let him in, okay?”
After that, I felt like a stranger in my own world – well, I guess that’s the point; it wasn’t my world. We went to see some judge about temporary custody, and within fifteen minutes, Sarah owned me. I wasn’t sure whether I was more depressed or shocked at the entire situation. I was definitely taking a while to process everything, but I was in a mild state of depression. The sudden lack of control over my own life was so overwhelming, I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry or die; either one would work.
Then, I had to follow Sarah to work while she met with some quarreling brothers – her words, not mine – about a case of theirs. I sat on the couch in her office, feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu. It took me a while, but then I realized why; it reminded me of days when I’d have to go and wait in Annie’s office after school; I’d sit or lie idle in an armchair while I waited for her to see her patients, counting the minutes till I could go home. The realization really got to me; there was no comparison between Sarah and Annie. Annie was my mom, and Sarah was simply . . . the egg donor, if you will. The fact that one would make me think of the other really got to me, because at the back of my mind, I knew that in Fate’s own way, Sarah was slowly becoming the replacement, and I had no idea how I felt about that.
Which was why, as Jake repeated his question, “Chloe? Why did you run away from your foster parents?” I answered, “I was trying to find my mom and dad.”
Jake and Fowler exchanged glances, and I made a point not to look in Sarah’s direction.
“Your parents?” Fowler asked, “You mean, your biological parents?”
“No. I mean, my mom and dad, Annie and Harold Lane,” I replied.
Another glance exchanged. They must have been thinking of how to break the news to me that they were dead and gone.
“Chloe, they died. Seven years ago,” Sarah said slowly, treading carefully.
“I know that,” I said, “But when my grandmother died, Annie was really sad, but every Sunday, she would always go to this restaurant where she always had lunch with her mom, and she’d cry. When I asked her why, she said she did it so she’d feel like her mom was with her. That’s what I was doing. I came to New York, where they died, because I was hoping to find a piece of them, and in a way I did. I made friends, I fell in love, and I found a home. It had nothing to do with my foster parents,” I said, with a shrug.
As I said it, I started to think about if there just might be some truth to it.
There was silence for a brief period, while I felt their eyes on me.
Then Fowler held up a picture, “Chloe, do you know this woman?” It was like a headshot of Mary Santiago, my social worker, who won the lifetime award for neglectful.
“Yeah, that’s Mary.”
“Did she ever talk to you about your biological parents?”
“No, and I never did either. We never talked.”
“So, you didn’t know about anything she was doing?”
“You don’t get it. I never said a single word to her in three years. Not hello, not goodbye, nothing.”
“Do you know who your biological parents are?” Fowler asked.
I hesitated. That much they didn’t know. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, I think we’re done here,” Sarah said, getting up abruptly.
I followed suit, as we walked out into the hallway.
“You did good,” Sarah said, with a smile, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d done this before.”
I shrugged, “I just told the truth.”
She frowned, “I didn’t say you didn’t.”
I felt a chill run up my back, and as we turned the corner, I understood the sudden shiver that was still running up my spine.
My heart stopped, and yet all I could hear was the pounding in my ears.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
My breathing sped up and I tried to scream, but nothing would come out.
Sarah, who had walked on as I retreated, turned back and frowned, “Chloe, are you okay?”
Her worried glance confirmed the feeling of the blood draining from my face – I must have been as pale and white as the wall behind me.
“Chloe?” she said, following my gaze.
He was standing there in a grey suit I remembered all too well. His gaze fell on me, and a slow smile made its way along his face. Then, I found my voice; I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed.
It was Robert.