Vincent stood inside the airport terminal watching me through the window while I waited for Mom at the curb. I didn't think it was a good idea to introduce them after my frantic phone call last night. My parents assumed my distress was prompted by a guy, but I never confirmed it, and I still needed to come up with a believable excuse now that Vincent and I were on speaking terms again.
Breakfast had proven to be a pleasant experience. I told Vincent about my lifelong interest in photography and my love of ancient architecture, which started after my family and I visited Paris and Rome. He told me about his two whippets, Bonnie and Clyde, and I learned that Amelia and Jonathan had a twelve-year-old daughter named Griffin. When he mentioned Griffin had more spunk than a rugby team, my interest in meeting this mysterious family grew.
Of course, I still felt wary about my involvement with the Valentinos. I hadn't confirmed whether or not they were connected to the mob, but how did one bring up a topic like that? And I had serious doubts I could be this missing child Vincent spoke of, mostly because I didn't want to follow that crazy train. But it prompted questions that I planned to hit my parents with during my visit.
Mom arrived in her white Nissan, and I shot a quick wave to Vincent before throwing my carry-on in the back and climbing into the passenger seat. "Hi, Mom. Thanks for picking me up." I wrapped my arms around her neck, breathing in her coconut shampoo-scented sweat. "I hope Zumba was fun."
"Zumba is always fun. How was the flight? Uneventful, I hope." She watched my face for signs of distress before pulling the car into airport traffic. I could tell she was eager to ask questions about my current state of mind, but she liked to pretend she wasn't the nosy type. As far as the flight being uneventful, I could honestly tell her there were no mishaps with the plane. The company I kept, however, caused me a fair amount of distress, which he made up for during breakfast.
"The flight was short and sweet, as usual," I answered with a smile. "I'm looking forward to some family time, but I'm going to let Sylvie know I'm here. She would have my head stuffed and mounted if I didn't tell her I'm only a few train stops away." I unearthed my phone from my purse and scrolled to our last text, the one she sent wishing me a good time at the metalcore show. Talk about a major fail.
I'm in DC. Caught an early flight to visit my parents. You got plans for the weekend yet?
"I haven't seen Sylvie since your father's birthday party. How is she?"
"Good. She's still working for the architectural firm, but she's been doing some freelance photography on the side. Her website looks really nice."
"Hmm, I'll have to check it out." Mom continued to assess me through her peripherals as she merged into the traveling lane. Her dark hair was arranged in a neat twist on top of her head, exposing the grays at her temples, and her meticulously honed figure stretched her workout clothes in all the right places. If we had shared DNA, I wouldn't have to worry about a thing. "How are you, Reese? You sounded upset last night. I barely slept after your call."
"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to freak you out. I had a strange night and my go-to response was to call you."
"Well, I'm glad you did. I want you to feel like you can call your dad and me for anything. We would give you the world if we could, you know that. Is it boy trouble?"
I crossed my fingers and hid them next to my hip. "It was a girl, actually. A potential client. I met her at a club thinking I was going to help her with her blog, but she ended up being a crazy with an agenda." The story was not a total lie, so I uncrossed my fingers and dug into my purse for lip balm. In my haste to get out of New York, I neglected almost every aspect of personal hygiene.
"Oh, honey. I'm sorry about that. You're going to run across a lot of self-centered people, especially as a freelance artist. And here I was worrying that Heath had found you." Her shoulders visibly relaxed and she readjusted her fingers around the steering wheel. "When will the article on the Saint Thomas Church come out? That's one of my favorite gothic structures in New York. I bet you got some nice shots."
Ah, yes. The church shoot. I remembered the nice shots I got of Vincent without his jacket, but I couldn't remember any others off the top of my head. "It was definitely a successful shoot. The article is supposed to be included in the December subscription of MegaManhattan. I'll let you know the details when I get them."
I was distracted by my phone as a text chimed through from Sylvie.
Brills! I'm free as a bird all weekend. Are your parents cool if I crash at their place?
Of course. Speaking of birds. Pigeons are playing at The Ice House tonight. You interested?
Hell, yeah! You're my hero. My weekend just went from zero to light speed. I'll text you my ETA.
I'll handle the tickets. You just show up.
"That was Sylvie. She's going to hang with us this weekend. One of our favorite bands is in town for a show tonight, so I'm going to get us a couple of tickets. But the rest of the weekend is family time."
"Sounds like fun." Mom offered me her I'm happy if you're happy smile, although I knew she was disappointed I wouldn't be spending every waking moment with her and Dad, and she stayed quiet while I made arrangements for the evening's festivities on my phone.
In an effort to make up for my self-centeredness, I helped Mom come up with meals for the entire weekend, scouring the freezer for steaks and double stuffed potatoes, and writing out a grocery list. We hoofed it to the local market, stopping at our favorite wing joint beforehand. Over lunch, I made the decision to ask those questions I needed some answers to. It wasn't so much that she and Dad had avoided my inquiries about the events surrounding my adoption, but it was possible they withheld information they didn't think I needed to know back then.
"Hey, Mom. I've had these questions plaguing me recently, and I was hoping you might fill in a few blanks."
"Sure, honey." Mom set down her chicken wing and wiped her fingers before taking a long pull off her draught beer. She might have been obsessed with keeping her girlish figure, but not to the point of giving up her love of a good dark beer.
"Well, I've been wondering if there were some things you and dad didn't share with me about my psychotherapy back when I first started to talk. I was so young and a lot of it was done under hypnosis, but I'm twenty-five now and I think I can handle any weird or disturbing revelations I might have shared with my therapist."
Mom swallowed before quickly bringing her mug to her lips to take another drink. "What kind of revelations are you looking for?"
"Specifically, I want to know if I talked about my previous family and where I might have lived." I tried to keep my tone light, like I was merely curious about my birth parents. Who wouldn't be?
"Oh... Well, you never mentioned the town you grew up in, but you may not have known the name. You did say you took walks by a river, and there were tall buildings, and how you enjoyed living in the one with the pretty windows. We all agreed you may have started your life in New York City, so it wasn't a surprise to your Dad and me that you moved there after college. Of course, we did extensive research about missing and exploited children, but no children fitting your name and description had been reported missing."
I nodded mutely. This was information I'd already heard. "Did you search under any other names besides Reese? Elise maybe? They sound similar." I popped a French fry into my mouth, trying for nonchalant.
"Elise? I'm not sure. We tried Denise and Clarice, but your speech back then was limited and difficult to interpret. Do you think you found your birth parents? Is that why you're asking these questions?"
Yikes. Here goes.
"I haven't been looking, if that's what you're wondering, but I met this guy whose father was involved in a search for a kidnapped child back in March of nineteen ninety-five. She was taken from her family in Chicago at the age of four. Her name was Elise, and she may have been found in an abandoned detergent factory in Buffalo."
Mom's hand moved to her throat and she massaged her neck, a typical maneuver for her when she was anxious. "Oh, Reese. Kidnapping? I hate to think you endured such trauma before the police found you. Does this boy live in New York City?"
While I would hardly categorize Vincent as a boy, Mom tended to label every man who showed interest in me a boy. "Yes. He and his family live there."
"How long have you known him? What's his name?'
"We met last Friday. His name is Vincent Valentino. He's kind of a big deal in Manhattan. He was the major donor in the Saint Thomas Church restoration."
"I'll have to look him up. Maybe your Dad knows him. How do you feel about this information? Do you think Vincent's father can help you find your birth parents?"
I bit my lip. I never liked delivering unpleasant news. "His father died during the search for the child."
"Oh, how awful. It must be difficult for Vincent to talk about it then."
"I think it's been long enough, but I can tell it still haunts him. Can you think of anything else that came out during my hypnotherapy sessions? Something that might trigger a memory for me?" I stared pointedly at her across the table as she continued to stroke her neck, causing it to redden.
"Well, I never told you this before, but the first word you ever spoke apart from your name was a Latin word. The word for family. I can't remember it off the top of my head."
"Domus?" I said as an unbidden shot of adrenaline coursed through my veins.
"Yes, that's right. Then there was this one visit...the day you really started talking. You told the therapist about the gargoyles who protected people in the cities, but they did it at night so they wouldn't be seen. He attributed this to a story you were told by the people involved in your life before you were found. None of us could tell whether this was a good or bad memory, so we didn't encourage it."
The adrenaline had slowly but surely made itself at home in my stomach, which I didn't think was related to the spicy wings. This was definitely news to me, and I was a touch annoyed my parents hadn't brought it up sooner. It would have explained a few things. "I wonder if that's why I'm so interested in gargoyles. Maybe it stems from a buried memory."
"Maybe." Mom nodded noncommittally as she picked up her chicken and gnawed on it. She appeared to be ready to end the conversation, and I was happy to oblige.
Staring at the wings on my plate, I thought about Vincent's wings. While he didn't confirm they were real, the insinuation was there, and I recalled a comment he made in the airport about our carnal connection being in our blood. Was that why I kept giving him the benefit of the doubt? Because I knew deep down he was right?
~ ~ ~
I had to admit, I missed living in DC. Our home on Logan Circle offered easy access to all the landmarks, amazing restaurants, and the hottest nightclubs. Despite the high crime rate in DC, I never felt like my life was in peril when I walked the streets at night. There was always a crowd to mingle with or an open shop to duck into. But Vincent's constant paranoia had filled my mind with doubt, and I tried to free those negative images as I trotted to the train station to meet Sylvie by the fading light of dusk.
During our breakfast conversation, I had asked Vincent to give me some space while I was in DC, but I didn't ask him if he had planned to head back to New York. My guess was he hadn't, so the timing of his text pinged my stalker radar.
I hope you're having a nice visit with your parents. What are your plans for the evening?
What if I told you that was none of your business?
You'd make it a little harder for me to find out. And my feelings might be hurt.
Aw. The man of steel admits to having feelings.
Ouch.
Oops. He was right. That was uncalled for.
Sorry. That wasn't cool. Sylvie and I are going to a concert.
I waited for his response as I entered the metro station. I figured it would come in the form of a phone call. I could picture his eyebrows bunching over those stormy eyes as he rattled off all the reasons I shouldn't expose myself to a potential attack by having fun after dark, but no call came. And it was several minutes before another text chimed through.
Please, be careful.
Huh? Was that it? No lecture? No argument? Just a generic warning to be careful? I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Had Vincent suddenly stopped giving a shit? That didn't seem likely, but the thought had my heart constricting like a hangman's noose. The other possibility for his casual response was his commitment to giving me space. He knew I was irritated by the constant surveillance. Of course, based on Vincent's history, he was probably forming a plan for keeping a covert eye on me, and I smiled contentedly as I sent my reply.
Don't worry about me. I know where to kick a man to make it hurt.
Sylvie's train pulled into the station, and I waited impatiently at the turnstile. A trio of guys rushed past me as they attempted to make the train, and I felt a hand brush across my ass as the group passed. It wasn't the first time I'd been felt up in a subway, but the incident had my radar pinging again.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw Sylvie's platinum locks. She had them cinched into a high ponytail and accented with a blue lace headband. I jabbed my hand in the air and waved her forward, relieved to have my bestie close again. I didn't realize how lonely I'd been for her until she barreled into me and pressed a bubble gum-flavored kiss on my mouth.
"Reese! You look just the way I left you. Gorgeous!"
"Thanks. You don't look too bad yourself."
Sylvie tended to dress like she was still in high school. Her black pleated skirt barely covered her butt cheeks, and the Yes, They Are Real t-shirt exposed her pink dice belly button ring. I imagined in forty years she would be wearing the same thing. She was my ride or die friend and I loved her. End of story.
"So, what time are the Pigeon's coming in to roost?" Sylvie blew a bubble with her gum as we walked home under the street lamps, and I found myself glancing between cars and scanning the front stoop of every home. It made me wonder if I ever paid attention to my surroundings before.
"Nine, so we don't have much time. I've got Mom mixing Arnold Palmers. I thought you would want some liquid libation before we hit the train again."
Sylvie squealed as she planted another kiss on my face. "You are the best, you know that, right? Tell me about this hot VIP you've been keeping from me. Your text details about your date were seriously lacking."
I shrugged, remembering how Vincent had carried me up the stairs after our first kiss and we ended up in the shower together. It sounded great in my head, but the reality was a little more screwed-up than that. "Like I said, he's hard to figure out. But I think it went well. We've seen each other every day since then."
Sylvie's vivid blue eyes bulged as she stared at me incredulously. "Every day? Are you so hung up on this guy that you haven't thought to tell your best friend you're in love?"
"I'm not in love, Sylvie."
"Then it's lust, which is just as bad. I need details. My sex life is non-existent."
"We're not having sex."
"What?" Sylvie pressed both hands to her chest dramatically. "If you haven't had sex with him and you've seen him every day, then it must be love."
I offered another noncommittal shrug, but I knew Sylvie wasn't going to let this go. "I don't think it's love yet. He's a difficult guy to get to know."
"Ah, the shy, silent type."
"Vincent is far from shy," I said with a snort. "But he can be silent...and a little possessive."
Sylvie stopped in her tracks and shook her head. "Don't tell me you've attracted a guy like Heath. I can't handle seeing you go through another relationship like that."
"He's nothing like Heath. Heath is an asshole. Vincent is just paranoid. He seems to think I'm in constant peril."
"Well, New York City is pretty rough and tumble."
"And Baltimore isn't? I also survived DC for twenty years without having my skull bashed in."
"Jesus, Reese. Don't say shit like that."
I tugged on Sylvie's hand, prompting her forward. "I'm sorry. Let's forget about possessive guys and focus on having an awesome weekend. We're seriously overdue."
Sylvie's mood switched rails, and she raised our arms over our heads, gesturing them wildly. "On fleek, bitch!"
PLAYLIST SONG: Heavy Dirty Soul by Twenty One Pilots