Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3 (19 page)

She listened to every word. She soaked each one up, actually, and I was glad to give her something I think she really needed to hear. Sometimes having another person tell you that everything will be okay is all you really need to get you through the toughest part. I know Brynne needed to hear it, as much as I needed to say it.

“And I will be right with you every step of the way.” I brought her hand up to my lips. “Promise.”

“How do you know about green-olive?” She actually smiled a little.

“I put Bump dot com in my favorites and check it religiously, just like you suggested. We have a green-olive this week, and next week we get a prune.” I winked.

“I love you,” she whispered very softly, and ran her hand through her hair.

“I love you too, my beauty. So very, very much.”

The attendant arrived with the hot towels and drink service. I got the wine, and Brynne got cranberry juice on ice. I waited until she took a sip. I didn’t want to have to force-feed her, but would resort to persuasion tactics if I had to.

To my surprise and relief she seemed to enjoy the cranberry juice.

“This tastes really, really nice.” Another sip. “I’m picking up your words.”

“I can assure you that you still sound like my American girl, baby.”

“I know that, I mean I’m picking up the words you say, like saying ‘this tastes nice’ instead of saying it ‘tastes good.’ It’s rubbing off from being around you so much,” she said.

“Well, since you’re never getting rid of me, then I guess that means I’ll have you speaking like a native in no time.”

“Well, you can certainly try.” She sipped some more juice and looked a bit brighter.

“By the time green-olive is born, you’ll be unrecognizable as a Yank, I’m sure.”

Her face lit up. “I just realized something kinda cool.”

“What’s that?” I asked, intrigued but happy to see her more animated than she’d been in many days.

“Green-olive will call me Mummy instead of Mommy or Mom.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “Seems a little weird . . . but I suppose I’ll get used to it . . . and I like the way it sounds.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You’ll be the best mum green-olive has ever known.”

She smiled at me briefly, but then it went away just as fast as it had appeared. “Not like mine, that’s for sure.” The hurt and anguish rang out loud and clear in her words.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” I shook my head, not wanting to badmouth her mother, but finding it
very
hard not to.

“You mean bringing
her
up.”

“That too,” I countered. I really didn’t want to get into the complexities of Brynne’s relationship with her mum, but if that’s what she wanted to discuss, then I could surely give my opinion. I just hoped I didn’t have to.

She saved me by asking a different question. “What about your mother, Ethan?”

“Well, I barely remember her. All I have now are the memories suggested by the photographs mostly. I think I can remember things about her, but I’m probably just imagining those experiences because of the subject of the photos and the stories Dad and Hannah have shared with me.”

“You said you got the wings tattooed on your back because of your mom.”

No, I don’t want to do this right now.

I almost sighed, but I just managed to hold it in. I knew better than to shut her out in this moment. Brynne had asked me about the tattoo before, and I know she wanted me to share with her now, but I just didn’t feel ready for that yet. Not here on a public flight under tragic circumstances. This wasn’t the right time, nor the right place, for me to let out those emotions.

The salmon showed up just then and reprieved me.

Brynne continued to sip her juice and avoided the food, which wasn’t bad at all for airline fare.

“Here.” I offered a forkful of fish, deciding if she wasn’t going to eat on her own, then I would feed it to her myself.

She eyeballed the bite carefully before opening her mouth to accept it. She chewed slowly and deliberately. “The salmon is nice, but I want to know why the wings remind you of your mom.”

So that’s how this game would be played, huh? Emotional blackmail in exchange for eating a meal . . . I offered another bite of fish to her.

She kept her lips pursed together. “Why that tattoo, Ethan?”

I took a deep breath. “They’re angel’s wings and since I think of her as such, it was very fitting to have the wings across my back.”

“That’s a beautiful idea.” She smiled.

I offered a fresh bit of salmon, which she accepted with no argument this time.

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Laurel.”

“It’s pretty. Laurel. Laurel Blackstone . . .” she repeated.

“I think so,” I told her.

“If green-olive is a girl, I think we have a perfect name for her, don’t you?”

I felt my throat move as I swallowed hard. And it wasn’t from eating the salmon. Her suggestion meant something to me—something deep and very personal.

“You would do that?”

“I really do love the name Laurel, and if you want it, then . . . yes, of course,” she answered, her eyes a little brighter than before.

I was stunned, utterly humbled by her generosity and willingness to give to me such a beautiful gift, especially in a time of such horrible grief for herself. “I would love to name our girl Laurel after my mum,” I said truthfully, before holding up a small piece of bread torn from a roll.

She took the bit of bread and chewed it slowly, never taking her eyes off mine. “Good, that’s settled then,” she said softly, her voice wistful and sounding rather far away.

I imagined what she might be thinking about, so I went for it. “And if our green-olive is a boy?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She started to cry. “I want to . . . name him Thom-m-mas,” she managed, before breaking down right over the Atlantic Ocean, in a first-class cabin, on British Air flight 284, the red-eye, San Francisco to London Heathrow.

I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head. I held Brynne and let her do what she finally needed to do. She was quiet about it and nobody even paid any attention to us, but still it hurt me to have to witness her going through this next step in a very normal process.

The flight attendant, wearing a badge with the name Dorothy and a soft Irish burr, clued in, though, and rushed right over to offer assistance. I asked her to take away the dinner and bring us an extra blanket. Dorothy seemed to understand that Brynne was grieving, and worked quickly to get the food removed, the lights turned out and a blanket for us to cover up. She took extra care of us for the remainder of the flight, and I made sure to thank her sincerely for her kindness when we disembarked several hours later.

For the rest of that flight, I held my girl against me until she’d exhausted her tears and fell into sleep. I slept too, but on and off. My mind was moving all over the place. I had worries galore and could only hope and pray that calling Oakley’s bluff at the funeral service would work. I was prepared to do everything I’d promised if anyone made a move on Brynne I knew how heavily guarded she would be from here on out.

I didn’t know who was responsible for Montrose’s and Fielding’s deaths. I didn’t know if Tom Bennett had been part of that mess and was murdered. I didn’t know who sent the lunatic text message to Brynne’s old mobile or who called in the bomb threat the night we were at the Mallerton Gala. I didn’t know a lot of shit that I really needed some answers to.

I had fear inside of me.

Batshit, crazy-as-fuck, have-me-committed, I’m-petrified-out-of-my-bloody-skull fear.

18

♥
"I
slept for about three days straight once we got back to London. I needed it, and returning to my familiar surroundings did help a great deal,” I told Dr. Roswell. “I’m starting the research project the university approved for me, and have good friends around me helping to plan this wedding.”

“How are the night terrors now that you are off the medication?” she asked.

“It’s inconsistent. I started having them again after I stopped the pills, but now that this stuff—now that my dad has died—they’ve stopped again. Do you think it’s because my mind is now full of something worse to take the place of what I dreamed before?”

Dr. Roswell looked at me carefully and asked, “Is the death of your father worse than what happened to you when you were seventeen?”

Whoa. Heavy question, that. And one I had never pondered before. My first urge was to say that of course, the death of my father was worse, but, if I was honest with myself, I don’t think it was. I was an adult now and could see things with more experience than when I was a teenager, but I had tried to kill myself over the rape video. I had no thoughts even in the same realm as that now. I wanted to live. I needed to live my life with Ethan, and especially to take care of our baby. There were no other options. As I sat there in Dr. Roswell’s office, everything sort of illuminated for me all in an instant. Finally seeing the light helped me realize that I would be okay. I would get through this, and the joy would return for me—in time.

I shook my head and answered my therapist truthfully. “No. It’s not worse.”

She wrote that down with that turquoise fountain pen I thought was so beautiful.

“Thank you for helping me to see everything with clarity for what I think is the first time,” I told her.

“Can you explain what you mean by that, Brynne?”

“I think so.” I took a huge breath and gave it my best shot. “I know my dad loved me and I know he knew how much I loved him back. We had the kind of relationship where we shared our feelings all the time, so there are no regrets there. I’m heartbroken our time was cut short, but there is nothing to be done about that. It’s just life. Look at Ethan, who lost his mother at the age of four. They basically had no time together and he barely remembers her. I got my wonderful loving father for almost twenty-five years.”

Dr. Roswell gave me a beaming smile. “It makes me so happy to hear you talk like this. You’ve cracked the secret code, I’m afraid. Pretty soon I won’t have any excuses to keep sending you a bill for my services.”

“Um . . . no, that won’t be happening, Dr. Roswell. You will be stuck with me for years yet. Just imagine all those mommy guilt trips I’ll be taking soon.”

She laughed in her gentle way. “I look forward to those chats very much.” She closed her notebook and capped her fountain pen. “So tell me about these wedding plans. I want to hear every detail . . .”

♥
Facebook was quite a nice tool for planning a wedding, I had discovered. Elaina had suggested it to me because she was deep into planning her own and knew what she was talking about. I sat down with my Cranberry Zinger tea and logged into my account.

I’d set up a private group for sharing photos and business links that consisted of me and my small army of foot soldiers: Gaby, Ben, Hannah, Elaina, Marie and Victoria, the official wedding planner, who actually made her living at what had to be a
very
challenging job, in my opinion. Things were coming together amazingly smoothly for what was now an impossible deadline of only five weeks. Considering I was hormonal and pregnant, and coming off a devastating personal loss, I decided I was doing pretty damn well for myself.

Ethan had been so crushed at his job we barely saw one another, and the majority of our conversations were via text message. I know he worried about me and tried to give me as much of his attention as he could, but there just wasn’t any time to spare. I understood the pressure he was under, and I mostly needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last weeks anyway. He came home very late, and pretty much wanted only two things once he got there. To make love, and to have me within reach while he slept. Ethan’s need for physical contact was still as strong as ever. I did not mind a bit. I needed it just as much as he did, I think. We both worried about each other.

I shot off a quick message to Elaina about the pictures of floral arrangements she’d posted and joked that we talked to each other more on Facebook than we did in person. Stupid, really, especially when she lived in the same building as I did. Elaina and Neil were just as totally swamped with their jobs at Blackstone Security International as Ethan was. Nobody had much time to spare.

I left there and checked my main profile to find some new messages had been left for me. There were some donation notifications from the Meritus College Fund in San Francisco that my dad had supported for years. It was a nice charity pledged to assist disadvantaged but motivated kids to get a university education. I knew he would have wanted it, so I had announced that in lieu of flowers, donations could be sent directly to Meritus instead. The fund kindly sent me a notice whenever someone left a gift in my dad’s name. Paul Langley had left a gift, as had the staff at the Rothvale Gallery, and Gaby’s father, Rob Hargreave. Their thoughtfulness touched me deeply, and I told them so in my personal thank-you messages back to them.

I posted a nice photo on my Facebook profile of my dad holding me when I was a baby. I had been busy scanning pictures from the photo albums I’d taken from his house and brought home with me. In this particular one, we were both dressed in what looked like pajamas, so it was probably a morning shot. Daddy had me sitting in front of him on his desk, facing the camera, big grins on both our faces. I wondered who had taken it. My mom? Daddy was so young in the photo . . . and looked really happy. At least I had precious memories like these to hold close to my heart.

I got sad when I realized there would be no grandpa pictures of him and my baby. Not now . . . The familiar pang hit me in the chest and I had to close my eyes for a moment and just breathe.

The pain you get when you have to remind your brain that you will never see them, hug them, laugh with them, or talk to them again . . .

Sucks.

Jonathan will have grandpa pictures, though.
Yes, he would. I knew that Ethan’s dad would be a hands-on grandparent. It made me glad just thinking about Jonathan and Marie babysitting for us. I had my aunt to be “grandma” to my baby even if my own mother showed no interest. Ugh. Change of topic please.

A new message popped up with the little blip sound and a message box.

Karl Westman: Hi there. I just logged in and saw your green dot. I’ve made it to London for the Games and hope we can reconnect while I’m in town. Just got in yesterday morning, actually. Still recovering from jet lag. :/ How are you?

Karl . . . He’d found me on Facebook shortly after the funeral and we’d chatted a tiny bit since then. I remembered he said his company was sending him for the Games, and Jess had reminded me too. She was disappointed, really, that she wasn’t able to come with him, as she was a huge sports fan. The Olympics were her thing far more than they were mine. Still, having the Games of the XXX Olympiad in your home city is exciting stuff, no matter how you look at it.

Brynne Bennett: Things are better . . . thanks. Where are you staying in London?

Karl Westman: In Chelsea, of course! I’m not going to miss getting in my history of Jimi while I’m here.

Brynne Bennett: Ha! I remember. It’s funny because Ethan’s dad is taking me to lunch later today. He used to drive a London cab and knows all the sites and history of places like that. You could meet us if you want and get in a quick history lesson??

Karl Westman: Would love that. Thx! Text me the restaurant when you get there and I’ll find you guys.

I logged out of Facebook and headed for the shower. I had a lunch date with my father-in-law-to-be, and then a photo session after. No time for the sin of sloth today.

♥
“So Ethan put you on guard duty today, didn’t he?” I asked Jonathan between bites of some
really
good chicken salad. I’d have to remember the dried cherries and the dill the next time I made it. My appetite was improving slightly, but I didn’t know if it was because of my pregnancy or that I was coming to terms with my father’s death. Either way, I could now look at food without the urge to turn my head away so I wouldn’t puke.

“I know nothing about that, my dear, I wanted to take my soon-to-be-daughter to lunch is all,” he said with a shrug, brown eyes gleaming, “and Ethan told me that Len would be away today.”

“Ha! Thought so,” I laughed. “I know his tactics by now, Jonathan. Ethan doesn’t let his guard down easily, or without very good reasons.” I sipped my juice. “I know he’s very protective and he does it because he loves me.”

“You understand him so well. In fact, I’d say that you have transformed my son into a person I had hoped he might become someday, but feared I would never know.” Jonathan smiled at me with a great deal of kindness and absolutely no judgment.

“The war?” I asked. “I know something very bad happened to him in the army, but I don’t know what. He can’t share with me . . . yet.”

Jonathan patted my hand gently. “Well, that makes two of us then. I don’t know what they did to my son either. I just know he came home with a haunted look in his eye and a very hard edge to him that wasn’t present before. But I do know that he is more like the Ethan I knew when he was younger now that he’s found you. You’ve brought it out in him, Brynne. I can see how he looks at you and how you comfort each other.” He took a drink of his beer. “In short, you’ve made an old man very happy and greatly relieved.”

“I feel the same way about him in a lot of ways. Ethan really saved me from myself.”

Jonathan listened carefully and pointed at my belly. “You’ll find that you never stop worrying about your children no matter how old they get.”

“I’ve heard that said a lot.” I sighed heavily. “I worry now . . . about him or her.” I touched my stomach. “If something happens to me . . . well, then—I can already sort of see how it works.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, my dear. Ethan won’t allow it and neither will I. The next few weeks will find you extremely busy and your schedule filled with plans and events, but soon things will settle and the two of you will be figuring out married life and I’ll be awaiting the arrival of my fourth grandchild.”

He smiled at me and I wholeheartedly returned it with one of my own. I was really beginning to care about Ethan’s dad. He would be a loving grandpa for our baby and it made me feel good inside knowing he was rooting for our little family. It was a small thing to some, but for me, it was huge. Jonathan was giving to me something my own mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t give—the simple blessing for the success and happiness of starting our family.

We were heading out of the restaurant when I spotted Karl rushing in, looking somewhat harried for the easygoing guy I remembered from high school.

“Brynne! God, I’m so sorry I’m late. I got your text, and then it was one delay after another.” He held up his hands. “I got held up with work business.” Stepping closer to embrace me, he kissed me on the cheek affectionately.

“Karl, this is my . . . father-in-law, Jonathan Blackstone. Jonathan, Karl Westman, an old friend from my hometown. We used to compete in track and field together back in the day.”

They shook hands and we all three chatted for a moment. Karl seemed frustrated he’d missed our lunch and “reconnect,” as he’d put it. I wasn’t so sure Ethan could handle a connection of any sort between Karl and me. Honestly, I could do without it too. I had nothing against an old friendship, but in this case there was a great deal of added emotions and that made it more than slightly uncomfortable for me.

“Jess will slay me for coming all the way to London and then not making the time to catch up with you even a little,” he said to me before turning to Jonathan, “and I regret I missed the opportunity to get valuable in-the-know tourist tips from you, Mr. Blackstone.”

“If you’re interested in Hendrix history and locales, I can share what I know. I drove hundreds of tourists around for more than twenty-five years in this city. I think I’ve seen them all.” Jonathan gave Karl his card. “Email me and I’ll send you what I have. You’ll want the Samarkand at number twenty-two Lansdowne Crescent, in Chelsea, I imagine.”

“Absolutely right.” Karl took Jonathan’s card and put it in his pocket. “Thank you for any suggestions you can give me. I don’t have a great deal of time and I want to make the most of it.” He turned to me again. “So . . . any chance we can arrange something else? I imagine you have somewhere to be right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I have a photo shoot in a little over an hour and I need time to prepare.” I thought for a moment. “Well, you’ll be attending the Games, right? Ethan will have tickets for just about any event you could possibly want. Why don’t we plan to meet up for one of the athletics events like hurdles or the hundred meters? I’m actually starting to get excited to see some competitions now.”