Losing Francesca (16 page)

"Four Seasons, huh? Fancy. OK, well, tell me why you like it there. Why that place, of all the places you've been?"

"Well, it's close to home, it's—"

"Wait a minute, close to home? Bora Bora is in the South Pacific if it's the same place I'm thinking of, so how is that close to Italy?"

"
I
never said I live in Italy."

He cocks his head at me. "OK, you live close to Bora Bora, go on."

"And it's got these amazing houses that stand out in the middle of the water. On these tall stilts and stuff. Can you picture it?"

"Sorta."

"Well," I say, tugging him to lie back on the dock with me. Our feet still dangle in the water, but now we're looking up at the stars and the three-quarter moon. "Imagine the most stunning turquoise blue water, and white sands so bright, they almost blind you in the sunlight. The water is warm and calm and so clear that you can even see the teeny tiniest little crabs crawling across the ocean floor right from the dock. And the houses look like they're huts from the outside, complete with thatched rooftops and everything. But inside, they are furnished with every amenity. Luxury couches, and giant beds with thick mattresses. And white curtains blow in the tropical breeze. Instead of sidewalks, there's boardwalks that stick up out of the water and they go all the way around the houses and the resort. We stayed in those houses over the water a few times, but usually we get a beachfront villa because there's a pool and my dad is a freak about swimming in the ocean. He likes me to swim in a pool."

I turn to look at him and he's smiling.

"I can see why you'd like it, but just so you know, on a good day you can see almost six inches down into Lake Erie, and we may not have huts over the water, but I can take you to a broken-down boathouse tomorrow night if it will make you feel more at home."

He turns his head to me and his giant grin erupts into a laugh.

"OK, I spilled a major secret with that one, so now your turn. Favorite place you've visited?"

"Secret, huh? Where you live, right? The South Pacific Islands. I can see why you'd like to go home now, actually. It must be a whole lot nicer than Woods on the Lake." He stops to think a little, then continues. "Well, let me see. I hate to travel. Actually, I hate planes and flying. I'm a total chicken shit when it comes to that, and crossing the ocean, that's a whole other fear I won't go into." He stops once again to look over at me, and then pulls me up a little and slips his arm under my back so I have to snuggle in close to his chest. My hand absently traces a little pattern in the wrinkles of his shirt.

These little touches remind me of something.

His abs are really spectacular under this shirt.

"So I try not to go anywhere, actually. That's why it bugs me that Renn is always talking about moving. I love this place. I love our house and this shitty fucking beach and this stupid old dock. I love my messy garage and my customers who still trust me enough, after all the shit I pulled as a teenager, to take care of their cars. I have everything I need right here, but if I had to choose, of the very limited selection of places I've ever been, I guess I'd pick an island as well."

"Which one?" I prod, keenly interested.

"South Bass Island."

"Never heard of it, where's it at?"

"Lake Erie!" he laughs. "I told you, I don't go anywhere. But we have a nice boat docked down at the Woods marina, and every summer we boat out to Put-in-Bay and spend a few days over Fourth of July. We've been doing it since I was a kid, and that's one thing that didn't change when the parents died. We still go. There's a huge amusement park across the lake from the island and they have a new rollercoaster this year that I'm dying to try out. And every night we go trolling for walleye, then have a fish fry the next day. It's something, one of the few things, actually, that stayed the same after our mom and dad died. Fourth of July has always been the best holiday for us because birthdays are sad without parents to celebrate the fact that they made you and you're growing up. And even after five years, we still burn the turkey every Thanksgiving, and Christmases are just plain depressing."

He looks over at me and shrugs. "They died on Christmas Eve. Lots of drunks on the road on Christmas Eve."

I reach over and grab his hand. "And there's no one to bring you presents."

"Right. Santa Claus died with the parents, too. I mean, we were all old already. But it's the pretense, ya know? The ritual, the teasing. But Fourth of July is different. It's the total opposite of how bad things get in the winter. It's hot, and sunny, and the lake doesn't look like the Arctic because it's frozen over. We love Fourth of July because all our memories are good. And Fourth of July doesn't require parents. All you need is some meat, a grill, and a fishing boat." He laughs. "That's how you celebrate Fourth of July Mason-style."

"I've never celebrated the Fourth of July. I've gone to a few American schools, but I never stayed the summer."

He turns to me with a sad smile. "It's about freedom, right? It's a way to celebrate freedom, and that's something us Mason brothers have had a little too much of. Too much freedom. It might be overrated, actually. Freedom is cool for countries and slaves, but kids, not so much."

I think about this as we stare up at the sky. I've never had a lot of freedom, in fact my life has been the total opposite of what Brody describes. "I wish I could go to your island, Brody. I'd like to see that place and do those things."

"Yeah, you wanna come with?"

I snort. "Like Frank will let me go on an overnight trip with you and your brothers."

"Sean can come if he wants. Be the chaperon and stuff. He likes Renn, they get along OK. You can ask, right?"

"Yeah," I say wistfully. Whole days with a boy I like—going boating, and fishing, and riding rollercoasters. It's like a dream come true.

Chapter Twenty-Five - Brody

Fiona Sullivan feels like my best friend right now. I like spending time with her and I hope to God she sticks around because I really can't imagine what it would do to me if she disappeared again.

I push that thought away and move the conversation forward. "OK, you ready for the next question?"

"No. It's my turn to ask the next one, and since you asked me a personal one, that's what you're getting too."

"I can't wait, ask away." She smiles and from my end, it looks seductive and sexy, but I'm guessing she's just being normal on her end. She's that cute. I grin at that and she bites her lip as I study her. "Well, what're you waiting for?"

Her eyes blaze with mischief and the suspense is almost killing me.

"Who was your most serious girlfriend? And tell me why you liked her enough to let it get that far."

"Aw, that's a terrible question. Why the hell do you want to know that shit?"

"Because it'll tell me a lot about you, so answer. I gave you a very big secret about where I live."

"Fee," I laugh, "I'd hardly call telling me you live on some uncharted Gilligan's Island in the South Pacific a huge reveal. I'm not familiar with the neighborhood, ya know. It means nothing to me."

She shrugs. "Yeah, but it's a very small world down there, it would not be hard to find, trust me. So it
is
a big deal, you just haven't discovered that yet."

"OK, but no judgment."

"Deal," she says with a nod.

"Longest girlfriend was Gabrielle Warren. I dated her most of senior year in high school, then she went away to college and we broke up." She's frowning long before I finish the sentence. Seriously frowning. "See, I told you it was a dumb question."

"Someone named Gabrielle texted you yesterday when Sean and I were out. She wanted to meet you last night."

"Fiona, I never met her last night. I haven't seen her in almost two years."

"Well, why did you like her well enough to date her so long?"

"This feels like a trap, this stuff makes no difference."

"It does, it tells me things."

'Things I might not want you to know, Francesca."

"Oh, now I'm Francesca? When you want to be snotty and rebellious, Fiona disappears, does she?"

She's dead serious so I give in. "Fine. I dated Gabby because she liked to screw, she let me pretty much do anything I wanted, and she never bugged me for bullshit like presents or kisses, or dates. I used her, OK? She was available, she was slutty, and she was pretty. So fuck it. I used her."

She sits up and shakes her head as she laughs. "Well, I guess I asked for that, right?"

"Yup, you sure the fuck did. Aren't you glad you pushed it? I'm looking pretty hot right now, aren't I? And you know what? If Gabby did text yesterday, then she was after one thing and one thing only. She never meant anything to me, and if I meant anything to her, I never cared enough to figure it out."

I sit up now as well and then get to my feet, dragging lake water out onto the deck as I do it. Fiona shrinks back from the drops that fall on her.

"Anything else?"

She stands up and smiles. "Yes, I have a follow-up."

"Shoot."

"Did you act out as a teen because you missed Fiona?" She stares up at me with those silver-gray eyes all lit up by the moon and the stars and then drapes her hands over my shoulders, resting her head against my chest.

I hug her. I bring her as close to me as I can possibly get her. I breathe her in and close my eyes as my hands reach under her hair and clutch her. I let it all go with a sigh. "When Fiona left…" I push her away a little until she's compelled to look up at my face. "I was destroyed when she left. And I realize that she didn't leave. I got it, even as a kid, that she was stolen. Grabbed. Kidnapped, whatever. I understood the specifics of that. But in my mind I couldn't help wondering if she wanted to leave. Like I never meant anything to her, ya know.

"And the older I got, the more this feeling of being abandoned by her grew. It's illogical, I know. She never had a choice in the matter and I do understand this." I point to her and me. "I understand that this is not what I had with Fiona when I was seven. And even if you are Fiona, we're not those kids anymore. No matter how hard I wish, and how much I want it, you are Francesca, the girl who lives on some random tropical island. And I'm Brody, the guy who drinks, and fights, and generally doesn't give a shit about anyone but his brothers."

I stare down at her and she whispers, "I'm sorry."

It's a signal to end the conversation, that maybe she's feeling uncomfortable about what I'm saying. But I'm not ready to stop talking just yet. "I hated her. I was so angry with her once I finally accepted the fact that she was never coming back, I just felt hate." I stop to swallow and shrug. "I hated her, Francesca. And the only way I knew how to deal with that was through anger."

"But now?" she asks. "What do you feel now?"

"Are you Fiona Sullivan?"

"No. I told you I'm not."

This answer makes me want to give up. Just walk away and say,
Fine. You're not her, so I'm not interested.

But I can't. I want to convince her instead. I need her to be Fiona. I pray to God.
Please, let this girl be my Fiona
. "But even you have to admit, you look like her in the pictures. So there's no part of you that wonders, maybe there's something about your life that seems off? Like, maybe you
could
be Fiona, but just not know it?"

She turns her back on me now and I have to let go.

"I admit, my life is strange. And there are things from my childhood that are frightening and weird, and—"

I wait but she just stops. "And what?"

She sighs and shakes her head a little. "There are things that are confusing for me. My mother died when I was small. She had a bad accident, she—"

I try to be patient, but I'm not doing a great job at it. "Francesca, you're driving me nuts here. She what?"

"Well, she died, that's all." Fee looks up at me with glassy eyes. "She died, but I'm not really sure how it happened. We were on a boat, and one minute she was there and the next minute she was gone."

This is not good. "What does your dad
do
, Fiona?"

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you that, and believe me when I say it's better that way."

"
Could
you be Fiona Sullivan?"

She laughs a little. "Could I be, as in is it possible that I am? Or could I be, as in would I want to be her?"

I take her face in my hands. "Answer both of those questions, please."

She stares into my eyes for several excruciating seconds. "I'm confused about the first one and yes, on the last one. Yes, being here with you and these Sullivan people, yes. I could get used to this life Fiona has waiting for her. I'm struck dumb by the differences in our lives. I know I've been provided with everything a girl needs and probably could even dream up. I've had the best education, I've had trips to places all over the world, I was given every opportunity. And don't get me wrong, my dad and my stepmom, Sophia, love me. And I love them back, we are close and we are good. But I've never had a family dinner hour. There was never a time in my life where I could depend on all of us being together. I mean, most of the time months went by and we never saw my dad. So the idea that Fiona could just show up at home every night at seven o'clock and spend time with her entire family? Well, that's something I've always wanted."