Uncovering You 7: Resurrection (8 page)

I look up, startled from my self-pitying reverie. “Huh?”

“Do you know where she is? Do you know where your mother is?” Jeremy emphasizes. “Dammit, Lilly, pay attention! It’s not so fucking hard.”

I shrink back. “Sorry,” I mumble.

His eyes narrow. “My question was more of the rhetorical sort. I’m aware that you do not. I know that you have not spoken to her for years, and that you’ve had no way to keep track of her location.”

“Let me guess,” I say dryly. “You have?”

“Would that surprise you?”

“No.”

“Atta girl. You might yet be smarter than I give you credit for.”

I flash my teeth at him in a fake smile.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jeremy asks. “Is some of your spunk coming back? I’m shocked, Lilly. I didn’t think we’d see a re-emergence of that for weeks.

“Your mother is in Maine,” he continues before I can reply. “She is working nights at a trucker’s diner. You don’t need to worry about her.” One side of his lips curls up in a crooked smile. “She makes good tips.”

That coy, derogatory remark is almost enough to make me pick up my glass and throw it at him.
Almost
.

“You can leave tonight, if you wish. I’ll have it arranged for you. Or tomorrow morning. Whatever you prefer.” He spreads his arms wide in a mocking gesture. “You see? You get nothing but choices from me.”

The last thing I want to do, at this moment, is face the prospect of having sex with the man if I remain here overnight. “I’d like to go now, in that case.”

“Done.” Jeremy glances at his watch. “Simon will take you to the airport in an hour. That should give Rose enough time to pack your bags.”

“I can do it,” I say.

“
Rose
will do it,” Jeremy emphasizes. “Do you hear me? She has a role in this house. I do not want you getting in her way.”

I sniff, already counting down the minutes until I can get away from the man.

“You’ll have three days,” Jeremy lifts up three fingers. “After that, I expect to find you back, re-energized, ready to work, ready to fuck, and in general, more like the woman I assume you’re still capable of being, instead of…” he points his fork at me in the most despicable, degrading way imaginable, “…
this
.”

Chapter Eleven

Later that night, I’m in the back of Jeremy’s jet, flying across the country,
alone
. It’s a strange feeling.

Even though he’s not with me, his presence still lingers heavy on my mind.

As hard as I try, I cannot mentally dissociate myself from Jeremy Stonehart. He is at the heart of everything I do. Even if I were to leave—even if I were to take him at his word, and just walk out the door—the sense of uncertainty would consume me.

Worse, the sense of my
failure
would consume me.

I promised myself I would get revenge. I vowed it. If not for myself, then at least for Paul.

I wonder if Rose is in a similar position. I wonder if she has also stuck by Jeremy, not because she has to, but because she
needs
to?

Who knows the true nature of their relationship?

But am I even in a position to make good on my promise any longer? I think I still am, even if I have backtracked. That also introduces a third element of uncertainty.

The irony is not lost on me. I’ve been released from the contract, and yet, I am now bound more tightly to Jeremy than ever.

And now, only because of him, I’m about to do something I never thought I would.

I’m about to see my mother.

I’m not going out to Maine in search of reassurance. That’s not something she can provide. I am going out there in search of the
truth
.

Now, with Fey’s information, I really need to know. Is Paul truly my father? Did he actually abandon us, or did
she
force him to leave?

If she did…and the result of that was him going to California, meeting Stonehart’s mother, ruining her life (in Jeremy’s view), and thus resulting in his targeting of me…then if I trace things back far enough, everything is her fault.

I stop short.
How petty do I sound?
I cannot blame my mother for what Jeremy has done. But that’s the nature of my relationship with her. When things have turned bad in the past, it’s always been her fault.

I realize I’m pressing my nails tights into the armrest and force my fingers to release. I feel more on edge about this spur-of-the-moment trip than anything else in recent memory. How will my mother react when she sees me? How will
I
react when I see her?

I check my phone once more for anything from Fey. The silence on her end is killing me. Did I really screw things up so badly that the apology I left on her voice mail wasn’t enough to at least make her talk to me? I’m not expecting sympathy or forgiveness. That’s not what I’m after. But it would be nice, at least, to know that somebody out there still cares about me.

Somebody other than my abductor.

I look out the little window, and press my palm against the glass. I’m alone in the cabin. I specifically asked for no flight attendants. It’s just me and the pilot on this plane, and he’s locked away behind those heavy metal doors.

I feel as cut off from the world, right now, as I ever have. Despite having all my freedoms. Despite having the ability to go wherever I want to go. I’ve ruined my relationship with Fey. I
have
no relationship with my mother. I doubt Sonja would want to talk to me. She’s only heard things from Fey’s side, and they don’t paint a pretty picture of who I’ve become.

More irony. Isn’t this—or some version of this—what I’ve always wanted? Independence. Self-sufficiency. A reliance on nobody and no one but myself?

At least, that’s what I
thought
I wanted. Now, I’m starting to see things differently. Independence is all good and great. But, when taken to the extreme, it becomes… despairing. Empty. With no warmth in my life from anybody other than Jeremy… and even that has disappeared after the way I disappointed him… what do I have left?

***

The plane touches down with a jerk. I open my eyes and look around.

The early rays of the sun are just starting to peek through the clouds. There’s a light frosting of snow on the ground.

We taxi towards the terminal and I deplane. The amount of snow was deceptive. It’s freezing cold out here. I rub my arms and wish for a hot coffee as I wait for the pilot to transfer my bags to the back of a waiting limousine.

But as we leave the airport, I get a sudden urge to test the limits of my freedom.

“Wait. Wait, stop.”

The driver looks back at me. “What, here?”

“Yes, here,” I snap. “Let me off.”

“Mr. Stonehart said to bring you to—”

“Yeah, well I’m telling you to stop right
now
. Mr. Stonehart’s not here, is he? I’m the one in charge.”

“Sure thing,” he shrugs. He pulls into an alcove of a strip mall. I open the door.

“My bags?” I demand impatiently.

The driver comes around and takes them out. I motion for him to place them by my feet. He sticks his hands into his front pockets.

“Mr. Stonehart won’t be pleased with me when he finds out,” he says.

“Let me worry about that,” I say.

“Crazy lady,” the driver mutters as he gets back into the limousine and takes off.

A few minutes later, I spot a cab cruising the lot and hail it. It stops curbside.

At least this way, Jeremy will have no way to keep track of me
, I think.

I get in. The driver asks a question I have no ready answer to.

“Where to?”

I take out a slip of paper with the address of the diner jotted down on it. “Do you know that place?”

He squints at Jeremy’s small, tight handwriting. Then he nods. “Yeah, sure. Nice shop. Serves the best chili in the state. But it won’t be open now.”

“I know,” I say. “Just bring me to a hotel nearby.”

“Nearby?” he asks. “Won’t be any hotels nearby, little lady. Just pit stops and the occasional motel.”

“That’s fine,” I say. I pause, and then add, “And a car rental?”

The taxi driver grins at me as if he’s just been let in on some great secret. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure thing.”

***

I drop my bags off at a seedy motel and then return to the cab to be driven to rent a car. I get a Toyota. It feels so strange to be behind the wheel of a vehicle. Nobody had cars at Yale. On a small campus, there was no need. The only reason I got my driver’s license was because I’d saved up for driving courses during high school. My mother obviously did not have a car.

Then there was all the time spent under Jeremy’s care, secluded from the world. Having my hands on the steering wheel, feeling my foot on the gas pedal, having the car move forward at my command…all of it feels strange, surreal, but a little… empowering.

I wonder, in the back of my mind, whether Jeremy’s having me watched. He’s certainly capable of hiring the people to do it. They could be tailing me right now and I’d be none the wiser.

Of course, it doesn’t really matter. I’m not thinking about running. I’m only here to see my mother, clear my mind, and return to my position in Jeremy’s life. Hopefully without any further crazy episodes.

I pull up to the motel, park, and go to my room. This environment is certainly familiar. It’s all I’ve known growing up.

I look around the small room. There’s a futon with a pull-out bed. A tiny television sits across from it. There’s one of those stereotypical motel alarm clocks with the red light flashing the time.

It’s early morning. According to Jeremy, my mother works nights. That much is to be expected. For now, I have nothing to do but wait.

I check my phone for communications from Fey. Nothing. I sigh, and tuck it away.

Then, I lower myself on the edge of the futon, and stare at the clock.

Am I really ready to face my mother tonight? I don’t know. It’s been what, five, six years since our final blow-up? I’ve always said that she ruined things, so the onus would be on her to repair them. To extend the proverbial olive branch, so to speak.

Yet here I am, taking responsibility for her mistakes yet
again
. That’s why we were always incompatible. She had no sense of responsibility. I did.

And because of that, I was always the one left picking up the pieces.

Honestly, at times, it felt like I was dealing with an overgrown child rather than an adult. Only some of her behavior can be attributed to drinking, or the heartbreak over Paul.
If
that even contributed to things as much as I suspect. I may just be misattributing cause to the situation.

No, the majority of fault lies with
her
. Nobody forced her to drink. She did it herself. Nobody forced her to neglect her only daughter at some of the most pivotal moments of the young girl’s life. She did it herself.

Nobody forced her to declare that I was no longer welcome in her home, because I chose school, academics, and an actual
future
for myself instead of her. Her and her drinking habit.

She did it herself.

God
. I grunt in frustration. I’m getting worked up about the mere
prospect
of seeing her. How will I react when she’s actually there, standing in front of me, in person?

I know I sound totally ungrateful. I’m not. Renee was a good mother. Until the incident in the woods, with Paul, that is. Until alcohol took control of her life.

I hope—I wish—that she’s sober now. But I know better than to expect miracles. If you keep waiting for people to change, they will keep finding ways to disappoint you.

People don’t change. Not unless something major happens in their lives. Not unless—

Wait. Holy shit. Here I am, saying that people don’t change, and yet I’m expecting that…from Stonehart?

Yes, Stonehart. Not Jeremy. That’s who I met him as. I should never forget that.

I haven’t exactly. It just got lost in the tide of all the other feelings I have revolving around him. Maybe my time away will lend some clarity to my mind.

Or maybe it doesn’t even matter at this point. Jeremy is a part of my life. He’ll continue to be a permanent fixture for the foreseeable future—and long past that.

Unless something goes wrong. Unless—and this frightens me—he reverts back to Stonehart.

Or, even worse—if I lose my mind.

The incident with Hugh still eats away at me. I can’t shake the feeling that it was real. Very, very real.

And that certainty...the impression that I should trust what I remember, and disregard what I saw transpire on-screen…is what makes me fear for my own sanity.

I stand up. The room suddenly feels too small, too cramped. I have my freedom now, don’t I? I had better take advantage of it.

I pick up my keys for the Corolla from the ashtray, grab my purse, step outside…and nearly collide with the taxi driver who brought me here.

“You!” I exclaim. “What are you doing outside my door?”

He looks at me, surprise and shock flashing on his face. And then he turns around and breaks into a run.

“Wait!” I scream. I scramble to tighten my boots—they weren’t meant for running, just for keeping me warm—and take off after him.

I see him disappear behind a corner of the building, far ahead of me. I lower my head and run faster. This is me channeling the remnants of the tomboy I was growing up. When I come around the corner, the man is gone.

I stop short. He couldn’t have just disappeared. But there are so many doors lining the side of the building in front of me. Any one of them could have been his escape.

I stalk forward, determined. Could he just be a creepy cab driver, or—more likely—could he be somebody planted by Jeremy?

I wish the snow hadn’t been cleared away. That way, I could follow his tracks.

One round up and down the exterior of the building leads me nowhere. There’s no sign of the man. Besides, if he’s inside one of the rooms, it’s not like I’m going to just break down the door and get to him.