Fernando, Brock, and Jose are all in the hospital room, keeping up their vigil with the TV on and the window shades closed when I return the next day with James and Blue.
Robert looks the same. The machines around him keep their steady beat. Since I last saw him, I watched Senator Jackson be murdered, almost died myself, and saw a man electrocuted to death. But nothing here has changed.
Jose stands when I enter, smiling like he is happy to see me. “We got you a stroller,” he says, crossing to the closet and pulling out a top-of-the-line black stroller.
“Thanks,” I say, taken aback by the thoughtful gesture. While I was out chasing snipers Jose was shopping for strollers. I want to keep him.
My gaze slides to Brock. His dark eyes meet mine. He must know Senator Jackson is dead, but does he know what I did? Does he know that one of the snipers is in this hospital right now?
My gaze flickers to Robert, so still and apparently close to death, and back to Brock, so alive, so stoic…so dangerous.
The day wears on in the way that days in hospitals do. Doctors visit, nurses fuss, and the TV lays down the soundtrack to it all. I take James and the dogs out for walks, we stroll the manicured campus, the desert wind blustering against us.
After dinner, James grows heavy as we head back to the hotel room. Frank and Nila greet us, Nila immediately pointing out an object on the kitchen counter. It’s a travel gun safe. A sticky note written in Mulberry’s sprawling handwriting reads: Saw this and it made me think of you.
I smile at the note. What a thoughtful motherfucker. Inside is a Springfield Hellcat—a micro 9mm pistol. One of my favorites.
I leash Nila and Frank, taking them and Blue out for a final walk, the Hellcat tucked into my diaper bag. The hotel casts yellow light out into the desert until it fades into blackness. The highway beyond is a streak of red and white lights in the distance. James is sound asleep when we get back to the hotel.
I feed the dogs and then walk into the bedroom.
There is an envelope on the freshly made bed. From the hotel cleaning staff? I had the do not disturb sign on. I pulled the covers over the bed before we left but this is…a military style bed making.
My heart hammers. Peter made the bed. There is a glass of water on the bedside table. My fingers tingle with freshly released adrenaline. Blue’s nose brushes against them, helping ground me.
My gaze returns to the envelope. I swallow and cross to it in determined steps. I’m not going to be afraid of a fucking piece of paper.
My name is scrawled across the front in his handwriting. Peter, Karma, Chameleon…whatever you want to call him.
I pick it up, there is something inside. It’s the fob. I open the envelope and slide it out into my palm. He gave it back. Just like he promised.
He probably has all the information he needs. He doesn’t need this object.
I pull out the sheet of paper; it’s written on both sides in his neat handwriting. How many short notes did I see around the house in this handwriting. I sit on the bed, my breath shallow, memories swirling.
Went for a bike ride, be back before lunch.
Gone shopping, add anything to the list you want.
We had a shared shopping list. He’s the only man I’ve had that with—phones that spoke to each other. Dan could see everything on my phone. Not because we were a harmonious unit, but because he is a stalker control freak with everyone he cares about.
I focus on the words on the page.
Dear Sydney,
I understand your anger.
As if there is anyone on the planet who wouldn’t!
And I appreciate you reading this letter.
Who says I’m going to read it, motherfucker. Blue leans more heavily against my leg, resting his chin on my knee.
You asked when I fell in love with you, which is an almost impossible question to answer. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with you—I’ve heard that’s what happens but I’ve never been in love before.
Maybe it was on the trans-Pacific flight when we met, when I saw you put your life at risk for strangers. Maybe it was in the calm moments afterwards, when you teased me. Maybe it was even before that when I watched you from a distance, tracking you through the airport, watching the way you moved through crowds.
Maybe it was on the beach on that deserted island when you offered me the choice to die or hide you. The determination in your gaze struck a chord in my heart. It reminded me of my own mother’s fierceness. You’d just been through so much—lost Mulberry, escaped a tsunami-ravaged island, leapt from a burning plane, and given birth on a beach—yet you were decisive. You knew what you wanted and you went for it with a steely resolve.
Of course, I didn’t know I loved you then. I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone. My life wasn’t designed for relationships. I loved my work. But now I can’t remember not loving you, Sydney. It’s as if you went back and rewrote my history—like you’re a time traveler and you stole my heart from the very beginning.
And once you possessed my heart, you shared it generously—with James and Blue.
I look up from the page, taking a breath. He knows how to manipulate me. Knows all my weak spots, emotionally and physically. He’s so deeply dangerous to me and mine. I may have to kill him. The paper crinkles in my hands and I consider not finishing. The letter feels like an emotional weapon, as insidious as poisonous gas.
I stole his heart. Yeah, well, he broke mine.
Clenching my jaw, I shake my head. No, he did not. There is nothing about me that is broken.
Frank’s collar jingles as he raises his head and cocks it at me. His tongue falls out the side of his mouth as he grins. I smile back, which gets his tail thumping on the floor. Frank yowls and rises to stand, wagging his whole body over to me, pushing up against the leg Blue is not leaning against. Frank wags his butt so hard the bed shakes with each impact.
I laugh, the sound loud in the quiet room. He curls back on himself, looking over his shoulder at me, wondering what is occupying my hands that they can’t be scratching the base of his tail. What could be so important?
“Nothing,” I say, releasing my death grip on the page to give him the pettings he so richly deserves. Frank’s eyes roll back in his head with unadulterated pleasure, and he stills to better enjoy the back rub. When I take my hand away, he turns quickly, pressing his nose into it, begging for more. Blue releases a low warning growl and Frank whines softly but backs off a centimeter or two.
I run my hand over the crown of his head and smile down into his face. His tail whips through the air. “You’re a very good boy, yes you are, such a very good boy.” His tail swings faster at the praise. And this time when I draw my hand away, he doesn’t chase it. Frank sits by my side and rests his head on my thigh, across from his dad’s face.
So now I have a lap full of dogs and a letter full of lies.
When we made love—
I make a gagging noise which perks both dogs’ ears. “Sorry,” I say. “But to refer to what we did as making love makes me want to vomit. You can’t make love with someone you’re lying to that hard. Little lies like you took out the trash when you didn’t, maybe. But big lies like I work for your billionaire, obsessive husband, and am keeping him apprised of your every move…except moves like this one…that’s a hard no. That’s not love.”
When we made love, I meant it. I meant every kiss, every touch, every word.
You know that’s true. In your heart you know it.
“Don’t bring my heart into this,” I mutter even as it tries to join the conversation. Even as it throws up memories of that first night as a couple—it felt real…it felt true. I sigh and close my eyes, taking in deep even breaths, letting my thoughts float, attempting to un-tether from them.
Peter humiliated me.
He loves me.
I hate him.
I miss him.
His anchor eyes and teasing smiles, the way he is with James…James missing him.
I can’t read this letter anymore. Blue raises his head and looks at me.
I crumple the page in my fist and hurl it across the room. It has no weight, so there is no satisfaction in the throwing. Frank dives for it, sliding into the wall and bumping his head before turning to me with the balled paper in his mouth, proud as hell that he is retrieving it for me. He trots over, his tail high, and drops the thing in my lap.
“Thanks,” I say. He cocks his head, the sarcasm in my voice totally lost on him.
My hand rises to the pendant I still wear. He’s tracking me with it and I’m letting him. Why?
Because I trust that he will come if I need him. He will come if I call.
I rip it off, the chain snapping, burning the skin at the back of my neck. I hurl the necklace and it actually flies, hits the wall, and lands on the floor. I rise, cross to it, and stomp the necklace; it cracks open, the wires inside spilling out. I stomp it again.
I stomp it harder, my three dogs watching me with cocked heads. Frank’s tail wags as he looks for a way to get in on the destruction. I slam my booted foot down again. And again.
That life is over. Over.