Derek stood in front of Breanna’s medicine cabinet. He didn’t take drugs, even for sleep, but he knew that Breanna had from time to time, an over the counter pill or maybe even melatonin.
Breanna’s mother had insisted, when Lionel built this house, on two bathrooms, his and hers. Here Breanna had been as neat as she was with the rest of her personal possessions. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find everything neatly categorized by purpose and then alphabetically. There wasn’t anything in the cabinet other than her toothbrush and toothpaste, a few topical ointments for muscle soreness, and some long term conditioner for her hair.
He opened the drawers of the built-in vanity one by one. When he came to the last one he pulled out the stool and sat staring at the unopened pregnancy test.
Don’t make this worse, God.
Had Breanna been pregnant? Had she wondered if she was? They’d discussed children, but in the future. A not so distant future, a year or two away. He hadn’t used condoms, but she’d told him not to worry. She had it covered. Evidently not, if she’d bought a pregnancy test.
It was too late to worry about it now.
He gave up his search for a sleeping pill and walked back into the master bedroom. In the sitting area, above the brick fireplace, was a portrait of the two of them, painted by a well-known artist from Dallas. He stared at it, remembering those sessions. It hadn’t seemed a hardship to sit there holding Breanna’s hand, encased in silence except for a quick smile from time to time. They could talk for hours, but they’d never feared silence.
Instead of readying himself for bed he left the room, heading for the study and the leather couch that had served as his bed for the past week. He’d already moved his pillow in there and used the afghan as a blanket.
The room was dark so he turned on the light, then went to the window to close the curtains, looking out at the twinkling skyline of San Antonio in the distance.
The knock on the door frame startled him. He turned to find his father standing there, a small tray in his hand.
“I made you a plate anyway,” Paul said. “Nothing worse than being hungry in the middle of the night.”
Derek wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. Besides, Paul was right. He hadn’t eaten anything all day and he couldn’t remember when he had yesterday, either. It seemed strange to care about eating when Breanna would never have another meal. She’d never talk about another ice cream flavor that she’d imagined. Ice cream was Breanna’s one weakness. She didn’t have a problem avoiding cookies or cakes, or anything sweet, but she could never pass up a pint of ice cream, especially rum raisin.
“Okay, thanks.”
Paul entered the room and placed the tray on the edge of the desk facing the windows. Breanna had given him the desk, a smaller sized replica of the Resolute desk in the Oval Office, on their last anniversary.
Derek made his way to the sideboard along the wall and opened the inlaid top, exposing the hidden bar.
“Want one?” he asked, holding up the bottle of a twenty year old whiskey.
When his father nodded, he poured some into two crystal glasses.
“This is a tough time for you, son. I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy. If you two had kids, that would be one thing, or even if Breanna had family.”
“She had family. Her sister,” Derek said, handing his father the glass.
Paul’s mouth turned down. “Family shows up at your funeral. Where was her sister?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I don’t even know if she knows that Breanna is dead.”
“Was there bad blood between the two of you?”
“I hardly knew her. She showed up here for Christmas, fiesta, and Breanna’s birthday, but other than that she never came around.”
“There was some problem with the father’s estate, right? Breanna got it all and the sister didn’t get anything?”
“Breanna got half of it,” Derek said. “But she was a trustee for her sister’s half. Evidently, Susan had a problem with drugs. I have no idea if she still dabbles. I know she resented having to come to Breanna for money. Maybe that’s why she didn’t show up for the funeral.”
“Funerals always bring out the best and worst in people,” his father said raising his glass.
Derek matched the gesture. “To Breanna.”
“To Breanna.”
They drank in silence, both standing and neither of them looking at the other.
“I saw her.”
He glanced at Paul, saw the widened eyes and raised eyebrows and almost smiled. He would’ve looked the same if someone had made that announcement to him.
“Breanna?”
He nodded.
“At the cemetery? Or the church?”
“On the way to the cemetery, then here. In the sunroom.”
He hadn’t expected his father’s nod, almost as if Paul was unsurprised at the revelation.
“That’s not all that unusual, son. The mind plays tricks on us. I saw your mother for weeks after she died. I even stopped the car once when I was driving downtown because I knew I saw her. It’s a reaction to loss, I think.”
His father was one of the most pragmatic men he knew. For him to admit what he just had was out of character. It just demonstrated how weird the day had been.
“Did she speak to you?” Paul asked.
He hadn’t expected that question, either.
“Speak to me? Did Mom talk to you?”
“Never got close enough for her to say anything.”
“I think it was an hallucination, Dad, brought about by not sleeping well for the past week. I saw her because I wanted to see her. I needed to see her.”
“Do you want one of my pills?” Paul asked, pulling out a small Altoids tin from his pants pocket. “It’s not a prescription but they work well enough. I never sleep good away from my own mattress, so I packed a few.”
That admission meant that Paul had planned on staying here all along. He didn’t comment, simply thanked him for the offer and took two of the small yellow pills.
“My birth mother called.”
“What?” Paul stared straight at him. His father was master of the stare. Derek had years of practice of not blinking in response.
“Your mother?”
“Grace Colson.”
Paul didn’t say anything. Nor did he keep the stare going. Instead, he looked away, a rarity for Paul.
“Why did she call?”
“To warn me.” When Paul didn’t say anything, Derek continued. “Evidently, she thinks I’m in danger.”
“Why would she think that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Dad. Have you had any contact with her recently?”
Paul shook his head. The fact that he left the room a few minutes later was one clue that he was upset. His frown was another.
Derek got ready for bed, unable to get Grace’s call out of his mind. What did she mean he was in danger? Was she a nut case?
The question followed him into a troubled sleep.
He didn't wake until nine. By the time he dressed and made it downstairs his father had already left, but not before taking the time to write out a two page note. Paul never traveled anywhere without a legal pad.
No doubt his father was missing his lady love: Patricia Annette Murray, cutely known as PatAnn, who had entered his father's life a few months ago and didn't look as though she could be shaken free.
He had no intention of doing so. If Paul was happy, then great. He just didn’t want his father taken advantage of, but Paul could take care of himself.
Breanna hadn't liked her, however, which had been a surprise. Breanna liked everyone unless they abused animals or hurt someone she loved. PatAnn was an exception to those rules. The two women hadn’t gotten along from the moment they met. They’d eyed each other like two bulls in the same pasture. He and his father had been aware of the discord from the beginning. PatAnn hadn’t shown up at the funeral, but until this minute he hadn't registered her absence. At least the woman wasn't a hypocrite.
Evidently, his father had been in a hurry to get back to PatAnn, but that hadn't stopped him from leaving a list of things he'd noticed around the house that needed fixing. Derek scanned the list, folded it into thirds and stuck it in his pocket. He’d add those things to all the other tasks he had to do — and would get around to one of these days.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his sister-in-law again. No answer and when it went to voicemail he got the notice that it was full. He sent her another text message, this one slightly less polite than the earlier ones.
We had the funeral yesterday. Missed you.
Maybe that would get a response from her.
She lived in Austin, for God's sake. It was only seventy odd miles north. He'd commuted there every day when he and Breanna had first been married. He hadn't wanted to stay overnight so he’d been stuck on IH-35 between San Antonio and Austin twice a day. He covered politics, especially during the legislative sessions. Thankfully the Texas legislature only met once every two years unless there was a special session.
He missed work, having something to do, a deadline to adhere to — something to take his mind off the rest of his life. It had been that way before Breanna. Somehow, he had lived through it and he'd have to find a way to do it now.
Fate had been a bitch to him. Here, this is your life: you’re driven, a workaholic who might — slightly — resent other men with wives and families. Then here: a new life with a woman who laughed at your jokes, understood you in a visceral way, and absolutely fascinated you. Bam! Sorry, back to the first life, only this time you know what you don’t have. You’re well aware of what you’ll never have again.
Who the hell said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? He’d been an idiot.
An hour later he made a decision, which was better than what he'd accomplished for the past week. He found it hard to decide on anything, from what to wear to what to eat. Not only was he dressed, but he’d eaten something approximating breakfast, a bagel with cream cheese.
The contents of the refrigerator startled him. There were a dozen containers from the catering company, but a lot of mismatched ones as well. A few had notes taped to the top with heating instructions and condolences. Funeral meats, evidently, from his co-workers and friends.
He grabbed the car keys and headed for the garage. He was going to Austin to get an explanation from Susan. Her only sister, her last relative, had died and she hadn’t even called him back. Susan might ignore his phone calls and texts, but she had to give him some explanation if he showed up in person.
Driving from San Antonio to Austin was the parking lot it normally was, regardless of the time of day. It was worse during commuting hours, but it was still congested mid-morning.
Susan lived off Ben White boulevard and the maps application led him there easily. Although he often stayed over in Austin, she’d never invited him to her house. He’d never asked her out to dinner, either. They had a Thanksgiving/Christmas kind of relationship, very hands off and distant.
The lawn in front of the house was unkempt and it looked like it hadn't been mowed in weeks. That couldn't please the neighbors. The house was situated in an older neighborhood, solidly middle-class with houses that looked like they were around thirty years old, brick on three faces, siding in the back, with a two car garage and small front yard. All of them were well maintained, however, except for Susan's. The paint was peeling on the trim and one of the numbers, mounted over the garage door, was loose and hanging upside down.
He knew the house had three bedrooms because Susan had complained that it was all she could afford on her paltry allowance.
The For Sale sign planted in the middle of the overgrown yard surprised him.
He sat there for a moment, wondering if he really wanted to have this confrontation. Maybe he should've made the time to come to Austin before this, before Breanna's funeral, to let Susan know about her sister.
He’d seen her less than a month ago when she’d stormed into the Crow’s Nest demanding that Breanna talk to her.
He didn't have anything to do with the trust established by her father and administered by Brianna. He could only assume that there was some sisterly rivalry there. Most of the time Susan seemed happy when she visited them. The only time she’d been angry was when she talked about her ex-husband. He'd gotten custody of their two children long before Derek had ever met Brianna. The two boys were teenagers now and from what she said, Susan believed the boys were prejudiced against her because of their father.
That last time he’d seen Susan she and Breanna had argued. When he'd questioned his wife she only said that it had something to do with the boys’ education. He assumed it had something to do with money. The fiercest arguments among relatives always did.
He got out of the car and made his way up the walk. Halfway to the front door he knew that the place was vacant. It wasn't the palpable aura of neglect. There were curtains on the front windows, but they were open, exposing the empty living room.
Had something happened to Susan, too?
Ellie Hunt stared straight ahead as she drove past Derek’s car. With any luck he wouldn’t glance over and see her.
Not that he’d seen her for the last five years anyway. Most of the time he looked at her like she was five years old. He was very supportive of her career, took the time to help her writing, and critiqued her when it must have been a pain to do so. Yet he never treated her like she was more than a kid.
Maybe it was her hair. Sometimes she thought that people didn’t take her seriously because of it. It was bright orange and super curly. She looked like Little Orphan Annie with boobs.
Every morning when she saw Derek he asked about her health, her mood, and her dog. He was the most present person she knew, with the ability to make the object of his attention think that he had no other thought in his head but them. She’d always been impressed at how much he’d remembered about their casual conversations.
It was as if he really cared.
It wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t had a crush on him ever since she started at the paper. At first she was just an intern. All she did was run errands and fetch coffee. Then, she got a little responsibility in the advertising department. They’d been hammered by Craigslist and online entities like eBay, so there was only one person left in advertising. After that, she got some exposure in the Features section before transferring over to Derek’s division.
There was a great deal the Herald staff — and the public — didn’t know about reality. They were locked into their own worlds and would never know about the battles that went on in the darkness and in rooms given up to magic.
For the most part, she lived a dual life. One as a member of NASACA, the other as a junior reporter at a paper that was also not what it seemed to be.
She hadn’t known who Derek was when she’d first come to work at the paper. All her life she’d heard rumors of someone special among them, the offspring of a powerful wizard and one of their own witches. Wizards were rare; right at the moment there were only three in the world. NASACA hadn’t had their own wizard since 2012 when Simon Boniventure had died in Louisiana.
After getting the assignment to follow Derek a few weeks ago she’d spoken to her parents about what they knew, then talked to a few other people in NASACA. It was only after she’d learned about Grace that she put it all together and realized who Derek was. The great and grand secret wasn’t all that hush, hush if she was able to suss it out.
The knowledge was like a battery pack overheating in her pocket. She wanted to take it out, examine it, and share the information with someone else. Not only was that probably forbidden, but it would have been dangerous for Derek.
He’d never been given the truth. It had been hidden from him from the moment of his birth. Originally, she didn’t doubt that people wanted the best for him. Lately, however, she wondered if that was entirely true.
She hated following Derek, but that didn’t matter. The Elders didn’t approve of independent thinking. If they gave you an assignment you followed it. Your feelings weren’t important.
She pulled a block away and called Michael Woods, the Elder to whom she reported. He sounded upset at the information she gave him. She hadn’t known Susan, but evidently she’d been given another assignment somewhere across the country. The U.S. Marshals Service had nothing on NASACA when it came to witness relocation. If any problems arose, they’d create a protection spell around Susan.
Another phone call, this one to one of her contacts at NASACA, spelled out exactly who Susan was. Or who she’d pretended to be for years: Breanna’s sister.
Ellie circled the block, saw Derek walking around the house, peering into the windows. Evidently, no one had thought to give him a cover story or explain that Susan had moved. That wasn’t going to please the Elders. All contingencies had to be considered and they hadn’t been in this case.
She felt a shiver of dread, knowing that she’d already let Mr. Woods know. Heads would probably roll, and that wasn’t just a figurative expression.