Timing, page 4
The words cut through Hannah like a knife, stopping her bout of amusement almost as quickly as it had started. Her face grew pale.
It was true Hannah and Vance had always shared a special bond which Jackie had never been a part of. She knew what her mom said was right, but to hear her say it—to her face, out loud—was worse than a million slaps.
No one understood her anymore. She was sure her mother practically despised her.
She felt so alone. And she had no one to turn to for comfort.
"I mean it, Hannah, get upstairs and change your shoes."
Hannah began to cry. Uncontrollably. Angrily, she wiped the tears away, not wanting to feel yet another tidal wave of pain. But it came, like it always did now, enveloping her in a cloak of sadness she didn't have the willpower to fight, nor the strength to stop. She couldn't help but wonder, as she frequently had of late, whether she would ever regain control over the tears that seemed to stream endlessly in the days since he'd left her.
Jackie held her. It was all she could do. She wasn't the affectionate type, but she sometimes made an exception. Affection spelled weakness, she believed, both in the giver and the taker. Still, Hannah needed someone. And now that Vance was gone, she was the only real family her daughter had left.
Yet even though Jackie was there, Hannah never really felt like she was there for her.
While in her mother's arms, Hannah was well aware of the fact that Jackie didn't shed a tear.
It wasn't like you saw in the movies where the family joined together in collective anguish after the death of a loved one.
Not once had she seen her mother cry since her father's death.
When she'd finally collected herself, Hannah attempted to explain. "Mom, you don't understand. I didn't wear the boots to make you mad. I wore them because they reminded me of Dad. Don't you remember? He brought these back for me from Australia."
Her mother spoke softly. "No, I didn't remember." She shrugged. "I guess I'd forgotten." More than anything, Jackie just wanted this miserable day over with so she could move on with her life. She was so tired of the memories, so tired of the ongoing battle with Hannah which had exhausted her. And she was especially tired of this godforsaken ranch. She couldn't wait to get out of this hellhole. Once I'm away from here, she told herself, things will get better. My new life will start…
Just the thought of a new beginning instantly invigorated her. She dug deep. "Wear them, if you like, Hannah. If they make you feel better." She forged a smile. "Now go upstairs and freshen up—quickly. We've got to get going."
CHAPTER 3—FUNERAL
Gloomy, circling clouds hung over a dreary midday sky that randomly shifted from shades of gray to hues of dark blue. Tall, majestic pine trees surrounded the cemetery, offset by groves of linen-white aspen whose delicate, quarter-sized leaves fluttered at even the slightest hint of a breeze.
Moisture from the previous night had cast a fresh, almost glistening, appearance on the landscape, magnifying the natural beauty of the setting like a varnish enhances wood. Greenery was crisp and vibrant, blues melded into varying tints of violet and periwinkle, and everywhere a gentle wind nudged around the earthy aroma of rain-dampened soil.
Hannah stood motionless beside her father's casket, oblivious to everything around her. She didn't hear the two squirrels frolicking in the pine boughs above her, didn't see the pink and lavender Lupine blossoming along the fringe of a nearby marsh. The world was lifeless, meaningless, empty… all color turned black and white. No amount of worldly beauty could disarm her from the grief occupying her soul. All that registered in her mind was the fact that the wooden box in front of her held the lifeless body of her father.
As the minister began his sermon, a surreal sense of numbness took over her body, and her thoughts drifted away to her childhood, far removed from the reality set before her.
Memories of her father replayed in her head, set to the timeless hymnals being sung around her. She remembered the time as a little girl when she'd broken her arm while climbing a tree; to cheer her, he'd bought Hannah a pink Hello Kitty purse, complete with a long, rhinestone strap. It had delighted her to no end. She'd used the little purse for years, carrying it to the grocery store with her mother, storing money and chapstick and other important items to have at her disposal. After all of these years, she still had it.
Then there was her thirteenth birthday, probably the most memorable one, when he'd surprised her with a horse—a stunning black colt she'd named Zane. Four years had passed since then, and she still rode him frequently and tended to him faithfully. He'd been the horse she'd ridden on the search and rescue mission. It all at once occurred to Hannah that Zane was one of the final links she had to her father. She was instantly filled with a need to see him and touch him. She made a mental note to go to him right when she got home.
And then suddenly her lips formed a hard, straight line as recollections of the final moments with her father pierced into her mind. Why did her father have to die? Why had he left her? Abandoned her? How could he do this?
Her arms wrapped around her midsection. He'd left her standing here in pure agony. Alone. Devastated.
Toward the end, her father had almost acted like a lunatic. Probably because he'd lost a lot of blood. Still though, the things he'd said to her had been strange, disturbing… almost mysterious. She'd already had several wild dreams about some of the stuff he'd mentioned. Like mumbling something about some sort of locket. She had no idea what he'd even been talking about.
And what had he meant about her being in danger? Danger? Seriously? From who? Her mom who cared more about her waistline? Not likely. Besides, she'd always been perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much.
Then, there was the part about not trusting anyone. Who was there not to trust? Most of the people around her she'd known her entire life… they were like family. None of it made any sense…
A rumble of thunder interrupted Hannah's thoughts. She glanced up and saw a bolt of lightning in the distance, beyond a ridge of mountains to the west.
The loud noise and bright flash made her cognizant, for the first time, of the people gathered around her.
Hannah's mother stood next to her wearing a hat raided from the Royal Family's chest of drawers. It was an architectural nightmare, with odd angles and multiple levels, and it was topped with what she supposed was meant to be some sort of a feather, but instead looked more like a wad of broken guitar strings. Hannah had half a mind to yank it from her head. Only her mother, she thought disgustedly, would wear such a ridiculous thing.
Stony Greely was on the other side of Hannah wearing pressed jeans, a blazer with elbow patches, and a bolo tie. As the longtime ranch manager, he was sixty-something but worked like he was half that age. His legs were bowed from a life spent on horseback, and his soft-spoken mannerisms were often mistaken for backwardness. Since the day her father had died, Hannah had still never seen him cry. She wondered if he'd ever cried alone like she had.
Right then, as if reading her mind, he caught her looking at him…
Stony let his eyes drift away, but his thoughts stayed with her. He'd always considered Hannah the closest thing he had to a daughter. That girl. She really was something. And boy, did she have gumption. When she'd gone out to search for her father against his wishes, he'd been angry… but not particularly surprised. Shoot, he would've probably done the same thing in her shoes. But, she'd paid a heavy price. Ever since that day, the spirit and fire he so loved about her was gone. Vanished. She'd resembled a walking corpse, almost to the point where it was kind of scary. He could only hope she'd soon regain her moxie, her zest for life. He exhaled softly. Only time would tell…
On the other side of her mother was Marie Cahill, a sort of cross between grandmother and aunt to Hannah. Marie's double-decker arms had always kept Hannah well-supplied with hugs and her plump, pear-shaped body, softened by continuous batches of cookies, was held up by a set of twigs that reminded Hannah of those on Mr. Potato Head. She had her own quarters in the main house and kept all the domestic duties in order, especially when Jackie was away.
Virtually every memory Hannah had of Marie was, in some way or another, soft and sweet.
Today though, Mrs. Potato Head just so happened to be single-handedly keeping the tissue industry in business. She'd been crying and huffing and puffing throughout the entire service. And, at the moment, Hannah could hardly hear what the minister was saying because Marie was in the middle of a blow-fest that sounded like a vacuum cleaner on overdrive.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw her mom shove another box of tissues in front of Marie and hiss "Shh," as inconspicuously as possible under her breath.
Poor Marie, Hannah thought. She'd always been sentimental.
From almost out of nowhere, an arm wrapped around Hannah's shoulders. It was Stony offering the closing prayer. Flash floods immediately poured down past her sunglasses, a few of them cresting above the ridges of her lips and diving deep into the crevices of her mouth. They were the now-familiar taste of sorrow.
This time though, they made her angry and irritated. At Stony.
Why had he touched her? She'd been fine all the way up to this point and hadn't cried at all until now. Why had he felt the need to put his arm around her?
She hadn't wanted this. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry in front of everyone.
As he prayed into the microphone, Hannah wiggled free from his grasp as discreetly as she could manage.
Then, as Stony finished, the minister motioned to her. It was time.
Hannah's body moved as if she were watching herself from a distance, her legs stepping forward without her mind even willing them. She trembled as she laid the single white rose on top of the casket, her hand briefly touching its shell before falling back to her side.
Stony and Marie exchanged worried glances.
Marie shook her head. She'd never seen someone so devastated. All of the life had been instantly zapped from the child. It took all the willpower she had to stop herself from going up to Hannah right this very second and wrapping her arms around her. And that pitiful mother of hers… sometimes Marie wasn't even certain Senator Bailey knew the meaning of the word "mother"…
For Hannah, there was nothing more to say, nothing left to feel.
She had no idea someone was watching her.
*
Sicarius was situated on the outskirts of the sea of black, a cougar with a perfect sightline to scout his prey. He was close enough to see the mole on her face, the twitching of her lips every so often. His height gave him a certain advantage in these types of circumstances. He always knew how to maximize his assets.
Hannah moved past him now, in the direction of the limousine awaiting her.
But as she drifted by, her smell lingered.
A familiar fragrance of lavender and eucalyptus hovered over Sicarius, wrapping him in an invisible cloak of far away memories.
His eyebrows suddenly furrowed. The scent was unexpected… and unusually… captivating.
Familiar.
The smell stirred memories of something…
Then, it came to him.
It was something very precious.
Something lost… long ago.
The smell reminded him of his mother.
But no. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. They were absolutely nothing alike.
He dismissed the sudden ache as if turning off a faucet and immediately replaced it with fury… rage.
Vengeance from within reared its ugly head once again, a vow of revenge he would soon take the ultimate pleasure in fulfilling…
CHAPTER 4—WASHINGTON DC
"Come on, there's no sense in arguing about it. I've got some unexpected meetings I have to be at. And I've already got you a plane ticket."
"But I'd rather stay here."
"And do what? Mope?"
"No." Hannah's voice sounded hollow through the six panel door. "I'll get stuff ready for school. Maybe go to Denver with Eliza. Do some shopping."
"You haven't even talked to anyone since the funeral." She paused. "It's been three days, Hannah… and you've hardly been out of your room. There's no way you're going to all of a sudden become Miss Social Butterfly while I'm gone."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you."
Hannah didn't respond.
Her mother's voice deepened, and she knocked at the door once more. "Please, Hannah, let me in."
After several seconds, Jackie heard a pitter-patter sound on the floor, followed by a click-click, and then more pitter-patters.
Jackie hesitated before going in.
Marie had told her to go on to DC without Hannah, had insisted they would be just fine by themselves. But the guilt she'd felt over the whole thing had caused her not to sleep a wink last night. Of course, she would have rather gone by herself, but she supposed she ought to take her daughter just to make sure she wouldn't do anything crazy or drastic. She had been worried about her… she'd seemed awfully depressed and listless, and she wasn't at all her cheery, happy-go-lucky self. Besides, she tilted her head, it was very likely that the press would make her out to seem heartless if she ventured out of the nest this early without her grieving young chickling. Yes, she needed to do this… had to do this.
The door creaked as she pushed it open.
At three in the afternoon, Hannah was still in her pajamas… and in bed. Which was partly why she hadn't answered the door. She'd known her mother would disapprove.
Jackie took a deep breath and walked over to her daughter's bedside, her three-inch heels echoing across the space between them.
She hugged Hannah somewhat awkwardly from the side and asked, "Can I sit by you?"
She scooted over.
"You okay?"
Hannah nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were sunken and pale.
"Boone called today."
Hannah shrugged.
"So did Eliza."
"They said you aren't answering your phone."
"I'm not."
"They're worried about you."
"They'll get over it."
"Hannah, please. I'm doing my best here. I don't know what you want me to do." Jackie lightly touched her leg. "I wish there was something I could do or say to make you feel better."
"I'm fine, Mom."
Jackie sighed. "I really think it would do you good to get away from here. Just for a bit. This will be a quick trip. We'd be there and back in no time." She touched the top of Hannah's hand. "Please, do it for me. I'd love to have you come to DC. And we could do some shopping—get you all geared up for the new school year."
"I don't know—"
"Please? You could just forget about all of this sadness for a few days."
Hannah looked up, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.
Jackie scooped them away with her thumb.
"Do you really think it would help?"
"I know it would, honey."
Hannah agreed to go. Deep down, she knew she needed to get away. From the pain, the memories… from everything dark and black that had recently enveloped her whole existence. This wasn't her, wasn't right. The sadness had assumed a life of its own and was almost, in a strange way, holding her hostage.
Jackie stood up. "Good," she squeezed Hannah's arm, "it's all settled. It'll be fun. Get yourself packed—and we'll leave first thing in the morning."
*
Since Hannah had last visited Washington DC, her mom had remodeled the apartment. Everything was new and stylishly appointed—the kitchen, paint, curtains, even the furniture she'd never seen before, and all of it was a very DCish mixture of modern and tradition.
So when she draped herself across the new sectional, with her eyes closed and earplugs blaring her favorite music, Hannah didn't notice her mom trying to get her attention.
Finally, Jackie tapped her on the shoulder from behind.
Hannah jerked at the touch and peered up at her mom through narrow slits.
"What?" she yelled.
Jackie shifted her weight to one hip and drew a line across her throat with a finger.
"I can't hear you," she said loudly.
Jackie mouthed the words, turn it off.
Hannah pushed the pause button.
"Well, are you glad you came?" Jackie's smile was wider than Hannah had seen it in a long time. "You look like you've made yourself right at home."
"Sure. I guess." Hannah pulled the earphones down to her lap. Her lips clamped together. "You were right, Mom. It was good to get away."
"Do I need to get that statement in writing?"
"Hah, hah." Hannah grinned.
Jackie cleared her throat. "No, but I am really pleased you came. I knew you'd feel better." She walked over to the kitchen counter and opened a bottle of wine.
"The apartment looks amazing," Hannah said, shifting in her seat so she could see into the kitchen.
"Yeah, doesn't it? I think it feels really homey. I'm just glad to have it done." She filled her glass with Chardonnay. "At least I was able to be gone during the bulk of the construction," she said. "Even when there wasn't a ton going on, the dust was so thick you could see it floating in the air. It played havoc with my allergies."
Jackie took a sip of the spirits. The burning in her throat felt good, was just what she needed. She'd already downed a few of the miniature bottles on the plane.
"Yeah, I'll bet. Well—" Hannah crisscrossed her legs on the couch. "What are your plans for the afternoon?"
Seeing Hannah like that reminded Jackie of when she was a little girl. She suddenly longed for those days when her daughter was a child, days when her life was much simpler. Now, she had so much on her mind, so many things weighing on her, the least of which was her grieving daughter.
"Mom?" Hannah said. She obviously hadn't heard her.
"What?"
"Did you not hear what I said?"
Jackie settled into a wingback chair opposite the sofa covered in a Hound's-tooth pattern of black and white. "Sorry, dear. What did you say?"
