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Besides her bronzed skin, she's her father’s carbon copy, right down to the shades of red in her hair.
She coughs and I realize I have been staring at her. She's standing in the doorway staring at me, too. I extend my hand to beckon her.
“Red, come here. Sit next to me.” She purses her lips as if contemplating my offer and then walks over to me. Her gait is loose and her hips swing with each step.
I remember holding those hips in my hands when I kissed her in the car. Fuck, but I’d give every penny I owned to do that night all over again.
She reaches the couch and sits down. But she takes a seat in the corner across from me and brings her legs up into a lotus position.
“I’m here. Let’s talk. I’ll go first,” she says her eyes on mine. Not so much a challenge in them, but determination.
“I need to talk to you about our parents. I know you said you didn’t hold me responsible for what happened,” she begins slowly, as if she is weighing every word before she speaks.
I answer this one quickly because I want to get it out of the way. “I didn’t then, and I don’t now. I was as shocked as you were when your dad left. I would never have believed him capable of helping to cover up the fraud at Enron and then running off with stolen money. But even if he had done those things, you didn’t do them.
“My parents fought a lot in the days after the collapse, but my father told me the same thing. He didn’t think your dad capable, and he made me promise him I would hold onto you. That I would be there for you.”
She draws back a little, her face drained of color.
“He did? I don’t understand. It seemed like everyone was convinced of my dad’s guilt. We had to move so quickly and without any notice because of the threats we were receiving. The call I made to you was strictly forbidden. The FBI said no one could know where we were.”
“Why?” I ask her, giving voice to a question I’ve wanted to ask her since I found her again.
She looks startled. “Why, what? Why couldn’t we tell anyone where we were?” she asks, like it can’t possibly be what I’m asking.
“Yes, Milly. I understood why they moved you, things were crazy in the days after your dad disappeared. I understand the name change—a little. But, did they think some crazy ex-Enron employee was going to fly to Maryland and burn your house down? Most of them could barely afford to pay their mortgages. You were easy targets while you were in Houston, but that someone would take the trouble to hunt you down in Maryland seems like an extreme measure to guard against.”
She shakes her head and looks at me, and I realize that this is the first time she has considered this.
I decide to let it go for now and bring us back to the conversation.
“I’m sorry, this was random. Let’s finish what we were talking about.”
She nods slowly. “Yes, okay. Listen, do you want some wine or something? I could do with a drink right now.” She stands up without waiting for my response.
“Yeah, I’ll take a glass of whatever you’re having.”
I sit back and watch her walk out of the room. I know we have a long way to go, but it feels like we could actually build a relationship.
She comes back a second later with a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a wine opener.
I take the bottle and opener from her, open the bottle and pour our drinks.
“Okay, you were saying?” she says as she plops back down on the couch, this time right next to me. Her expression completely unguarded and relaxed. It gives me the impetus I need to keep talking.
“I was saying I never blamed you. My dad and I couldn’t wrap our heads around the fact that your dad just disappeared with all of
the money, especially because he was never directly implicated in the fraud that took place.”
“Yes! Exactly! It was only his disappearance with that money that made people suspect he had something to do with what happened,” she says excitedly. She pops up so she's on her knees on the couch. Her expression excited and relieved at my words.
“I just thought everyone had lost their minds. My dad couldn’t . . . no wouldn’t do this. My mother, though, she just refused to talk about it. Lilly and I both thought none of it added up. But we couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Addie was so angry. And then, I left for college and tried to start putting my own life back together.” She sits back, seeming to deflate as her story ends.
I bite the bullet and bring up a subject I would rather pretend doesn’t exist.
“Is that where you met your husband? At Brown?” I try to keep my voice steady and calm, but this subject is one that enrages me. I know I don’t have a right to this rage, so I try to tamp it down and listen.
“Yes. I was reeling when I left home. You have to understand; I felt so lost.” Her eyes drift toward the ceiling and she runs her fingers through her hair at the memory she just recalled. “And all I knew was that I didn’t want to ever be as exposed with anyone as I had been with you. I couldn’t feel that kind of loss again. I knew I wouldn’t survive it.”
