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“It must have been terribly upsetting for her though, losing your father.”
He shakes his head. “I guess, but she had a funny way of showing it. After this had gone on for about six months, my grandma intervened and gave her an ultimatum. She told my mom to either seek help and start behaving like a mother again, or to disappear from our lives altogether. My mom barely gave it a thought. She was gone the next day.”
I cast my eyes down to my fingers because it’s too upsetting to look at Isaac. What he must have been through, having his own mother just reject him like that.
“Have you really not seen your mother since?”
“Once or twice, briefly, to give her money.”
“What does she need money for?” I know I’m overstepping the mark by asking these personal questions but I finally feel as though I’m getting to know the real Isaac.
“God knows. She always looks like shit, although never like a junkie. She always seems to be on the verge of becoming homeless. I don’t know what she does for a living, if she does anything. She might be turning tricks for all I know.”
“Have you ever asked her?”
“I never get a chance. She refuses to say anything until I hand over the money, then she tells me stories that I know are a load of shit.”
“I’m so sorry, Isaac.” I can’t think of anything more appropriate to say.
“It’s not your fault,” he scoffs. “No one asks for their parents, do they?”
I’m inclined to agree but then a thought occurs to me. “Someone told me once that we do actually choose our parents. Somewhere out there, in the ether, before we’re even conceived, our spirits decide on the challenge they want to take on in the next life.”
“What a load of BS,” Isaac grins.
“Maybe. But think about it. If that was the case, what would your challenge be? If you had indeed chosen your parents, what was the test you wanted them to put you through?”
He shakes his head, as though he’s having to humor me and my ridiculous question. Then, his face furrows as he gives it serious contemplation.
“Maybe I needed to know I could survive anything,” he says, slowly.
“Well, you’ve certainly done that,” I reply. “I mean, you’ve lost pretty much all your family. That’s a lot to survive. But you also worked for the CIA for over a decade and survived that too. Is that why you joined? Because you wanted to prove you could survive?”
He continues to stare out to sea. “Maybe. I never really thought of it this way before.” He turns to face me, finally. “How about you? Why did you choose your parents?” He grins. “Nowthisshould be interesting.”
I laugh, then take a moment to think. I’ve considered the question before but my answer changes every time. I hope with age and experience, it will become clearer. I take a deep breath and give him the answer that comes to mind now. “I think I chose my parents so I could learn how to be independent, how to do things my own way. They haven’t made it easy for me, that’s for sure.”
I feel him watching me. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job,” he says, finally.
“We’ll see,” I say, quietly. “So, what are you going to do? About the money?”
“Well, I can’t give it to her,” he sighs. “I don’t have it. And she doesn’t deserve it. The thing that’s difficult is living with that. I’m not like her—I can’t take, take, take, without giving anything back. She’s my mom, I feel like I owe her, or she’s my responsibility or something.”
“But she isn’t,” I say. “It was her choice to bring you into the world, and it’s her responsibility to look after herself.”
“Yeah. But it’s one thing to know that, and another thing to be ok with it.”
I don’t have an answer for him because he’s right. “That’s the thing about families. You’re tied to them, no matter what.”
“And on that subject,” he says, pushing himself off of the railing. “I got something for you.”
I watch him walk back inside the villa, trying my best not to lose my breath again at the sight of him stalking about, all muscle and handsomeness, when I should be thinking a hundred other things. I try to swallow but my throat suddenly feels dry; I need water. I get up to go to the kitchen. The glare of the sun against the glass sliding door is almost blinding so I don’t see Isaac as I walk through it. I crash into him, just as he’s walking back out to the deck, with so much force I bounce backwards and hit the door. I gasp in shock, and immediately, his hands are around my waist stopping me from toppling over altogether. I regain my footing and look up to see his eyes, dark and questioning, lasering into mine.
A few seconds pass before I realize we’re staring at each other, our chests pressed together so close I’m sweating from the heat. “Sorry,” I whisper.
He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His expression is intense, his gaze unyielding. Without thinking, my lips part and his eyes drop to them, his jaw clenching. I’m confused. Isaac is closer to Chuck’s age than mine, yet I feel real things for this man. It can’t be right, to be attracted to someone close to my parents’ age than mine. Can it?
He takes a breath, breaking the spell. “Bank statements going back five years.” He hands me an envelope, his eyes not leaving mine. “Let me know if you need more.”
I swallow and look up at him as I take them. “Thanks,” I say, quietly.
His hand on my shoulder makes me jump. “And Aurelia,” he says, softly. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“Have you looked through them?” I ask. “I won’t mind if you have.”
He shakes his head. “There’d be no point. I don’t know what you’re looking for.” He gives me a small smile that makes my knees weak and walks back into the villa, leaving me alone holding everything I want to know and everything I’m scared to discover. And confused as hell.
