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I appreciated that Donato had kept me from this side of things, but hated feeling out of my element. I didn’t know what to expect, had no feel for what was coming next…other than a cell.
“Did either of you catch the Yankees game this afternoon? I haven’t seen the score,” Agent Sampson said. I couldn’t tell if he was actually doing anything on his laptop or just pretending to fiddle.
My gut reaction was to scream, but if this was how I had to play it, so be it. “They lost,” I said stoically.
The two men appeared surprised by my answer, though they recovered quickly. “Damn shame.” Sampson made a disgusted face. I simply stared. He cleared his throat. “Ready when you are, Mr. Elliott.”
“I killed my father, Keith Elliott,” I began. My voice didn’t waver. There was no hesitation. It rang of truth. “He phoned me for a visit to his motel. I argued the point, but eventually agreed to see him. We fought. He’s dead.”
Concise. To the point. Enough of a confession without giving too much away.
The questions began, a volley between the agents and myself. Whatever they wanted to know, I answered. In less than an hour, they had enough to hold me, without bond for now.
The clothesthey had me change into before taking me to a cell were khaki pants and a shirt, not the orange jumpsuit I expected. The cotton was scratchy and thin. I wondered if they recycled these things. Had someone worn it before me, and did they get out of this place because they’d served their time, or did they eventually die in these clothes?
I took off the shirt. The material made me itch, reminded me of when I had no choice but to wear other people’s clothes. I’d vowed it would never happen again, and yet here I was. The past on spin cycle. Rinse and repeat.
I sat on the thin mattress and almost immediately popped back up to my feet. A restless energy ran through me. I was helpless in here. Yet another thing I’d promised myself I’d never be again.
I paced as my mind took in the reality of what I was in for. Six strides. That’s all it was between the door and the opposite wall. Two strides. The distance between the wall and the bed. Before getting locked up, I’d resigned myself to a life behind bars as what I had to do. Staring it in the face wasn’t so simple. My survival instincts were kicking in and wouldn’t be quiet. I needed out. This wasn’t where I belonged. With Vivian.Thatwas my place in life.
“Fuck!” I punched the gray concrete block wall. Pain radiated from my knuckles up my arm. I stripped off the pants until I was down to the federal issue briefs I was reduced to wearing. In my current mental state, sleep would never come, so I dropped to the floor into the pushup position. With controlled movements, I lowered until I was a centimeter from the linoleum before straightening my arms. I did one hundred and jumped to my feet, counting in my head as I pounded out an equal amount of jumping jacks.
I repeated the routine until sweat poured down my body and my limbs felt like noodles. A thousand of each until I collapsed on the mattress, mentally and physically exhausted. This was it. No amount of fighting would get me out. If I did get out, the man who was truly my father would come here in my place. I couldn’t live with that. No matter what it cost me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Vivian
Eight Years Earlier
Danieland I fought the Christmas Eve shoppers at the market in Te Anau, bought enough food for a couple of days, and were headed down a dirt road to places unknown. He assured me he knew where he was going, so I hung on for the bumpy ride. When we arrived, it was totally worth it.
On the edge of a blue-green lake was a modern cabin, my mountain rising behind it. It was made mostly of glass; in such a spectacular setting, it would have been wasteful to obstruct views from the inside. I was beyond thrilled. The condo in Queenstown I had adored, but this…I was utterly smitten.
Daniel parked the car at the front door, and I jumped out, practically running to the entrance.
“You might need this,” Daniel said, dangling a keyring from his fingers as he caught up to me.
I inserted the key into the lock and threw open the rustic wooden door. On the far side of the large room was a Christmas tree, decorated with colored lights and ornaments. My eyes glassed over. A tree. In a cabin. By my mountain. My heart felt like it was going to burst.
“Daniel,” I whispered, glued to the twinkling colors. “Thank you.”
“Do you like it?” he asked, watching me intently.
“I love it.” I dragged him over to the tree. The scent of pine filled my nose as I examined the ornaments dangling from the branches. These weren’t just generic balls. There were some, but they all looked old. Some of them were homemade. I fingered a Styrofoam star with gold glitter on it. Next to it was a handprint withChristmas 1979painted on it.
“These are the ornaments we used on the tree when I was growing up. I tried to get some of yours, but your parents never answered or returned my calls. A tree full of new glass ornaments seemed too impersonal.” His hands were in his pockets, a subtle blush on his cheeks as he avoided looking at me. There were good memories on this tree for him. Ones of the vanilla-scented and baked goods variety.
“Is this your handprint?” Daniel nodded shyly, the color staining his cheeks deepening to a crimson. “I can’t believe you did this. It’s…I…”
At a loss for words, I threw my arms around him and buried my head against his chest. He rested his cheek on top of my head and held me close. “We couldn’t have Christmas without a tree.”
I would have loved any old tree, but the fact that he had put so much thought into it brought tears to my eyes.
“You’re up shit creek for the second date,” I told him.
“You haven’t even been on it yet,” he protested. We grinned at each other. “I better go get our groceries.”
