Dane - Book 2: A Foster Family Saga Page 6

  She turned away from me, and I watched her shaking shoulders, knowing she was crying. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry. It was only supposed to last a few months. This is all my fault. I couldn’t stop seeing you.”

  “Shut up,” she sobbed. “Don’t tell me that.”

  I nodded, taking the full brunt of her emotions. Not even my throbbing face hurt as bad as the ache that squeezed my chest. “Should I…should I call a car for you?”

  I heard a sound like a cry mixed with laughter. Hanna spun around with red-rimmed eyes and shook her head. “You did this for headlines, right? Well, how do you like the news that I never, ever want to hear from you again? I don’t need you for anything else, Dane Foster. I want you out of my life. I can find my own way back home.”

  She pushed past me and got dressed without another word. I tried to reason with her. It was a simple call to have my driver run to her to Ettie’s estate, and a cab would cost a fortune, but Hanna wouldn’t speak to me. She grabbed her overnight bag and her purse and pulled on her mink over jeans and blouse, riding boots coming up to her calves and clacking loudly on the floor as she stomped out of my penthouse apartment. The door slammed with ominous finality, the jarring sound like a stake through my chest.

  I crept down the winding stairs from my loft and dragged my way to the door. It was then that my emotions overwhelmed me. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood. My hand was on the doorknob like I would run after her, but my legs wouldn’t work. They folded beneath me, and I slid down to the floor. I felt guilty and ashamed at what had initially seemed a good idea. I never should have used her. People weren’t accessories to be shown off or pawns in an elaborate match. She was a woman, and I should have treated with more care.

  My pain was silent, but it felt like an implosion. I felt like my ribcage was caving in, and my skin tingled as if I were caught up in a fine web of fire. I knew that Hanna would never forgive me, which stung me to the core. Without confessing the extent of my crime, she might have walked out the door merely confused about why I wanted to end a good thing, but I couldn’t have let her move through life questioning herself, wondering if she hadn’t been good enough for me. She needed the closure of knowing this shit from beginning to end was my mess.

  I should have felt absolved, the confession still hot on my lips, but I felt hollow instead. This was purgatory. I had sinned too greatly for redemption. I curled up on the floor and felt the hardwood under my body. I closed my eyes to wash out the image of her face when realization dawned after I told her the nature of the elaborate hoax. She had been embarrassed, disbelieving, and enraged, and I had done that to her. But, beneath the fury, I had also seen the gravity of the hurt I had inflicted. No, there was no coming back from that. This wouldn’t be, as Lamont called it, an amicable split.

  I pushed my way up from the floor with barely enough will to make my way back to my bedroom. I lay on the rumpled bed that still smelled like Hanna and took up my phone to call my publicity team. Lamont answered in a bright, chipper voice discordant with my dark mood.

  “I broke it off with Hanna,” I said in a voice devoid of emotion.

  “Excellent, excellent! Amicably, right? Did you do it in public? You should’ve called me. We could’ve had our own photographer—”

  I bit back a sound of distress. “Lamont, if anyone wants a statement, write this down. Officially I apologize to Hanna Sorenson from the bottom of my heart. Make sure they print that.”

  “Mr. Foster, I’ll take care of everything. That’s a great statement. I’m making note of it now.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I wanted you to know.”

  “Hang on just a second, sir. Now, you might be tempted to get out there and get into something fun. I just want to caution you to take a short break, maybe a week or two, before you’re seen with somebody else. Keep the buzz down. After the length of that relationship, you have to seem grief-stricken. We clear?”

  I hung up the phone without replying.

  CHAPTER 7

  I made plans to leave the state of New York, and searching for my mother provided a crusade to sink my energy into without wallowing around in self-pity. After a few weeks hiding away in the country, I moved back to the penthouse to be closer to work so I wouldn’t drown my sorrows sitting in thought out at the Prodigal Manor. Gervais and I we went through our typical work routine, meeting daily in my office.

  My executive assistant had been with me long enough to see it was a struggle for me to plow through each day like I wasn’t fazed by my separation from Hanna, but unlike earlier instances where he had teased me about my infatuation with Lynn, he didn’t jest about this love affair. I was sick of love. All it ever brought me was despair. Gervais was the one who let me know Hanna had decided to take the job in Washington, DC.

  “When will she leave?” I asked. We sat in my office poring over spreadsheets and accounts, and he had mentioned the news in an offhand way.

  “I can find out for you.”

  “No, don’t. I don’t want to know when she’s leaving. Has she called for me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Right. Um, the Dawson and Fletcher project wrapped last month. You said the renovations were a hit with that client? We should use that same designer with Mayfield. Oh, and I need to sign that revised Enfield contract you had before the end of the day. Where is it?”

  “Was supposed to be mailed to me. Hang on. Let me check my box.” Gervais left my office and returned within minutes. He held up two folders. “Sir, I think you need to see this,” he said.

  I reached for it. “Something wrong with the contract?”

  “Something else. That apparently came in this morning.”

  I opened the folder to a letter addressed to me that hadn’t been opened. It was a plain white envelope, the address written in loopy scroll rather than neatly labeled or printed. I glanced at the handwriting and slid my letter opener through the seal. A ragged edged sheet of notebook paper spilled from inside and drifted to my desk as I flipped over the envelope to take a look at the return address. Whoever had written on the outer envelope wasn’t her, but the note was in my mother’s familiar shaky scrawl. “Sissy,” I muttered in surprise.

  I perused the note my mother had mailed to me, struggling to read her messy handwriting and understand what she was trying to say.

  Dear son,

  I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I desperately need your help, and I don’t have anyone else to turn to. This is not about money. Darien is mixed up in something bad that I don’t want no part of. I just want to get away. All those years back, you were right. If I stick with that man, he’ll take me straight to the devil. I’ve been praying, and it’s on my heart to leave, but I don’t think I can do that without you. We’re in southeastern Louisiana. Please get here? I love you, my child.

  Yours truly,

  Sissy Griess (Your momma)

  I frowned at the page and let it fall back to my desk as I sighed heavily. “We’ve got our address,” I said to Gervais.

  “Louisiana,” Gervais replied enthusiastically. We had been making arrangements for me to go to Louisiana since she had called me from a homeless shelter there. “The homeless shelter lead. I was right.”

  Although I had been toying with the idea of taking a trip to search her out, I hadn’t applied any serious thought to it. My initial plans were more about getting away from New York than set in stone with any sure purpose. Everywhere I turned at the penthouse or the Prodigal Manor were reminders of Hanna’s absence. But the tone of the missive gave me a sense of urgency, a feeling my mother really needed me. If she was talking about leaving her husband, things were serious.

  “This drastically speeds up our timeline. We need to get this journey underway before they move again. There’s no way Griess knows she sent this letter. She says he’s mixed up in something that she doesn’t want any dealings with, and if I know Griess, he won’t stand for her letting me know. Gervais, pull up fli
ghts.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Take the soonest one you find, and I’ll need a place to stay for a few days. Take this address down. Do you see anything?” Gervais took the envelope and keyed in the address that had been provided. I figured out how soon I could leave the office and get packed. “Don’t let anyone know where I’m going. I don’t want word making its way back to Cornelius. I don’t know how he’ll feel about me helping Sissy. I don’t know their history, but he doesn’t like to talk about my mother.”

  “Of course, sir. What should I tell anyone about you being gone?”

  “Vacation. That’s feasible. I just had a nasty breakup. Anyone in my position could be expected to need some time off, right?”

  “I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to bring it up if you didn’t want to talk about it. How have you been holding up since, you know…”

  “Just give me what you find,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about Hanna. Gervais paced my office with his tablet in hand. I longed for a drink to give me the courage to face what lay before me and get over my recent emotional turmoil, but I needed to stay levelheaded. “Are you finding anything?” I asked impatiently.

  Gervais gave the device to me. “I set the flight for tomorrow. Is that fine? I’ll print your itinerary. You have a lengthy layover, a shorter layover, and then you’re there, and I booked us a week in a hotel near the address Sissy gave. You can add or take away days as needed, since we still aren’t clear how long this will take.”

  “Us? No, Gervais. I need you here.”

  “Sir, are you sure you want to do this alone? I can be invaluable in this search.”

  “I need to be left alone,” I replied. I dragged my cell phone closer with the tips of my fingers and examined the screen, hoping for a phone call that wasn’t coming. I pushed away the phone and stared at the letter from my mother. “There’s more at play here than a joyful mother/son reunion, Gervais. Whatever happens, I’d prefer to face it on my own.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You stay here and keep an eye on Tom for me. Keep me in the loop about what’s going on at Excelsis. In the meantime, be on standby. If I need you, you’re a phone call or FaceTime away.”

  “Right, sir. Here’s that contract.”

  I accepted the other folder he was holding and applied my signature. “And get Gina on the phone to let her know I’m going to be out. I’ve got to go meet with Tom and lay out how I want things handled in my absence. Should I call my father? No, I better not call him. I shouldn’t be away for too long. Shouldn’t take more than a week.”

  ###

  By the end of the workday, I was in a hurry to get home, glad to have my thoughts preoccupied by something other than Hanna. I meticulously packed my bags, and made arrangements with my cleaning staff to take care of the apartment while I was away. I went to sleep early so I could be fresh and alert. I drifted off thinking about the last time I had seen my mother’s face. Trying to remember so far back was like counting sheep, counting down the years.

  My flight was an early one with layovers from New York to Louisiana that were filled with remotely taking care of Excelsis affairs when I had Wi-Fi and energy sources. I took to the skies in a mood, a blue funk, but I buried my depression with business. There was no blocking out the images of Hanna that made their way into my thoughts. I could only dull the pain. I drowsed fitfully, waking up wondering if there was a way to mend the broken bridge between us. She had told me not to try to contact her, and I wanted to respect her wishes, but I figured at some point she’d be interested in being friends with benefits.

  I convinced myself, too, that she would like to know I was proactively attacking the situation of finding Sissy, and I pulled out my phone to call her while sitting in the airport during the shorter layover. The phone rang and rang, and when she didn’t answer, I left her a voicemail. I apologized. It seemed I had nothing left to tell her but apologies. I told her where I was going and hung up.

  Once we touched down at Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport in Louisiana, I breathed a sigh of relief at finally getting the search underway. I wondered what had brought my mother and stepdad to this place, what scheme he was running this time. Louisiana was tropical, despite the fact it was winter when I left New York. A step outside to look at cars with the rental car agent left me perspiring in my suit and winter coat.

  “Is it always so warm this time of year?” I asked the woman entering the data for the rental when I made it back inside.

  “Off and on. See, it be hot one day but cold the next. Where you comin’ from?” She was a friendly older black lady with smile lines around her mouth and crow’s-feet winging from the corners of her eyes. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled back in a bun.

  “New York,” I replied.

  “Thought I recognized the accent,” she said with a laugh. “It don’t get New York cold down here. We don’t get snow. But I tells peoples they need to brang they light jacket case it get brisk out. The climate stay pleasant since we close to the water.”

  I smiled, noting her Southern drawl and the way she turned the word water to wah-tah. She handed me the keys and let me sign the paperwork to pick up a luxury Mercedes. It was equipped with GPS to help me navigate through the city to whatever piece of nowhere the address on the envelope led me.

  “Thank you,” I said to the rental clerk.

  “No problem, baby. Take care and hope you enjoy your stay.”

  I took the keys and ambled back out into the damp heat. It was eighty degrees, supposedly the middle of winter. It would take some getting used to. I yanked off my peacoat and walked over to where my car waited. My eyes drank in the green trees and saturated blue sky. It was early evening, but I knew I needed to take a night to get situated before I began my search in earnest. I climbed into the Mercedes and typed in the address to the hotel. After the long flight, I wanted a deep bath, something to eat.

  I checked in with Gervais to let him know I had made the trip safely, but the conversation was short because he was still smarting over me leaving him behind.

  “You’re not missing out on anything, Gervais. Trust me,” I said.

  “Anything could happen, sir. You never know.”

  “I should be able to take care of myself, though. What do you think I did all those years you weren’t in my life?”

  “Sir, that was your discovery phase. You were discovering that you’d one day need someone like me.”

  “Ha! What would you do without me? Good night, Gervais. Get some ass while I’m away.”

  “I just might, sir.”

  I hung up, smiling to myself at his diligence and feeling fortunate to have such a capable assistant. There was food to be had and a bed calling my name. I didn’t linger by the phone. (Hanna wouldn’t call.) I got cleaned up and headed out to a nearby chain restaurant to eat food I could get anywhere in America. I’d been to New Orleans. It was a different sort of city than Baton Rouge. While the sprawling metropolis known for voodoo and jazz was full of vibrant nightlife, the smaller capital city was a college town and reflected less of Louisiana culture on the surface. I could have been anywhere in the country.

  But I was here looking for Sissy, not to sightsee. I pulled aside my waiter and asked for a refill of strawberry-peach tea. I showed him the address on my cell phone. “You know anything about this place?” I asked.

  “Lemme see? Ah, the old dormitory building. Used to be a theology school. They turned it into an apartment complex some years back.”

  “Is it a nice place or…?”

  “Shoot, it’s a real high-rise apartment, only one ’round here. I been past it a few times but never inside. I hear they got a doorman and everything.”

  I handed him my glass to pour a refill and then sat staring at the pictures I’d pulled up on the internet of Gateway Condominiums, where my mother and her husband were supposed to be staying. Judging by the pictures, the place didn’t look like a ghetto, and getting a second opinion from
the waiter made me feel better about it. But I couldn’t figure out where Griess would get the money to live in a high-rise condominium. Likely, whatever he had gotten “mixed up in” was a money-making scheme, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet for it to make my mother uncomfortable, it had to be something outlandish.

  I swallowed a sip of over-sweetened tea and shoveled down another mouthful of dry steak. Chewing through the morsel, I pondered my move for the next morning. I would drive the twenty minutes across town to the apartment complex and check things out. Sissy hadn’t sent over an apartment number. Locating her by name would be damn near impossible, since Griess changed their identities each time they moved, but my mother was a memorable woman. Someone was bound to recognize her if I showed them her picture.

  When I’d had my fill, I shoved away from the table and paid the bill. I drove back to my hotel to get some rest. There weren’t any calls from Hanna. There wasn’t any reason to sit up late. I went to sleep and dreamed about the last time we had made love.

  CHAPTER 8

  “You talkin’ ’bout Richard Staple and his wife?” asked the man at the front desk. He scratched the back of his head as I held up the pictures, eyes shifting between me and the photos of my parents as if he were contemplating whether or not to talk to me. It was clear that he knew them. “What you lookin’ for them for?”

  I sighed and produced another picture, one of me when I was younger. I was sitting in my mom’s lap staring sullenly at the camera. “I’m Sis—uh, Richard’s wife’s son. I’m looking for my mother. Do you know what apartment she lives in?”

  “If you’re her son, why don’t you know?”

  “I hate to make a fuss. I was just trying to surprise her. Me and my mom haven’t spoken in some time. We fell out over something trivial. I don’t remember what. Anyhow, I wanted to make amends. If you can help me out, I’d appreciate it.” I pasted on a friendly smile and tried to act natural, wondering why the man was so reluctant to talk. Likely Griess had tipped him off not to give any details to strangers. I held up the flowers I’d brought over to help with my alibi. “I just want to give her these. It’s her mother’s birthday,” I lied. I didn’t know what birthday Sissy had given, so I couldn’t say it was hers. I’d pulled the story off the top of my head and prayed it was convincing enough to get me in.