Mama Killed A Man

“Someone found out who you are.”

Celeste’s face was lined with concern as she gently gripped my hand. I suppose she was trying to be soothing, but I could feel her fear through the tremble behind her skin. My eyes widened and my stomach lurched as I digested what was happening.

“How?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Graeme said. “I don’t know how they knew you’d be at the airport today. Hell, I didn’t even know until a few hours ago!”

I frowned in confusion. I hadn’t even told my father, there was no way anyone could have known.

“How did you-“

“I texted your Dad before we boarded,” Celeste admitted guiltily. “I’m sorry, made me promise to look out for you.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to think about what could have happened if my father hadn’t told Graeme to pick us up.

“It’s alright Celeste,” I said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you did that. Thank you.”

She nodded off a little after that, and I closed my eyes, beckoning the release of sleep. It wouldn’t come, so I settled upon rubbing my temples and singing Incubus in a soft whisper, lulling myself into a calm that was only interrupted as we approached the great house on Gatsby.

“Put this over your head,” Graeme said softly, handing me his jacket. I obeyed before waking Celeste and waiting as they both got out of the car and circled to my side.

The chaotic clamour of rowdy yells and banging fists on glass was amplified as Graeme flung open my door and pulled me under his arm. Celeste appeared on my other side, wrapping one arm around my waist and using the other to drive through the throng as my arms were grabbed and lenses were shoved in my face. I bowed my head and scrunched my eyes shut, willing it all to go away. It wasn’t long before I was thrust into the confines of the big house on Gatsby, the heavy front door slamming shut on the terrors behind us. I’d never been so appreciative of its silence until then.

“Amber, thank God!” Louise exclaimed, throwing herself at me like a powder pink canon ball. “We were worried sick!”

As she pressed me to her breast I looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of two people huddled close together at the kitchen table. Excusing myself from the embrace, I ambled closer and the pair of heads snapped up, gaping at me like deer caught in the headlights. Shadows moved behind closed curtains and muffled voices tried to coax us outside as one of them squirmed in his seat and the other began picking at her nails, the fleeting look of astonishment replaced by haughty disinterest. I gritted my teeth before turning to the boy.

“What’re you doing here?” I said quietly, drinking in his foreign image.

Fidgeting awkwardly, he stood and sauntered towards me, reaching out to place a large calloused hand on my shoulder. I took a step back because I didn’t want to be near him. He looked different; strange.

His eyebrows rose into a Tipi beneath his shaggy mane and when he coughed, I could tell it was just to fill the silence.

“A bit after we spoke, I came over to ask your Dad when you’d be back,” he replied, ruffling his own fringe. “I didn’t want to wake you up again.”

“Then the photographers came and we all got stuck here,” Louise added, traipsing in from the lounge.

My eyes widened and I stepped backwards into a less confrontational stance. “You’ve been here for ten days?” They both nodded.

“Your father wouldn’t let us leave,” Louise continued. “The paparazzi would’ve swarmed us for answers. They’re desperate to know you, Amber.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s been doing damage control for the past ten days, honey.”

“Damage?” I frowned. “What damage?”

“They found out about your mother and the accident,” Louise said softly, “It’s all over the tabloids.”

I felt sick. “How?”

“We think it might have been Karl, but it doesn’t really matter,” she sighed, “You can’t sue someone for telling the truth.”

“Karl couldn’t have known she was arriving today,” Graeme interjected, eyeing each person in turn with his contoured arms crossed over his chest. “It had to be someone in this house.”

And I knew who.

“Amber, are you ok?” Celeste’s steadying fingers touched my shoulder, “You’re shaking.”

“Take her to her room, sweetheart,” Graeme said, clapping his granddaughter on the back, “She looks worn out, let her rest a while.”

“I’ll come.”

His voice cracked with concern and I could hear the crooked, hopeful smile in his tone; instantly his comfortable presence rebuilt itself back up around me. The flutter in my stomach returned after weeks of absence and I must have stopped shaking because Celeste’s hand relaxed against my skin. This is what I’d come back for.

But then I made the mistake of turning around and looking into his eyes that were brimmed with that strange, foreign look that just wasn’t him. I looked away quickly, lips trembling.

“I’d like to be alone, please.”

Shuddering, I turned back around and strode quickly out of the room.

*

I was sprawled across the sofa pretending to be asleep when John’s clunking footsteps wandered down the suspended staircase. I’d become so accustomed to the sound that I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it was him, and I knew he had something to say. He always walked like that -with long, swift strides- when he had something to say. When he reached me, he leaned so far over the couch that I could feel wisps of his sun-bleached hair tickle my nose.

“Common Amber,” he said quietly, hot breath on my lips. “I know you’re not asleep.”

I opened my eyes and stared at him vacantly. “Go away, John.”

“What’s the matter?” He searched my face, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Amber, hey, what’s wrong?”

Gripping the back of the sofa, he swung himself over and landed clumsily on my stomach. I sucked in sharply, flexing my abdominals against his weight. “Are you upset with me?” he pouted, brow puckering.

“Well, if I wasn’t before I sure as hell am now,” I scowled. “You’re crushing my liver. Get the fuck off me.”

He flinched, pout waning. “You sound mad,” he observed.

I shrugged and looked away.

“What happened to you Amber?”

You.

“What are you not telling me?”

My feelings. The way I felt about him, and the way I was feeling about the look in his eyes. The shifty, remorseful, almost guilty sheen beneath his mossy gaze really shouldn’t have upset me so much.

“What are you not telling me, John?” I said quietly.

He recoiled and his lips parted to formulate an unheard excuse. Lost for words, he gave me one last long look before shifting unsteadily off my stomach and heading for the stairs. I leapt up and blocked his way and after a few seconds of shuffling, he growled and gave up, folding his arms over his middle. We just stood there staring each other down. It was so silent I could hear the blood circulating my ears.

Then something happened, and it happened so fast I wasn’t sure it had happened at all until it happened again.

John leaned forward and his hand came up to my jaw and our chests pressed together and his lips attached themselves to mine. And then the whole world fell away, and I remembered why I was back in Arizona. I forgot about how he hadn’t called in ten days, I forgot about the look in his eyes and how I’d caught him in the kitchen with Brookie and how fucking mad that had made me. I forgot about the tabloids and the 'damage' and the cameras outside, I forgot long enough to not notice when one flashed through the translucent windowpanes of my back door.

My eyes were closed, because that’s how you kiss, and it wasn’t until the next morning that I would learn to never, ever close my eyes again.