|
|
Finally Akilah has no choice but to snap the damn thing herself.
"Mom," she says.
Leslie stops at the curb. "What? Do you have something to say for yourself?"
"Yes! It was Matt. It had to be. He put the drugs in my purse."
"You already tried that one," Leslie says, fuming.
"Why would Matt have planted cocaine in your purse?" Robert asks.
Akilah wishes he wouldn't try to be so damn helpful. Why are they suddenly hanging out with Robert Bale 24/7? Does her mom not remember that this man molested Alec?! Just because he's dead doesn't mean it didn't happen. Somehow, though, this doesn't strike Akilah as the best time to bring that up.
"Who knows why Matt does anything?" she responds. "Those drugs weren't mine."
Leslie places a hand on her arm, and for the first time since they arrived to free her, Akilah notices some softness in her mother's eyes. "I understand," Leslie says.
"You do?"
"Yes. You're acting out. Trying to get my attention. And, honestly...you have every reason to. The last few months have been nothing short of complete lunacy." Leslie absently touches a hand to her pronounced stomach.
"We can get help for you, sweetie."
"Mom--"
"In the meantime, consider yourself grounded. Give me your phone."
"I don't have it."
"They checked Akilah's purse into evidence," Darren says. "I can get the phone back, but it might take a few days."
"No rush," Leslie says. "She won't be needing it."
"Come on!" Akilah stomps her foot and doesn't know how she refrains from throttling her mother. "Why are suddenly cracking the whip on me? Vince screwed up all the time, and you never--"
"That was different." Leslie's face falls, and her voice suddenly grows softer. "I know I've made mistakes, Akilah. Plenty of them. Vince had his troubles, and it's pure luck that he came out of them okay. I'm not taking the same risks with you or this baby."
"This is not fair! I didn't even do anything wrong."
Leslie stands firm. "Like I said, grounded. If you aren't with me, you don't leave the house."
That's it. Akilah cannot bring herself to swallow any more of this crap. "It would help if we had a house, instead of just crashing with whatever random guy you decide to trust for a while."
Leslie's eyes widen, revealing both outrage and embarrassment. "We'll get you that help. But the first step is admitting that you have a problem."
"The only problem I have is that you won't listen to what I'm saying! What do you wanna do, look up my nose? Let me tell you, some woman with a mullet and breath like Satan's armpit already did all that and more."
Her sadness palpable, Leslie shakes her head. Robert intercedes and takes Leslie by the arm. "Why don't we go get the car?" he says, leading her off into the parking lot. "Darren, keep an eye on Akilah, please." The two make their way into the grid of parked cars.
"Thanks for getting me out so fast," Akilah says to Darren once they are alone, "and for at least getting the shoplifting charges dropped. I swear, I have no idea where that scarf came from."
Darren shrugs. "It felt good to be useful for a few minutes."
"And that coke--I swear it wasn't mine, Darren. Someone put it in my purse. It had to be Matt."
"How can you be so sure it was him?" Darren asks. He sounds skeptical, but at least he isn't flat-out accusing her of being a liar.
"There's no one else, unless this is my mom's idea of a really ridiculous prank." She realizes what a lame defense that is; kicking a pebble across the sidewalk, she adds, "Guys can't be trusted. God, you should understand that, right?"
"Me?"
"You know. Because of everything with Blake."
She can feel the floor of the conversation drop out from underneath them.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Darren says.
The sickening memory of Blake making out with Aaron Maddock drifts back into Akilah's consciousness, and she wishes that she had been smarter than to summon it.
Quickly Akilah waves it away. "Nothing, nothing. Just don't be too trusting of any exes, okay? Look where it landed me."
She can tell that she has not quite dispelled all of Darren's concerns, but Robert's car pulls to the curb, Leslie in the passenger seat. If it were any other vehicle, Akilah would be grateful for the escape from this awkwardness.
"Thanks again," she says to Darren as she climbs into the backseat, dreading the ride back to Robert's house.
He has to find a way to make this work. Michael Hanley will not get away with this--not after everything he has already done to Sean, and to Vanessa Watson. Sean doesn't know how, but--
When the elevator dings and its doors open, they reveal Yolanda Holland, her eyes hidden behind a pair of oversized sunglasses despite the dim lighting inside the hotel.
"Sean," she says, stepping out of the elevator as he slides past her and into it.
He pushes the button for the lobby. "Hey, Yo-Yo."
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"I've got to--" He stops, seeing the shopping bags in her hand. Yolanda might be out of a job since The Blackthornes went down, but her lifestyle certainly does not reflect it.
"I have a favor to ask you," Sean says. He hits the Open Door button and presses a hand against the door to keep it from closing on him. "Feel free to say no...you've already been so generous, letting me stay here with you."
"Pssh. It's hardly any trouble at all. You're family." She pauses to consider that. "Actually, you're better than certain members of my family."
He wishes that she wouldn't make those digs at Leslie, but now is not the time for a lecture on manners. Especially in light of what he is going to ask her.
"I need to go to Paris," he says. "As soon as possible. It's about...my past."
"I see."
"It's important. Something new has come up, and I..." He finds himself unable to push out the request. He knows that Yolanda has the money, at least for the time being, and of course he will pay her back as soon as he gets his feet on the ground, but it has been one thing after another since he landed back in Marquette Cove--
"You'd like me to buy your plane ticket?" she says, with all the surprise of being asked to pick up a pack of gum on her next trip to the grocery store.
"I'll pay you back as soon as I can." Sean steps out of the elevator, allowing the doors to slide closed behind him. "It's just that I don't have the cash right now."
Yolanda hands him a card. "Contact my travel agent. Tell her to bill the trip to my account. I'll call ahead and tell her to expect you."
"Thank you." Sean stabs at the elevator call button again. "For everything. The ticket, letting me stay with you--Oh. I called maintenance again about the--" He clams up as Herald Robertson turns the corner.
"Herald," Sean says. The older man stares at him, stone-faced, as he also awaits the elevator. Sean turns back to Yolanda: "--about the smoke alarm. They're supposed to send someone to fix it in the next hour."
"Wonderful. If that thing so much as buzzes in the middle of another night, I'm going to tear it out of the ceiling and make sure the hotel manager's colon never knows a good night's rest again."
Sean grimaces at the bizarre visual, as the elevator returns. He steps inside and holds the door for Herald, who hesitates.
"I just remembered," Herald says. "I forgot my wallet." He disappears back around the corner and down the hall.
Sean and Yolanda watch him go. Then Sean says, "Thank you again. If you need anything--"
"Go on," Yolanda says, waving him along as the doors close. Sean's body surges with energy and a tinge of guilt, but he does his best to brush it aside. Yolanda could have refused if it was too much of an imposition, but she wants to help him.
As Yolanda walks to their room, she passes by Herald's door, which is just closing. On the other side of it, Herald hurriedly grabs the telephone receiver and punches in a number.
"Yes, this is Herald Robertson," he says. "I have a very...special request."
BALE HOME
"How stupid can you be, Robert?" Felicia Bale mutters as she lets herself in through the back door. She found the spare key exactly where they used to stash it: in one of those tacky fake rocks, in the space that Felicia always said she would turn into a garden, except she never cared enough to do it, so they just had the landscapers maintain some nice-looking shrubs instead.
Now that she is inside, though, she does not know what to do. She hardly knows why she is here. It is as if something compelled her, some force outside her that took hold and steered her to this house. Her former home. The place where she and Robert raised Alec.
Alec. She has not been able to stop thinking about him, not for an instant. Sleep has been a stranger since he and Phillip went missing from the decimated hospital. Maybe exhaustion and delirium drove her here. All she knows is that she had to get out of Simon's house. Things have been unbearably awkward between them since they--since she made the mistake of coming on to him. Right now, all she wants is to be left alone with her thoughts and her memories. She needs to be as close to her son as she can get.
She moves to the mantle, adorned with photos that make them look like any other family. Well, except for the fact that no photos of Felicia remain. And Melissa Bale stares back at her from too many of the frames, and so do Alec and Phillip and Jessica...none of the pictures betraying the tragedies that have befallen them. She pauses on a picture of Robert and Alec, when he was maybe 12 or 13, sitting on a fallen tree in their ski clothes. The family went on a ski trip, and in the middle of the run, came across a fallen tree. What was so strange is that there had been no storm. The tree fell, but there was no storm. Alec was eager to take a picture with it. She never expected it to become a moment she would remember so fondly.
Felicia picks up a photo of Robert, Alec, and Phillip--a casual shot, snapped not long after Phillip's birth--and holds it to her body. The pain is nearly too much to bear. Since word of Alec's disappearance, she has felt as though each moment might be her last; it is all too overwhelming, not worth the futile effort to resist.
As she places the photo back on the mantle, another image comes to mind--a photo she spied during Alec's memorial service yesterday. It sits on a credenza in the upstairs hallway. She knows that Robert would rather not have it there, but there were no good shots of him alone with Alec from the day their son was born, so Robert was stuck keeping a photo with Felicia in it. That same force that brought her to her former home now drives her up the stairs, filled with a need to see that photo, see them all as a--
--family. A perfect family. That's how they look in the picture. Felicia pauses, running a hand delicately over the credenza, and then picks up the silver frame. She finds it difficult, staring at their former selves, to comprehend what they have become. Broken. Divided. That little baby, gone.
Nostalgia and sadness overwhelm Felicia. She wishes that she could turn back time. If she and Robert could go back, do it all correctly this time, maybe Alec would be here, happy, healthy. But instead...
As she presses the photo to her body, emotions war for space inside her, filling her chest with the most awful, suffocating sense of longing that she has ever felt.
MARQUETTE COVE COUNTY PRISON
This place grows more and more loathsome every time Simon Holden visits. Never in his life did he imagine that he would become so familiar with a prison, with the routine of surrendering his belongings at the window up front, of being ushered into a cold, dilapidated room to see his wife while other prisoners and their families have similar meetings all around them. Each time he has to come here, it becomes more difficult to motivate himself even to leave the house...but today, he comes with a purpose, and it makes the entire routine a little easier to swallow.
He sits across from Valerie and places the oversized manila envelope on the table. "Here they are," he tells her. "The divorce papers."
Simon slides the envelope toward her. Valerie accepts it, peeks inside, and sets it back down. "Okay. Thank you for bringing them."
Thank you for bringing them? He worries that she might have suffered a brain injury during a prison brawl, or something equally extreme. That is the only explanation for Valerie reacting so calmly to something like this.
"I wish this weren't necessary," Simon says, delivering the words that he carefully planned on his drive over. "But you and I both know that this is past due. I wish things had gone differently..."
Valerie hardly blinks. "Got it."
Simon studies her carefully. He didn't even expect to make it that far into his statement; he thought Valerie would throw the envelope in his face, call him an asshole, maybe slap him a time or two for good measure.
"Do they have you on medication?" he asks.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her mouth twists into a snarl, the first hint of the Valerie he knows and...knows.
"I didn't expect such a calm reaction, that's all."
"It isn't as if I couldn't see this coming. And no offense, Simon, but isn't it a little egotistical to expect me to be devastated over you?"
"It's a divorce! It's supposed to be devastating."
"Yeah, yeah." She picks up the envelope again. "You can go, if you'd like. You don't need to sit here and make small talk."
Simon wonders what has gotten into her. He finds it difficult to believe that his mercurial wife has suddenly achieved emotional maturity, but perhaps she is masking her true feelings. Maybe she is masking them so well that she is not even aware of them yet.
"I'll make sure Matt comes to visit soon," he says, feeling the need to reassure her. They both know that he has little, if any, control over what their son does.
"Bye." Valerie remains seated at the table and watches Simon exit.
Once he is gone, she rises and gestures to the guard that she is ready to return to her cell. The burly man indicates that he has seen her and wraps up his conversation with another guard, and Valerie mentally prepares herself to endure yet another disgusting strip search. A fellow inmate, a woman named Ellen with a severe face and far too little chin, taps her on the shoulder.
"Your hubby just gave you divorce papers and you don't even get a little misty?" Ellen asks. "You really are a cold one."
Valerie groans. "God, you're an idiot. That's the point. I get to sit back and look sane, as long as that sister of yours does what she's being paid to do," she snaps at Ellen before plastering the sweetest, fakest smile on her face for the guard, who has come to lead her out.
EMERALD PLAZA HOTEL
Yolanda spreads her new purchases over the king-sized bed in her luxury suite. One by one, she tries each new item on, modeling it in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. It is only when the buzzer sounds, as she is reluctantly removing her brand-new suede jacket, that she realizes her impromptu fashion show has lasted a solid half-hour.
"Coming!" she calls, quickly pulling a wrap over her revealing new top. No way is she letting anyone see her in it until she's had the chance to review it from any angle.
When she opens the door, she discovers a hotel staffer with a full room-service table, decked out in white linen. Two covered plates, a basket of rolls, a bucket with champagne chilling, and several candles cover the table's surface.
"I'm sorry. I didn't order this," Yolanda tells the bellhop.
The rosy-cheeked waiter double-checks the suite number against his delivery form. "Nope, this is the right room. Ms. Holland?"
"That's me..."
"Then this is for you. Maybe someone wanted to surprise you?"
He pushes the table into the room and sets it up, unpacking the champagne glasses and lighting the candles. Yolanda watches absently, trying to figure out what is going on. Could Sean really have the wrong idea about her generosity? And if he were planning this, why was in such a rush to get out of here--let alone ask her to buy him a plane ticket to Paris?
The young man surveys the spread. "Ooh, this is a real nice one. Real nice. You've got champagne, and candles, and a chicken dinner..."
"I can see perfectly well, thank you."
He flashes her an overly toothy grin. "Someone's got romance on the brain tonight, don't ya think? Maybe a little bit of the love-making... you got some R. Kelly on your iPod...?"
"That's quite enough," she says, handing him a tip and shoving him back out the door. Confused, she nonetheless pours herself a glass of champagne before retreating into the bedroom to change out of her new top. She is slipping back into the blouse she wore shopping when an obnoxious beeping noise tears into the quiet of the suite.
"Dammit!" She forgot all about the smoke alarm. She never should have let that man light the damn candles.
She hurries back into the main room to blow them out. Dark wisps of smoke float upward, curling through the air. The alarm continues to blare, the same plaintive wail that woke her and Sean from sleep in the dead of night. Looking up, she spots the button to shut it off...too high to reach. She is searching for a chair to drag over when a sudden cold shock hits her.
And hits her again. And again. Yolanda lets out a wild howl as the sprinklers rain down upon her.
She breaks for the door, but a thought hits her. The suede jacket! She rushes into the bedroom and gathers up her new clothes. Covering them like a firefighter rescuing an infant from a chaotic blaze, she races from the room, still shrieking from the cold and the wetness.
"You have got to be kidding me," comes a voice from down the hall. Yolanda turns to see Denise Price walking toward her.
"Shut that swamp-trash mouth of yours," Yolanda huffs at her.
Denise nevertheless continues to cackle at the sight of the drenched woman as she passes by. "I don't think I'm the one who looks like I climbed out of the bayou right now," she says with a laugh before walking off, a new spring in her step.
"Someone turn those damn things off!" Yolanda yells at no one in particular. "And get me a towel!"
BALE HOME
Averted gazes and stiff quiet dominate the car ride back to the house. As soon as Robert parks in the driveway, Akilah leaps out of the back seat and practically sprints for the front door.
"We are not through discussing this!" Leslie calls after her.
Akilah doesn't even turn back. "Fine. Whatever." She darts into the house, leaving Leslie to stare after her.
Robert walks Leslie to the front door. "She knows that she did something wrong," he says. "That's why she's being so nasty."
Leslie wants to find solace in those words, but they hardly matter. Akilah's anger is driving her to do foolish things, things that could land her in a lot of trouble. Leslie's blood ran cold when she heard that there was cocaine in her daughter's possession; she cannot bear the thought of watching her little girl head down the same path that once caused Leslie herself such agony.
"I just don't know what to do for her," Leslie says as they enter the house. She hears a door slam upstairs, no doubt courtesy of Akilah. She hangs up her coat, and even the meager activity of reaching for the hanger is a strain upon her sore back. She rubs the small of her back.
"Why don't you go upstairs and take a bath to relax?" Robert says. "You can take some time to gather your thoughts."
"That's a good idea."
"Use the tub in the master bathroom. The jets are terrific. There are towels in the linen closet."
"Thank you, Robert," she says, placing a hand on his forearm. "For everything." He offers her a warm smile, and she makes her way upstairs. She is mildly surprised to find the door to the master suite closed, and when she turns the handle, a voice calls out, as if she unknowingly pulled the string on a talking doll.
"I've been waiting for you," comes the voice from inside the bedroom.
Frightened, Leslie throws the door open.
"Felicia?"
A scream rings out from the bed, where Felicia sits, the sheet barely draped over her very naked body. Leslie, in return, screams right back.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Leslie demands.
"What are you doing? Sneaking into Robert's bed?" Felicia grabs her clothing from the floor beside the bed.
"Use the sheet!" Leslie cries, covering her eyes as Felicia haphazardly flings items of clothing back onto her body. "And for the record, I was going to take a bath."
"Oh, I'm sure." Felicia hurtles out of the bed, half-dressed and clutching the rest of her clothes in her arms. "You really are a piece of work, Leslie."
"Me? What are you doing naked in your ex-husband's bed?"
Felicia offers no response, simply a frigid look, as she blows past Leslie and out of the room. Leslie turns back and sees Robert at the foot of the stairs, clearly having overheard the ruckus.
"Felicia?" he asks.
"She was in your bed," Leslie says.
Felicia turns back and spits, "It's all yours! You two have fun together."
"We aren't--" Robert grabs his ex by the arm. "What are you even doing here? How did you get in?"
Felicia tugs away from him. "I should have known better. I should have known that you would never change. I was wrong." She hurls her jacket onto the floor.
"Felicia, calm down." Robert moves for her, but she bolts, sweeping an arm over the mantle and knocking the framed photos to the ground. The resulting rumble fills the house, and Akilah rushes to watch from the top of the stairs.
"Would you get a grip?" Leslie says.
"God, I was wrong," Felicia rails, pointing at Robert and then Leslie, "about both of you. All of you." She grabs a stone figurine off an end table.
Robert takes another step toward her. "What is the matter?"
"You are the matter! You and her and everyone! God!" Felicia raises the figurine above her head and, without a hint of warning, spikes it downward into the glass coffee table. The table shatters with a thunderous crash, puzzle pieces of glass falling to the carpet in a heap of ruin.
"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!" Felicia yells as she grabs her things from the floor and rushes out the front door.
The sound of exploding glass rings in Leslie's ears. She looks to Robert, then to Akilah, then back at Robert. None of them has any idea what to say.
EMERALD CAFE
"I just called the travel agent. It's all set," Sean says as he leans over the small cafe table, keeping his voice low.
Vanessa Watson runs a fingertip over the handle of her mug. "Good. The sooner we get to Paris, the sooner we'll have answers..."
Sean nods along. Answers. He thought that private investigator would be the key to finding them--and a way to keep himself out of harm's way. But he is glad that he discovered her connection to Michael. Sean would rather risk his own safety than be caught in yet another of Michael's despicable schemes, especially now that Hanley has little left to lose.
"I know Marcus didn't do this," Vanessa says. "He couldn't have killed my sister. His alibi has to check out."
Vanessa seems despondent over the alternate, unspoken possibility, so Sean decides not to vocalize it. They will have the truth soon enough; there is no need to send her world into further upheaval.
"We'll be in Paris soon enough," Sean says. "I promise, I'll do whatever is necessary to help you find out what happened to Nikki."
She raises her gaze to meet his. "Thank you, Sean."
"Thank you." He doubts that she understands how much he means it; Sean has not had many allies lately.
Vanessa launches into a breathless discussion of their possible itinerary, and Sean hangs on her words. It feels good to have some momentum, a sense of purpose.
They are so consumed in their planning that neither notices that the person two tables over has been listening intently to their conversation and soaking up every last detail. Nor do they notice when the figure stands and makes its way out of the cafe.
Once outside, the person pulls out a cell phone and places a call. "Mr. Robertson, I'm preparing your special request as we speak..."
