Enraptured (22 page)

Nancy video chatted with me every single night to keep me company. She wanted to fly to Los Angeles for the summer, but I declined. Her safety was too important to me. I wasn’t going to lose one more person that I loved.

I was practically a basket case as it was.

Most times I was able to enjoy my meltdowns in peace. But at night, if he heard me crying, Alex would quietly enter my room and lay on top of my covers to hold me close and comfort me.

I supposed I was providing comfort to him as well.

There was nothing sexy or romantic about these late night encounters. We were simply two hurting people who tried to ward off our pain by holding onto a friend.

It often made me feel closer to Drew. On those nights when neither of us could sleep, and there were many those first couple of weeks, he would tell me stories of his youth. I would cradle my tummy and listen to his tales with a soft smile, trying to imagine my two Fullerton men as carefree boys.

“Believe it or not, he always wanted to be the good guy. If we played cops and robbers, he was the cop. If we played cowboys and Indians, he was always the cowboy. I was okay with that,” he would confess with a grin. “I think I always kind of knew that the Indians were the getting the short end of the stick. That’s how we differed, Drew and me. He saw things very black and white. And I was always a little more morally ambivalent.” He chuckled. “But every time he defeated me, there was this triumphant look on his face. Good won over evil, wrongs were righted and all was right in the world. I hadn’t seen that look in a very long time.” He looked at me. “I saw it that last day. And I know I’ll see it again.”

I held his hand in mine, afraid to open my mouth. My thoughts were dark, and getting darker by the day. We were served with restraining orders to keep us away from Jonathan, and I spent that whole day on the bathroom floor, alternating between gut-wrenching sobs and painful, acidic retching.

Alex practically carried me back to the bed. “This means nothing,” he assured. “This is just another one of her little games. She can’t punish Drew, so she takes aim at us. Classic Elise.”

“But she can do it,” I muttered pitifully. “She’s his mother. I’m nobody.”

He grabbed my chin with one hand. “You are his mother too, in every way that counts. He needs you to stay strong for him and never give up.”

I nodded. “I will. I just wish I could go before the judge and explain.”

“That time will come,” he promised.

“When?”
I challenged. “When he’s run away again? Or when he’s back to using synthetic pot?”

“Give him some credit, Rachel. He’s in this fight every bit as much as we are. And he’s a lot stronger than you realize. He may be eleven, but he is an old soul. Have faith.”

My grateful eyes met his. “How did you get so smart?”

He winked. “I had a great teacher.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Alex.”

He brought my hand to his lips. “You’ll never have to find out.”

My moping Alex was gone. In his place was a strong Fullerton man that would have made his brother proud.

As my eyes fluttered closed, I could only pray – once again – that he’d find his way back to us so he could see it.

By the time I entered my thirtieth week, I was stir crazy being confined to my bedroom. It had only been two weeks but it felt like a year. So I began to branch out as I took my scheduled potty breaks. I would go to the bathroom, but take the scenic route through the living room, or the media room, or even the kitchen. If Cleo caught me she’d chase me right back to bed, as would Harrison. Inevitably I found my way to Drew’s study, where I could stretch my legs in private.

The household staff was reluctant to enter the room, so it stood much like a shrine to Drew whenever Alex wasn’t using it for business.

Since I couldn’t go to the offices downtown with Alex, I would use these opportunities to log into Drew’s computer and do my own kind of research. It filled the days a lot better than mindless TV, and even my favorite books. It was how I kept proactive. I was tired of feeling like a piece of furniture in my own world. I knew if we could find one little piece of evidence tying Troy to Teton Tech, aside from the rather broad association through EAL, then we’d be golden.

But it was like finding a needle in
the proverbial haystack.

I had to look in every file on his massive computer, every email, every contact.
Some of the files read like Greek to me. Alex was far more adept putting the pieces together than I was. I ended up lingering over personal emails and family mementos, in my own way holding onto Drew’s spirit in the only way I knew how.

In truth, that was the real reason I sneaked away to his study every chance I got. The Drew contained within those computer files was a candid, thoughtful, open man I barely knew. It was like getting to know him all over again, without all the games and the bullshit.

I ended up hitting the jackpot with a deeply buried file named, “Letters.” Some were so old they weren’t even typed, but rather scanned into the computer. These were the ones that dated back to the late 1980s, after Drew had broken ties with everyone in the family except for his father, in a vain attempt to earn his approval.

For some reason, those were the ones I gravitated towards first.
They read almost like confessionals. In these letters, he said to his father what he could never say to his face. He admitted his shortcomings, but he also allowed himself to be angry and sad.
Weak
, I thought to myself as I remembered our conversations about it in the past.

But I saw nothing weak about the thoughtful, introspective boy within those pages, the one that reminded me so much of the little boy I met and fell in love with when I first came to California.

Dear Father
, the very first letter read:

It is July 20, 1988, and I am alone in my room
. You tell me that great men must learn to stand alone, but I’m not used to it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. I miss having someone to talk to. I miss going to the ranch with Alex. I could never tell you that because I know that is something you don’t want to hear. So I’ll put it here because it needs to go somewhere
.

I clicked on another file from that year.

Dear Father,

I am once again alone in my room, but
this time it’s by choice. I can hear you through the walls, yelling at Mother. I know you’re drunk. And you’re even scarier when you’re drunk. I really hate you when you get like this. You call us weak. But I’m beginning to think it’s you
.

Many of the subsequent letters followed the same pattern. He expressed his frustration and his anger and an unending loneliness. He missed his brother, his friend. He was jealous of Alex’s new friend Jake and resentful that his father gave up quickly on Alex to focus his expectations solely on him.

He was an eleven-year-old boy, the same age Jonathan was now. Just as smart, just as empathetic and sensitive.

It broke my heart to realize that Malcolm had broken his spirit, something evident in these letters that got progressively angrier.

Dear Father,

Today was my graduation. I graduated with honors, but even that wasn’t good enough for you. Will it ever be good enough for you?

Even when he managed to snag just an iota of freedom, the chains of his family always yanked him back.

Dear Father,

I just spent one of the best summers of my life in France. I learned about fine wine, good food and passionate women. But as happy as I was, as surrounded by friendship and even romance, I often felt like I was still in that lonely room, screaming at the walls through the ink in my pen. These are words I can never say because they are words you refuse to hear. All you want to hear is that I will follow your footsteps and meet your many expectations. I am not ready to commit to the company, get married or have children. I want to be free.

That letter was dated 1996, which would have made him nineteen years old. He was still just a kid, and already Malcolm was pushing him into a life of obligation.

In another year he would meet Troy, and even more expectations were placed on his young shoulders.

Dear Father,

I’m confused why you would encourage a relationship with Troy De Havilland and discourage a relationship with my own brother. I know he’s a wild spirit, but he’s not a horse you need to break. He could add something to our family. Yet you simply think he will take something away. What do we have, aside from money, worth taking?

By 1998 his father had his stroke and Drew stepped into his leadership role at FEI at the tender age of twenty-one. In those letters, he spoke of how inept he felt, how he floundered to find his footing.

You may have had a stroke, Old Man, but you are as formidable a bastard as always. You sit in your wheelchair and watch me behind those cold, blue eyes, just waiting for me to screw up so you can call me incompetent. That is what I’ll always be to you, isn’t it? I’ll never win your approval.

In 2001, he was still trying to earn his father’s approval.

I know you think Elise will make a fine wife, but there is more to a partner than her size-0 figure and her family pedigree. She is vapid and insecure, with a cloying agenda to land a rich husband. Either you see that or you just don’t care. But the more you insist I need to marry her, the less I want to. Is this how you felt about Mother?

Within months, Drew’s choice to marry was made for him.

Despite her assurances otherwise, Elise has become pregnant with my child. Now I am expected to juggle this company and a family I never wanted. I will marry, just like you wanted. I will have a son, just like you wanted. And in the end, none of it will matter. You’ll still find reasons to be disappointed in me, even with the right wife and the requisite heir. How I long for that empty room.

The letter dated February 22, 2002 was the first one that wasn’t addressed to Malcolm.

Dear Jonathan,

Until 4:42 this morning, I
had been living a lie. Every day I went to work, wearing tailored three-piece suits, saying all the right things and meeting all the right people, but my heart had always yearned to break free. Truth be told, I resented my sacred duty until this day, when I understood what it truly meant to be a Fullerton. Everything we’ve ever done comes down to legacy. I am but a cog in the machine, leading this family while it is my time. When my time passes, your time will come.

If I were my father, I would toughen you up for that role. But I’m not convinced his is the role I want for you. The minute I looked into your face, brand new to this magnificent world, all I wanted to do was get to know who you are, and whatever that would mean
, my expectations be damned. My father could not make that commitment to my brother, and now he has been set adrift, an angry, bitter soul lost to us forever. You have restored something in us and I am filled with hope and wonder for the first time in a long time.

Where will you take our legacy, young Jonathan? Unlike any Fullerton before you, I hope you take it where you think it should go.

I have but one promise to give you. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, you will always be my son. And I will love you always.

I was blinded by tears as I finished the letter.

Drew’s hopes were short-lived. Soon his mother fell ill and he had a front-row ticket to watch her waste away.
Once again he poured his heart out in fruitless letters that his father would never read.

I think she wants to go. She wants to be free of the pain, and not just the physical pain. She’s lived in a cage since the moment you married her. All she has ever tried to do was set us free from that cage, and you hate her for it. Even as she’s wasting away in that bedroom upstairs, you have no sympathy, no love. What is she holding onto? What are you holding onto? Let her free. Open the damned cage.

It was more than I could take. His words from the past echoed in my head as days passed and he lay locked within his body in a deep coma.

Was he in a cage?

Would he ask me to set him free?

According to a surprise visitor
later that week, he would.

Elise showed up on our doorstep, conveniently while Alex was at the office.
Harrison tried to block her but I heard her voice from the study. I refused to further be made a prisoner in my own home, so I walked out to the foyer to meet her face to face.

But this wasn’t the Elise I met two years before. This Elise was smug and
uncensored as she glared down at my enormous tummy.

“Still pregnant?” she asked with an innocent bat of her eyes. “It barely shows.”

“Another fat joke,” I responded flatly. “How original. What do you want, Elise?”

“I want Alex to stay away from Zoe. He’s been messaging her on her phone, and I don’t want him to have contact with my staff.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied. “Alex never showed interest in Zoe, in fact the reverse was true. Maybe you should talk to her about her little crush.”

“Oh, I have. I’ve warned her repeatedly about getting involved with Fullerton men.”

“You might want to think about that,” I cautioned. “Your son is going to grow up to be a Fullerton man.”

“Maybe,” she replied. She held up her hand, displaying an eight-carat diamond. “You should congratulate me.
Aazim has asked me to marry him and I have agreed. We should be in Dubai by the end of the year.”

My heart dropped. “You can’t take Jonathan away from his father.”

“You mean that corpse you’re hanging onto? Oh yes, I can. I have full custody because he is not medically able to care for my child. And it doesn’t look like he ever will be. Even if he does pull through, he’ll be a drooling vegetable in a wheelchair, just like his mother was.”

I swallowed back any response. And she wasn’t done.

“If you had any compassion for him at all, you’d pull the plug. You know as well as I do that he would never want to live like that, locked in his body, his brain a pile of mush. You might as well put him in the ground and buy a fern. You’ll get more out of it.”

My voice was deadly. “Get out of my house.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged. “It is your house, by default anyway. But the Fullerton money is Jonathan’s money. You’re going to have to let go of it someday.”

She twirled on her six-hundred-dollar shoes and walked right out the door.

That night, I pounced on Alex. “Have you been texting Zoe?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Elise showed up here today to ask you to cease and desist. Apparently she takes issue with you fraternizing with her hired help.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like Elise.”

“You still haven’t answered the question. Are you texting Zoe.”

He sighed as he faced me. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You said that De Havilland hand-picked Zoe, right?” I nodded. “I think she may be the key.”

“You know she has a major crush on you.”

“Yep,” he quipped. “And at last it’s coming in handy.”

“You can’t just toy with her emotions, Alex. She’s a human being.”

He merely shrugged. “I thought to myself, what would Drew do?”

“So, what? She’s collateral damage?”

He faced me without even a hint of
remorse. “Isn’t it worth a broken heart if it gets Jonathan back?” His voice softened. “Elise is planning to take him out of the country, Rachel.”

“I know. She told me.”

“Of course she did,” he grumbled. “So now you see why we have to get him back. If we get him back… then maybe…,” he started, but trailed off.

“Maybe Drew
will come back to us, too,” I finished quietly.