He placed them all back inside and gently closed the lid. "You spent a happy childhood in this room, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. I never felt deprived of anything."
"I felt deprived of everything." He sat down on the well-loved quilt my grandmother had made long before I was born and stroked his hand across the faded squares. "My bedroom looked more like a hotel than a kid's room, at least after we moved into the city. A lot of my stuff got left behind. At the time, I didn't care and I think my father was just as happy not to be reminded of our life with my mother."
I took off his shoes and put them beside the bed. Then I gently pushed him back against the pillows. The double bed seemed terribly intimate after spending nights with him on board his plane and boat with their giant mattresses. He scooted over and made as much room for me as he could and I crawled in beside him. We lay there fully clothed and shifted into a spooned position, my back to his front.
I heard him sigh and remembered his caustic comment about his "delicate, damaged soul" on the way to Carcassone. Sarcastic, yes. But also true. He'd lost the two women he had loved most in the world. As I felt his body relax against me I told myself that I would do anything I could to make sure that he didn't lose me.
***
My mother's cell phone rang at 6:30. Tristan and I both became instantly alert.
"Answer it."
I pressed the button to answer the call and held my breath. "Hello?"
"It's me, sweetie." I was thrilled to hear my mother's voice even if she sounded ragged and scared. "I'm okay. Tell your father I'm okay." Then another voice came on the phone. I held the phone so that Tristan could also hear what was being said.
"No harm will come to her if you follow my instructions to the letter."
"What do you want?" I couldn't help but sound belligerent.
"You listen. I talk. One million, cash, circulated, non sequential $100 bills. Get it together and you'll get your instructions in 24 hours." Click.
I dropped the phone into my lap. Dad was standing at the door. He must have been sleeping with one ear straining like we were and heard the phone. Tristan had been right, after all. I had pretty much come to that conclusion anyway. It wasn't about the union at all. It was about Tristan and his money.
Tristan stood up and walked over to the window. "I'm so sorry, Don, Raina. I've brought trouble to your family. I can't begin to tell you . . . oh God, I can't believe I allowed this to happen."
"You couldn't possibly have known," my father replied. But of course, I knew better. Tristan did know what kinds of things happen to billionaires and the people they care about. I felt chilled thinking about it. What kind of life would it be to have to look over your shoulder all the time? Much as I cared for him, was I willing to risk not just my safety, but that of the people I loved the most to be part of his life?
What about the future? What if we did move forward and made a life together? What about children? How did the very rich stand it? In an instant, I knew that my fantasies about Tristan were never going to become reality. How could I subject myself, my family and even my yet to be born children to a life of bodyguards and precautions, security systems and stealth?
It was all too much to think about. My mother was the focus of the moment. Not tomorrow, not yesterday. I summoned up all the strength inside me and turned my attention to the only thing that mattered. "Tristan, what's the next step?"
***
All sorts of uniformed and plain clothes folks had gathered at our kitchen table by eight o'clock. The general consensus was that there would be no contact for 24 hours, just as the voice on the phone had said. Other than getting the cash together, there wasn't much that their combined investigative power could do. A quick check of the cell phone indicated that the call had come from one of those pay as you go mobile phones, now likely at the bottom of the Hudson River.
"Those phones are a criminal's best friend. Used to be we could check phone records, and even if a perp used a public phone the location would give us something to go on. With these disposable phones, we got bupkis." The detective shook his head sadly. "I hate waiting."
I hated waiting, too. By nine, the house had cleared out pretty much. Just Dad, Tristan, the three bodyguards and I remained. Tristan had been on the phone, presumably to his banks, to arrange for the cash.
"If they were real pros, they'd have asked for a lot more and by wire transfer." Archie had remarked on his way out the door.
Of course, to me, a million sounded like a hell of a lot of money. Tristan didn't even bother to discuss that part. His biggest concern was having to wait 24 hours and his worry about my mother during that time.
My father was pacing like a caged animal. He announced that he was going to work because he had to "get the hell outside" and do something physical or he'd lose his mind. Hoc had taken the night shift, so George made a move to follow my father.
"Forget about it, George. I don't need watching. They've already got Marjorie. What more can they do to me?" No one was ready to argue with his logic so Dad took off down the block toward the subway by himself.
The three Laotian men disappeared downstairs. I could hear their sing-song-y rhythm of their language faintly through the kitchen floor.
"Would you like to get out of here, too?" Tristan asked me. "We could go into town . . . I don't know. I could show you my apartment. We've got time to kill. Anything you want--just say the word."
There simply wasn't anything I could do for either of my parents at that moment. There was a waiting game to be played and, tough as it was, we all had to play it. I could spend the day pacing or I could go for distraction.
I was dying to see where Tristan lived, anyway. He had told me that the place in the Berkshires 'wasn't him' and I was hoping that I would get the chance to see a place that really reflected his style. "I'd like to see your place. Where is it?"
"Manhattan."
"That much I knew. Where in Manhattan?"
"Uh-uh. I'm going to surprise you."
Twelve
When Kwan pulled the car up in front of the Dakota, I nearly fainted. Home to celebrities and the mega wealthy, the historic old building was notoriously hard to get into. The rejected prospective tenant list reads like a Hollywood red carpet roll call.
The Dakota is a beautiful building. A lot of people say it looks creepy or haunted, but I disagree. I was trying hard not to appear awestruck when we crossed the lobby. The chandeliers, the dark wood, the rich carpets and wingback chairs all screamed old money and class.