“I saw some photographs in Chicago recently, on her social media pages.”
“So she’s here now.”
“That’s what it looks like, Mr. Silvers.”
There’s more silence in the room while I continue to pace around. Tom knows he is free to leave if he wants to, but he decides to stay.
“There is something else I was thinking about, if you are open to it,” he finally says.
“Something else?”
“If you don’t mind getting creative about getting in touch with Ms. Davies.”
“I’m all ears.”
“We could contact the college.”
“Her college?”
“From my research, I gather that she has close ties with the college. She was a star student and involved in the historical society pretty seriously. Maybe she is still in contact with them since graduating.”
I’m staring at Tom, but with pride and awe.
“Yes, that’s a good idea. We could get in touch with the college and hope they’ll be willing to part with her personal information.”
“They will if we can come up with a job for her. As you can see in that folder, Mr. Silvers, it seems like Ms. Davies is not currently employed.”
“She’s a history major.”
Tom says nothing.
“I’ll have to think about it. The last thing I want is for her to realize I’ve made up some bullshit excuse just to see her again.”
I’ve said the words aloud now. They’re out there. Maybe I shouldn’t have disclosed this much to Tom, but now I have. I know he will take it to his grave.
I’m lying awake tonight. It’s very late. I can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the house. I’m not sure if I need a house as big as this. Everything I need would technically fit into a studio-sized apartment, but I wanted to live in the suburbs. Away from the business district and the limelight. I found one of the most private and quiet suburban neighborhoods in Chicago and this was the only house for sale at the time. So I took it. Now I feel like it has too many rooms and I don’t have enough life or interest to fill them.
I’m in my king-sized bed tonight, staring up at the ceiling. The house feels stuffy and hot. I shouldn’t have taken that shower. But I was all sweaty from my midnight run. Now I feel like I should go for another run. I’m not able to clear my head no matter how hard I try.
I know contacting the college is my only hope for getting in touch with Ella. But what if Jay is right and I’m only making the situation worse? Some things are better left untouched, right? Maybe it was just supposed to be one great night. All I got to do was kiss her when there is so much more that I wanted to do.
I know I can have any woman I want. Anyone other than Ella. In the span of the last six months since I met her, I haven’t been able to spend the night with someone else. I’ve gone as far as flirting. Inviting back to my hotel room. I even watched one beautiful blond take her clothes off in front of me, but I gathered them up eventually and held them out to her. Asked her to leave because I wanted to go to sleep. Alone.
This is what Jay doesn’t understand; Ella has ruined me. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be fixed again. Not unless I can have her. Not until she gives me a good reason why I can’t have her.
I have spent the past six months thinking about this girl and it has brought up another important memory. The fact that I have a big gaping hole in my life that I will never be able to fill.
No matter how I want to sugarcoat it, no matter what I achieve or how much money I make—the fact still remains that I don’t have a family. No parents. No siblings. Aunts or uncles or grandparents. I have no fuckin’ clue where I come from. Where I belong. I don’t even know where I was born.
I grew up in the system. The only thing I was told when I was growing up, being tossed around between foster homes, was that my parents had died in a car accident. That was the only information accessible to me on file. In my teenage years, I tried hunting down more, but the system had it all under lock. There was no way I was going to get any more clues out of them.
And then eventually, I just stopped trying. I focused all my energy on making a career for myself. A self-made man. I was good with numbers and really good with money. I could have taken a wrong turn and gone into a life of drugs and crime like a lot of my foster brothers and sisters did, but I wanted power. Real power. The kind only a tailored Italian business suit and a private jet can give you.
Over the years, as I started to achieve my dream, I have thought less and less about where I come from. How does it matter anyway? My parents are dead. I don’t have siblings, and if there are other family members, then they never came looking for me. So why should I go looking for them?
But now that I think about Ella, I can’t keep my mind from wandering to my childhood and the lack of human connection I have always felt. Maybe I wouldn’t be feeling this obsessive need to possess Ella if I had a wholesome upbringing surrounded by a loving family.
Maybe I’m just trying to fill that black hole in my life, and I’m using her to do it.
I sit up in bed, covered in sweat. I need another shower. Maybe a cool one this time. As I’m climbing out of bed, a thought occurs to me. Ella is a history major. Her last job at a firm in the city was that of a researcher. There is only one thing I need her help researching—my family.
This is the perfect excuse. This is the perfect job.
I feel the urge to call Jay right now. Tell him my plan. However, I get a feeling that he won’t approve. He’s a good friend, probably my closest friend, and he wouldn’t judge me for my actions, but he didn’t grow up in foster homes like I did. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be powerless. To want something and someone this bad.
I’m pretty sure Tom doesn’t understand it either, but at least he won’t protest. So I email him instead.
I have a job for Ella Davies. Get in touch with the college tomorrow and set up an urgent meeting as soon as possible with the historical society.
Tom’s response is nearly immediate. I wonder if he ever sleeps. He assures me he’s going to get on this first thing in the morning.
Now I can most definitely not sleep. I feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins. I’m so close now. If I play my cards right, I might be able to see Ella in just a few days.
The only thing I can hope for is that she won’t hate me for it.
4
Ella
Hudson is up on my shoulders and we’re picking blackberries from the bush in the garden. I can hear my phone ringing in my pocket so I have to put him down before I answer it. Hudson clings to my legs, asking to be lifted up again. I stroke his hair, trying to calm him.
“Yes?”
“Ella. Hi. It’s Mary Delaney from—”
“Mary, hi, it’s good to hear from you,” I say, cutting her off. Of course, I know who she is. I’ve been working closely with her ever since I became president of the historical society.
I did get in touch with her recently, too, shortly after my return from Europe. I just wanted to put the word out there that I was looking for some interesting work. Well, any work. It’s been two weeks of me just sitting around doing nothing.