“It’s going to be just fine,” he says softly from behind me. His lips are near my ear, and it takes all my might to keep walking forward to some seats he’s guiding me to. “I know this is all new and maybe scary, but it’s going to be fine.”
“You’ve never flown before?” Mrs. Davenport asks as she takes one of the leather seats.
“Mom, I told you. Ember was held captive just like me. She grew up in Hallelujah Junction. Richard—the man responsible for my kidnapping—held her there since she was a young child.”
I want to correct Christopher. I wasn’t captive. I wasn’t held there. Papa Rich is my father. Hallelujah Junction is my… was my home. But I remain quiet. Mrs. Davenport is glaring at me again, and I can’t help but get the feeling that the woman doesn’t care for me. By the way her eyes keep darting to Christopher’s touch on me, I can clearly see she doesn’t like him touching me one bit.
As we take our seats directly across from his mother, Christopher reaches over my lap and buckles a seat belt over me. Mrs. Davenport doesn’t like seeing this either. I miss the smile she had painted on her face before. She’s not even trying to hide her distaste now.
“So let me get this straight,” she finally says as the plane starts to move. “The man who kidnapped you—Richard—forced you to marry Ember, who he also kidnapped?”
“Yes,” Christopher says as he reaches for a shelf that stores glasses and some decanters of colored and clear liquid. He looks at me. “Do you want a drink?”
I shake my head. I worry I won’t be able to hold down what is in my stomach once this plane actually lifts off into the sky.
Christopher pours his mother a drink without asking if she wants one and then pours himself one. “The man was called Richard, and he normally kills anyone who trespasses,” Christopher begins. “I guess I should consider myself lucky he deemed me the one to marry his daughter… or who he considered his daughter… even though Ember is just as much a victim as I was. He made it look like I died in an accident, which sadly is how many other people actually died, and he kept me chained in the basement.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. I’m not a victim. I don’t like being referred to as one, but I also don’t feel it’s appropriate to correct Christopher in front of his mother. Instead, I look out the window at the passing scenery and try to not let the panic setting in overtake me.
“They told me you died while taking pictures. That you fell to your death in an old mining pit of acid. I had no idea. I just assumed that— I had no idea.” She shakes her head and breathes deeply. “What kind of sick man would do this?”
“There is no way you could have known I was still alive.”
“And you both escaped? Where is this Richard now?” she asks as she takes a long swallow of her drink. She leaves red lipstick marks on the glass, and I am once again reminded of the makeup I lack.
I wonder what this woman must think of me.
I feel plain and simple.
I also feel dirty and wrong.
I’m out of place, and I don’t belong.
“I waited until the perfect time. We started a fire that burned down the town. We thought Richard died in the fire, but the police just told us that might not be the case. Regardless, we are free from him forever. If he is alive, he’s a wanted man and will have to hide in holes until someone eventually finds him.”
“I think I’ll get us some security just in case,” she says as if it’s just as simple as that to make any threat of Papa Rich go away.
“If that makes you feel better,” he agrees as he reaches for my hand and holds it in his.
We take off into the air, and my belly drops and then flips. A cold sweat covers me, and I instantly want off the plane. I want to go home. I want the schoolhouse. I want my books. I want… I want the way it was.
I lean as close to Christopher’s ear as I can and whisper, “I don’t feel very good.”
He quickly leans forward to the shelf of drinks and opens a can of soda. “Here, drink this. It’s ginger ale and should help. Just close your eyes and take some deep breaths.”
I take a sip and do exactly as he says, and I do start to feel better as the plane evens out.
“And now what?” Mrs. Davenport continues.
“Ember will be staying with me in New York. We have a lot to figure out and what the future has in store, but she’ll be comfortable in my apartment and—”
“I sold your apartment and everything in it,” Mrs. Davenport blurts. “I thought you were dead. You know how fast real estate goes in the city, and… I thought you were dead.”
“Shit,” Christopher says, leans his head against the headrest, and closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I understand. Like you said. You thought I was dead.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Davenport says in a cheerier voice than she has used before. “My townhouse has plenty of room for you. And considering all you’ve been through, I don’t think you should be alone anyway. Your old room is still set up, and Ms. Evans will love having someone to cook for again, since I rarely seem to be home anymore with all the recent social engagements I’ve been busy with.”
“We,” Christopher says, looking at me with a reassuring smile, “would like that for now. At least until I find us a place to live.”
Mrs. Davenport looks at me, back to Christopher, and then back at me. “Ember, do you not have any other family or friends? I’m sure they will be wanting to see you as soon as they can.”
“No,” I state softly. “My mother is dead, and Papa Rich… well… he was all I had.”
A woman who stood by the door as we entered emerged from behind a curtain carrying a tray of sandwiches and bags of potato chips. “When you boarded, I know you said you were hungry. We don’t have a lot on the plane,” she begins, “but I do have these.” She pulls out a table that comes from the shelf of drinks, and it serves as a centerpiece between Christopher and me and his mother. She places the food on the table, and Mrs. Davenport waves her away. She then walks away before any of us can say anything to her.
“So, you want Ember to stay with us?” Mrs. Davenport asks with a look on her face that seems as if she’s tasted something bad.
“Mother,” Christopher snaps. Then in a calmer voice, he adds, “I told you. She’s my wife. So, yes, she’ll be staying with me… with us.”
“Well, she isn’t exactly your wife. Not legally. I’m sure there was no marriage license, and even if there was, you were married under duress. This isn’t legal or binding in the slightest. No one would blame you for thinking it wasn’t. I’m sure Father Antonio wouldn’t blame you one bit, and I seriously doubt we would even have to go forward with an annulment.”
“Mom,” Christopher says in a tone that rings of warning. “We can discuss this further later. But right now, my wife and I need to eat. We need to process. We need to not talk about what happened while we were there. I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise I will answer them soon. But for now, we need some peace. Please.”