The offer throws me. He was the one who always reminded me their roof over my head was a privilege. My private school tuition was a privilege. Walking home every day—rain or shine—was a privilege. I’m kind of thrown by the kindness, but almost losing my life has made him realize that life itself is a privilege, and maybe mine was taken for granted by him.
Alexander moves to the side. I don’t have to see his face to know he feels victorious. I hope he’s not gloating. I hold the hands that held me once, protected me for most of my life, even if overly, and squeeze. “I will.”
My mom hugs me around the neck, and we exchange our sweet sentiments. Alexander commandeers my chair and asks, “Ready?”
“For anything.”
“That’s my girl.”
The paperwork has been signed, and Alexander pushes me past the nurses station. Two police officers stand from a sitting area and walk toward us. One has his hand over his holster, two fingers itching to pull his gun out. The other, taller cop adjusts his belt and seems to battle over giving us a smile or reprimanding himself for standing in the first place. “Mr. Kingwood. Mrs. Kingwood.”
Alexander doesn’t stop but does reply, “What?”
“Good to see you’re going home sooner than the doctors thought.”
They’ve talked to my doctors? The thought is unsettling. I glance at Alexander who won’t give them the courtesy of looking their way. “Thank you,” I reply before we pass, eyeing them. Alexander may not be saying much or bothering with them, but the tension extends between them and us, even once we’re out the door.
Cruise is parked out front and runs around to open the door. “Good to see you, Sara Jane.”
I smile. “You too, Cruise.”
A nurse comes out the doors with the police in tow and starts assisting me. Alexander is on my other side.
“Mrs. Kingwood?”
Stopping to look back at the officers, I’m about to reply when Alexander grits his teeth. “Not. Now.”
The shorter one laughs. “You don’t run this show. We do.”
“Neither Sara Jane nor myself will be commenting any further without our lawyer present.”
That sets him off into a fit of chuckles. He slaps his hand against his partner’s chest, and says, “Hear that, Langley?” Starting a poor impersonation of Alexander, he continues with his pinky popped out, “I shall have to call on the family lawyer before speaking to the lowly police.”
Alexander says, “I didn’t say that.”
All pretenses are dropped. The cop comes closer, the nurse ushering me forward, away from the men. Cruise takes over where Alexander left off, helping me into the car. Alexander turns to the cops. “If you’re looking for trouble—”
“Let me guess.” He gets in Alexander’s space since he’s too short to get into his face. “I found it?”
The other cop says, “C’mon, Brown. Back off.”
Brown shrugs him off. “This guy’s going down. I don’t know what part you’ve played in all this,” he says, referencing me, “but we’ll find out. I promise.” He steps back from Alexander, whose facial expression never shifts from indifference. “We’ve been patient, but we’re getting a court order if you don’t give a statement in the next forty-eight hours. Same goes for Mrs. Kingwood.”
I don’t think Alexander has blinked. I’ve seen him mad a few times, but this isn’t mad, this is cold-blooded, make-me-shiver hate. I need to calm him down. “Alexander?” His gaze swings my way, and I say, “I’m tired. I’d like to go home.”
He nods. When Alexander reaches into his pocket, Brown unsnaps his holster. “Slow down there, cowboy.”
Alexander produces a business card. Holding it between his fingers, he waggles it. “My lawyer’s number. Future communication should go through him.”
The cop’s hand eases away from the gun, and he snatches the card. “Yeah, sure thing, Kingwood.” He looks my way. He’s about to say something but seems to think better of it.
I owe him nothing, not even acknowledgement, so I remain expressionless. Alexander closes the door with me inside. Some words are exchanged between Brown and Alexander, though I can’t hear what’s said from inside the car. Alexander comes around, kicks Cruise to the backseat, taking over the driver’s spot. Stretching across the car, he pulls my belt and gently brings it across my body, snapping it into place. “I’ll drive slow.” After a kiss to my cheek, he sits back and snaps his own belt.
Still curious about the exchange I wasn’t privy to, I ask, “What did he say?”
He pulls away from the curb. His eyes are focused on the distance, maybe even a distant future. It’s hard to tell where his mind’s at, and he’s learned to control his emotions so well in my absence. I don’t like being on the outside of his inner thoughts.
“He said the truth always comes out.”
“It does.” I wonder if Alexander even knows what the truth is anymore. It’s clear the cops have it out for him “And what did you say?”
“I told him to go fuck himself.”
“So you’re killing them with kindness.”
His laugh is humorless. “Yeah sure, killing them with kindness.”
But there’s something in his response—his tone—and the way he manipulates the words that catches my attention. I look at him. Really look at him. The sun is setting, and he puts on his sunglasses. His jaw tics to a beat only he hears. There’s a hardness to his features that I’ve only caught glimpses of over the years, usually when he was around his father. I was on the receiving end the night of the dinner party where he told me to leave and never come back. That stare chilled me, nearly broke me, and is one that causes my tummy to twist, my side to ache, and my heart to recoil. I’ve changed over the last few months. Grown. Accepted. Solidified my love for him and our life together. Despite his proclamations of devotion over the last few days, I’m left to wonder if I’m returning to the same man I left months earlier?
12
Sara Jane
A knock on the door drags me from a deep sleep. It was easy to find comfort in this bed, the one I’ve shared with Alexander for years.
Home.
Alexander is right. I may never have loved Kingwood Manor, but this room, his room, feels like home. It feels like him. Warm and comforting. Even though I’m alone, I feel protected between these four walls, and that’s something I never thought I’d feel again.
The door opens and I lift up just enough to see April coming into the room with a tray. Alexander’s birth mom smiles as she approaches. “It’s so good to see you again, Sara Jane.”
I glance to the clock on the nightstand. “You too.” 3:46 a.m.
Before I can ask what she’s doing in here at this hour, she says, “I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I heard you take your medicine just before four. I brought you soup so the medication doesn’t upset your stomach.”
Rubbing my forehead, I shake my dreams away and my mind begins to clear. “Oh. That’s right. Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
She sets the tray down and comes to sit next to me. Taking my hands in hers, she says, “I’m so glad you’re all right. You’ve lived through a nightmare. So traumatic.”
“I lived. I don’t know how or why, but I’ll take it.”
She smiles again. “I’m so glad you’re back. You’ve made Alexander very happy.”