I feel Fenton at my side. I can’t make him out through the wetness, but I feel him kneel in front of me. One hand lands on my knees, the other wipes my hair out of my face. His fingers brushing away tears that come faster than he can rid them.
“I know, sweetheart,” my father says. “We are doing everything we can. I won’t believe this will end in any way other than the right way. We have to make a push to get him out and Hyland has promised me he’s doing everything he can. I have every contact I’ve been able to make working on it. But baby girl, we have to remember, focus on the silver lining—he’s alive.”
“To hell with them,” I say, my agony turning into anger. I lift off the couch, nearly knocking Fenton over. I can feel the pain being dulled by the fury and I welcome it. I feel it flow through my veins, making me light-headed. “You tell those bastards to go get my brother! He isn’t just another person over there. He isn’t a soldier that fled. He’s a doctor there to help people and he should be home with his family and not left to rot in Zimbabwe because of some stupid fucking red tape!”
“I know, honey. But they’re sticking to the ‘not negotiating with terrorists’ line of bullshit.”
“So what? They don’t negotiate? They just leave him there to . . .”
I can’t say it. I can’t launch those words into the universe.
I dry my face with the top of my dress. I see Fenton standing near the sofa, watching me with wide eyes.
He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.
“He wasn’t working for the government, so he isn’t their liability. He’s an American citizen, so they’ll do a bit on his behalf. But with all the wars happening right now and the domestic terrorism on our own soil, Brady isn’t the highest priority.”
“I hate them, Daddy,” I blurt, my blood curling. “I hate every single one of them!”
“I do too, Brynne Girl.” My mother’s voice rings through the background and my father sighs. “Are you someplace safe? Are you with someone?”
Fenton takes a few slow steps towards me. He’s hesitant, like I’m going to start screaming at any given minute.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m with someone. I’m safe.” Fenton stops a few feet in front of me.
I blink rapidly, the tears threatening to fall again. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, sweetheart. Stay strong. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.” I end the call and press the phone to my chest. I try not to look at Fenton because, if I do, I know I’ll cry again.
“Are you all right?” he inquires, his voice wobbly.
“No.”
“Can I ask you what’s wrong?”
I force a swallow past the lump in my throat. It burns as it goes by, squeezing through the constriction like lava. “Brady, um, went to Zimbabwe a few months ago. He’s a doctor. He’s so freaking smart, Fenton.”
I look up into his grey eyes. They’re crystal clear, so much so that I can see my reflection. I look like a wreck. My tear-stained face swollen, my lips over-plump, my eyes bloodshot.
“He went there as a doctor. Grant had worked for the company before, some kind of security company or something. Grant’s the one that got him the job. Brady felt like it was his calling, in a way, to give back and felt like he could make a difference there. I begged him not to go . . .” My voice breaks and I can’t hold back the pain. The tears come again, wildly this time, and I bend forward in physical agony.
Fenton crushes me against him, holding my head against his body. The comfort breaks me, frees the rest of my anguish and I break down completely.
I sob so loudly I can’t hear my own thoughts. I cry so profusely his chest has a river of tears flowing onto the edge of his sweatpants. I wail so dramatically I’m sure someone is going to call the front desk.
I wipe the snot off my face and half-laugh at how ridiculous I must look. Today I felt like a goddess; tonight I feel like a baby.
“I begged him, Fenton,” I sniffle. “I told Brady I had a bad feeling about it, but he said it was where his heart was. And he had to follow it. So he went and I was right. I was right,” I whisper, wishing empatically I weren’t.
His face falls, his skin ashen. He’s as shocked as I was the first time I heard about it. You don’t expect this type of thing to happen to someone you know. This happens to other people.
“So they said my brother was helping a child and got kidnapped by a group of men. From what they’ve told us, it’s a local band of fuckers, not some coordinated multi-national group. Even so, our government won’t negotiate with terrorists. And his employer . . .” I clench my jaw. “Fuck those assholes.”
“What did they do?”
“Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Grant says they sent them into an unauthorized area, that they’re a careless company behind a benevolent fa?ade. I believe that much is true because they don’t seem all that motivated to do anything.”
“But Brady went willingly, right?”
“That’s not the point,” I hiss. “And him not coming home wasn’t willing. So fuck that.”