God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made
mothers.
Rudyard Kipling
CHAPTER 1
DEEDEE
Connecticut,
Modern Day
DeeDee
padded up the stairs. Horace, her furry faithful companion, trotted after her. Lively
conversation and laughter from the living room below floated up the stairs
where the people DeeDee loved the most in the world had gathered. DeeDee longed
to join them, but she had a mission.
An
important mission.
She
had to prove the shrunken, prune-faced man posing as Mom’s long husband was
nothing more than a conman. To do that, she needed to steal the man’s
hairbrush. A DNA sample should prove he wasn’t DeeDee’s father, as he claimed. She
shivered. The thought of being physically related to this man made her ill.
DeeDee
paused in the hall outside Mom’s bedroom door. Horace sat on his haunches and
cocked his head. Hundreds of memories flooded through DeeDee. She’d played
dolls in this hallway, danced her way to recitals through the doors, and walked
these stairs in a wedding dress. Never once, that DeeDee knew of at least, had Mom
ever shared her bedroom with anyone other than a sick child, dog, or cat.
DeeDee
put her hand on the doorknob.
Footsteps
sounded on the stairs. DeeDee pulled her hand away as if she’d been scorched by
flames. She scurried down the hall and ducked into her own room. Horace trotted
after her. After shutting the door, she leaned against it. Her heart hammered.
Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and tossed her favorite nightie over her
head.
After
plopping onto the bed, she came up with a plan. She’d wait until when she had
the house to herself to poke around Mom’s room. But she had to hurry. The
sooner she’d rid this man from her family the better.
DeeDee
sat on her bed, her legs dangling over the edge, her feet 6 inches off the
floor. This was the curse of being small. She glanced up when she heard a knock
on the door.
Please
don’t let that be Mom, she thought. Still, when any of her
family knocked, she could never turn them away. Even if, or maybe even especially
when, they were deluded. “Come in.”
Celia
poked her head in the room. DeeDee knew it was a cliché, but Celia really had
blossomed in her pregnancy. Rosie cheeks. Full lips. Glorious baby bump. She
was ripe, luscious, and ready to be plucked. DeeDee couldn’t wait to meet the
grandchild that was about to come into the world.
“Are
you okay, Mom?”
“Of
course, darling. Why do you ask?”
“I
worry about you.”
“Sweetheart,
I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She did not want another discussion about Mom
and Hans with her daughter.
Celia
padded into the room with a steaming teacup in her hand. “Grammy asked me to
bring you this.” She set the cup on the nightstand. “I’d let it cool, if I were
you.”
Celia
had slipped off her shoes, and her feet looked like little purple onions at the
end of her legs. Her toes were swollen and bruised by the upcoming child and accompanying
water weight.
DeeDee’s
memories drifted to her own long-ago pregnancies. The soft, sweet newborns. The
giggly, gurgling toddlers. The mischievous preschoolers. Her heart broke a
little bit each time her children got on the school bus, went on their first
date, and graduated from high school. And now here she was, decades later, her
baby producing a baby of her own.
Celia
plopped onto the bed and the bed the mattress shifted beneath her weight,
scooching DeeDee closer to her daughter. Celia placed her fingers, fat and sausage
like, on DeeDee’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “Oh Momma, I know you’re
struggling.”
“I
feel fine,” DeeDee lied and ran a mental catalog for all the emotions
plaguing her. Frustrated. Discouraged. Incredulous. DeeDee tried to
steer the conversation away from Mom and Hans.
“You
know all of my latest scans were clean,” DeeDee said. “It’s a miracle really.”
“You’re
a miracle.” Celia nudged DeeDee with her shoulder. “I think it’s safe to say we
all feel blessed to have you with us.”
“It’s
been three years,” DeeDee said. Three years of cancer holding her hostage,
shaking up her life and turning it upside down. But the disease had made her
reflect and reevaluate which things were truly important, worthy of her time
and attention. DeeDee had stopped looking for love in all the wrong places. Turning
her devotion to her children, her mom, and their business, and to herself had
felt like a glorious release. She’d be forever grateful for the big C because
it had reawakened her to the magnificence of her own life.
“But
you know I wasn’t talking about the cancer,” Celia said.
“No?”
“You
don’t like Hans.”
“I
don’t have to like him.”
“If
you’re not careful, you’ll cause a rift between you and Grammy.”
DeeDee
feigned surprise. She widened her eyes to look more convincing. “Nonsense. Your
grandmother is a grown woman. She’s free to…hook up with anyone she chooses.” Hook
up. She hated that saying. It made two people sound like train cars
latching together and pulling a caboose. DeeDee waved her hand as if she could brush
all of that messiness away. That man with his phony-baloney accent, ugly gray
skin, and laughing, conniving eyes. Why couldn’t her family see who and what he
really was? DeeDee tried to sweep him from her thoughts.
“I
know you don’t believe in Witching Well,” Celia said. “But look at what it’s
done for me and Jason and Cami and Joel.”
DeeDee
did not believe time travel stories. Oh, she might believe the water from the
Witching Well had some sort of hallucinogenic properties such as the old
legends claimed—even the modern-day scientists agreed this could be the case. But
she didn’t want to argue with her daughter.
“Celia,
I know you and Jason had some sort of delusional episode after drinking the
witching well water,” DeeDee said. “I get the water is tainted. I also believe
you are meant to be with Jason. He suits you and you suit him. I’m thrilled for
you.” She wrapped her arm around Celia’s shoulder.
Celia
sagged against her. “Why can’t you be happy for Grammy?”
“I
love your grandmother with all my heart. Of course, Hans loves her, too. He
would be an idiot not to.” DeeDee was as convinced of this as she was that the
sky was blue.
Mom
had always been there for her and now did DeeDee would be there for her as
well. She’d protect Mom from this vagrant the way Mom had sheltered DeeDee after
her own two failed marriages.
“But
you don’t believe their love story,” Celia said.
It
wasn’t just their story DeeDee struggled with—although theirs was more fantastical
than most. DeeDee had fallen into one early marriage with disastrous results,
and after years of struggling in a parent/child relationship, she finally realized
she had tried to create a father figure out of her husband.
It
hadn’t been fair to either of them. It had been a mistake. When she tried to
find her own feet and voice, Chris had left.
The
second marriage to Stan had been fast and furious resulting in two beautiful
children but very little else. Still, she couldn’t regret either husband. To do
so would rob her of her children.
“I
am over the moon for you and Jason and this baby,” DeeDee said. “I could not be
any prouder of the life and family you are creating. This child is so lucky to
have the two of you. And Joel and Cami and Mia…” Her thoughts stuttered and her
spine stiffened. She had to drop the pretense and be honest. ‘Sweetie,” she
said, “I can’t have this man in my house, around you and Mia and Joel.”
“Mom,”
Celia countered, “you don’t have a say.” She kissed DeeDee’s cheek to soften
her blow. “And, technically, it’s Grammy’s house.”
“I
can help her see she’s making a mistake.”
“She
won’t thank you for it.”
“I
think the world of Grammy. She has been there for me through two terrible marriages
and cancer! If I can prevent her from making this mistake—”
“But
what if it’s not a mistake?” Celia gazed at DeeDee with her vivid blue eyes. “What
if everything they say is true?”
“He’s
an…” Her thoughts sputtered through a litany of appropriate labels: indigent,
bum, hobo, con man. She settled on, “outsider.”
Celia
pressed her hand to her chest as if DeeDee had stabbed a silver stake through
her heart. “What if he is your father and my grandfather? Then, of course, he
belongs here.”
DeeDee
slid a glance to the door before returning her attention to Celia. “He shows up
out of nowhere. For all we know, he’s recently escaped from jail or an insane
asylum.”
“Mom!”
Celia closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
“I’m
sorry if you find the truth painful. Sometimes the truth hurts. But that didn’t
mean it shouldn’t be told. Mom has convinced herself of some bull-hockey story
and she finally found someone willing to play along. Even if he is who he says
he is, she still hasn’t seen him for sixty years! People change—a lot—in half
that amount of time.” She cast a worried glance at the door. She didn’t care if
Hans heard her—his opinion of her mattered less than Horace’s—but she did worry
about her children. They were much too accepting. Who would have thought she’d
raise such a tribe of gullible and trusting souls?
Of
course, they were related to her own mother.
“But
Mom,” Celia pressed, “don’t you see? True love doesn’t change. Just like we
can’t change the past. Love is love is love. It’s always there. It rides around
with us, sits on her shoulders, and dictates our moves.”
“I
don’t believe that, and I refuse to believe you do either. I raised you better
than this.”
Celia
gave her the same look she’d worn the day she’d told her that Muffin, Horace’s
predecessor, had died.
DeeDee
snorted. “Don’t you see what’s happened here? Sixty years ago, your Grammy had
an episode just like you and Jason had where she fancied she met the love of
her life.”
“Your
father!” Celia splayed her fingers on her bosom. “My grandfather.”
“That
man is no more my father than the man in the moon. And if he is, then that just
means…Well, I don’t know what it what it means.”
Except
she did, of course. It meant she had to get to work. She had to prove that this
man was not who he claimed he was. And even if he was, DeeDee had to get rid of
him.
DeeDee
had fought cancer and won. Ousting Hans would be a walk in the park.
#
LIAM
Somewhere
near Osorno, Chile, 1947
Liam
ushered the three German men across the airstrip. The flight over Puyehue’s steaming
volcano, had, as always, been beautiful, but also uneventful. Were they
disappointed? They’d chattered in an unfamiliar dialect, allowing Liam only
flashes of comprehension. Now, he felt a flutter of impatience for the flock of
them to be gone.
“You
will deposit us at the hotel, yes?” Juan, the guide, confirmed.
“No
problem.” Liam pulled the keys of his jeep out of his pocket. Shuttling
sightseeing businessmen to and from hotels wasn’t typically in his job
description, but since Juan’s car’s battery had died—Liam had agreed to drive
the men into the city center.
Juan
sputtered instructions in German before shepherding his charges into the Jeep.
The air above the park had been blissfully clear, allowing them sweeping vistas
of the rugged mountainside, lush meadows filled with herds of alpacas and
llamas, and, of course, the steaming volcano pit, but here back on Osorno’s
flatland, coastal clouds blew in a fine mist that coated the Jeep’s windshield.
“It’ll
be kind of wet,” Liam told Juan. “If I’d have known I’d have company, I’d have
put on the roof.”
“How
could you have known?” Juan asked. “This is all my fault. It’s very generous of
you to drive us to the hotel.”
Pesos
rather than generosity had prompted Liam’s decision, but since he didn’t
consider himself a mercenary, he didn’t need to admit this.
With
the solemn-looking business men buckled into the backseat and Juan strapped in
up front beside him, Liam started the engine. The six-mile drive from the
airport to the city center and hotel promised to be uneventful—and short. Liam
had seen something he hadn’t noticed before and he couldn’t wait to consult his
maps. With his head already on tomorrow’s hike, he drove on autopilot.
“Do
you know these men?” Juan had to yell to be heard over the wind rushing through
the open roof.
Liam
glanced across Juan at the beat-up truck pulling along beside them. Carlos Hector. One of Victor Mont’s more
reckless henchmen. Carlos grinned and leveled a gun at Liam.
A
gun? Really? He couldn’t be serious.
But
both the gun and the glint in Carlos’s eyes looked very serious indeed.
Liam
pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “We’ll lose him in a minute.” Liam made a
promise he wasn’t sure he could keep but could potentially die trying. The wind
whipped his words over his shoulder.
Beside
him, Juan clutched the edge of his seat with both hands. The three men in the
back who hadn’t broken a smile over the course of the whole trip, seemed
pleasantly surprised by the sudden acceleration.
The
jeep shot over the road, but Carlos’ truck managed to rumble up beside him.
“What
does he want?” Juan yelled through tight lips.
“He
thinks I have something belonging to him. He’s mistaken.” Liam gunned the
engine.
Carlos
swerved to sideswipe them, but Liam managed to out-maneuver the Chevy.
“Could
you just talk to him and explain the situation?” Juan asked.
“You
don’t talk to people like Carlos. He doesn’t speak our language.”
“What
language does he speak? I know five.”
“A
language of violence.”
“Aw.
That’s one language I’m poorly trained in,” Juan said. “Get off the road. I
know another way.”
Liam
shot him a glance.
Juan
pointed at a path to the left veering into the woods.
Indecision
and fear burbled in Liam’s gut. The path had been made for carts, not vehicles.
“Are you sure?”
Juan
did not look sure, but he nodded anyway.
Liam
gripped the steering wheel and peeled off the highway. Mud splattered over the
windshield when they bounced onto the dirt path. The Jeep moaned as Liam
navigated a steep and winding hill into a forest. They plowed through a small
creek. Moments later, they came to a fork and merged onto a path that looked
wide enough for an emaciated cow. After climbing steep slope, Liam caught up to
man on a bike pulling a cart. Liam braked, and the Jeep skittered through the
mud. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror told him he’d lost Carlos. His
previously stoic businessmen were now smiling and jabbering.
Suddenly,
the cart in front of them unhitched from the bike, and pitched and careened into
a patch of tall grass.
Liam
tightened his jaw. “Not my problem,” he whispered to himself and swerved around
the bike after it pulled to a stop in the grass. But when the cart slammed into
a side rail and several cages bounced to the ground and a deluge of chickens
spilled onto the road, Liam had a problem. Several problems.
“Pollos!”
Juan held onto the edge of his seat and braced his feet on the dashboard.
A
barefoot, bearded man wearing a pair of overalls and a sombrero disentangled
himself from his crumpled bike.
“He
looks like he needs help,” Liam said.
“But
not our help.” Juan flexed his fingers around the edge of his seat.
Chickens
fluttered across the road. A black and red hen with a rooster comb squawked. Carlos’s
white Chevy truck came tearing down the hill. Liam came to a no-going-back
decision and made a sudden sharp turn, not braking but accelerating, veering
off the road, away from the fluttering chickens.
“Do
you know where you’re going?” Juan squeaked.
“I
thought you did.” Liam white-knuckled the wheel as he steered down a path he
hoped would lead back onto a road.
Nope.
Now
they were in the thick of the jungle, chasing chittering squirrels, and dodging
a trio of squalling cats.
A
wooden lean-to with a corrugated tin roof seemed to be growing out of the
weeds. A bewildered woman and her indeterminate breed dog stepped onto the back
porch.
Liam
rolled down his window and waved. “Lo siento, señora!”
The
woman chased after them, shaking a rolling pin in her hand. Carlos, who had
been following close behind, nearly barreled into her.
“Someone’s
going to get hurt,” Liam muttered.
The
Jeep bucked back onto the road. Unfortunately, a few chickens had gotten ahead
of them. Liam veered around a white and tan hen and skirted past a black one.
As
they approached the next intersection, Liam worked the brakes, but nothing
happened. “Oh no,” he muttered.
“What’s
wrong now?” Juan asked.
“My
brakes! They’re out!” Liam pumped the pedal, but the Jeep didn’t slow.
“Downshift.”
It was more of a command than a suggestion.
It
didn’t help. The Jeep hurtled down the path like a steely in a pinball machine.
Liam, with his foot and the brake pedal glued to the floor, pulled to the side
and skittered along a rock wall. Metal and against stone screamed.
“I’m
sorry, old friend,” Liam murmured.
The
Jeep, as if rejecting his apology, bounced into the air and crashed down again.
Behind him, the three business men chortled with glee. Something crunched
beneath the Jeep’s tires.
“What
was that?” Juan squawked.
Please
don’t let it be a live creature, Liam prayed.
Juan
craned his neck to look out the back window. “I think it was a tomato cage.
It’s smashed now.”
Liam
peered ahead; fairly certain the highway was just through a stand of pines.
Should he try to stay on the road where he’d possibly hit another car or take a
shortcut through the swamp on his left?
“January
is the height of the summer season,” Liam muttered through gritted teeth. “I
bet it’s drier than it looks.”
“What
did you say?” Juan asked.
“Never
mind. Just hold on!” Liam called to the passengers in the back.
A
stand of cattails filled the swamp, and Liam crashed into them. The plants
crumpled beneath the car, letting off a plume of brown fuzz. He turned on the
windshield wipers but they hurt more than they helped and left a mucky smudge.
The swamp’s stench surrounded them. The Jeep sputtered in the mud, spewing like
a fountain as it trampled tall grass and lily pads.
The
Jeep slowed to a manageable speed, and the tension in Liam’s spine eased when
they rolled back onto the road. In the distance, the hotel gates loomed.
Liam
coasted to a stop in front of the curb.
“You
lost him,” Juan said with a touch of wonder.
“Momentarily.”
Liam glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Carlos’s white Chevy truck
barreling out of the trees any moment.
The
business men climbed from the car, bowing, grinning, and chattering. The hotel
valets came trotting over to inspect the mud splattered Jeep.
“What
will you do now?” Juan asked.
“Disappear.”
Liam thought about what he’d seen at the crest of Andes. The Lost City of
Caesar. Could he have really found it this time? And if so, how could he
keep Victor and his henchmen from following him?
#
DEEDEE
In
the foggy lapse lying between sleep and wakefulness, DeeDee became aware of a
number of things that didn’t belong. Instead of the late-spring’s snowy blanket
of silence, songbirds twittered above her. A warm breeze carried the scent of
wild citrus blossoms. Crickets chirped. DeeDee’s eyes flew open, and she gazed
at an eggshell blue sky. Palm fronds. Monkeys chittering in the trees. As far
as she knew, the only monkeys in Connecticut were in the Beardsley Zoo.
What
had happened to her bedroom?
DeeDee
let her head fall back onto the dirt, a small plume of dust and pollen rose
like a cloud and filled her breath. What was going on? Where was she? She’d gone
to sleep in her childhood home. Mom and Hans slept two doors down. Claiming to
be husband and wife. After a separation, and hiatus of nearly 60 years.
As
if that wasn’t nightmare enough, now DeeDee was lost in her own personal jungle.
That’s
what this was. Her thoughts skittered back to the tea Mom had prepared for her
and Celia had delivered. Immediately, DeeDee knew what had happened. Mom had concocted
a brew from the Witching Well—all because DeeDee refused to believe Hans, the vagrant
off the street pretending to be Mom’s lost love, was DeeDee’s father and her
children’s grandfather.
Overcome
with anger, frustration, and a touch of fear, Celia pressed her eyes closed.
She could get through this. She had battled cancer and won. She could get
through a delusional episode. As far as she knew, no one had ever actually died
or overdosed from drinking from the Witching Well.
She
would not wake until the episode had passed. She would not be sucked in to Mom’s
hoo-ha. She wouldn’t be deceived the way her mother or daughter had been. She
would be sensible, for once in her life, and she would wake up on the other end
of this illusion wiser, smarter, sturdier, and stronger—just like she’d weathered
chemotherapy. If there was one thing cancer had taught her, it was that she was
a warrior. She would get through this.
Honk!
Honk!
DeeDee’s
eyes flew open again and this time she saw a jeep barreling towards her in one
direction and what appeared to be some sort of bus coming from another. She
propped up onto her elbows and realized she was lying in the middle of a dirt
road. Dust blew around her and the jeep swung off into the weeds. The bus skittered
to the left and a couple of suitcases that had been tied on the top flew free.
They exploded like grenades around DeeDee—clothes and shoes bouncing as they
landed.
DeeDee
scrambled to her feet to dodge the wardrobe missiles.
She
watched the backside of the jeep disappear into a sea of green. It sprang over
a protruding boulder and smashed into a tree. Birds and monkeys sent out an
alarm. Steam rose from the engine. The jeep sat like a tangled and mangled heap
of metal.
The
Jeep looked like a relic looked like a relic from a World War II Museum, and
yet not as old as she would have thought. It lacked the wear and tear a vehicle
of that age should have. For example, the upholstery wasn’t cracked or worn. The
paint wasn’t faded. The tail lights didn’t have that cloudy cataract appearance
typical of old plastic. She edged closer, expecting the driver to emerge,
throwing curse words and threats. After all, in a totally unintentional way,
DeeDee had caused the accident.
Where
was the driver? Surely the Jeep hadn’t just driven here by itself. Although, in
her diluted, drug-induced mind anything was possible. But then she spotted a
boot. Clearly, the driver had been thrown into the pile of weeds. Feeling
somewhat accountable and remorseful, DeeDee went to help, mindful of where she
stepped.
For
a delusion, she found the twigs snapping beneath her feet really uncomfortable.
She tried to remember if she’d felt pain in her nightly dreams. She didn’t
think so. Most of her dreams played in her mind like movies—far removed from
physical sensations. Sure, she’d experienced fear, worry, and even sexual
hunger, but actual pain—like the sort caused by stepping on a thorn? No.
She
leaned against the Jeep and propped her ankle on her knee to inspect her
bleeding foot. Easing the sliver out of her heel the her thumbnail, she
wondered how something so small could cause so much pain. She looked up to find
a man staring at her. Tall, dark-haired, but blue-eyed. Broad shoulders, slim
hips. Just the sort of creature she’d expect to find between the pages of
romance novel or drug-induced delusion.
“Beunos
dias.” His gaze ran over her, causing her to flinch.
Strange.
She would have thought everyone would speak English in her fantasies.
“Hello,”
she returned. “Who are you?” Her gaze strayed past him and landed on the boots
she’d spied earlier on the ground.
Gun
shots rang out. Birds squawked an angry warning.
The
man grabbed her hand. “Come on, Dee,” he said in perfect English. “Unless you
want to get shot, you can’t stay here.” He hauled her out of the weeds and onto
the road.
How
did he know her name?
She
spotted something that seemed almost as out of place as she felt. Her bag! How
had that gotten here?
“Wait,
stop!” Her feet skittered in the dirt, creating a mini dust cloud. Ducking, she
ran to pick it up while gunshots rang over her head. She crouched over her bag,
protecting it from the unseen assailants. When the gunfire ceased and DeeDee
uncurled, stood, and gazed around, the man had disappeared.
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