14. 13
There’s a cold breeze the next morning when I’m strolling with Remy over the local farmers market. The autumn sun is just about to show its face and hopefully warm us up a little. It’s about to be one of those days when your cheeks turn pink from the cold in the air, but you still feel lighter because of the way the sun shines.
“I’ve actually never been here,” I tell Remy. He has an arm draped over my shoulder while I cling on to his waist. I’m tucked away nicely in a warm leather jacket and a knitted wool blanket scarf.
“I used to come here when I was a boy,” he tells me. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and it shouldn’t affect me the way it does. “My parents hated this place. They were always so busy during the weekends. But whenever my grandparents were in town, they brought me here. We would buy fresh flowers to take home and try something new every time we got here. I’ll never forget the day I convinced them blue cheese was a good plan. I was eight, it was blue, I was convinced it was going to be the shit. But damn, was I wrong.”
I chuckle. “You didn’t like it?”
He scrunches his face. “It tasted like mold.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say.
“It still tastes like mold.”
“The real question is, how do you know what mold tastes like?”
“Because I was an eight year old boy once.”
He looks at me with a huge grin, and I’m completely enamored by Remington Ashburn. We slowly walk past different stalls. We get cornered by a woman who sells homemade honey, and we end up buying three jars. I have no idea what the hell I would do with three jars of the stuff when I hardly ever use it, but she made a compelling argument and after buying it, I feel like I’ve done something good for the environment. So there’s that.
There’s a small stall at the corner of the street completely covered in different shades of chrysanthemums. I smile when I see them, automatically reach for the fuchsia ones, grab them and bring them to my nose. The moment I inhale deeply, I’m brought back to my youth, seeing the way my mother’s face used to light up when my father brought her home chrysanthemums. The fuchsia ones were her favorites, because the color clashed with everything in our house.
‘How can something as beautiful as a flower ever clash with anything?’ she used to say. I didn’t understand back then. I just liked the way they looked and how happy they made her.
“You like them?” Remy asks me.
Before I can answer, a familiar voice answers. “She loves them. They were my sister’s favorite.”
I turn around so fast the world spins, and before I can fully take her in, I throw myself into Aunt Viv’s arms, holding her so tightly she must have trouble breathing, but I don’t fucking care. She’s here and I missed her more than words can express. She smells like jasmine and sunshine, and I absolutely recognize the absurdity of that thought.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim.
“Those kids need to get out of the house regularly, or they break it down. Peter needs some kind of cheese for something he’s cooking this weekend. So we decided to kill two birds with one stone.”
I squeeze her to me even more tightly. “I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, kiddo. Now, what are you doing here? You’re not the farmers market type of girl.”
And don’t I know it. “Really, I was thinking of becoming a beekeeper. That lady made some really passionate arguments about saving the bees.”
Remy lays a hand against the small of my back, giving me a kiss on the side of my head. “I’m sure those beekeeping suits would look awesome on you.”
Aunt Viv chuckles, and they acknowledge each other for the first time.
“Don’t tell me,” she says, holding both hands up. “I know you’re not Chester, and you seem too kind to be an FBI agent, which makes you the dancer?”
“Ah,” he fake whispers near my ear, “I like being known as the dancer before being recognized by my own name.”
He holds out a hand for Viv to grab, but she throws her arms around him and hugs him just as hard as she did me. “Glad to meet you, Remy.”
“It’s my honor, Vivian.”
“Call me Viv.”
And that’s all it takes for both of these people who are so important in my life to accept each other.
“Now, what are you really doing here?” she asks me sternly.
“I’m not allowed to work or work out today,” I say. Then, using a voice that imitates Remy, I add: “Because I’m prone to burn out sometime soon.”
She softly pats Remy on his cheek. “Good man.”
“Speaking about good men: where’s Peter and those delightful young men you’ve created?”
“Assuming you’re talking about my darling loin fruits, they’re getting the cheese while I was on my way to the stall with the organic wine.”
I scrunch my nose. If there’s anything worse than stuffy wine, it’s organic stuffy wine. Remy perks up. I have an inkling he and Aunt Viv are going to hit it off. Beckett might have a little more trouble getting into her good graces, but he will probably be besties with Peter.
And Chester.
Well.
They know him and have always considered him my annoying brother. It’s going to take some getting used to seeing him as my lover instead.
Remy buys me a bouquet of fuchsia chrysanthemums, making my heart skip a beat while I hold them to my chest. He puts his arm around my shoulder again before we slowly go to the next stall.
It’s a bunch of homemade lemonades made with natural sweeteners I’ve never heard about. In my opinion, flowers belong in a vase, not in a drink, but I’m getting the feeling that I’m the only one of this opinion who’s walking around here.
A tall man with honey blond hair and three small boys with equally blond hair come this way. Peter doesn’t recognize me, busy herding the kids trying to make a break for it.
I start smiling, because I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. Charlie sees me first, shouting a shrill ‘Aunty Abby’ before he runs towards me and jumps in my arms. He climbs me like a monkey, and I grab him so tightly that I might squish him. Bran and Reid soon follow, and before I know it, I’m buried beneath a pile of overenthusiastic boys.
Remy looks at what’s happening in awe before he turns to Viv.
“Did they make carbon copies of Peter?”
“I know, right? It’s so annoying. His part lasted five minutes. I carried them for nine months, and they have the audacity of all looking like him, while we all know I’m the good-looking one in this relationship.”
“Ouch, babe, ouch,” Peter says when he finally reaches us. He spares me a look to see if he can hug me too, but it doesn’t seem like my lovely nephews are going to let me go anytime soon.
“They’re bound to break some girl’s hearts when they grow up,” I say from beneath my pile of children.
“Or boy’s,” Remy adds.
“Probably both,” Aunt Viv adds, eyeing her kids with a cocked head.
Meanwhile, Remy and Peter make introductions to each other.
“Can we go buy toys, Aunty Abby?” Reid asks.
“Behave!” Peter says. “You’ve got enough stuff. Just be glad to see Abby and spend some time with her.”
“It is my duty to spoil them rotten, you know?” I say. “I mean, I’m never going to be a crazy cat lady, I’m not going to suddenly smoke menthol cigarettes, I’m definitely not going to wear flower dresses, so at least let me buy them totally useless crap that makes way too much noise, so you can both hate me for it.”
Peter laughs out loud. It’s a warm, rich laugh that reminds me there’s still some good left in this world.
“Yessss, toys that make noise!” Bran yells, running around with his arms in the air, taking a victory lap.
“I hate you,” Viv says, but her eyes are smiling.
“Love you too.”
“Just toys you can buy around here, okay?” she tries to negotiate.
I have to admire the way she tries. And fails.
A couple of hours later, we’re sitting at a table in the market square. The kids are playing with flashy and noisy lightsabers, arguing about who gets to be Darth Vader. I’m not so sure Peter and Viv are very happy with me right now, but at least I’m making Chester proud. We’re drinking some hipster coffee that’s prepared with a nutty kind of milk, and I’m happy to report that it doesn’t actually taste half bad.
“Explain to me why it’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” Peter asks.
“There isn’t much to tell,” I sigh. “There’s a serial killer on the loose. I caught his interest, and I don’t want him to catch yours.”
A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyes.
“Why would he come after us?”
“Viv is the epitome of his type.”
He stares at his wife, silence lingering between us. “I want to chew you out for not showing your face more often, but I guess this is a pretty good excuse. It’s the only time this is going to work though,” he warns me, lifting a finger and pointing it to my face.
“As soon as he’s in custody I’m coming to visit,” I promise.
“And then we’re taking a vacation,” Remy sighs.
Viv lifts a brow. “You got her to take a vacation?”
“It’s been crazy,” I say, my voice softer than it usually is. Viv knows I am a workaholic and wants to save as many kids as possible. Me willingly walking away from it for a while so I can take some time for myself has never happened before.
“We’re going someplace sunny,” Remy says.
“Preferably somewhere with low crime rates.”
“I read this article that they’re shutting down prisons in The Netherlands,” Viv says.
“Not enough sun though,” Remy counters.
“How about France?” Peter asks.
“No,” Remy says resolutely.
“Why not? You speak the language.”
“France stinks,” he says, his face contorting with disgust.
Peter starts laughing really hard, and it’s contagious. “It was one cheese.”
“It stunk hard enough for it to ruin a whole country.”
“But you’re French,” I say, squinting my eyes in confusion.
“No, my grandmother was French. I’m about as American as they come.”
I have to admit he has a point there. Viv studies him, apparently likes what she sees, nods and focuses back on me.
“And Beckett?” she asks. “When do we meet him?”
“I’ll bring him as soon as this perv is behind bars.” I hold up two fingers, making a scout”s honor promise even if I’ve never been one.
“What’s he like?” Peter asks.
“As American as they make ‘em as well. Really pretty,” I answer without thinking.
“That sums it up,” Remy answers, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Viv stares at Remy, and I guess she’s trying to figure out what his response means. Then she grins at me. “So, how does all that work?” She makes a hand gesture in our general direction, trying to stay casual while flashing her brows suggestively at the same time.
“We are not asking questions about that!” Peter yells.
“Why not?” I tease. “It’s about as organic as it gets.”
They all laugh, but we drop the subject. Despite them not being my real parents and us being friends these days more than anything, I’m still not comfortable speaking to them about my sex life. Especially since it’s a little bit out of the ordinary. It’s a good thing we stop talking about it, because Reid, their youngest, stops playing, leaving his brand new lightsaber in the middle ground and crawls in my lap.
He’s way too wise for his age. I think it has something to do with being the youngest, and growing up too quickly because he wants to be accepted by his bigger brothers. But part of it is all him. He sees too much, understands more than he should, and feels deeper than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s the biggest empath I’ve ever met, and that includes Remy.
“Aunty Abby?” He sits on my lap, his arms wrapped around my neck, his nose touches mine, and his big blue eyes stare into mine. I bet he can see my soul from there. We’re so close we’re both looking cross-eyed.
“Yes, baby?”
He giggles. “I’m not a baby!”
“You’re absolutely right. Let me try again. Yes, my lord and commander?”
He cracks up, throwing his head back in his neck. “You’re silly.” It’s high praise coming from him. “But why are you sad?”
“I’m not sad, honey.”
“Yes, you are. Is it because you can’t come visit us?”
I wrap my arms around him. “I guess I’m a little sad about that, yeah.”
He takes both his little hands and grabs my face. “Then we should have a sleepover when you come and visit us! And Chester should come too because he knows the best games.”
I smile. Chester usually feels uncomfortable coming with me to visit them. He feels out of place like he doesn’t know how to act. And he can’t swear, which turns out to be exceptionally hard for him. So he overcompensates and plays all kinds of games with my nephews, accidentally making him their favorite.
“I’ll come visit as soon as possible and take Chester with me. I might bring some more friends.”
“Who?”
“Remy,” I say, pointing to him.
“Is he your work friend too?”
“Not really. He is my boyfriend and he is a dancer.”
Reid crinkles his nose. “I don’t like dancing. And you shouldn’t have a boyfriend. He’ll want to kiss you and you’ll get cooties.”
Remy laughs out loud. “I won’t kiss her around you,” he promises.
“Are you going to marry him?” Reid asks in an innocent way, voicing his curiosity like only children can. Once we grow up, we always have some deeper meaning underlying the questions we ask. Not kids. He genuinely just wants to know if we’ll get married.
I eye Remy.
“You think I should?”
“He bought you flowers. Mom says that men who buy their girls flowers are doing something right. Dad says you should always make them laugh.” His face turns serious and his attention shifts back on me. “Does he make you laugh?”
I nod. “A lot.”
“Then I think you should marry him.”
“Someday maybe, baby.” My eyes lock with Remy’s, and he’s beaming. The sun is set right behind him, making him look like some kind of tan demi-God.
“Don’t call me baby!”
“Yes, my lord and commander. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He chuckles, climbs off of my lap and runs back to his brothers to join in their game again. Remy shakes his head, laughing while he looks at the coffee in his hands, twirling its contents around.
“You’re going to have your hands full with that one,” he tells Peter and Viv. They’re holding hands, staring at where their three boys are playing a game of ‘who are we putting into the guillotine today’, their eyes full of love.
“He’s gonna be the death of us,” Viv says lovingly.
And I’ve never seen anyone more tired and excited about the future.
We spent the rest of the day with my family at the farmers market. It’s the most carefree I’ve been in months, and I come home fully recharged. Remy is kissing the side of my neck after pulling off my scarf. I’m elongating my neck, giving him easy access, and loving every second of it.
Once I open the door, I walk into a sea of chrysanthemums. The whole hall is full with them, in every color I can imagine. My jaw drops. What is going on?
I turn around, giving Remy a questioning look, but he shakes his head and looks around in confusion. If he didn’t do this, then who? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Aunt Viv either. Chester knows how they make me feel but doesn’t know I saw them today and Remy bought me some.
Something’s hinky.
“Ches?” I yell.
“Office!” his voice sounds from the other side of the house.
How the hell do I get there? It feels like there are flowers everywhere. I start heading toward his office, but I’m relieved when Chester starts making his way to me as well. Fucking hell, I’ve seen funerals with fewer flowers than this.
“What’s up?” Chester asks me once we’re within speaking distance.
“What’s up? You’re asking me what’s up? You’re not wondering what the field of chrysanthemums is doing here?”
He looks from me, to the flowers, to Remy, and cocks his head. “You mean these aren’t from Remy?”
“No,” Remy says immediately. “I’d love to make a grand gesture of some sort, but this is crazy even to my standards.”
“What happened with the delivery?”
“There were trucks, and a lot of guys, and they said they had a delivery for Abby from someone who wanted to make her feel special.” He’s looking at the flowers now as if someone is going to jump out of them.
“And you didn’t think that was suspicious?”
“I didn’t then. I do now.”
“Great,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “That’s a little late, don’t you think?” I’m taking out my frustration on him, and I know it isn’t fair, but I can’t take it out on who I think is actually behind this.
“Do you think there’s a card here somewhere?” Remy asks while he starts picking up bouquets and searching for a card. It’s actually a pretty good idea.
My stomach tells a different story though, because what I’m feeling in the pit of it tells me who these flowers are from. It’s just another tactic Wayne used to get to me.
We all search in silence for a while until Remy finally yells when he picks up a bouquet near the front door. “Got it!” It’s a fuchsia one, just like the one Remy bought me earlier today, which is all a little too coincidental if you ask me.
“What does it say?” Chester yells from the other side of the hallway, dropping the yellow flowers in his hands.
Remy slowly opens the card, reads it and wrinkles his nose. “Beauty for my beauty,” he finally says.
“It’s Wayne, isn’t it?” I all but whisper.
“Sounds like it,” Chester says while he makes his way to me. He pulls me against him and hugs me. “He’s done worse things than sending you a bunch of flowers though.”
I just hum, irritated that he has now fucked up flowers for me as well. I take a moment to just breathe in Chester’s smell and hide in the crook of his neck, allowing myself to pretend that everything is alright.
But this nagging little voice doesn’t shut up, no matter how hard I will it.
Something is off.
“How the hell does he know about the chrysanthemums?” I half whisper. “I’ve never told anyone why I like them except for you, Ches. Until today when Viv gave it away.”
“Viv was there?” Chester asks in surprise.
“Yeah, and we’re going to visit as soon as we can, but that’s not the point.” Remy catches my eye, and he voices the words I know in my heart are true, but I don’t want to say them out loud.
“He was there today. He watched us somehow.”
My stomach knots. No matter how hard I want this not to be true, it’s the only logical explanation.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Chester says on an exhale, rubbing his eyes.
“Do you think he was actually there, or does he have some way to keep an eye on me digitally?”
He simply shrugs. “Both are viable options. If you want an answer from me, it’d be a coin flip. I can look at the feeds around the farmers market and run facial recognition over the people there to see if I can find him. But we’ve already established he knows how to hide, so it doesn’t really mean anything.”
Suddenly I feel sick.
“They were all there, Ches. We spent the whole day with Viv, Peter and the boys. It doesn’t matter if he was there or if he was just watching from a distance. He’s seen them all.”
The whole reason I didn’t visit them all this time is suddenly redundant. He knows. And remembering how he went after Elaine just to get to me, I’m under no illusion that he won’t stoop so low and go after my family.
If anything, I think it might be more incentive for him.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
With shaking hands, I grab my phone while Chester does the same. I have no idea who he’s going to call, but I know for damn sure who I am going to call.
I start calling, inwardly chanting to pick up, pick up, pick up.
“Miss me already, kiddo?” a way too chipper Aunt Viv answers her phone.
“Always. But we need to not have any contact for a while. That killer has seen us this afternoon. He knows about you, about the kids.”
I expect outrage or some kind of emotion but it’s so silent on the other side of the call that it’s deafening.
“...What?” she finally stammers.
In the back of my mind, it registers that Chester is talking to someone too, and before I can repeat what I just said to Viv, he turns my face, making me look at him while he keeps talking on the phone.
“Get agents to watch them, Becky,” he says, his stare so intense I know he’s telling me something. I wait a moment until Chester nods and thanks Beckett.
“The serial killer I told you about,” I start repeating, “he saw us today. He knows about you and your family now. But we’re going to get agents to come watch you until we’ve caught him.”
The silence returns.
“My kids?” she asks.
“He idolizes kids. They’re safe.”
“But I’m not?”
I swallow hard. “The FBI will make sure nothing happens to you.” The phrase feels empty, but it’s the most I can offer right now. I’d protect her myself, but that might endanger her even more.
She sighs, and I don’t know what to tell her. My instinct not to see her while this investigation was going on had been the right one, and running into them today had been a wonderful surprise but not the best in the long run. As good as it had made me feel that afternoon, so crappy it’s making me feel now.
I’ll never forgive myself if Wayne goes after them.
“I’ll just stick to Peter and I’ll listen to whatever it is the agent will tell me to do,” she finally says. I can hear the finality in her tone. Once she makes up her mind about something, it’s a done deal. And Viv just decided to not let Wayne win today.
“Just don’t do anything until the agents are there, okay?”
“I won’t,” she promises.
“I’ll have to let you go now. I’ve got about a million flowers I need to get rid of now.” My eyes dart over the endless sea of blossoms that take over most of my house. They’re ruined now. There’s nothing pretty about them anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Viv says, “but I’ll let you explain next time we see each other.”
“Just take care of yourself?”
“I will, kiddo. Just catch this asshole as soon as you can.”
“Will do.”
I end the call, and desperation overpowers me when I see all the flowers. What the hell are we going to do with all of them? Chester lays his chin on my head, and I try to hide myself inside of his embrace. I’ve lost Remy somewhere during my call, and I wonder where he’s run off to.
“Now what?” I ask, not expecting an answer.
“I don’t know,” Chester says.
“I do,” Remy says cheerfully when he re-enters the hallway. “We’re going to give all these flowers away. I just called one of my mother’s old friends. Never got along with the woman, but she’s the crème de la crème of socialites. She’s going to call her friends who do volunteer work and let retirement homes and hospitals send some people over to come pick up flowers. We’ve got enough to supply half the state. Let that motherfucker Wayne brighten up some old and sick people’s days. That’ll teach him.”
My smile grows so wide I don’t think it’s physically possible for it to get any bigger. Let the sick bastard do something nice for people for a change. I couldn’t think of a better revenge.
“Keep your shoulder down,” I instruct Chester while he takes aim at the shooting range. Ever since he realized that Wayne turning on me might be a possibility he has been coming to our practices and actually practices with us. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, so I decided to make use of the opportunity to get him familiar with a gun. It can’t hurt.
I hope.
Remy still refuses, and that fact is equally acceptable. He isn’t under the impression he has to protect me. He knows I can do so myself. Chester has always spent his days protecting me, just not in a physical sense. He’s been my safe haven for as long as I can remember.
He lowers his shoulder and squeezes the trigger on an exhale, hitting the target pretty damn near the heart. I’m beaming with pride, but Chester doesn’t notice. He’s distracted.
“What’s going on?”
“You know that feeling that everything is under control, only it’s not working out like it should as when you actually have it under control?”
“What?”
“Like you’re writing a line of code, and you know it should be working, so you’re rubber ducking it, and it’s at the tip of your tongue where it’s going wrong, but you just can’t get it.”
I check to see if he’s having a stroke of some sort, but everything seems fine, and I guess it’s just another example of Chester’s brain at work.
“I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Me neither, shit like that never happens to me. My code always works, and I can pinpoint where someone else has gone wrong. But I hear people on my team talking about stuff like this, when they’re almost figuring it out, but just can’t seem to get it to work.”
“Okay?”
“So I’m missing something. Something vital. It’s right there. I can almost grab it, taste it. But I can’t figure it out.”
He puts the safety back on the gun and slams it down in front of him.
“It’s fucking frustrating.”
“I can see that. What exactly are we talking about?”
He scowls at me, putting his hands and tucking them beneath his arms. “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because I would’ve figured it out by now!”
I give him a push and he takes a step back. “Don’t take your anger out on me!”
“Well, I’m done. I’m going home. I think I’ve proven that I can shoot by now.”
Standing in his path, I physically block him from going away. “Don’t leave me in the middle of an argument you started! And the fact that you can now hit a target in a perfectly lit room that hangs still doesn’t mean you can shoot.”
He stares at me with an open mouth.
“You mean this isn’t the extent of my training?”
I shake my head.
“After this, we’ll practice shooting in the dark and then we’ll see if we can do some training on moving objects.”
He hesitates.
“Can’t I just do that on a computer?”
I raise my brow.
“Well!” he says while pointing a finger at me and giving me the evil eye. “Just don’t expect me to be pleasant about it!”
I smile.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”