53. Chloe
“Carson?” is how Derek answers the phone. “Tell me,” he snaps a second later.
And the way his body seizes up seconds after this has me turning the lamp on.
His jaw is slack, his face looks stricken. It takes an unnaturally long time for him to even blink.
I hear Carson is still speaking, but Derek’s hand drops and the phone falls to the bed as he sits the rest of the way up, throwing his legs over, putting his elbows to his thighs, his head into his hands.
“Derek?” I call.
He’s frozen.
I lift the phone from the blankets.
Carson is talking. “Mr. Steele? Derek, are you there?”
“Carson, hi, it’s Chloe. What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Derek, Mrs. Steele?” Carson asks.
Derek doesn’t try to take the phone from me. He’s not even looking at me.
“He’s right here. He’s visibly upset. What’s wrong?”
“There was a terrible accident, Mrs. Steele,” Carson says softly, but his voice wavers. “He… he should get to the airport as soon as possible. I’ve contacted his siblings and have the jet on the way here to pick all but Naomi up to bring them to New York, so they can get to the hospital.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“His parents were in a terrible car accident in New York.”
“How terrible?” I ask.
Derek is just hunched over. It’s bad. Really bad.
What Carson says next has me shocked. So shook, I find myself putting my hand on Derek’s back.
“Mrs. Steele died on scene. Mr. Steele has been in surgery for a couple of hours already. The hospital staff says it doesn’t look good.”
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“Can you help by getting him to the family jet? I’ll send you the details by text message.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll do that. And if there’s anything else I can help with, please call me or text me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Steele.”
“Chloe,” I correct softly. Even though he told me before that he wouldn’t be able to call me Chloe.
But he answers with, “Thank you, Chloe.”
I press end and climb over to sit beside Derek, who’s got his face in his hands, still.
“I’m so sorry about your mom,” I whisper.
He lifts his head a little bit and scratches his stubbled jaw on both sides, staring straight ahead.
“I can drive you to the airport,” I tell him, putting my hand on his back again, rubbing it with my palm.
He flinches as if it hurts or something like that and gets up. He walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I swallow down a lump of sadness and feeling my bladder nag at me, throw my robe on, grab a pair of underwear from the closet, and go down the hall to another bathroom.
Trying to ignore the bruised feeling between my legs as well as on my breasts, I also notice I’m still bleeding, though only lightly, but I might have ruined the sheets. He’s still in the bathroom where my pads and tampons are so I stuff a wad of Kleenex into my underwear, then begin throwing a bag together with a change of clothes for each of us. Jeans for each. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. Socks and underwear. I pull on a bra, then a pair of yoga pants, a tank top and a hoodie. As my head emerges from the hoodie, I see he’s come out of the bathroom and is pulling on clean underwear and then he pulls a dress shirt suit off a hanger.
I go to the bathroom and fix my period situation, grab some tampons and toss them into my toiletries bag, then zip to the bathroom down the hall to grab his shaving stuff, his deodorant and hair brush, and meet him back in the bedroom.
He looks at the bag.
“In case we need to be there overnight.” I say, quickly pulling his brush through my hair, before dropping it into his bag.
He shakes his head, staring at me with a look of confusion. “You don’t have to come.”
“You shouldn’t drive, Derek. You’ve just had terrible news; it’s not safe to drive when you’re upset. And…” I stop for a second and ask, “Do you want me to come with you?”
He’s frowning. And I know he’s in shock but the series of frowns on his face is painful to watch. It’s like I’m watching his thoughts crumble one by one. He’s breathing hard as he grabs a pair of socks from the drawer, looking like he’s ready to blow his top for a second as he pulls them on before his expression changes again to one of confusion. “You don’t have to come,” he repeats, squatting and grabbing a pair of brown dress shoes from the closet, dropping them and getting them on. He moves toward the door, carrying his blazer.
“You shouldn’t drive. You’re upset,” I call.
He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me.
I’m getting into a pair of sneakers. “I’ll come,” I tell him. “I’ll drive.”
I grab my phone and charger and put them into the bag and zip it up, grab my coat and put it on, then lift the bag I packed and jog down the stairs. I catch up to him when he’s almost to his SUV.
It’s snowing. The driveway and lawn are covered in fallen leaves. It’s like I’m not even here as he opens his car door.
“Derek,” I say, touching his arm.
He looks at me with a perplexed expression, eyes darting to my hand on his arm.
“Let me drive. Please?”
He holds out his fob, so I take it as he goes to the passenger side.
I toss the bag in the back seat and get in, put the seatbelt on and adjust the seat so that I can better reach the pedals.
When I pull out and the gate closes behind us, he says “Rickenbacker, not John Glenn.”
And he stares out the windshield at the falling snow saying nothing until we get to Rickenbacker airport, when he says, “Just drop me here.”
“Drop you?”
“Just here.” He presses his seatbelt button and pulls it off.
I had been about to park.
“You don’t want me to come?” I ask.
“You don’t have to,” he says, his voice coming out hoarse.
He gets out, closes the door and walks toward the terminal without looking back. He didn’t take the bag, he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even take his laptop bag, which he put on the floor on the passenger side when he got in.
I stay still, idling for a minute in case he turns back around, but he disappears into the building.
Shannon Steele shouldn’t have been in New York City. It was an impromptu trip. She should be in Columbus, at home and getting ready for the big party tonight. The big party for four hundred plus guests that now won’t happen.
If we’d gone on that honeymoon she wouldn’t have gone to New York.
I spot Jonah and Grace walking toward the building and am about to get out of the car and approach, but Grace looks devastated, red-eyed, crying. Jonah has his arm around his sister, leading her inside. They don’t see me, so I leave.
I’m back at the house and putting coffee on when I send a message to Carson, whose earlier message indicating which airport to go to and what time the flight would leave, I missed.
Can you please keep me posted on things? And please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with canceling tonight’s event.
He responds promptly.
Thank you, Chloe. Elijah just arrived, so we’ve boarded and are about to taxi. Thank you for the offer. The company’s team is working on notifying all guests of the anniversary party’s cancellation, though there is media coverage now. I shall keep you updated.
I turn the local morning show on, and it doesn’t take long before something pops up on the ticker.
Local CEO Michael Steele in critical condition after car crash in NYC. Wife: (Continued…)
My sinuses burn at the sight of the next ticker line:
socialite, model, actress Shannon Steele, 59, pronounced dead on scene.
Derek’s family is dysfunctional. But most people only get one family. And now he’s lost his mother and is facing losing his dad.
I think about my own parents and realize I didn’t answer my mom’s text message yesterday.
I message her, knowing she’s probably getting ready for work.
Hi Mom. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. I’d love to visit but Derek’s parents were in a bad car accident and his mom didn’t survive. It’s on the news. His dad is in surgery. I’ll keep you updated.
My phone rings not even a whole minute later and it’s my mom calling.
I answer.
“Hi, Mom.” My voice cracks.
“Oh Chloe, I’m so sorry.”
I hold the phone a second, feeling choked up. Feeling like a little kid who just wants her parents to make everything all better. There was a time when a hug and kind words from either of them did make everything in my world right again.
I feel for Derek and Grace. And the other Steele family members. And also, I feel exceedingly emotional that my mom is calling me. That she sent me that text at all yesterday, wanting to spend time together, wanting to do something we haven’t done in a decade in a half. Emotional that she’s currently acting like… well… a mother toward me.
“I’ve got the news on now,” she says. “Dad isn’t awake yet, but I’ll tell him and if there’s anything we can do, please let us know. Please give Derek our condolences for his mom and let him know we’ll be thinking good thoughts for his father.”
My phone makes a text alert noise.
“Thanks, Mom. I’d better go,” I say.
“Keep me posted. Text me if you’re too busy to call. Just… text over some updates. Okay?”
“I will.”
“We’ll be thinking of you both.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, “Lah-love you. B-bye for now.”
“Love you, too, honey,” she says softly.
When I press end, my hands are shaking. I can’t remember the last time she and I exchanged I love yous.
The text I missed was from Alannah.
WTF? I just saw the news. Where are you?
I call her.
She answers right away.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Where are you?”
“Hey. At home.”
“Home?”
“The house in Dublin,” I say, feeling strange at referring to this place as home.
“You okay? What’s happening right now?”
“I took Derek to the airport. He’s on his way to New York. His mom died at the accident scene, but his dad is in surgery, apparently. That’s all I know. I’m here by myself just waiting for updates.”
“Want me to come over and hang out with you?”
“Could you?”
“Of course I can.”
“Oh God, yes, please.” I’m feeling immense relief.
“I’m on my way. I’ll bring coffee and donuts and… some flotsam and jetsam. I’ll be there, soon.”
Flotsam and jetsam means she’ll bring things to occupy us. Alannah has always been immensely good at distracting you when you need it most.
It’s forty-five minutes later and I’ve had no choice but to phone Derek.
He doesn’t answer, so I send him a text message.
Hope everything is okay there. Sorry to bother you, but Alannah came to keep me company and Ken isn’t allowing her past the gate. Can you have a word with him?
I didn’t bother bitching Ken out when he wouldn’t let Alannah in. He wasn’t rude about it, simply said he’d only open the gate on Derek’s orders.
I don’t get an answer to my text, but just two minutes later, Alannah is allowed in with a stern look from Ken, who I’m pretty sure communicates silently that he will make sure I don’t leave.
As if I’m going to cause any problems when Derek’s mother just died.
It’s about four hours later, and Lan and me are in the family room, curled up in front of the fireplace. The snow is falling and we’re in the midst of a chick flick marathon. She brought four DVDs, nail polish and remover, a deck of cards, and a bunch of junk food with her.
I get a text message, so I reach for my phone with a sinking feeling.
Carson Shields: Hello, Chloe. Mr. Steele is out of surgery and in serious but stable condition.
I read it aloud to Alannah, then reply.
Good news. Thank you for the update.
Alannah and I ponder whether or not Derek will come back tonight. She decides to stay the night and says she doesn’t care if he comes back – she’s in my life and she’s not about to hide from him.
I don’t hear anything else from Carson. And I don’t hear anything at all from Derek.
Alannah has to leave by nine in the morning to go set up for her cousin Claudia’s baby shower. I feel bad because I’d normally go with her, I know and like Claudia and I’m so happy she’s having twins after trying for four years to get pregnant. Alannah tells me she already signed my name to her gift as I hug her goodbye.
“Be safe. Be smart. I love you,” she says softly.
“Same, same, and love you more,” I tell her, hugging her tight.
Not even ten minutes after she goes, my phone rings.
DS Cavalier calling.
I guess it’s time to change his display name.
“Hello?” I answer, feeling shaky.
“Keep the house alarm armed,” Derek says tersely. “Kenny is staying there to keep you safe until I get back.”
“Pardon?”
“He slept in his car last night. He’s switching out with one of his people so he can go home and shower, but then he’s coming back. He’ll stay parked outside until I get there.”
“Why, um… why? You don’t have to think I’m about to cause any problems while you’re dealing with what you’re dealing with, because I-”
He cuts me off. “It wasn’t a car accident. It was a hit and run. They were coming out of a restaurant when they got run down. Don’t know if it was an enemy or if it was random. Keep the alarm on. Stay home. Ken said she left. Is she coming back?”
“She has plans today. How’s your dad?”
The line sounds dead, so I eventually call out, “Hello?”
“Still unconscious,” he answers.
“I’ll say a prayer for him. My mom sends her best for your dad and condolences for your mom.”
There’s more silence on the line for a long minute so I’m not sure if he’s still there.
“Are you there?” I ask.
“Gonna go. Bye.”
He ends the call.
Wow, was he cold with me. It’s not about me, of course, but it still doesn’t feel nice to be on the other end of coldness from Derek. And I have no desire to dissect my emotions on the issue.
My day with Alannah yesterday was somewhat therapeutic, especially with all my alone time lately. She did her best to keep me distracted. Of course she wanted to know how things were with me and Derek when she first got here, but because I was pretty clammed up, she let it go instead of launching into her typical non-surgical information extraction mode. I told her I had no idea if the house was wired for surveillance or not, so she let it go and pampered me by making me cream of cauliflower and broccoli soup and an extra bougie grilled cheese for lunch. She also gave me a manicure and we watched some old favorite chick flick movies and hung out, showing one another stupid memes and videos on our phones.
She ordered pizza at about ten o’clock at night and got Ken to bring it in after giving him two slices.
“He’s kinda hot, isn’t he?” she asked after shutting the door.
“He’s the guy that held me and Adam at gunpoint. He’s been following me around for weeks. Following you at points, too.”
She was offended. “I should go take that pizza off him.”
She didn’t.
She slept in the guest room I’d changed the bedding for yesterday and told me she loved the house, thought it was even better in person than it had been on the real estate website listing from several months ago, and while we didn’t talk much about Derek given the likelihood that the house was wired, she did bring up running into Derek the other day, telling me she thought he planted a white van there, insinuating she could be abducted by it and never to be seen again… but she went on to say it was there again the next day, that when she was leaving at the end of the day, she saw men going in and out for flooring materials. She realized he’d probably used that to his advantage rather than planted it himself.
This confused me, so I asked her to explain and give me a play-by-play of that entire exchange with Derek. By the time she recounted all that had happened in that encounter, it seemed plausible that Derek had run into her instead of seeking her out.
Maybe the van thing was a coincidence that he took advantage of. We debated it and she admitted she wasn’t sure if he’d just seen her while at his club or if he’d waited to run into her. Regardless, it didn’t make what he did okay. He made sure to intimidate and threaten her. The way she described it from start to finish sounded slightly less horrific than I’d first imagined it. But only slightly. I wasn’t giving him a pass; he’d made direct threats about her being part of my life. Or not.
He wasn’t getting a pass on anything he’d done, including punishment sex the other night. Or emotion-affirming sex. Or… me Derek, you my woman caveman sex. Whatever it was… it was memorable, that’s for sure. But then again, sex with Derek always is. As usual, I do my best to push those thoughts away. And as per the norm, I fail.
I’ve gotten stuck in a sort of loop of thinking frequently about all the things Grace told me about his history.
And for a moment I allowed myself to ponder whether or not cooperating with all of this would change anything. Would it be me throwing in the towel and letting him win at this game I’ve been an unwilling participant in? Or would there be any sort of shot at happiness in a marriage with him?
And big question: would having kids with him mean I’ve got a chance of having a kid with a genetic predisposition to mental illness? Is what Derek has become due to trauma? Or is it in his DNA? The stories I’ve heard about Thad Steele make me think it might be a little of both. I berate myself for considering having kids with him, of course, but my thoughts repeatedly flit to the visions I had of him with kids here in this house, in this yard, in that treehouse out there.