29. Rochelle
29
ROCHELLE
“ F rederick, I’m finally calling you back,” I tell his voicemail. “Whenever you get a chance, just return my call. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”
He’s not answering for some reason.
“You should go find him,” Sigourney says from her spot at the kitchen counter, where she’s finishing her breakfast.
“I can’t leave yet,” I tell her. “But you know, you and Walken were right. I think I was letting his family’s words get to me. You’re smart for an eleven-year-old. How’d you get so wise?”
“Someone taught me that it doesn’t matter what you look like, it’s what's in your heart that counts,” she says, slyly using my own words against me.
I taught her that when she was crying about the popular girls making fun of her for her clothes, but she’s right. Frederick’s mother and uncle are just overgrown popular kids, who bully those they look down on.
“Frederick really likes you,” Sigourney adds. “He’s a good person.”
“Yeah, and I probably blew it,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But that’s for me to figure out. It’s almost time for you to get ready for school.”
“Thanks, Rochelle,” Sigourney says as she gets up to get ready. I call down the hall to give Walken the same notice, then feed Duplex before we run out the door. Within twenty minutes, we’ve arrived at the school
Sigourney and Walken head inside, and I dither for another moment, trying to decide if I’m really going to drive all the way out to his mother’s house just in the hopes that he’s there. I’ve never actually been to his place, so I’m not sure where else to look for him.
My phone chimes, letting me know I’ve got an alert. I grab it and check, hoping it’s Frederick, but it’s just a notice from the post office telling me I have something in my box.
Deciding to check the post office first, I head out. The post office is just down the street from where we live now, a plus. I head inside to pick up my package from the clerk.
As I open it, my heart leaps into my throat. Is that what I think it is? I take out the carefully wrapped urn, cradling it to my chest.
My mother’s ashes.
Steve would have never sent them to me on his own. Then who? The answer hits me right away. Frederick must have gone to Texas and confronted Steve, demanding he hand them over.
Tears spring to my eyes and I smile, caressing the heavy ceramic container. I must look like a lunatic.
“Someone made my horrible stepfather give me my mother’s ashes back,” I tell the clerk. He nods.
“That’s so nice of him. Why didn’t he give it to you in person?”
“I’m not sure. I need to go find him. Talk to him. Thank you!” I say, hurrying out of the post office. I don’t care what his family thinks of me anymore, I need to see them, I need to know where Frederick is.
Hailing a cab, I tell the driver the address.
“Are you sure about that?” the cab driver asks me, twisting around in her seat to look at me. “That’s going to be a pricey ride. It’s awful far away.”
“Yeah, I need to get there quickly. Can you take me or not?”
“‘Course I can.” She hits the gas, pulling out in between the cars in a symphony of squealing horns and curses.
We make record time. I give the lady a generous tip before I head up the stone steps and ring the doorbell to the family home.
Their butler answers, and I ask for Joyce. “It’s urgent,” I add. Nicholas nods his head and turns, leaving me standing in the foyer.
Joyce appears quickly. “My goodness, I’m quite surprised to see you here, Rochelle.” She reaches out to hug me. I step back, not sure I’m ready to be friendly yet.
“Yes, of course. How thoughtless of me,” she murmurs. “You have every right to be upset with me. With both of us.”
“You hurt my feelings,” I tell her. “Frederick has never cared about my job, or where I live, or how much money I make. And he’s shown nothing but the highest regard for the children. It’s his life, his decision to make.”
“You’re right. Everything you’ve said is right,” Joyce admits, hanging her head. “Let’s go sit down and we can talk.”
I follow her into the living room, sinking into the plush leather couch. “Tell me everything. I deserve to hear it. Let me have it,” Joyce says.
“You know, I never felt bad about myself or where I came from before,” I start. “I came out of tough circumstances and I was trying to help those kids by giving them a safe place to stay. But you made me question if I was good enough for Frederick.”
Theron walks into the room, eyes going wide when he sees me. “Oh. Rochelle. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“She’s got something to say, so you better listen up, Ther.” Joyce points to the couch and he sits, looking at me expectantly.
“You both spent so much time and effort trying to do what was best for your son that you never stopped to think what he wants,” I tell them.
“I know. And I know that he made up this ruse between you two because he felt like he had to do something desperate to get us off his back.” Theron admits.
I sag, relieved that the cat is out of the bag. “Just so you know, I only agreed when Frederick promised to help the children. It was never about the money for me.”
Joyce gives me a tight smile. “You don’t seem like the gold-digging type.”
“I’m not. And you two made me feel like that. In fact, I felt like the new kid in school, being picked on by the popular crowd when I was here.”
“I’m sorry we made you feel ashamed of yourself, and I’m sorry you felt looked down on. Money definitely doesn’t always equal class,” Joyce admits, reaching out to put her hand on mine.
“I can tell that he cares about you,” Theron adds. “You’re a lovely woman, and I hope we can all start fresh, with a clean slate.”
“I can do that,” I say. Theron and Joyce stare at me with hope in their eyes.
“I’m glad. I just wish Frederick was willing to do the same,” Joyce says quietly.
“He hasn’t been willing to talk to us. We’ve reached out so many times to apologize but he refuses our calls.”
“He’s icing you out?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I think he’s ashamed of us,” Theron admits in a soft voice. “We tried too hard to mold him into what we thought he ought to be, instead of letting him be his own person.”
“It took until he cut us off for me to realize that I was treating him like my own living doll, trying to make him go to the school I picked for him, marry the girl I picked, and have the career I wanted. It all seems so insane now that I look back,” Joyce admits with a watery laugh.
“You can start by helping me find him,” I say. “Some things happened and I broke it off with him. I realized I was being silly but now I can’t find him.”
“Maybe he’s at his apartment,” Theron offers. “Have you tried there?”
“We’ve never really spent time at his place,” I admit. “He spends most of the time at mine.”
“I’ll give you the address,” Joyce offers. “Here.” She writes it down for me on a piece of stationary that probably costs more than my makeup.
“Thank you,” I say, folding the paper and putting it in my denim coat pocket. “I’ll talk to him. I can’t promise anything, though. Frederick thinks you both don’t care about him beyond the family image.”
“That’s not true.” Joyce shakes her head. “We love him. He’s more to us than a status symbol, even if we weren’t always good at showing it.”
“We both want to thank you in advance,” Theron stands up. “Even if he won’t forgive us, thank you for trying to talk to him.”
“I’ll try,” I say. “I need to call a cab, though.”
“Let me offer our car service,” Joyce says. “I don’t get around like I used to. We have it so I can go to the city but I hardly use them.”
They call the service up and within a few minutes, a sleek BMW 5 Series is pulling up into the driveway for me, ready to take me to find my man.
I’m just not sure he’s going to be willing to hear me out after everything I’ve done, even when I find him.