36. Archer, Little Dove
CHAPTER 36
ARCHER, LITTLE DOVE
Paloma
I hug my knees in tighter, resting my face between them.
Last night after Dad and his security guard brought me back to the house, they locked me up in the cellar. I believe him when he says I’m staying in this room until I decide who I want to be to him… the doting daughter or the daughter who sees him for the monster he is. But I can’t worry about that right now. Not until I know what happened to Archer.
“He can’t be dead.” I repeat the mantra I’ve been reciting like a prayer all night. “He can’t be dead.”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the images of Archer’s body in the middle of the road from flooding my mind. I glance down at my own hands and the dry blood on them. If Archer was gone after Hunter went looking for him last night, that means someone helped him. My only hope is that Fisher or Jacob came with him to the Hamptons. They saw what happened and were able to get Archer to a hospital.
But what if Archer got up and walked off on his own? What if Hunter found him after Dad sent him to clean up his mess? Archer could be in some ditch right now. I keep wracking my brain for more accurate memories of last night. But I can’t remember if Archer had a pulse when Hunter yanked me off him. My hands were shaking so bad, I couldn’t feel anything.
How is this even possible?
Hunter shot Archer point blank. As if taking a life didn’t matter. And Dad wasn’t even shocked when I told him what Hunter had done. As if Hunter went around shooting people all the time. Is that what Hunter does for Dad in exchange for me? Does he go around killing people who stand in Dad’s way?
I stare at the red streaks on my hands. All night, I’ve tried to rub it off, but it’s stuck to me, and the more I mess with it, the stronger the stench of it gets—or maybe it’s just my dress that reeks of blood.
The outer door to the cellar creaks open. On instinct, I jump to my feet and hide behind a rack of wine. My breathing is so heavy, I’m sure whoever is out there can hear me. After a few beats, I peek around the rack to find the cellar glass door also open.
“Hello?” I step out to an empty room with my heart racing.
I dart up the stairs to the kitchen. To my surprise, no one is there either. I don’t have time to figure out what new game Dad is playing at. I need to find out what happened to Archer. The chances of his car still being out on the street are slim, but I decide to go there first. The high noon sun blinds me as soon as I open the front door.
Blinking fast to adjust to the bright light, I step out onto the driveway. The street is empty, the way it always is around this time of year. My heart drums in my ears as I approach the scene of the crime five houses down. Except, there’s nothing there when I arrive. No car. No blood. No Archer.
I look up and down the street. All the limos are gone. It’s like the party never happened, like Archer was never here—just like Dad wanted. Numb, I trudge back to the house. I can’t think straight. I need to talk to Freya or Fisher. If anyone knows what happened to Archer last night, it would be them.
I head back to the kitchen to find the landline there. I pick up the receiver then realize I don’t know anyone’s number. Jesus, without my phone, I don’t know where to start. I can’t even call the hospitals in the area.
A woman’s voice in the other room catches my attention. I hang up the phone and amble back to the living room. Then I realize the TV is playing in Dad’s study. A cold shiver runs down my spine. Dad is the last person I want to see right now. But it’s obvious, he let me out of the cellar for a reason. His door is open, which it rarely is.
I amble toward the woman’s voice. When I enter the study, Archer immediately catches my attention. His beautiful face takes up half the screen hanging over the mantle. With my heart thrashing in my ears, I glare at his picture on the news. I pick up the remote off Dad’s desk and turn the volume up. But even then, I can’t understand what the anchor is saying. She’s not making any sense.
“We have received confirmation. The real estate mogul Fitzwilliam Archer was found dead in his Bedford home early this morning. The owner of several boutique hotels in the city was in town for an extended stay on business. No foul play was found by local police. He’s survived by his wife Paloma Davis, the daughter of our state senator Maurice Davis.”
The woman moves on to report on the traffic while the ticker at the bottom of the screen flashes with Archer’s name and the news of his death.
I’m still reading his name on the screen when I feel the hardwood floors hit my knees. My head bounces off the carpet. Pain seeps through my skull and the area behind my eye. I can’t tell if I’m hurting from the fall or the news. He can’t be gone. Archer is stronger than any of this. A bullet can’t stop someone like him. He’s bigger than all of this.
After a while, I make to get up, but then I realize I have nowhere to go. Archer is dead. I curl up into a fetal position. The news cycle goes through once more, and the anchor is reporting on Archer all over again.
“Stop.” I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear it anymore.
“Get up, sweet girl.” Sole’s voice cuts through the noise. “Come on.”
She takes my hand and guides me into a sitting position. I look up at her through teary eyes. “Hunter killed him.”
“Shh.” She glances over her shoulder, then speaks softly to me. “It’s best if we never speak of it again. Do you understand?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Hunter shot him last night. And now they’re saying he died in his home. That there was no foul play. How is that possible?”
“Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up, okay?” Sole helps me to my feet.
“Where’s Dad?” I let her usher me upstairs to my bedroom and the en-suite bathroom.
“He left about a half hour ago after he saw the news.” She runs the hot water, testing the temperature with her hand. “He wants you to stay here until he figures out what’s going to happen with your husband’s will.”
“Archer’s will? Is Dad serious about this? I don’t even know where Archer is.” I hate the idea of him in some morgue all alone. “How can Dad be thinking about money already?” I can’t focus on Sole’s answer. I just want to be left alone.
“Do you need help with your dress?” she asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Thanks,” I mumble.
She leaves, and I just stand there looking at nothing, too heavy to move. Within a few minutes, steam clings to the mirror and the air around me loses its cold bite. My muscles relax, but still, I can’t find the motivation to undress and shower. In the end, I simply crawl into the shower stall and sit under the warm spray.
Archer’s intense blue gaze appears in my mind’s eye. I shake my head and push the thought away. Thinking about him hurts too much. I still hear his voice in my head, but the feel of his body, his hands, his warmth—all of that is gone. The void in my chest grows as I sit there all alone. I press my hands to my center to stop the darkness from swallowing me whole. But it doesn’t help. His absence is all around me, and it hurts.
I squeeze my eyes shut and weep into my knees.
I don’t know how long I stay in the shower like that. At some point, Sole returns, washes my hair and helps me out of the black swan dress. I blink, and I’m in my bed under the covers. A tray of food appears in front of me. It flashes and flickers before my eyes, and then, it’s gone. I have a vague sense of time. If I sit very still, the pain isn’t as bad. Smiling, I stare at the new tray to see if it changes again. It does. Over and over. The tray is there and then it’s not.
“It’s a beautiful day today.” Sole pulls the curtains back.
The light streaming from the window hurts my eyes. I turn on my side and pull the covers over my head. I can’t tell if it’s still the same day or the next.
“Your Dad came to see you this morning. He’s worried about you.” She pulls the covers off me.
I don’t remember Dad coming to see me. “What did he want?” I ask.
“He wants us to move back to the mansion in Bedford.” She clears her throat. “He left it to you. In his will. We can go home now.”
I appreciate that she’s careful not to mention his name. I breathe easier when I don’t think of his name. The dark street flashes in my mind, but I push it away. Going home sounds nice.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, trying to remember where I am. The beach house in the Hamptons. I know because this is the last place where I saw him, where our lips touched last. Even if I can’t feel his kiss anymore, I know it happened here.
“Oh.” She pets my hair. “Um. Two months.” I don’t miss the pity in her voice.
Two months? I lift my head to look at her. A whole two months. So that’s why I’ve gotten so good at not feeling, not thinking, why the image of his face is so faint in my head—only his voice remains, demanding and soothing at the same time.
“I want to go home,” I say.
“Of course, sweet girl. It’s all ready for you.” Sole cups my face.
The next day, Dad wakes me up to take me to Bedford. I climb in the back of the black sedan with him without complaint. Though my body tenses at his proximity. Even if I don’t have the mind to fight him anymore, I recoil from him on instinct.
“You’ll be better once you’re home.” Dad’s been talking since we left the Hamptons. I can sense he’s unhappy, but it’s hard to catch everything he says when he keeps saying his name. “At least Archer had the decency to give us the mansion back.”
He bought the house when Dad lost it for not paying property taxes. And now it’s mine. He left it to me. A feeling I don’t recognize tugs at the numbness in my chest, but it’s gone inside a breath.
“I still don’t understand why he would leave his fortune to that Gardenia woman when you are his wife. But don’t worry.” He leans closer to me.
I grip the door handle and focus on the outside. Bedford is pretty in the spring. The colorful flowers grow everywhere, even on the side of the road. Tall trees, covered in green leaves and white flowers, sway gently in the cool breeze. I lean my head on the car window, glad that the familiar landscape isn’t lifting the numbness that settled in my chest weeks ago. The dark void is better than the pain.
“My lawyers are already handling it.” He pats my thigh, and I recoil farther away from him.
“I don’t want his money,” I mutter.
“Why not?” He glares at me. “You’ve earned it. All those months you spent in his house, doing God only knows what to keep him happy. We’ve earned it. Archer’s fortune should be ours.”
I wince at his name, pressing my cheek to the cool car window.
“And if you remember, we agreed you’d return to dancing on Monday.” He adjusts his suit jacket. “I can’t deal with your lack of interest in everything anymore. You said you would be better by today.”
I blink away tears, trying to recall what I agreed to. I don’t even know the significance of today. I turn to face Dad. “What’s today?”
“Your birthday.” He furrows his brows, looking at me as if I’ve gone mad.
I nod.
“You said yes to cake, remember?” He digs through the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a box. “Happy birthday, Paloma.” When I don’t reach for the gift, he sighs and places the box in my hand. “It’s for you. Open it.”
I stare at him for a long minute. He doesn’t say anything, so I figure that’s my cue to unwrap the present. I do it quickly to get it over with. When I pull up a bracelet with tiny canary diamonds, he beams at me.
“It matches your eyes.” He takes the bracelet from me and fastens it to my wrist. “So how about it? Can I call Pierre right now and tell him to expect you back at the Performance Arts Centre?”
“You told him my knee was bad. He knows now,” I deadpan, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.
“Your knee is fine. I think it will be good for your mood to get back to something you love.” He grabs his phone off the seat. “I’ll let him know you’re ready.”
Maybe dancing again isn’t such a bad idea. Being out of the house feels odd, but it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. If I went back to my old routine, I could pretend all the stuff that came after my last performance didn’t happen.
“Okay,” I mutter then turn to face the window again.
He gets on the phone and leaves me alone the rest of the way. When we arrive at the mansion, Sole is there eagerly waiting for us. As soon as I climb out of the car, she rushes in to give me a hug.
“Happy Birthday.” She beams at me. “Come inside.” She ushers me through the front door.
“Everything looks the same.” I smile at my old home.
“When we lost the house, the new buyer asked to buy all the furniture inside.” Dad scoffs. “I should’ve known Archer was behind it all, trying to play the hero again.” He shakes his head in disgust.
I glance at him. He’s wearing a dark suit with a gray tie. I don’t recognize the man in front of me. Someone important to me just lost his life, and all Dad can do is worry about all the money we didn’t get. And now he’s unhappy that our home was preserved just for us. A faint memory of his intense blue gaze flickers in my mind. I push it away before it becomes something else. I don’t want the memory. It hurts.
“I need to lie down,” I mumble.
“Sure.” He gestures toward the grand staircase. “Your room is exactly as you left it.”
My head jerks up. And suddenly a spark ignites in my chest. It’s an odd feeling to feel something. It doesn’t hurt so I don’t push it away. Dad makes another remark, but his words are muffled by his previous statement. My room is exactly as I left it. Mom.
I rush up the stairs all the way to the third floor with Sole at my heels. When I reach my suite, I push the door and barge in. My excitement to see Freya’s young face again vanishes with my exhale. She’s not here.
“What happened to the portrait?” I ask Sole.
Her downturned glance tells me she knows exactly what I mean and why I’m looking for it. “I took it down after your father told me he was selling the house. The paintings were moved to the beach house.” She rubs her thumb into her palm.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to see it again.” My gaze switches from hers back to the empty wall over the mantle. “I needed to see.” My voice quavers. “I wanted to know I’m not going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy.” She brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I would’ve let you have it. But.”
“But?” I turned to face her.
“They were stolen the night he was you know.” She swallows. A long time ago she realized how much his name hurts me.
“They?” It takes all my energy to focus on our conversation, to keep track of what Sole is trying to tell me.
“All the family paintings. Your grandparents, your mother. All five of them were stolen from the beach house.” The sudden intensity in her gaze makes my head swim.
What am I missing?
“She’s not my mother.” I stare at her. “But you already knew that. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She nods as her eyes brim with tears. “I never wanted to lie to you.”
“But you did. Why? Because Dad asked you to?” I run a hand through my hair. This memory hurts. Dad lied to me. Sole did too.
“I have a gift for you.” She pats my arm as if trying to wake me up from a deep sleep. “Sit.” She gestures toward the bed.
I amble toward it and lie down. I feel exhausted from the drive and just the overall activity of being out of bed for three consecutive hours. Every bone in my body feels heavy as I rest my cheek on the pillow.
“Happy birthday.” She slides a shoe box across the bed until it’s almost up to my nose.
“What is it?” I scoot up to rest my back on the headboard.
“Open it. See for yourself.” She lifts the lid a little.
With a sigh, I remove the lid and freeze. Her golden eyes look back at me, and I just know who she is. “She looks like me.”
“Two peas in a pod. I always said.” Sole picks up another photo of Mom. “She’s pregnant with you here.”
“She’s so young.” I touch the smooth surface of the picture.
“She was about your age when she had you.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Why did you lie about her portrait? And all those other pictures you showed me? Her stories.”
“All the stories are true. I promise you.” She wipes my cheek, then whispers, “She was a beautiful dancer just like you. She would’ve been so proud of you. To see you dance the way you did that night.” She smiles at her hands for a beat. “I didn’t get to say it, but I was very proud of you. You were wonderful. Perfect, if such a thing even exists.”
“Was she really sleeping with patrons for money?” I don’t care about that. But the hate in Dad’s eyes when he speaks of her like that makes me wonder if there’s more to their story than he said. “If she loved Dad so much, why would she be with other men?”
“Who told you that?” She frowns. “Your mother only had eyes for your father. I know because I was there. The three of you were the sweetest little family.”
“Why would Dad lie about that?” I ask and immediately realize I don’t care about the answer. The truth hurts too much.
Wake up, Little Dove
His deep voice echoes in my head. I startle at the sound of it. It’s so clear in my mind, like he’s right here in the room with me.
“Why did you lie to me all those years?” I pick up another one of Mom’s pictures. She’s dressed as the black swan. She looks like me. And she looks like all the other subs at Dad’s sex party.
“I had to do it.” She shoots a glance toward the door before she adds. “He made me promise. It was the only way he would let me stay with you, my sweet girl. I promised your mom I would take care of you always.”
“What was the point of it all?” The answer is less urgent now than it was two months ago when I went to the Hamptons to demand answers from Dad.
“Because he was afraid you’d go looking for her. To find out more.” She sighs. “I had to play along and show you how to play along too. Do you see that now? Why can’t you stay like this? You must go back to the way things were or else…”
“Or else what? What happens if I don’t?” I meet her gaze.
“He doesn’t like it when you’re not happy.” She walks around the bed to lay a blanket over me. “But now that we’re back to his house, things can go back to the way they were. We can be a happy family again.”
Did you really forget, Little Dove?
His voice is there again in my head, forcing me to face the truth.
I put the pictures back in the box and push them away. Sole looks down on me with so much pity in her eyes, and something else. She’s disappointed. Maybe she wanted me to ask her to retell one of her many stories of Mom. But I don’t want to hear them. I just want to sleep and not think.
“I’ll put the box under your bed. Okay? You can revisit them any time you want. Okay?” She purses her lips as she takes the box away.
The bedroom door shuts behind her, leaving me in complete silence. The spark I felt downstairs puffs out like a birthday candle. Darkness seems to blanket the room as I slowly descend again to a place where everything is numb. It’s easier this way. He’s not here. Nothing matters anymore.
Come Monday morning, I’ll have dance to keep me busy. With time, I will learn to forget his voice too. With time, I’ll be the doting daughter Dad wants me to be again. We can be a happy family. Just like we were before I met him.
If that’s what I have to do not to feel the pain of losing him, then so be it. I stare at nothing until the blue of his eyes goes gray. Until his impossibly beautiful face fades from my memory. Everything has to go back to the way it was before I met him .
Archer, Little Dove. Say it…