Chapter 36 Sydney
Sydney
Janessa lowers herself gracefully into the chair next to me and crosses one leg over the other.
She must be around five ten because she’s only an inch or so taller than I am without shoes, but where I become a graceless baby deer in anything but a wedge-style heel, Janessa, with her Italian model looks, pulls off stilettos even at a backyard birthday party, which means she’s currently rocking about six foot two and an absolute goddess.
“What’s wrong? And do not say, ‘nothing.’ Do I need to round up Bronwyn and have a talk with your husband?” Janessa asks.
“Gabriel is an angel. And, even if something were wrong with him, I would handle it myself.”
“Okay, then why do you look like you’re ready to wage a war?”
I glance back down at the photo on my phone, then pass it to her. “His name is Dr. Frederick Granthy.”
Janessa examines the picture.
“What do you see?”
“Hmm. An older Black man, probably in his late sixties, still in good shape, clothing well-made and likely expensive, but unimaginative. He looks a little startled. Like he didn’t know you’d be snapping the photo.”
I shake my head. “There’s something off about that picture.”
She gives a brief, involuntary laugh, then cuts herself off. “Oh. You’re serious.”
Raking her gaze over the photo again, she frowns. “I don’t really see anything odd, but if your instincts are telling you something is wrong, then I’m not telling you to ignore them.”
I accept the return of the phone. “It’s weird that I can never remember meeting the man, the same way it took me so long to remember Gabriel’s name.
My therapist thinks it’s because I woke up in the hospital to him there, with some of the drugs still in my system, and because it took me so long to recognize I was no longer a prisoner, I saw him as one of my captors.
Which is reasonable. I definitely thought Gabriel was holding me prisoner, at first, too.
It took a while for me to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. ”
“It could also be part of your recovery from your concussion or damage from Trahypnofen. After what happened to you, I read about it on the internet. There are people who go into comas and have permanent brain damage from it. It’s nasty stuff,” she says.
I nod. “Do you remember when I had that flashback with my first psychiatrist?”
“You were freaked out over her eyes and the way she spoke to you,” she says.
“I don’t kn—” I freeze when I see what I was missing in the photo. “Oh,” I breathe, my gut tightening.
Janessa clasps my hand. “Sydney?”
I look around the party, searching. “Are Amelia and Rob still here?”
“Your co-workers? They left about ten minutes ago. Rob said he couldn’t stay, and he was her ride,” Janessa says.
“Amelia left without saying goodbye? That woman has to make an announcement if she loses an eyelash, let alone arrives somewhere or leaves.”
Bronwyn, her white-blonde hair in a high ponytail, joins us and crouches beside me, her baby-blue summer party dress fluffing around her knees. “Syd? What’s wrong?”
I take the hat from my head and turn it around to face us. “Rob and Amelia gave it to me for my birthday. It’s the one I wore in the video the night I vandalized the lab.”
Bronwyn takes it into her hands. “It can’t be. That hat went missing when you did. It’s a copy, but it was thoughtful.”
“No. Someone deliberately added some wear to make it look different, but it’s the exact same hat,” I say.
Janessa tilts her head. “Why do you think so?”
I point to a tiny spot on the letter L. “See the little bit of glue and how the letter looks slightly crooked? The black extends a bit too far? My senior year, someone thought it would be funny to steal it out of my locker and put it on the gym basketball hoop as a prank. When I got it back, the embroidered letter took a little damage. I glued it down with Gorilla Glue, and I used a black fabric marker to try to blend it, but it was never perfect. What do you see on that L?”
Bronwyn covers her mouth. “This doesn’t make sense. If they found your hat, why wouldn’t they say so? It’s evidence.”
“Because Rob or Amelia were part of it,” I say.
“Then why give your hat back at all? That would be stupid,” Janessa says.
“I don’t know.”
“If you say you’re sure about this, I’ll believe you, but you’ve been . . . confused . . . a lot lately,” Bronwyn says.
Am I sure? I inspect the hat closer. Turn it over and upside down, then point to a slightly skewed yellow rivet. “I’m sure.”
“Could Amelia be the woman you remembered?” Janessa asks.
I nod slowly. “I don’t remember what she looked like except the eye color. A lot of people have brown eyes. I do. You do. But if it was Amelia, she has some brass balls to be in constant contact with me and show up at my birthday party.”
“We have to tell Gabriel and let security know.” Bronwyn rises and looks toward her parents.
I take her hand in mine, pulling her attention back to me.
“Nothing has to happen this second. I want to think about this a little more. If Amelia and Rob had something to do with it, they’ll still be there tomorrow.
Don’t ruin the party. You and Charlotte went to too much effort.
I’ll tell Gabriel when he comes back with my drink, and we’ll tell everyone else about it after we have cake. Then we’ll figure out what comes next.”
Janessa’s mouth drops. “What comes next is that you call the cops. Right now.”
“Contact the authorities in two hours or right now. It doesn’t matter. Rob and Amelia aren’t going anywhere, and if they were part of it, it might work out better to nose around first without them knowing we’re doing it.”
Janessa straightens. “Okay.”
I rise. “I’m heading inside to grab a drink. Someone must have waylaid my husband to talk.” He’s been gone for nearly half an hour. I push the instant anxiety away. We’re at a family party, surrounded by people who care about us, and I sure don’t need him to wait on me.
I enter the kitchen on my own a few minutes later and snag a regular bottle of water from the fridge. Dean enters carrying his youngest son in one arm.
“You probably want to find Bronwyn,” I say.
The big man’s hazel eyes sharpen. “Something wrong?” he asks, his Virginia accent slight, but unmistakable.
“There’s no emergency. She’ll tell you.”
Before he makes it to the door, I call after him, “Have you seen Gabriel?”
Dean shakes his dark head, threads of steel evident at his temples and in the scruff on his jaw. “Not since he was outside with you.”
I can’t traipse through my in-laws’ house looking for him.
The mansion is huge, with an indoor pool and tennis court, a wing for live-in staff, and a wine cellar.
The last thought pulls me up short when I picture my husband in the last set of rooms, then I brush off the twinge of paranoia.
Those kinds of thoughts aren’t based on who Gabriel is, but who I am.
I fire off a text.
Me: Hey! Wondering where you went. I’m going to blow out the candles soon.
No response. Maybe he left through another door and has already returned to the back patio.
The moment I step foot outside, Charlotte wraps her arm around my waist and ushers me toward the table with a chocolate layer cake on it.
She waves her hands to encourage everyone to move closer. “It’s time to sing to the birthday girl.”
Responding to Charlotte’s announcement, the crowd approaches the general area of the table, Bronwyn’s oldest kids near the front.
Warmth floods through me, but I turn back hesitantly. “You really don’t need to do this. The party is more than enough.”
“In this family, we sing,” Charlotte says firmly, then hesitates and asks in concern, “unless you’d rather we didn’t?”
“It’s not that. But Gabriel is missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?” Charlotte scans the back patio and lawn with worried eyes.
“I just meant he’s inside the house,” I say.
A sheepish smile creases her face as she wipes her palms down her white capri pants. “It’s not your fault. The word missing is always going to give me a jolt. Sorry about that.”
Phee and Rory inch closer to the cake. With a sly grin at his sister, he swipes his finger through frosting. Immediately, his mother guides him backward by the shoulders, then crouches beside him, speaking quietly in a serious tone. He nods guiltily.
As soon as Bronwyn stands up and looks away, he looks at his frosting-covered finger, shrugs and stuffs it in his mouth. Afterward, he makes eye contact with me and yells, “Sorry, Aunt Syddie.”
I fight my smile, unwilling to undermine his mother. “Thank you for apologizing.”
“I can’t see Gabriel wanting us all to wait on him,” Charlotte says as she lights the candles.
He won’t make drama over it or complain, but part of me knows he’ll be disappointed.
The patio doors open, and Gabriel steps outside onto the stone-terraced space. I smile and Charlotte waves him over even as she starts the crowd singing.
The flaming cake looks like something out of a magazine or Pinterest board. I chew the inside of my cheek and look back toward Gabriel . . . just in time to see him stumble on the bottom step.
I catch my breath, my stomach pinching at the wobble in his gait. One of the security guys approaches him. Gabriel waves off whatever he said, but after only two more steps, the guard catches him by the elbow to prevent him from face-planting onto the patio.
Shock holds me immobile, my brain buzzing with horror and denial. He didn’t go in there and get wasted at my birthday party. Why would he?
“I’m fine,” Gabriel yells, his tone belligerent.
A few of our friends and family turn to see the commotion. Meanwhile, I stand frozen in the moment. Desperate for this not to be real.
“Blow out your candles, Aunt Syddie. They’re melting,” Phee says.
Time starts once more, and I rush toward my husband. “You and Rory do it for me, okay?” I call over my shoulder.