Discoveries Brooklyn
Discoveries
Brooklyn
The walk across the yard chills me to the bone. The birds are chirping, the cardinals bright against the winter boughs. Flakes of snow twirl in the air like Neve doing pirouettes across the stage. Four turns his face to the sky and catches a few on his tongue.
What I wouldn’t give for a simpler time, for the days before we tried to leave.
The shelter is cold. The power is off. I throw the switch and hear the familiar metallic clicks—flinck, flinck, flinck—as the lights turn on one by one.
I half expect Trey to jump out of the darkness and yell, “Surprise!” He’s done it before.
Wishful thinking. There’s no chance the police haven’t done a pass through here, looking for him.
Four leads me to the very back of the shelter. There’s a set of bookshelves full of favorites—the kids’ and ours. You never know when you’re going to be stuck for a few hours and want something to read.
“The police came here while I was in the hospital?”
“They looked through the house, but not the shelter.”
“They didn’t know it was here?”
“We didn’t mention it to them.”
That changes things. I give him a genuine smile. “Clever boy. Well done. What did Dad show you?”
Four approaches the shelves and runs his fingers along the books.
They are all worn, well loved, picked up at flea markets and library sales—my favorite kind of bookcase.
I like a good independent bookstore, but there’s something special about a book that’s been read a hundred times.
You get two adventures—the one you’re reading, and the one your imagination supplies about who’s been here before.
On the third shelf is a set of old fairy tales, tan with red-and-black spines.
They were Margot’s contribution—she thought they looked studious.
I’ve never been one for fairy tales, especially the originals, but she loves them, primarily because so many of the ballets are based on them.
Neve followed her aunt’s footsteps, literally, and also loves them. Sleeping Beauty is a favorite.
And it’s Sleeping Beauty that Four pulls down from the shelf now.
“Here.” He hands me the book. I examine the cover and must look confused. “Open it.”
When I do, I realize someone has cut a hole in the center of the book. In it are six more crypto wallets just like the one I found in the camera.
“Oh, wow. That’s . . . Why did Daddy show you where he hid these, honey?”
“In case we needed them. There’s a phone, too.”
He rummages around in a banana-shaped bag that’s supposed to be full of lettered tiles for a board game and pulls out a small cell phone. “It’s a burner,” he says so calmly that I almost explode.
“I am going to kill your father when I find him,” I say.
Four gives me the same goofy smile that Trey does when he knows I’m making empty threats. I hug my son to my chest, kiss the top of his head. “I love you. Thank you.”
I power it on, heart pounding.
There is a single number in the phone’s contacts. “Should I call it?”
“Text,” he says. “Dad said to text.”
I click on the bubble, and a text window pops up.
I type in Hello? It’s us.
Wait for a minute. Sure enough, three dots appear.
Now my heart is on overdrive. The messages come up on the screen, one after another.
I will fix this. Don’t trust anyone.
I’ll meet you in Venice. Go straight there when you land. Don’t stay in Milan, don’t check into the hotel.
But we’re in Atlanta. We got off the plane. Where. Are. You?
You’re not on the plane?
No. When you didn’t show up, we got off. All our money is gone, Trey. The cards are turned off. Can’t you just call me? Explain what the hell is going on?
This is ridiculous. And unacceptable. We’re at Eden Barrow’s house. Please, Trey. Tell me what’s happening.
You are not safe there. Leave. As quickly as possible. Go now. Go home.
Bring us the money he stole, every dime of it, or he dies.
Gonna kill him slow, Brooklyn. And then I’m coming for you. Tick tock.
These conversations feel familiar. Four senses my confusion.
“If you’re seeing things you recognize, that’s because this phone is a clone of yours. So any texts that you got before are showing up here, too.”
“Oh my God. I talked to your dad in Atlanta, before the accident. This is what he told me then. I forgot. And the messages . . . they disappeared. How?”
My sage of a son smiles. “Every messaging app has a function to wipe messages, or disappear them after a certain length of time. And there are programs you can buy that do it as well. Since this phone is cloned, the messaging app doesn’t know to tell it to self-destruct.
It’s tied to the account, not the phone number. ”
I cup his adorable chin. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“I know. Try him again.”
Saucy kid. “Where are you?” I say as I type the words. Nothing happens. I stare at the screen, willing it to come to life. Nothing happens.
“Well, it was a good try, sweetie. What else did your father tell you?”
Before he can answer, the phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart stops.
Brooklyn? Is that you?
Yes. Oh my God, Trey are you all right?
I need to know it’s really you. Tell me something only we know.
I think for a second. The adrenaline has chased away a lot of the fog. I focus hard, and remember something that I know he will, too.
We made Four under a rainbow.
The phone shakes with a barrage of updates, and the relief I feel is overwhelming. I am covered in goose bumps, and tears skid down my cheeks.
Oh, baby.
I love you so much.
I am so glad you’re okay.
Do you have the wallets?
Yes.
Okay. Okay. Great. Keep them hidden at all costs, Brook. Our lives depend on it.
Trey, where the hell are you?
I’m close, baby. I’ll come for you soon.
I need you now, Trey. I’m not 100%. I can’t handle all of this.
I’m not kidding. Already, this burst of concentrated energy is waning. My head is throbbing.
Come home. I’m sure we can figure this out—whatever this is—together. Everyone’s looking for you. There are FBI agents crawling all over the house. And a cop from your hometown in Malogen, Theresa Lee.
Three dots. They disappear, then appear again.
And again. Like he’s typing and deleting his words.
It’s all true, isn’t it? You’ve been hiding your whole life from me. Is that why you left the airport? Did you think I wouldn’t understand?
I didn’t have a choice about leaving, baby. I was trying to get you all out when things went sideways. They caught up to me at the airport, threatened your lives.
Who’s “they”?
We can’t do this now. Keep this phone on you. Don’t lose it. It holds the key.
Trey. I know about Chloe. I know you killed your first wife.
Three dots . . .
I can explain everything. Brooklyn? Be careful. I love you. Remember what I said in Argentina. Please, please remember.
Trey? Trey?
But there is no answer. I say a very bad word, and my son’s face whips to me, shocked.
“Sorry, Four.”
I close the phone and put it in my front right pocket, and the rest of the wallets in my left. I need to keep them close, need to keep us safe until Trey can get to us. I’m not going to waste time trying to figure out what’s going on. He can tell me himself, soon enough.
“All right, baby. Good job helping me here. I need to have some quiet time to think. You go back to the house. Your dad’s coming. Don’t say a word, do you understand? Not to Margot, not to Neve. And definitely not to Eden.”
“Yes, ma’am. I won’t.”
“Good boy.” I give him a huge hug. “We’re going to get through this. Everything is going to be okay.”
I watch Four get safely to the back door, then open a bottle of water and turn on the space heaters.
The shelter warms quickly. I sit on the bench and pull a bright rainbow Mexican yoga blanket over my legs.
It’s traveled, this blanket. I took it from the hotel where we spent our first few weeks together.
The minute I realized I was pregnant, the idea of parting with the blanket that sheltered Four in my belly was impossible.
I don’t usually get romantic about inanimate objects, but I couldn’t leave without it.
A few pesos and thrilled well-wishes later, it was mine.
It lives here in the safety of the shelter because I can’t bear the thought of losing it.
I’ve been dreaming about our time in Mexico since the accident. There’s something important about San Miguel de Allende, and I need to figure out what it is. Trey told me to remember. Begged me. So I will try.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let the memory fill me. Cast my bruised mind back to the night we met.