London Escape Page 2

  She cuts me off. “A date?”

  Her tone of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. I snort in disgust. “Um, no. A party with my dad. One of those fancy, cocktail-drinking, fund-raising—”

  “—black tie events that you have nothing to wear to and you’re pretty sure they won’t let you in dressed like that?” She finishes my sentence and jabs a finger at me through the webcam. Her tone clearly indicates her disapproval of my current attire.

  “Hey,” I defend, “this is a vintage Pink Floyd concert tee from nineteen-seventy—”

  “Whatever.” She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “What can I do for you?”

  Alexa’s screen name is clearly tongue-in-cheek. Being the daughter of a fashion boutique owner meant that she was anything but a fashion victim. In fact, that probably should have been my screen name, since I am particularly challenged in that area. Not that I care.

  “Can I go raid your closet for a dress?” I ask hopefully.

  She frowns and I hold my breath expectantly. Alexa treats her clothes like most people would their children or pets.

  “I suppose,” she concedes eventually. “But under one condition.” She holds up a finger and I can clearly see her nails are painted fluorescent orange. “You must promise to accessorize properly.”

  I roll my eyes for what feels like the millionth time today. I thought she was going to say avoid cranberry juice and the chocolate fountain, though those are valid points too.

  “Sure, sure,” I agree hastily, preparing to sign off before she came up with more stipulations like I must curl my hair or wear fake eyelashes made from the fur of a fox’s butt.

  “So, where’s the party?” she asks before I can close the program.

  Absently my eyes drift down to my contacts list. The screen name ‘IndyJones’ catches my eye, but it’s grayed out, indicating Jason’s not online. I can’t help but laugh a little to myself over his chosen screen name, an homage to his favorite movie character, Indiana Jones. He always was such a dork.

  Again my thoughts are driven back to his goodbye and the smile fades from my face.

  “So?” Alexa is still there, waiting for my response.

  “It’s at the Barons’,” I spit out finally.

  “Oh, the ex, huh?” she drawls.

  “He won’t be there.” I glance at the clock. “Look, I’ve got to go if I’m going to make it to your dad’s and back in time.”

  “Alright, just remember what I said!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mumble noncommittally.

  She spears me with one last look through her neon glasses and I know she knows I will disobey her direct orders. Accessorizing to me means wearing shoes and maybe a matching rubber band in my hair.

  Alexa’s dad is an artist who works out of his house just across town. I’m glad for the distraction of driving, since I’ve spent far too much of my day already thinking about things I’d rather not.

  Anthony de la Vega answers the front door, sketchpad and pencil in one hand and chatting in Spanish on his Bluetooth. I point upstairs to Alexa’s room and he nods with a smile. Alexa must have called him and given him a heads up, either that or he’s so used to me being around he doesn’t even question my presence there.

  It takes me all of five minutes to decide that most of Alexa’s wardrobe won’t work for me. Pushing aside a dress completely covered in black feathers, I consider giving up. I could always just swing by a little boutique and pick up something plain and simple if it came down to it. Anything is better than looking like a pack of ravens just attacked you. Through the mass of black dresses I see a sudden splash of color and feel a surge of hope.

  I unearth the bright green dress from its boring counterparts and know immediately that it’s exactly what I’m looking for. It’s a simple, long dress that’s every shade of green imaginable. Since Alexa is shorter than me, I know I’ll have to wear the dress with flats, which is fine with me, since I can’t walk in heels anyway. I grin to myself, knowing that I have the perfect pair at home. I’ll probably get myself banned from Alexa’s closet forever, but that’s fine by me. I think I’ve taken the one redeemable piece in there.

  I make it home with just enough time to get dressed for the party. One look in the mirror tells me my hair is probably a lost cause. Flame red, long and pin-straight, today’s rain and humidity hasn’t been kind to it as it hangs limply around my shoulders. But I manage to brush it out and braid it simply down my back. I apply a little makeup and slip into my dress. I indulge my vanity a little by primping in front of my full length mirror. The dress is incredible. I guess you could say it matches my eyes, since they are an indistinguishable shade of green. Too bad there will be no one there to notice. I cheer up when I remember I already have the perfect shoes for the dress.

  It takes a little digging, because my closet is a huge mess, but I finally find the box I’m looking for. Opening it, I pull out the shoes and slip them on my feet. Standing in front of the mirror again I lift the hem and survey the results.

  They are perfect. Alexa will be appalled, of course, but that is sort of the point. On my feet are my favorite shoes. No, more than that, they’re my lucky shoes. Only good things happened to me when I wear these shoes. I aced tests I had forgotten to study for. I made it through traffic miraculously fast when it looked as though I was going to be late for curfew. And I was wearing them the night I got kissed by the boy next door for the first time.

  Okay, maybe they aren’t so lucky. But they are bright green, low-top Converse All-Stars.

  Feeling better about the upcoming evening, I make my way slowly down the stairs to where my dad is already waiting. He smiles when he sees me and claps at my appearance. I show him my shoes and he laughs loudly. After that I decide to go ahead and forgive him for talking me into coming with him tonight.

  “You look nice,” I say and mean it. My dad was young when I was born, so even now he’s only in his early forties. I have to admit, he looks nice in a suit, even though it is rare that I see him in anything else. I can’t help but wish he had someone else to go with tonight besides his daughter, for his sake, but I know he doesn’t share that wish.

  “You too,” he says with a smile as he takes my arm to lead me out the front door. “You look like—” He stops midsentence, but I’m already whipping my head around to look at him in surprise so I see it, the flash of pain in his eyes.

  Mom.

  I finish his sentence in my head and feel his pain echo inside of me. He recovers well by remarking the rain has stopped. I realize this will be our “let’s talk about mom, but not talk about mom” talk of the month.

  I wonder to myself when we might actually get around to really talking about her. But it has already been eight years since she left us, so I’m not holding my breath. Besides, we have both gotten so good at pretending like she never existed. I’m not so sure what would happen if we actually acknowledged that she had ever been a part of our lives. There is a huge part of me that knows it is easier that way, for both of us. I don’t think I could bear seeing that look in his eyes again when we barely mention her, let alone feel the answering hollow pain inside myself.

  It’s weird sometimes, how well I remember her, and at the same time remember nothing. Memories are strange that way. You don’t get to choose what you remember and what you forget.

  Little things, like the smell of her perfume or the songs she used to hum, those I often recall. Not when I want to, but when I least expect it. Riding in the car with my dad I close my eyes tightly. He said I looked like her. I try hard to remember if her hair was long or short, brighter than mine or darker. But I can’t. I try to remember the exact shade of green her eyes were. No matter how hard I try her face remains blurry.

  Maybe it’s better that way.

  I cast my gaze out the window as we pull into the Barrons’ driveway. The day has already been draining. I have spent too much time focusing on things I’d rather forget. And now here I am, faced with even more memories.
I can only hope the night will improve from here.

  2. MISSING JEWELS

  “William!” our hostess, the very Southern Mrs. Caroline Barron, exclaims dramatically as she throws open the front door. “How are you?”

  I shoot my dad a quizzical look. Just as I’ve never gone by my given name, neither has he. I’ve never heard him answer to anything but Will. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it as he chats with Mrs. Barron.

  We’re still standing on the threshold of their large estate, and I can’t help but steal a glance at the party inside. It looks as though it’s in full-swing, with people sipping champagne and wine out of fragile little glasses and eating disgusting things like fish eggs and goose liver on crackers.

  “And Kit!” Mrs. Barron seems to finally notice me hovering behind my dad and turns to me, planting air kisses on both my cheeks and enveloping me in a cloud of Chanel No. 5.

  “My, my, don’t you look beautiful!” She holds me at arm’s length and looks me up and down. “It’s a shame Jason’s not here to see you, green always was his favorite color.”

  I try to remember if this is true.

  She shows us into the house, still speaking. “Would you believe I haven’t heard a thing from that boy since last week?” She sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to her pearl necklace. “But you know how he is.”

  I nod, because I know exactly what she means. Though he had promised to call, I haven’t heard a word from him since the day he left.

  “Oh, he’s probably off scaling the Alps or spelunking in Brazil or some such nonsense,” she continues airily.

  I laugh quietly to myself. Sure, Jason is quite adventurous, but he is more likely to be lost in the Louvre than cave exploring in Brazil.

  “Have you spoken to him it all? Y’all were always close, weren’t you?” She’s ushered us to the buffet table, but all this talk of Jason has made me lose my appetite.

  I shake my head, but Mrs. Barron isn’t even looking at me, she’s busy surveying the food with a critical look.

  “Nothing in an entire week! You’d think he’d be a little more grateful since his father and I are paying his rent. But, no.” She sighs again and straightens a flower arrangement that’s already perfect.

  Before I can say anything in response, she’s exclaiming, “Oh dear, what is wrong with these salmon croquettes!” She sweeps up the offending platter and throws a last comment over her shoulder as she hurries away. “Enjoy the party, I have to speak with the caterer immediately!”

  I turn to give my dad an incredulous look and find him stuffing caviar into his mouth.

  “What?” he asks around a mouthful when I give him a disdainful look.

  “Did you hear all that?” I nibble nervously on a plain cracker.

  He simply shrugs. “So, Jason’s gone MIA again. Remember last summer? He was incommunicado in NYC for four days. Turns out he was just at the Met.”

  I’m still unsatisfied. “It’s not like him be completely out of touch with everyone. And also, since when do you use words like MIA and incommunicado?”

  He shrugs again and goes for more caviar. Before he takes another bite something behind me catches his eye. Immediately I see his face change. It’s his “work” face that I know all too well.

  He gives me a grim look. “I’ve got to go speak to someone.”

  I nod, I know the routine.

  “Don’t wander off,” he admonishes, back into overprotective dad mode. “And no drinking or sneaking off with boys.”

  I have to laugh at his warnings as he disappears into the crowd. Really, those last two things are the furthest from my mind at the moment. As far as wandering off, now that is quite tempting.

  Suddenly I’m regretting leaving my cell phone at home, but my dress didn’t have pockets and I wasn’t about to carry a purse. I decide to sneak upstairs to Jason’s room and borrow his laptop for a few minutes. He’s not there anyway, and maybe Alexa is still around on Skype.

  As I slip up the staircase unnoticed I spot my dad, engrossed in conversation with a dark-haired man. I don’t immediately recognize him. He’s probably ten years younger than my dad, solidly built with a sharp, square jaw. I don’t know why but he seems strangely familiar. Whatever they are discussing, it looks serious, since both seem oblivious to the party swirling around them. I feel a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach knowing this can only mean one thing: he’d be leaving again, and soon.

  Admittedly I know next to nothing about what my dad actually does for a living, besides the fact that he makes good money and travels a lot. I’ve heard a lot of general terms like “acquisitions” and “contracts” so I assume it’s in investments or something. His job is just another item on the list of things we don’t talk about.

  I find Jason’s room easily, even though I’ve only been in there a handful of times. We usually hung out in the family room downstairs when I came over. This was another one of my dad’s rules of course.

  I push open the door to his room without a thought, not knowing how it would make me feel to walk in. But as soon as I do the memory hits me like a punch in the chest, taking my breath with it. All I’m left with is the awful feeling that lingered from our final parting on the night he left. After he’d left me there on the doorstep, with so much unsaid between us, I’d decided to go see him one last time.

  I had tried calling first, but he didn’t answer his phone, and when I finally arrived at his house no one answered the door. Like my dad, Jason’s parents work a lot. His mom is involved with several different charities, and his dad is a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So it’s not a surprise to me that there appears to be no one home. I walk around back, searching for a light on in the house. Sure enough the fourth window over on the second floor is lit, Jason’s room. Like I have done many times before I let myself in using the key code he had given me years ago. As I start up the stairs I have a flash of apprehension about what I’m doing, but manage to convince myself that he’s probably just too busy packing to answer the phone or the door.

  A few minutes later I step into his room. The lights are on inside, but it’s empty. Clothing and belongings are strewn about as though someone has been packing in a hurry. A sound from down the hall catches my attention and I step back into the hallway. There is a thin beam of light shining on the floor from a room three doors down. I can just make out two muffled voices, both male, clearly arguing. They stop suddenly, so I quickly jump back inside the room, closing the door behind me just as I had found it.

  A door slams and footsteps echo down the hall. I’m really wishing I had stayed home now. If Jason and his father are arguing I certainly don’t want to get caught up in the middle. I’m here now though, and the footsteps are coming my way. Jason enters the room in such a hurry that he doesn’t even notice me at first. He’s too busy stuffing something quickly into his backpack. I only see the object for a brief second, but it appears to be a small, black drawstring bag.

  When he has finished zipping up his backpack he finally notices me standing there.

  “Kit?” His look of confusion quickly changes into one of panic.

  “Jase,” I begin, “what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I was just—” he shoulders his backpack and glances in the direction of the closed door, “—leaving.”

  “Jason,” Robert Barron, Jason’s father, speaks as he enters the room. He’s an unremarkable looking man of average height with the same brown hair and eyes of his son. I’ve usually thought him to be quite friendly, but there’s nothing friendly about the way he looks tonight. In fact, when I hear the tone of his voice and see the way he is looking at Jason, I feel a shiver go down my spine.

  Mr. Barron doesn’t seem to notice me, instead he marches straight toward Jason, who is standing as still as a statue. He’s silent for a long moment, staring into his son’s eyes as though challenging him. I’m not sure what I expect from Jason, but I’m a little surprised when I see him staring back with a look of utter defi
ance. Without warning I’m afraid for him. Instinctively I cross to his side and take his hand, as though my presence could protect him.

  “What were you doing in my office?” he asks, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger.

  “I told you, I was getting my passport out of the safe,” Jason answers quickly, holding his ground.

  My gasp of surprise is barely audible. Jason is lying. I know it, and I’m pretty sure his father knows it too.

  Mr. Barron’s gaze flashes from my face to Jason’s, his jaw clenched so tightly I can see a muscle twitching in his cheek. He eyes the backpack on Jason’s shoulder as through trying to decide something, then nods curtly. “Have a good trip.”

  I feel more than hear Jason exhale with relief beside me as his father closes the door behind him with a slam.

  He drops my hand and hurries over to the bookshelf. He’s still pulling off volumes and stuffing them inside his duffle bag while I stare incredulously at his back.

  “Thanks for that,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “He went easy on me because you were here,” he says nonchalantly.

  For once in my life I’m struck speechless. First, his sudden change in plans and then acting all strange when he said goodbye to me. Now even his own father thinks he’s up to something. Clearly something strange is happening at the Barron household, and Jason is right in the middle of it all.

  “Jase,” I say his name so softly I’m positive he can’t hear me, but I can’t seem to speak above a whisper. He pauses and lowers his head.

  His reply is quiet too. “Kit, please don’t ask any questions I can’t answer.”

  I stand silently, fumbling with the object in my hands, the reason I’m here tonight witnessing things I shouldn’t. I wait for him to turn and say something, anything to alleviate my fear. To tell me that it’s all just a misunderstanding between him and his father.

  Finally, when he’s finished packing half his book collection, he turns to me. I force myself to look at him, even though I know my emotions are far too easily read on my face right now.