“Does that even make sense?”
Tony shrugged.
“Explain it to me,” Jim said.
“I can’t. It just is.”
“We need to work on this. Think about it, until our next meeting.”
“Think about what?”
“You watched your wife for years before you ever introduced yourself. You’re telling me that when you first risked everything by kidnapping and keeping her held hostage in your home, that she meant nothing to you?”
“No—yes. You’re messing up my words. She’s always meant something to me. I love her.”
“Did you then?”
“Now, I think I did. But then, I didn’t think so.”
“Would you do to her again what you did to her in 2010?” Jim asked.
Tony replied immediately, “No. I told you that. Everything was different.”
“Because?”
“Everything was different because I couldn’t do that to someone I love.”
“But you did.”
“I didn’t know that I loved her.”
Jim looked at the clock. “Our time is up. Think about this. Think about how you felt. Was that darkness she describes anger or control—or perhaps loss of control? Did you punish Claire when a business deal went south or was it because of something she did or said? Remember, you’ve told me how much you enjoyed her smart mouth during your second marriage. Yet during your first, you’ve admitted that you wouldn’t have tolerated it. Could the reason that you lashed out be that you didn’t want to admit your own feelings? Could it have been your way of keeping her as your possession and not becoming emotionally invested?”
Tony didn’t want to think about it.
Facts do not speak for themselves. They speak for or against competing theories.
—Thomas Sowell
The rising sun cast a warm glow from behind the blinds as Harry slipped from the condominium. He needed time to think, and lying in bed next to Liz as soft breaths infiltrated the predawn silence wasn’t the place. His mind swirled with answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. Pieces of the puzzle lay blatantly before him, yet he struggled not to connect them. He couldn’t. He needed more evidence, something concrete. Then again, he didn’t want it.
The last five years had been some of the best and worst of his life. He’d made decisions, some good and some bad. Unfortunately, as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and walked toward the cafés in Palo Alto, Harry couldn’t decide which ones were good and which were bad.
Warm coffee had a way of clearing his mind. He thought about going to his sister’s condominium each morning and sharing a cup. At first it may not have been sharing: it was his way of avoiding grocery shopping. Truly though, it was more than that. It was also a time to reconnect. He and Amber hadn’t been overly close as children, yet when he moved to San Francisco after his divorce, they slowly worked their way into one another’s lives. Warm memories intermingled with sad as Harry thought about Simon. Their friendship was instantaneous. He was probably the reason Harry and Amber had become close. There was something about Simon that pulled people in and made them feel comfortable. Whether it was sports, work, or recreation, they had hit it off.
Harry and Amber had a shared past, but siblings or not, forging a friendship as adults was not always easy. That’s especially true if one or the other harbors childhood feelings and insecurities. Harry needed to be sure that the feelings he had as a young boy—watching Amber receive the love and attention of two parents—weren’t playing a role in his current conflict. In all actuality, he thought they’d made it past that. Besides, his vision was much clearer as an adult. He now saw that it wasn’t her fault. She was just the lucky one to be born to two parents. The man who’d left Harry’s mother was the culprit. Harry couldn’t even blame his stepfather. No, those issues weren’t even worth considering.
Amber was the lucky one. She always had been. Imagine at her age being the CEO of a growing Fortune 500 company. With the exception of losing Simon, everything has always worked in her favor. Now that she had Keaton in her life, she was no longer lonely. She truly had it all.
Moving into Amber’s building after Simon’s death was Harry’s first unselfish brotherly act. Though he and Liz had to give up the little house they rented in San Mateo not far from the beach, it was worth it. Amber was devastated. She poured her heart and soul into SiJo. Having Harry and Liz right down the hall gave her a reason to come home. It was in those early weeks after Simon’s death that Harry and Amber began their morning routine. It was during that time, as an adult, that Harry got to know—really know—his sister. They talked, listened, laughed, and even cried. They’d both lost someone dear. Though Harry mourned Simon, too, he knew his loss of friend wasn’t the same as her loss of a lifemate. Nevertheless, he could relate. Ilona and Jillian weren’t dead, but he’d let them go. For all practical purposes, it was the same. Despite the fact that his had been voluntary, Harry understood loss—there was a time in his life that he’d thought that he and Ilona would be together forever. It was during those early mornings, over steaming cups of coffee, that brother and sister created a connection that surpassed blood ties.
Then Claire happened. Their routine changed participants, but didn’t go away. Sometimes Amber would join them, but she often claimed work responsibilities. During those mornings in Amber’s kitchen, Harry learned more about his assignment—Claire—than he ever could have as the occasionally visiting brother. He wondered sometimes if Amber wouldn’t have developed a deeper kinship with Claire if she’d been with her more. Amber always privately blamed her attitude on the connection to Anthony Rawlings. After all, Claire claimed that Anthony could have known about Simon’s death. While originally Amber wanted to know more about that, she never fully trusted Claire. Of course, she played the caring-friend role well.