Light that, if it hadn’t been a lie, would have been beautiful.
“Can you explain what’s happening?” I asked Knight.
“Delivering a message,” he repeated what he’d said earlier.
Before I could ask for more information, he lifted his hand toward the TV, a hand that had my remote in it.
“You get the message, what’s next is up to you,” he finished just as music filled the room.
Chords on a piano playing over a ticking clock.
Something about that soothing sound, so contradictory to my current situation, made my eyes shift to the TV.
Playing on it was a video of someone driving down a road. The view was not of that someone, but out the car window.
It was a pretty road that had high, green grass swaying against the shoulder.
A voice I recognized started singing just as there was a cut in the tape and then we were still in a car but it was driving through a town. Obviously a small town. An old town. American flags waving on slants outside pretty little houses. Covered sidewalks in the town proper with hanging signs for storefront businesses. Window boxes. Tubs of flowers. Tended shrubs. Sparkling cars parked at slants leading to the sidewalks.
The tempo of the song changed and we were back on the road with the green grass undulating.
Hills in the background.
No.
Mountains.
Mountains.
I stopped breathing.
The tempo increased again and the car turned down a drive.
Unconsciously, I walked to the back of the couch.
I did this because I needed to.
I needed to curl my fingers on the back in order to stay standing.
The tempo changed again as the video cut and we were out of the car, walking. Walking up a path to a house.
A house…
A pretty little house, homey, rustic, lived-in, tucked amongst a forest of big green trees. A pretty little house painted barn red with white trim with big tubs of flowers, window boxes and tended shrubs at the front.
A house in the mountains.
The music built to a crescendo as we took a tour of the house. Its wood floors. Its kitchen with a big farm sink and lots of old appliances that needed to be updated (but I hoped they never were). Its bathroom with an old claw-footed tub.
My breath caught.
A cozy living room with an abstract painting over the fireplace, the predominant color of the painting an ocean of blue.
There were little bedrooms with not much in them.
And another bedroom with a big bed flanked by two nightstands that each held a lamp but only one had a picture frame.
The camera moved closer.
It was a silver frame. A silver frame with a picture in it that I knew was taken in Las Vegas. The picture of a couple nestled in a web of crystals.
The words to the song started beating into my brain.
The video faded to black.
But the picture immediately faded back.
A deck.
A view.
A dawn.
A man’s bare feet, ankles and legs in pajama bottoms propped up on the top railing.
I knew those feet.
The camera pulled back.
He also had on a long-sleeved thermal.
His back was to me.
His hair was thick, dark and clipped its usual short.
His ocean blue eyes were turned from me.
Tock, tock, tock…José Gonzalez was speaking to me.
But it was Nick Sebring communicating to me.
I watched Nick’s profile as he took a sip of coffee and dawn came over the soft-topped mountains that were not Rockies.
He turned and looked over his shoulder right at the camera.
I drowned in blue.
The screen went black.
In desperation to get it back, my gaze shot to Nick’s brother.
He had his on me and his mouth open to speak.
He closed it as he looked into my eyes.
Then he gifted me with a miracle.
In the expanse of a breath, I watched hard dissolve, scars heal and light shine.
“Hurry, honey,” he whispered.
I didn’t even take the time to nod.
I turned on my foot, my robe rippling out behind me, I ran to my bedroom.
I was hopping up and down, awkwardly pulling on a pair of slacks when Sylvie hit the door to my closet.
“Here to help, babe. What do you need me to pack?” she asked.
I spared her only a glance.
She was no longer looking inscrutable.
She was looking like she was fighting against laughing.
I nearly fell over, tangled in my pants.
I righted myself and answered, “Nothing here I want.”
“Nick’s ready for you, Olivia, but he’s a guy. Not sure he’s got your brand of shampoo down. And heads up, he’s never gonna have your brand of shampoo down. We bitches gotta take care of that shit. Hell, you in his life, the man will forget his brand of shampoo. That’ll be up to you too.”
“Right,” I whispered, tearing off my robe, on a mission and not fully processing her impromptu relationship lesson. “Then please, if you will, until I can get to the store wherever Nick is, I’ll need you to pack my shampoo.”
I turned to the rails and yanked off the first blouse my hand hit.
I heard her muffled chuckle as she walked out.
I finished getting dressed. I then dashed around my closet to get the bare essentials, tearing at hangers, opening drawers and not closing them, shoving things into the first piece of luggage I could grab—a carry-on.
A carry-on bag.
My heart started feeling funny.
I ran to the bathroom just in time for Sylvie to shove a variety of packed cosmetics bags in my lonely piece of luggage.
We moved out of the room, me fast, Sylvie behind me coming slower.
That’s when I smelled it.
Gasoline.
I stopped dead in my hallway when I saw him.