Find Me Page 14

  Even the slightest mention of the military seemed to make her uneasy. Seeing this, I knew that I had to come forward with my link to her brother. I was keeping too many secrets from her as it was and it really wasn’t fair. She didn’t know who I really was and that was bad enough. But surely she’d want to know about her brother from the last person on the planet that had ever seen him alive.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sliding my plate away and bringing the beer closer. “But I need to tell you something.”

  “Ok. What?”

  I played the scenario out in my head, trying to think of how to best break it to her. But on the heels of that was the knowledge

  that she could become furious that I had withheld the information from me. Also, if she had even the slightest bit of pop culture k knowledge, the story of how I had nearly rescued her brother could provide her with enough details to figure out who I really was.

  Screw it, I thought. Here goes nothing.

  And with that mentality, I had another thought.

  “First,” I said, “there’s something I want to do.”

  “What?”

  I raised my butt out of the seat, leaned across the table, and kissed her. She was hesitant at first but then sank into it. It was an innocent kiss, our lips placed firmly together. It lasted no more than three seconds and although I wanted much more, I made myself pull away from her.

  “What was that for?” she asked, trying to hide the fact that she was delighted.

  “After I tell you what I need to tell you, I might not get the chance again.”

  She frowned and here eyebrows knitted together. “What is it, Jack?”

  I took a sip of my beer and then heaved out a sigh. I then opened my mouth and told her about that hot day when I had seen more than twenty of my fellow soldiers die.

  19—Mac

  I was well aware of the eyes of just about every person in the restaurant falling on me as I stood up so fast that I knocked my chair over. The thunk noise it made when it hit the floor seemed to echo through the place. I looked away from Jack as quick as I could. I wasn’t sure what emotion was running through me in that moment. Was it hate? Hurt? Or, even more bizarre, some sort of relief that I didn’t quite understand?

  I wasn’t sure what it was. All I knew was that I couldn’t stand to be around him in that moment.

  He’d known my brother. He’d been with my brother when he had died. If his story was to be believed, he’d nearly saved my brother’s life.

  How can this be?

  It was the one question that filled my head as I took off running away from the table. I almost collided with a waitress as I made my way to the door. I hit the door hard and when I pushed through and found myself out in the night, I nearly screamed out in frustration.

  I looked both ways, not sure where to go. I didn’t think Jack knew where I lived, but I didn’t want to take that chance. I couldn’t let him find me… couldn’t let him speak to me.

  “Mac!”

  It was his voice, behind me. I wheeled around and saw him coming out of the door to the Wharf. He was less than ten feet behind me.

  “Don’t…,”I said. But honestly, part of me wanted to go to him.

  I still felt his small kiss on my mouth. I wanted his arms around me and I wanted to hear everything he knew about my brother. But there was an abstract sort of treason to what he had told me. He claimed he had only just realized the connection the day before, but I found it very hard to believe.

  Plus, there was something else… something to the whole situation that it seemed I might be missing. I thought there was some other level of dishonesty at work here and I didn’t have the emotional capacity to figure it out.

  We stood there, staring each other down. He didn’t reach out for me and he didn’t call for me again. It was probably the most polite thing he could have done in that moment.

  I turned my back and walked away from him. I waited for him to call out after me, but he never did. This hurt more than I thought it would but, at the same time, I appreciated it as well.

  I walked back up the hill towards my house, thinking of David. I thought of him all of the time, but it felt like he was walking directly beside me. I was crying, the tears trailing down my cheeks. Even the trails of my tears seemed to be confused as to why I was so upset. Nothing about my reaction to Jack’s news made sense. My heart seemed elated, but my mind was filled with distrust. My nerves were frantic, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.

  I got to the end of the street and looked back towards the Wharf. Jack wasn’t standing there anymore. There were a few people milling around the entrance, but none of them were Jack.

  I turned back around and headed home. I thought that maybe I’d call Grandfather and share this with him. Was I over-reacting, or was this sort of response to such shocking news to be expected? For all I knew, this was some weird sort of grief that I wasn’t family with.

  Or maybe it was closure. Maybe knowing that Jack knew things about David that would bring me closure about his death was too much for me to take. Closure, when it came to death, wasn’t always a good thing. It would warp my memories of my brother and how I felt about not having him anymore—or at least that’s how I felt.

  I continued on towards home, missing David more than ever. But, on the heels of that, I was growing alarmed at how badly I wished Jack had followed me just a bit more to show that he did indeed care.

  20—Devlin

  I had known that there were a few different ways that Mac could have taken the news. But the way she handled it surprised me. She said nothing… she had just stood up from the table, gave me a peculiar look, and then backed away from the table. I knew that I had gotten up to follow her out, but I barely remember it. The moments between her standing up from the table and my following her out of The Wharf were a blur. Trying to remember it as I watched her walking quickly away from the restaurant, it felt like I had been sleepwalking.

  If I had wanted to, I could have easily caught up to her. But it was clear that she wanted to be left alone. Given the bombshell that I had just dropped on her, I figured it was the least I could do. So I watched her scamper up the street in the white glow of the streetlamps. When she was out of sight, I turned back around and headed back into The Wharf.

  I settled up the bill we had accumulated to that point and then sat at the bar. I ordered a beer and drank it slowly. I was looking to the bottles behind the bar, wondering what I might be doing right this very moment if I were in Hollywood. On the heels of that, I couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the typical way I responded when things didn’t go the way I wanted. Would I yearn for my easy Hollywood life every time life got hard? It made me feel spoiled and I hated myself for it. I had tried to not fall victim to the Hollywood stereotypes, but there it was, plain and simple.

  It also made me understand that there was no way that I could successfully pull of this stupid charade forever. At some point, I was going to have to come clean… with Mac, the public, everyone. The goatee and the shaggy hair would work for only so long. It would eventually come out that I was really Devlin Stone.

  I wondered how Mac would feel about that. Another lie, I thought. That’s something else I’m keeping from her. Wow, I’m really not giving her a real chance, am I?

  I finished off my beer, pondered another one, but then got up from the stool and threw a five dollar bill down on the bar. I exited The Wharf again and headed towards my house. The night was beautiful and slightly frigid. A few people milled about; I spotted a couple a block over, walking hand in hand. I envied them, but did my absolute best to convince myself that I didn’t.

  I walked up the hill, thinking about David Blackwell. Had I done him a disservice by even thinking about not telling Mac. I saw his face clearly in my mind and once again saw the resemblances. It made me smile for a reason that was unclear to me as my house came into view. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I missed my time in the army, but I sure as hell m
issed the camaraderie and friendships I had made with the amazing soldiers—David Blackwell included.

  I was so distracted with my memories of David that I didn’t see the car parked in front of my cabin until I was at the foot of my small driveway. I looked from the car and then to my house and it was then that I also saw the figure sitting on the front porch steps.

  I walked cautiously, approaching the car and trying to make out the appearance of the man in the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  But then I stepped around the car and saw him before he was able to answer me. It was Adam Parker—my agent. I hadn’t even thought of him in weeks. Seeing him on my front porch in Sitka was just like walking into your home and finding a ghost waiting for you.

  “I’d say it’s nice to see you,” Adam said, not bothering to get to his feet. “But that would be a lie. The truth of the matter is that I’m pretty pissed off.”

  I nodded as I approached him. He stood up and gave me a clumsy hug. “It is good to know that you’re not dead, though,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing hiding out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I had to get away.”

  “From what?” he asked. “The money? The fame? The ridiculously beautiful woman that desperately wanted you to herself at all times?”

  “Yes,” I said. “All of that and more.”

  “Can you please explain?” Adam asked. “Can you please tell me why I’m having movie studios cursing me out on a daily basis because I don’t know where you are?”

  I sighed and looked up to the clear night sky. The stars twinkled and the sky seemed endless; it wasn’t a sight available anywhere near Hollywood.

  “Come on inside,” I said. “I guess the jig is up. I might as well come clean.”

  He said nothing as he followed me inside. I unlocked the door and cut the lights on. Adam looked around, surprised. He was grinning slightly but there was no real humor in it. I let him take it all in as I went to the refrigerator and retrieved two beers. I uncapped them both and handed him one.

  “Thanks,” he said, sitting on the couch.

  I took the small armchair on the other side of the room and shrugged at him. “I wish I had some genius answer to give you,” I said. “But the fact of the matter is simply that I no longer felt like myself. I felt fake.”

  “You’re an actor,” Adam said. “You get paid to be fake all the time.”

  “No, not like that.”

  I did my best to explain my sense of detachment. I tried explaining to him that I didn’t feel like I could ride the fame I had acquired for my time in the army. I felt like I was disrespecting the men that had died—particularly on the day of the failed school evacuation.

  After ten minutes of trying to explain things, I stopped and sipped form my beer. Adam sat back on the sofa, rubbing at his head.

  “So what it sounds like you’re telling me,” he said, “is that you were getting no real sense of purpose out of acting. You felt cheap.”

  “Not cheap… just sort of empty.”

  “What can I do, as your agent, to fix that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So just like that, you’re done?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I just…,”

  “Because here’s the deal,” Adam said. “I won’t lie to you. You know how it works. Your success means my success. And this little disappearing act you’ve pulled off has you in high demand. Everyone is talking about you. I got a call two weeks ago that I can’t shake. It’s an offer for you for three movies—a comic book trilogy. You know how huge those comic movies are now. They want you in the lead and are basically letting you tell them what you want to be paid. That’s practically unheard of, Devlin.”

  “It’s Jack,” I said, smiling.

  “What?”

  “I’m Jack now.”

  “You changed your name?”

  “Yeah. Well, not legally. Not yet.”

  “My God. What happened?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Adam started laughing. “That goatee,” he said. “It’s crazy how much it changes your appearance.”

  “It’s worked so far,” I said. Then, after a moment’s thought, I added: “Wait. How did you find me?”

  “I hired a private investigator. I got a call from him yesterday and he pointed out some activity in one of your checking accounts. You moved around about fifteen thousand dollars and it all ended up in a trail here in Sitka. Once I got to Sitka, it was pretty easy to find you. It’s not a very big place, you know.”

  “I know. I like it.”

  “What did you need the money for?”

  “I brought a plane.”

  “A pl— wait, you know what? I don’t even want to know.”

  We sat in silence for a while longer. After a while, Adam stood up and looked around the house. “You managed to hide for almost seven weeks,” he said. “That’s pretty impressive. But I can’t go back to LA without some sort of answer from you. Are you done? Do you want to take this crazy offer about the comic movies?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Aubrey’s worried about you,” Adam said. “I won’t lie… she’s moved on. Sort of. With some guy that she only sort of likes, but he worships her.”

  “Good. You can tell her I’m safe.”

  “Can I convince you to come back with me? Right now. Tonight.”

  I almost told him to wait for me to pack up and make some calls. But then Mac’s face appeared in my head. In that moment, she was more important that a huge paycheck or comic book movies. I felt like I owed her something. But I didn’t want to try explaining that to Adam.

  “Give me a week,” I said. “I’ll call you. Can you sit on my discovery for that long?”

  He rolled his eyes at me and then finished his beer. “One week. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll shop the story around. You know how much the Daily Snark would pay to know where you are?”

  “I can imagine.”

  “One week,” he said, pointing gruffly at me.

  I nodded.

  “And please,” Adam said as he headed for the front door. “The next time I see you, let’s make sure that scruff is not a thing.

  It has to go.”

  I grinned at him and we shook hands at the door. He gave me a confused nod and then headed out into the night, for his car.

  I closed the door behind him and checked the time. It was just after ten o’ clock. I couldn’t help but wonder what Mac was up to. I ran my hand through my beard and then smiled nervously.

  “Yeah,” I said to the empty house. “Let’s make sure the scruff isn’t a thing anymore.”

  With that thought in mind, I dashed to the bathroom to retrieve my razor before I had time to change my mind.

  21—Mac

  I knew that it obviously wasn’t a good thing to want to get obliterated the moment I got home. I stared at the wine rack hard the moment I came in the door, wondering which one would provide the strongest kick. I wanted to get trashed, wanted to forget about the impossible things that had come out of Jack’s mouth at dinner.

  How was it even possible? My God, was this stupid rotten world really that small?

  I stormed to the wine rack and selected the first bottle my hand landed on. When I took the cork out with my opener, my hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped the bottle. I poured a glass (all the way to the top) and took a long, luxurious sip.

  But by the time I lowered it from my face, the tears had started.

  For one sickening moment, I thought I could see David standing in the kitchen with me. He looked sad, as if he wanted to comfort me. I had seen him like this several times since he’d died and it had never gotten any easier. I knew it was not a ghost or anything as cheesy as that; it was just my own way of trying to conjure him up in times of distress. After dad had died, David was all I had left.

  Then David had died… and
that had really been the end of it. I knew the deaths of those two very important men in my life had been the primary reason I had never been able to keep a relationship—not even a marriage. I’m sure there were deep-rooted reasons behind it that I wasn’t even about to try to uncover… especially not while drinking.

  Oddly enough, with the taste of the wine in my mouth, I decided that I actually didn’t want to drink. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to try to make sense of the rage and sense of betrayal I felt at Jack. I was mad as hell at him but wasn’t sure as to why. Not really…

  I went to the computer and opened up my photos folder. I flipped through the slide show I had compiled of dad and David. When the first picture came around where David was in his combat fatigues, I almost lost it. Still, it was good to see his face—to see his smile, so much like my father’s.

  I sat in front of the computer for almost an hour, watching the slide show three times. After the third round, I closed the program and eyed the phone, thinking about calling Grandfather. This news about Jack’s connection to David was beyond huge, so I’d end up telling him anyway. But I decided to let it pass, to let the motion sort of sizzle away before I spoke to anyone else about it.

  I didn’t know what to do. A large part of me wanted to storm over to Jack’s right there and then to demand that he tell me more about David’s death and why he’d kept it from me—even if it had only been a day or so.

  But then there was another part of me that spoke up, smaller than the angry side, but still confident. It said: Seriously, girl. What the hell are you so mad at him for?

  It was a good question, but not one that my anger would let me properly dissect.

  To pass the time, I straightened up the living room, did a load of laundry, and put on some music. An hour or so later, I plopped back down in front of the computer to check my e-mail. As I typed in my log-in information, I saw glimpses of the day’s news headlines: more turmoil in the Middle East, some sports guy got drunk, Miley Cyrus did something stupid, Devlin Stone was still missing, there was a huge financial mess in DC, there was a—

  I stopped skimming, my eyes catching on one of the small thumbnail pictures in the headline feed. The headline beside it annoyed me to no end: Seven Weeks Later, Still No Clues on Devlin Stone’s Whereabouts.