Part 19

Her small condo is as she left it when she had business in London a year ago. A firm has taken care of it and always kept it stocked with food in the freezer and pantry, stuff that lasts a long time and are rotated out as soon as their expiration date goes out.

"A drink, you said. There's a fully stocked bar in the living room. Help yourself." Miranda reluctantly lets go of Andrea and turns to the alarm console on the wall just inside the door. She switches it back on. When she turns around, Andrea is still there. Standing motionless in the small hallway. "Are you all right?" Miranda closes her hands around Andrea's upper arms.

"I'm fine. Just trying to wrap my brain around what the hell you've gotten yourself into that makes people literally chase you through the streets." The words are accusatory, but Andrea's voice is soft, almost pensive.

"It's not something I did. It's what happened to me, and who I am," Miranda says starkly. "I don't know about you, but I need something to eat, and yes, a drink. Something strong."

"I'll make you something. I tended bar during my college years. I was pretty good." Andrea pulls off her coat and hangs it next to Miranda's.

"A Bloody Mary. There should be tomato juice in the pantry. Spices too."

"On it."

Miranda washes her hands under the kitchen faucet and then explore the freezer. She's quite used to frozen dinners and as Andrea opens the pantry door behind her, she pulls out a few different boxes. "Anything in particular you like?" She motions to the counter.

"Anything with chicken. Nothing with potatoes." Andrea disappears toward the living room, holding the items she found in the pantry.

Miranda places one box after the other in the micro and then plates the content on real china. They may be on the run, or in hiding, but they're not going to eat directly on a cardboard plate. Miranda sets a tray and enters the living room where there is a small, round table with three chairs. She's just done emptying the tray when Andrea brings their drinks.

"Bloody Mary for you and a gin and tonic for me." Andy sits down and takes a proper gulp of her drink. She coughs and clears her throat. "Now we're talking."

Miranda takes a sip and winces at how strong it is. "This…oh, dear…the lining in my stomach will never recover." Despite this statement, she drinks some more.

They eat in silence, both of them hungry, and Miranda is grateful for the reprieve. When they're finished, they move to the couch, and now it's entirely natural that Andrea curls up next to Miranda with her hand on her thigh. Miranda feels the warmth of the touch permeates her skin through the fabric of her black denim pants.

"You ready to tell me some more?" Andrea places her drink on a coaster on the small glass and metal coffee table.

"Yes." Not really, but Miranda reaches for her go-bag. She opens the zipper to the largest compartment and pulls out her ledger and her wallet. Her heart has begun to drum faster against her ribs. "Open mind, remember?"

"Absolutely." Andrea hasn't moved and looks more at Miranda than the large book.

"May I ask a favor?" Miranda feels ridiculous, and Andrea probably thinks that she's stalling. Perhaps she is. No. No she isn't.

"Sure."

"Kiss me?" Miranda leans in, stopping just one breath short of Andrea's lips.

Andrea doesn't answer, but wraps her arms around Miranda and pulls her close. She begins with small kisses just below Miranda's left ear. Then she creates a gently burning trail as she places kisses along Miranda's jaw, down to her chin. There she slowly nibbles her way up to Miranda's lips and after a few, ghastly long seconds, she claims Miranda's mouth with hers. "Part your lips, Miranda," she murmurs. "Let me in."

Andrea must know that she doesn't have to ask, and yet Miranda understand why she does. The request is hot and sexy, it makes Miranda want to give in fully, and Miranda complies eagerly. The kiss lingers, the intensity goes from fiery to tender and back again. Finally, Andrea pulls back, but the emotional heat just conveyed by her lips, now lives in her eyes.

Miranda draws a trembling breath, drinks from her Bloody Mary, and then pulls the ledger onto her lap. "I think it might be less confusing, if that's at all possible if you read through this with me."

Andrea shifts until they're sitting hip to hip. "Okay."

xxxxx

Miranda opens the large book, and the first page shows a ink drawing. The motif is of a small cabin among tall pine trees. Miranda runs her finger over the door to the cabin. "I drew this when I went home to attend my father's funeral. All the shadows you see in the windows are the mourners. My mother and sister are in there."

"But not you?" Andy leans closer as she can hear the forlorn tone in Miranda's voice.

"Only for a little while. I left the next day." Miranda turns the page. "Here are the names I've used over the years." She points to the list of names that each a followed by a set of numbers.

"Sarah, Mary, Elizabeth, Anna, Virginia, Tyra, Paula…Miranda…" Andy reads just as many surnames in another column, which of course ends with Priestly. "What are those numbers?" she asks, pointing to several sets of numbers next to each name.

"We'll go back to that. Now let me show you Rosalee's page." Miranda flips a few pages, and there it is. Rosalee McLeod. In her case there were seven names and the latest one was Vanessa de Claire. Miranda turns over one page and there is the name Iris Schmidt. Another set of seven names, but clearly this woman went back to using her original first name as that column says Iris as well.

Andy tries to fathom what this means, what the names and the numbers suggest, but she draws a blank. She glances at Miranda who is so pale now, her skin looks transparent. Andy takes her hand and it's ice cold. "Miranda? Why have the three of you changed names so often? This is not making sense."

"Three? Oh, right. Actually, there were nine of us, initially. All girls." Miranda takes a deep breath and squeezes Andy's hand so hard, it hurts. "You asked about the numbers. Well, when I show you how to interpret them, it'll make a weird sort of sense."

Andy waits for a few moments, but it is as if Miranda's eyes have become stuck on Iris's list of names. "Please."

Miranda flips back to the page with her names. "Here." She points to the first set of digits. "This is how long I waited until I changed names the first time. When Sarah became Mary."

Andy leans in farther to read. "That number? Fifty-two? What?" Her throat dries so fast, Andy can barely swallow. "You're fifty-one according to Wikipedia." Andy feels a blush creep up her cheeks.

"No, Andrea." Miranda raises her chin. "I was born in London, June 11, 1761."

xxxxx

Continued in part 20