Chapter Three
Bridget's POV:
Bridget got into the passenger side of the town car. Once she was settled Solomon put the car in gear and drove.
Bridget fiddled with her empty ring finger as she watched the house fade away in the distance, a tear trickled down her cheek. It hurt as much as she thought it would, maybe more. Andrew's kindness was unexpected, and in that moment, with his arms around her, she wanted time to stop. It made her yearn for more. The wrath she felt from him upon entering the house melded so smoothly into empathy that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to cry in the arms of the man who hated her. For those brief moments she allowed herself to hope that maybe he could forgive her and maybe they could be more. It only took a handful of words to shatter and dash her hope into a million tiny pieces.
"There is nothing you can say to make me change my mind. I want absolutely nothing to do with Siobhan; or you."
Those words cut like knives over, and over, until her heart bled itself dry. The house grew smaller, and Bridget let any hope she had diminish with the house.
Calmly, she dried her tears.
Finding Siobhan would become her mission. Making her sister face the consequences of her actions would be the last thing she did before she gave herself up to the cops and faced her own consequences.
Andrew's POV:
Days later Bridget's visit still haunted him, the pain in her eyes, the determination in her speech, the love, the confusion, the revelations, all of it. The uncertainty was killing him.
Tired from lack of sleep and restless dreams, he scrubbed his hands against his eyes. Through their gritty vision he watched the waves crash and rage against the shore. The day was overcast and dreary. It completely matched his mood. Indecision was not kind. He needed answers. In his mind the only thing left to do was hunt the answers down, and that meant searching for his wife, if for no other reason than to divorce her.
Full of resolve, he dropped his hands and strode to Juliet's room. The door was partially open, and she was lying on the bed listening to her iPod. A tear slipped from beneath her closed lids, and Andrew's heart ached.
Gently he sat on the side of her bed and held her hand. Startled, her eyes popped open. Embarrassed she wiped her cheeks dry and sat up. "Hi, daddy. Sorry I didn't hear you come in."
"That's okay. Are you all right, sweetheart?"
She nodded. "Sad song," she said, though he didn't believe her.
"What's up, daddy?"
"I was just coming in to tell you to pack. We are heading back to the city."
Excitement leapt into her eyes. "Are you going to talk to Bridget?" she asked.
"I'm going to find Siobhan."
"Siobhan? Why? We don't need her." Panicked, she knelt on the bed and gripped his hand. "Please, daddy, don't bring her back. I know you're mad at Bridget but please." Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't bring that woman back into our lives. I couldn't bear to go back to the way we were. Please."
"Oh, Juliet. Don't cry." He wiped her tears away with a sad smile. "I don't want to locate Siobhan to take her back. I want to find her so we can untangle the web of lies she has so intricately weaved and remove her from our lives, for good. I'm going to divorce her."
Juliet sat back on her heels. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She smiled brilliantly. "Now, that makes my day!" Suddenly her smile turned sly. "You know, dad, you should really get a hold of Bridget. After all, she is Siobhan's sister. She would be able to help you track down the traitorous bitch."
"Language, Juliet," he said.
"Daddy, come on, it's true. She is."
He couldn't argue with that. She really was.
"Are you going to ask Bridget for help?"
Andrew sighed. "Yes, I'm going to ask Bridget for help." He paused. "I'm going to need your help, too."
"Sure, daddy, anything."
He hoped his daughter meant it.
Bridget's POV:
Bridget sat back against the worn headboard in the shabby, but cheap, hotel room. She may still need to pretend to be Siobhan but she wasn't going to spend Andrew's money while she did it. Besides, after everything that went down, no one expected her to be in society. As far as the socialites of New York were concerned, she was out of town laying low.
She looked around and was amazed how 7 months of living on the Upper East Side could change her. A year ago she wouldn't have batted an eyelash at her surroundings. She cringed. Now was a different story.
The 70's décor screamed for a re-model with pea green carpet and horribly outdated wallpaper in yellow and cream. Calling the light fixtures "retro" would have been an insult to the word. She stared at the flowered comforter that sat in the corner of the room. She had thrown it there the day she checked in. It looked like it had been in the room since the hotel opened, and she shuddered to think of what stains lay hidden in the overly decorated bedding. The stale room itself held an underlying hint of body odor, and who knew what else.
She stared at her sock covered feet. There wasn't enough money in the world to convince her to walk around this room barefoot. Sighing she wiggled her toes and tried not to fret over her lack of progress in finding her sister.
She hadn't come any closer to locating Siobhan, and she was at a dead end. She needed to talk to Henry and find out exactly what alias Siobhan was using but he changed his number and left the city. She had no idea where to start looking for him.
Unfortunately, Solomon had gone back to work driving, as she could no longer pay him, so he was only able to help her on his time off, and there hadn't been a lot of that so she was doing a lot of the leg work herself, and it was very slow going.
She was so thankful for Solomon. He counted her as a friend, and because of that he was willing to help her without being paid. He was an amazing ally. It was too bad she didn't have more like him, though maybe that was a good thing. It was dangerous to be her friend. Just look at Malcolm. He helped her through it all, and now he was gone, maybe murdered because of her. Missing him made her heart ache.
Malcolm wouldn't want her to dwell on things she couldn't change. He would want her to move forward. So she would. She would find her sister so she could answer for all the pain she has caused. Only Bridget was stuck. She really wanted to hire a private investigator, but she couldn't afford it.
Solomon suggested she try to think like Siobhan. So, since discovering her sister was alive, she's been trying to think like her but getting inside her sister's head wasn't as easy as it used to be. When they were little they knew exactly what the other was thinking, which came in handy when they wanted to pretend to be the other. No one ever suspected when they switched, as it came so effortlessly to both of them, but now she couldn't seem to do it. Her sister wasn't her sister anymore. She was a stranger.
Siobhan's actions over the last year left Bridget feeling more lost and alone than ever. This woman Siobhan had become was not the girl Bridget used to know. It felt like she was losing her sister all over again.
A tear slipped down her cheek. Absently, she wiped it away. She hadn't cried this much since she woke in the hospital and found out Sean had died. Tucking her knees to her chest she wrapped her arms around her shins and pulled tight. She stared at the N.A. chip Malcolm had brought her. It sat under the light of the lamp like a life preserver, and she tried to hold on to it. Moments like this were the most difficult. The pain, confusion, and mistakes she had made over the last few years triggered a desire to forget, and it would be so easy to lose herself in drugs and alcohol but she fought back the desire.
"Mistakes aren't tragedies, but please higher power, help me learn from them," she whispered into the dimly lit room. The mantra helped pull her focus from drowning her sorrows, or snorting her pain.
Grabbing the remote she turned on the TV and aimlessly flipped through the channels. Over and over she went through the 10 available to her, and as usual there was nothing on. Frustrated she shut it off just as a knock sounded on the door.
Glancing at the clock on the bedside table it showed it was 3:00 p.m., and Solomon wasn't getting off until 5:00 p.m. He must have gotten done early.
Relieved to not be alone with her dire thoughts, she jumped off the bed and pulled the door open.
"Solomon, thank go…," shocked, her mouth fell open. It wasn't Solomon.
"Hello, Bridget."
Andrew stood with the afternoon light holding him in a halo. A black town car sat in front of the hotel its shiny surface and tinted windows a far cry from the much older vehicles parked near it. She searched his eyes for answers to his presence, but their enigmatic depths were silent as usual.
"Andrew," Bridget said. "What are you doing here?"
"My lawyers said you could be found at this…" He searched for the proper word.
"Dump?" Bridget supplied.
A smile twitched his lips. "I was going to say 'establishment', but I think your word is a bit more succinct."
Bridget shrugged, "It is what it is. Would you like to come in?"
Andrew looked past her and grimaced.
Bridget sighed. "Come on." She gestured him forward.
After shutting the door Bridget waved him to sit in one of two wooden chairs that surrounded a small circular table.
The chairs creaked and groaned after they sat. Andrew seemed to wait for his chair to hold the weight of his body before he spoke. "I'm here to ask for your help."
Bridget said nothing. She couldn't find words especially since his were the last ones she ever thought she would ever hear from him.
"I want to track down Siobhan. I've thought about hiring a private investigator, but I'd like this entire business to be known by as few people as possible. If the press were to find out it would be, not only a huge inconvenience, but it would be detrimental for Juliet. She has had a terrible year, and I want to shelter her from anymore storms."
"Of course, I agree. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
His eyes flickered, and Bridget sighed. "I know my promise doesn't mean much to you, but I do. I promise not to tell anyone who doesn't already know. This may be hard for you to believe, but I love Juliet, and I only want what is best for her and a full court press from the media is definitely not it."
Andrew nodded slowly. "I believe you."
Relief flooded her system.
"That being said I'd like to ask you one more favor."
"Okay," she said.
"I'd like you to move back to the apartment. You will stay in the guest bedroom and keep impersonating Siobhan. To the outside world I want it to seem like nothing is amiss. We will have reconciled, and to our friends we will be seeking counseling to try and make our marriage work. This way we can work on finding your sister together, and you can go through the apartment with a fine toothcomb looking for clues. She may have left something behind whether in the apartment or the loft. If we need to we can head to the Hampton's to look there, but I'd like to exhaust the potential hiding places here first."
Bridget stared at Andrew. He wanted her to move back in? After everything she put him through. The hope she thought she let go, sprang to life before she could stop it. Knock it off, Bridget. He only wants to find Siobhan. He has absolutely no interest in you like that. That didn't stop her traitorous heart from hoping.
"What do you say?"
"I can't."
Perplexed, he frowned. "Why not?"
"I won't do that to Juliet. She hates me and she has every right to. I refuse to live there and make her uncomfortable. She deserves to have a safe haven to call home, and living with me won't give her that." She smiled. "Don't worry. I'll still help you."
Andrew studied her face, and Bridget began to squirm.
"What?" she demanded.
"I'm trying to figure out your ploy in not agreeing to live at the apartment."
Bridget lifted her chin. "It isn't a ploy. I won't do that to Juliet."
"Don't worry about Juliet. It will be fine."
"I do worry about Juliet, and I would like to hear it from her that it would be fine."
"All right." He walked to the door, opened it, and waved to someone. A minute later Juliet's dark flowing locks appeared in her room.
"Ugh, Bridget, you're staying here?" She pulled off her Chanel sunglasses and looked around the room in disgust. "Ugh, you have to come home with us. No one should stay in a pit like this."
Bridget was completely taken aback.
"It's okay with you if I move back into the apartment?" She asked Juliet, incredulously.
Juliet looked at her, and the hope that sprang to life only moments ago was reflected in Juliet's stare.
"It is." Tentatively she walked forward, reached out and hugged Bridget. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was so mad when you told me the truth. I felt like you ruined our family. I didn't mean it."
Sobbing, Bridget pulled her closer. It was a miracle. The daughter in her heart forgave her. The darkness that seemed to settle over Bridget since the night of the vow renewal party lifted a bit, and the light finally warmed pieces of her.
Juliet's own tears fell on Bridget's shoulder, and soon they were laughing and crying while Andrew looked on. The moment was sweet and affirming until she looked at Andrew. His face was stoic though his eyes held suspicion in their depths.
Sobering, Bridget pulled back and brushed the hair from Juliet's face. They smiled.
"So, will you come home?" Juliet asked hopefully.
"Yes."
Juliet smiled and went to the open bag of clothes that Bridget never unpacked.
"I'll get your bathroom stuff, and then we can get you home." She took the bag in the bathroom. "Ugh, it's even worse in here," she called out before the sound of bottles being gathered could be heard.
"Thank you," Bridget said to Andrew. "I know this isn't easy for you."
He shrugged. "We all have the same goal. Find your sister and make her pay."
Bridget shivered at the ruthlessness in his voice.
Siobhan's POV:
Siobhan stared at her daughters as they slept in their shared crib, which sat in a shabby studio with dingy walls. Once again her mind tried to take in how far she had fallen. She was no longer Siobhan Martin, rich New York socialite, or Cora Farrel, physically abused socialite with hidden money, no, she was Rebecca Sheldrake, poor single mother of twin daughters. How had her life come to this?
She had planned every detail meticulously, and the plan had been going smoothly until Bridget. Bridget screwed it up; she always screwed it up. Since they were little Siobhan was always cleaning up after her sister, and how did her sister repay her? She turned her carefully laid plans into a disorganized mess.
Her daughters should be sleeping in perfectly matched white cribs in a decorated nursery filled with bright white walls and swirls of pink and purple throughout. Instead they slept in a second hand wooden crib in the living space of a studio apartment. The room was sparse and filled only with necessities. This was not the life she planned to have, but thanks to Bridget's meddling it was the one she was stuck with.
Tucking the blanket around Portia and Regan she promised them.
"I will get my old life back. You will have the nursery I dreamed of for you. You will have everything. Even if that means pretending to love Andrew, I will do it. I will get us back to the life we deserve." Siobhan's eyes sparked savagely with her words. "I promise."
Trailing her hand absently against the cribs railing Siobhan tried to figure out her next move. Telling Andrew she was alive, and had twins, was out of the question.
Suddenly, she smiled.
It was so simple. Bridget never would have told Andrew who she really was. No way, life was too sweet as Siobhan. She wouldn't dare jeopardize that. Didn't she fight like hell to hide Siobhan's affair with Henry, and hadn't she done everything possible to win Andrew and Juliet's affection.
The perfect plan was staring her right in the face. She would get rid of Bridget and resume her place as Andrew Martin's wife. After a short time she would convince him to adopt, and she would bring the girls home. It was the only way.
Piece by piece she constructed the elements of her plot to resume her life as Siobhan Martin. An unholy light lit her eyes when one obvious fact slowed her mind. The entire strategy hinged on one step. If it failed so did the plan.
She turned to the mirror that tilted negligently against the wall. Slowly, she strolled over and studied the reflection. Gently trailing her hand against the cold reflective surface she smiled with malice, while her eyes reflected an unsteady mind.
First, she needed to get back into the apartment and take the jewelry she failed to get when that psycho Bodaway tried to kill her thinking she was Bridget. Once she had those she could pawn them and use the money to bankroll the most important step of her plan. Completing that step was the only thing that stood between her, and the life she deserved. She grinned evilly.
Step one, get money.
Step two, kill Bridget.
Of course, killing Bridget hadn't been so easy. The bitch had an amazing ability to escape the Grim Reaper. Anger flared deep and dark in her heart. Others died instead. Innocents who didn't deserve it, like Sean, or Gemma. If Bridget hadn't killed Sean then Siobhan never would have had to hire John Delario, a.k.a Charlie Young, and he wouldn't have killed Gemma.
Rage filled her. Raising her fist, she smashed it into her reflection. She laughed as the image shattered. Startled by the noise, the twins began crying and Siobhan smiled at her raised fist. Blood flowed from her cut hand and dripped slowly to the floor. One by one the drops gathered into a neat puddle at her feet. Siobhan only smiled as she pictured Bridget lying in a pool of her own blood.
If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.