Chapter 12, part 1.
She got home literally a minute before a silver Toyota pulled into the driveway. Alice didn't stop, opened the front door and strode through the dark hallway without flicking on the lights. She did not feel like talking to anyone, but Jake caught up with her on top of the stairs, before she could flee to her bedroom.
"Allie, what happened?" He asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.
She whirled around to face him and he took a step back, seeing her face.
"Why don't you ask Aaron?" She hissed fiercely.
"I did—but I don't understand, Allie, he meant well! He thought you'd like it—" He stopped, seeing her clench her teeth and fists.
"I have had it up to here with men thinking they know better than me what I like!" She shouted furiously.
"Men?" He asked, his eyebrows arched.
"Don't," she said, her voice back to the normal volume, though still hot. She put her hand up in a stop it gesture. "Just. Don't."
And she turned around, entered her room and slammed the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes, pulled the jeans off and threw it haphazardly onto the floor, and flung herself onto the bed. She lay there in the darkness, looking at the ceiling, concentrating on how wronged and betrayed she felt, stoking the fires of her indignation and fury. Already, a small, distant voice at the back of her head was saying that she had overreacted, that it hadn't really been that bad—but she stifled it and focused on the anger. Anger was good. It was real. And it pushed all the other feelings out of her mind, and after last night, she knew this to be a blessing.
She wasn't sure when she had drifted off to sleep, but she woke up a few hours later with a start, slick from sweat, her heart pounding. In her dream, she had been in a Jumper, hovering over Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C., looking at piles and piles of dead bodies, fetid, putrefying, all wearing cold weather clothes. She had been so close, she could see their faces, and she had realized with terror that they were all familiar: her mom, Jake, Aaron, Ike, Simon, Tobey, Alastar, Archer, Jennifer Keller, Hailey, General Carter, O'Neill, face after face after face, all of her family, friends and colleagues, every single one of them blue and purple, putrid, decomposing… Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered it. She flicked the nightlight on, hoping it would help dispel the sense of doom and terror that hung around her now, and looked at clock on the nightstand. It was five-twenty. Might as well get up.
She scrambled off the bed, realized she was still wearing the halter top and underwear from the night before and rolled her eyes at herself. This morning, after a few solid hours of sleep—the nightmare notwithstanding—she found her previous fury a tad melodramatic. The little voice that she managed to repress during the night was loud and clear now, making her feel embarrassed. Sure, Aaron went against her wishes—communicated very clearly, after all—but he did mean well, and he didn't deserve her histrionic reaction. She shook her head at herself, picked up her jeans and fished her phone out of the pocket.
There was one message.
I'm sorry. I fucked up.
It was time-stamped 2:34 AM. He couldn't sleep. It made her feel even worse.
Can we talk? She texted back. She hoped he wouldn't respond immediately—that would've meant he was still laying there awake…
He didn't and she put the phone on the desk with a sigh. Then she picked up her jeans and shoes, put them neatly into her carry-on suitcase, pulled a pair of old sweats from a closet, and changed into them.
It was still dark out when she was coming back from her run. With the bit of rest the four or five hours of sleep had given her, and the invigorating physical effort just now, she felt a little more centered and peaceful. Her personal black cloud was still there, hanging over her like a sword of Damocles, but at least it was not raining at the moment.
The house was still quiet as she reentered and went up the stairs to get a shower. This time she didn't permit herself to stay in for too long—California was still experiencing the driest period in recorded history, so she was trying to conserve water, something she hadn't needed to take under consideration back in Colorado. After she got out, she dried her hair and noted that she could already see a little bit of red roots showing under the brown and made a mental note to re-die it that night after she got home.
Dressed in casual black linen pants and a white tie sleeve top, she picked up her phone—still no messages—and came down to the kitchen. It was empty, but she could hear the shower going upstairs, meaning Jake was already up; mom usually slept a bit longer, since some of her meds made her a little drowsy.
She was halfway through preparing breakfast—she decided on Eggs Benedict—when Jake entered the room.
"Hey," he said cautiously, pausing in the door, as if he was afraid she would yell at him again.
"Good morning," she greeted him. "Five more minutes for breakfast. Can you grab the plates?"
"Sure, sure," he answered, visibly relieved at her pleasant demeanor, and got busy setting up the table. A few minutes later they both sat down to eat. They were quiet for a while, and then Alice sighed.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday," she apologized. "Not my finest moment."
He shook his head. "It's okay, Allie. I get it. You were upset, it happens."
"I was angry and in a full blown melodrama mode, and you were just… there. It was not okay."
"Don't worry about it."
She nodded and for a moment they continued in silence.
"Aren't you gonna tell me I should go see a therapist or something?" She asked eventually, not looking at him, as if her egg was much more interesting. "Aaron's been bugging me about it for a while…"
"No." The curtness of his answer made her look up at him. He saw the question in her eyes and he elaborated: "If someone told me to see a shrink a few months after Robert's death, I wouldn't have listened anyway. I had to come to terms with it myself. You do what you gotta do to deal with a loss like that."
She blinked quickly. "You dealt with it better than I do," she admitted hesitatingly. Talking about it was hard—even with her own brother. Or perhaps even more so with him.
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know. I took off, driving anywhere without clear purpose, ignored my phone blowing up with calls and messages, and ended up at his funeral."
She dropped her gaze. "I didn't even go to Karim's memorial service," she murmured. She had been too much of a coward. And then she had a chance to redeem herself when she was in London—but she chickened out, too, and ended up drinking herself senseless instead.
He sighed. "Everyone deals with loss differently. Don't beat yourself up over it."
She huffed. "Easier said than done."
"Yeah."
She lost her appetite. She pushed the plate away from her and reached out for orange juice.
"Are you gonna talk to Aaron?" Jake asked after a moment.
"I hope so." She checked her phone, but there was still nothing. "I texted him, but haven't heard back."
"He said he'd be up in his new house today, he's gotta accept a delivery of something," Jake remembered. "What was it? Something to do with the yard…"
"On a Sunday?"
"Yeah, don't ask me, rich people and their frivolous notions…"
She cocked her head to the side. "Well, if he has to be there, it's probably not his own notion, but the delivery company's. Either way, odd."
He shrugged.
"Did you already go for a run?" He changed the subject.
"Yeah, I always go before breakfast. Why?"
"Nothing. I just—I feel like I'm petrifying. The doctors say I can't do any strenuous physical activity yet, but it feels like all my joints are going stale. I just wish I could go for a run myself, I guess."
She smiled reassuringly. "It's gonna get better soon—in a few weeks you're gonna be able to start doing some light activity. Maybe try yoga?" She raised one eyebrow.
He rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure."
"It would relax you, too. Or get a puppy, I hear that helps, too," she continued to tease him lightly.
"I don't need relaxing, you do," he retorted. "Come to think of it, where was Chappy yesterday?"
"Outside, probably. Sarah doesn't like him, remember?" Alice shook her head.
He looked up at the ceiling. "There must be something wrong with a person who hates dogs and kids."
"Oi, I'm sure she doesn't hate kids. Or at least, not her own."
"I dunno. Have you seen her interact with Ike at least once during the entire evening?"
"No," she had to concede the point. "I think the problem is that she's got a different set of priorities. I'm sure she loves her son, and I'm sure she's a good mom to him, she just doesn't put mothering as high on the list as other things."
"That's somehow even worse."
"Is it?" She shook her head slightly. "Try to flip the situation. How many fathers have you seen who prioritize their work or hobbies or relationships over their kids?" She paused, seeing a frown appearing on his forehead. "In our society we take it as a given that the mother should always take care of the children; she's the one burdened with constant surveillance, running around the kids, preparing food for them, giving them baths, putting them to sleep, playing with them, helping with homework, everything—even as the father sits in his armchair reading the proverbial newspaper. We see it as normal because that's how we've been brought up, and that model is still everywhere. It's starting to change, younger couples are working up better models, splitting the chores and caring for their children in a more equal manner, but that's not yet the social norm. So if you see a woman who's not fitting into that old-fashioned mother-hen stereotype, it's jarring to you, even though her behavior isn't much different from that of the stereotypical absent dad."
He mulled over it for a few seconds and then nodded. "I think you're right about these stereotypes and perceptions—but see, the thing is, they're wrong no matter which parent is taking which role. In Aaron and Sarah's relationship, it may be reversed, but it's still an unequal division of child-caring labor."
She cocked her head. "You're not wrong," she allowed. "I think—" She stopped as her phone on the table vibrated. She quickly picked it up to read the message.
I'd love to. I'm at the Bel Air house today, but I can come down to Cerritos around one-ish?
She pondered it a moment and then texted back.
I have a flight at 2:30 PM. How about I come up to Bel Air around 11?
The answer came immediately.
Sounds great.
She exhaled with relief and checked the time. It was almost eight, so she still had about two hours to spend with Jake and mom before she would have to get going. And, as if on cue, Eileen appeared in the kitchen, greeting them lightly, and Alice sprung up to help prepare breakfast for her.
Mom didn't ask about Alice's display of anger, but it was clear that she and Jake had discussed it yesterday, and Alice was sure Jake would fill mom in as soon as they were alone. Nevertheless, after breakfast, mom pulled her into the living room and hesitatingly showed the little heap of presents they'd brought with them from Aaron's last night—Alice had left them behind; carrying a bag full of packages would have cramped her style as she'd stormed off.
Alice sighed, but, for mom's sake, she didn't make a fuss. They spent the next hour looking over all the gifts. Most of them were insignificant trinkets one would give an acquaintance they don't know very well—scented candles, fancy soaps, sweets, and mugs; but there were a few that betrayed some thought and preparation. Ian and Curtis must have coordinated, because one of them gave her a heating pad, and the other—a cooling pillow. Zach and Chiyo presented her with a beautiful and detailed model of Vostok-6, complete with the launching pad and a tiny figurine of Valentina Tereshkova—the first woman in space—waving from the ramp. Mom gifted her one of her own creations: a 20 by 24 inches oil painting of an astronomical observatory on top of a mountain, on the backdrop of an astounding multitude of stars on a night sky, forming the Milky Way. Jake decided to go in a more practical direction and gave her a tiny but very sharp knife in a flat holster that could easily be fastened to one's forearm and concealed beneath a sleeve—and should not be seen even if that sleeve was of a fitted leather jacket.
"It's faster to use than an ankle holster," he explained quietly while mom was distracted with something else. "The extra few seconds needed to get down to pull it out could mean the difference between life and death. You're an annoying little git but I'm still kinda fond of you so I thought you could use a little help out there."
Alice rolled her eyes at the annoying little git, but thanked him warmly—he was not wrong about her needing all the help she could get. The holster was made from supple leather lined with soft cotton on the side that connected to the skin to avoid irritation; both it and the knife were devoid of any markings and looked like something a space hustler could wear.
And then there was Aaron's gift: a very fine bracelet of white gold studded with tiny alternating diamonds and emeralds. Alice didn't even want to guess how much it must have cost; it was definitely beautiful: tasteful, small and subtly scintillating in the light, it had none of the gaudiness of costume jewelry or ostentatiousness of adornments of the one-percenters. Still, Alice had a hard time figuring out an occasion she could wear it to—except maybe another one of Aaron's parties. If she had to be honest with herself, she had to admit she felt uncomfortable with this gift: it seemed excessive, even for someone as loaded as Aaron.
Alice said goodbye to Jake and mom a little after ten—she was going to drive down to LAX directly from Aaron's. Traffic on this Sunday morning wasn't too bad and she made it on time. She parked on the curb because the driveway was taken up by a white truck bearing a logo that said Bel Air Security Systems. A driver sat in the cabin and eyed her suspiciously as she walked up to the front door and ringed the bell. It took a few minutes before the door opened and Aaron stood on the threshold.
"Hi," he breathed anxiously.
"Hi," she replied with an equal measure of apprehension.
"Come in." He stepped back invitingly and led her inside, through a short corridor that opened on a large empty room; what few walls it had were white, but most of it was glass, from floor to ceiling, at least on the side that overlooked the hills of the Santa Monica Mountains. There were two light, flimsy-looking staircases, one leading down and the other up, and a kitchen on a farther wall, and that was all.
"Where's all the stuff?" Alice asked, surprised. "The kitchen, the table, the sofas…?"
He laughed nervously. "You're referring to these photos I'd sent?" He shook his head, walking across the room towards the big glass door. "Those were merely visualizations. Realtors do that, they hire interior decorators to create realistic designs so that it's easier to sell the place—but you buy the house empty, so you gotta furnish it yourself. Frankly, I can't be bothered all that much, so I hired an interior designer of my own."
Alice followed him outside, onto a deck that ended with a rectangular pool, divided into two parts, where the smaller one was shallower and had underwater marble benches. Beyond, she saw the tops of the hills coming down towards the left, where she knew the main Los Angeles lay—though it was not visible, hidden by a patch of dense vegetation at the edge of the lot. It gave a sense of privacy, Alice knew not how real.
Beneath the deck there was another terrace, going further out, like a lower step of a stair; and below that, the terrain dropped rapidly, reminding her that they were, too, on the slope of a hill. A dozen yards or so down, there was a green chain link fence; in one corner, three men in blue overalls were crowded, a hole dug in the ground just inside the perimeter, and they were trying to put a long pole into it.
"What are they doing?" She pointed at the struggling group.
"Installing security cameras." He shrugged. "That's why I'm here today, they've been working since early morning, installing an alarm and cameras all over the place."
"On a Sunday?" She frowned.
"They're booked all the way to mid-October," he complained. "I paid extra so they'd come earlier, and today was the only time they could make it."
"Oh." She wondered why Aaron needed such elaborate security measures, but then she thought about the huge house and how much stuff would be in it, and had to admit this wasn't the worst idea.
They stood a few paces away from the pool, both looking out at the hills. Presently, Aaron turned to Alice and sighed.
"Allie," he began, and hesitated. She took a deep breath and faced him as well. "I'm so sorry. You were right yesterday. You'd told me, in no uncertain terms, that you didn't want a party. I didn't listen. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn't. I made it about myself and not what you wanted. I apologize. I screwed up."
"Yeah, you did," Alice agreed. "But… so did I. I had a right to be upset, but you did not deserve that pitiful display."
"No, Allie, you were completely in the right, and I—" He stopped seeing her raised hand.
"It's been a difficult week," she continued as if he didn't interrupt her. "I was tired and upset about other things. I transferred those feelings into this situation because… well because being angry at you was easier than dealing with these other emotions. And for that, I am sorry."
"There is absolutely no need for you to apologize." He shook his head vehemently. "I was the jackass who ignored your wishes."
"I know your motives were pure." The corner of her mouth twitched in a short-lived half-smile. "You should've listened to me, but I appreciate your good intentions."
"Does that mean you forgive me?" He looked genuinely apprehensive.
"Yeah, of course."
He exhaled loudly. "Thank god!"
She smirked. "I can't stay mad at you for long."
"I wouldn't know—I don't think we've ever had a—disagreement like this before."
She frowned slightly. "You know, I think you're right. We've never had a single real fight." She paused, and then added with feigned nonchalance: "I guess there's a first time for everything."
"I hope it's the last time, too," he wished fervently.
She smiled sweetly. "I hope so, too."
His returning grin was very bright. "When do you need to leave for the airport?"
She checked her watch. "I have a fair bit of time still."
"Wanna see the rest of the house?" He seemed excited.
"Sure," she agreed.
It took them half an hour to go through almost every room; in each, Aaron would stop and describe its intended purpose, sometimes also his vision for how to furnish or decorate it. Alice noted that there seemed to be a lot of places that didn't seem to serve any particular purpose—they were only there to provide a wide open space for couches and armchairs. This house was clearly built as a bachelor pad for someone who liked to entertain guests. Alice had a hard time seeing it as a family home for a child, even after Aaron showed her Ike's bedroom and an adjoining playroom. Both were just across the hall from the master bedroom, where Aaron took her next.
"The bed will be here," he gestured to one side of the room. "I kinda love the idea of waking up to this view…" And he walked over to the opposite wall, which was all glass and had a wide double door, also glass. He opened it and led her onto a wide balcony. It was facing south-southwest, and it was also on the last floor of the building, which together meant that it overlooked Santa Monica down below; above, a thin line of deep blue of the bay merged with the sky on the horizon. "Though it gets most beautiful when the sun sets," Aaron added dreamily.
Alice leaned on the balcony railing, inhaling the pure air—or, at least, much purer than in the city below. "Yeah, it's nice. I can understand why you wanted this property."
"There are nicer ones," he acknowledged. "But they're a little out of my price range."
She shook her head, baffled once again at the incongruity of her oldest friend being so wealthy. "This one seems quite enough. Have you shown it to Ike yet?"
"No, I don't want to confuse him. I'll start bringing him here when it's a little more furnished."
She nodded. "Sounds like a smart move."
"Yeah." He looked out at the vista, but the side of his face she could see looked troubled.
"What is it?"
He sighed. "I'm just having problems coming to an agreement with Sarah," he confessed darkly. "She wants an arrangement where she gets Ike anytime she's in L.A., and I'd get him all the times she isn't."
"That sounds hardly fair."
"She's away so much lately that she feels entitled to all of his time when she comes back."
"That didn't seem to be the case yesterday," Alice noted, remembering the morning conversation with Jake.
"Oh, no, not when her friends are around," he agreed with a grimace. "You know, essentially, she wants to treat me like a glorified nanny." The frustration in his voice was almost palpable. "Like today. She knew full well I needed to get here early, but it was still me who had to dress Ike, give him breakfast and make sure he had everything he needed for today's trip—she took him to the zoo," he explained bitterly. "She wants all the fun but none of the responsibility!"
Alice stepped closer and put her hand on his shoulder delicately. He shivered under her touch and turned to face her. "It's going to have to change now," she told him in a serious tone. "You're no longer going to live together, which means you won't be there to do all these things for her. She's gonna have to learn."
"That's terrifying."
"I know," Alice acknowledged. "But she is his mom—that fact is never gonna change. I am sure she loves him and wants what's best for him. She may not be the mother-hen type we both grew up with and see as the epitome of motherhood, but that doesn't mean Sarah's a bad mom. She will learn."
He exhaled loudly. "Why do you always take her side?"
She smiled a little. "I don't. I don't think it's helpful to think of you as opposing sides, it's not a war. It's just that you're locked in this relationship that's already hurt you both, so you react with hostility and blame—but really, you're both good people, and you care about each other, and you both love Ike and want the best for him. So, I'm trying to give you a little bit of outside perspective so you may see her not as an adversary, but as a teammate working towards a common goal."
He didn't reply at once, but instead looked back at the view, mulling over her words. "Damn," he murmured eventually. "You're good. Maybe you're right that you don't need a therapist—you could become one."
She rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she said, pivoting back to the original point. "I think you should try to put yourself in her shoes. Let's say Ike stays with Sarah and you go on a world tour. When you get back, wouldn't you like some uninterrupted time with him?"
He shook his head infinitesimally, but his words belied the gesture. "Yeah, I would. Okay, I see your point—but I still don't see how to solve the main issue…"
"It's not gonna be easy." Alice nodded. "You're gonna have to make some concessions. But it's important, so—I guess, just talk to her like you want to solve a problem, and not get the most you can out of it. And be flexible in your thinking. Maybe, for example, if she's back for less than a month, she gets Ike on weekdays and you get weekends, but if she stays longer, you start alternating?"
"I don't want her to have him twenty days out of thirty!" He protested, looking down at Alice with indignation.
She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "That's exactly the attitude that'll get you nowhere. Aaron, she's his mom. She has a right to see her son. And as long as she's not actually hurting him, you cannot withhold that right from her."
He puffed with frustration, looked away and was quiet for a moment. "Alright," he said finally, his tone still irritated. "Alright! You make good points and… well, it's not actually a bad plan, what you've suggested. I'm gonna think about it some more and then try to talk to Sarah—like a partner, not an enemy."
She smiled. "Good. That's very good. I'm proud of you."
He scoffed, shook his head and threw her an amused glance. "Helping me through a crisis once again." Then he grew more serious. "I feel bad. I always come to you for advice, and you always come through for me—I feel like I can never do that for you, though."
She frowned. "That's not true. You've always been a great friend to me."
"Have I?" He shook his head again. "I keep babbling to you about Sarah and Ike, the house, my creative block and the band's ups and downs, pretty much everything—but you never tell me anything…" There was just a tiny bit of disappointment in his voice.
"I told you about my crazy ecstasy trip," she reminded him. "And… I don't know what would I do if you weren't there when I had my little meltdown…"
"That's different," he insisted.
"How?"
"It was… immediate. You were hungover, so we talked about it. You were—struggling, and I happened to be there. If I weren't, you wouldn't have told me."
She turned towards the view, fleeing from his penetrating eyes.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
She bit her lip, unwilling to admit it—but also not wanting to lie.
"Yeah, exactly," he said, as if her silence was answer enough—and she supposed it was.
She exhaled, looking down, at the balcony railing she was leaning on. "I wouldn't have told you because I'm ashamed," she confessed, her voice so low it was a wonder he heard it.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of," he assured her quickly. "But even if… I mean, Allie, if that's how you feel, I want to know that to. If only so I can protest." He paused and then added quietly: "You don't think I feel embarrassed by the whole thing with Sarah? That she treats me like I'm not man enough because I care about our son?"
She looked up at him. "Aaron—"
He put his hand over hers on the railing. "No. We're not talking about me right now. My point is that I tell you all of this because I trust you. I only wish you could trust me enough to be open with me, too."
His words cut deep holes in her heart, and her next words came out a little choked: "I trust you, Aaron, I do, more than anyone—it's just…" She hesitated and forced herself to push through: "My life is made of secrets. There are some I keep—things I've seen, things I know about, that I can't tell literally anyone—not even my superiors—and I wish so much—" She stopped, unsure how to continue.
He smiled sorrowfully. "Is everything in your life about your work?"
She looked down, at their hands, his still covering hers. "Most things are," she admitted.
He sighed. "Okay." The disappointed undertone was even more audible in his voice now, and it made Alice's heart ache almost with a physical pain.
They fell silent for a long moment after that, not looking at each other. Alice was thinking how she was letting all her friends down lately—first Deanna and now Aaron… but she couldn't really see another way. She peeked at Aaron from beneath her eyelashes and was struck with how forlorn he looked, staring out into the distance—and her heart constricted again. She had to do something.
"Actually," she began hesitatingly. "There is one thing I could use some perspective on."
He turned his whole body towards her, as if he wanted to underline that he was listening attentively, his hand finally letting go of hers. "I am all ears."
She took a deep breath. "This also involves a secret that is not mine to share, so I'll have to be pretty vague… but riddle me this: what would you do if someone you consider a close friend expressed feelings for you? Romantic feelings," she clarified quickly.
"Uhm…" He looked befuddled by the question. "I, uh…"
"Has something like this ever happened to you?"
"Uh, no, I can't say that it has." He shook his head, his expression still oddly stunned.
"Really? No-one has ever expressed unrequited love to you?" She raised her eyebrows. "I find that hard to believe."
"Well, no-one I'd consider a friend," he specified.
"Right." She sighed. "I haven't know this person for a long time," she elaborated. "But I love them like a sibling—nothing more… so it was a bit of a shock to me when they told me. And now—now it's just weird between us. They say they still want to be friends, but how can we be, when I know how they feel?" She shook her head.
Aaron cocked his head to the side, his face clearing up now. "They actually told you they still want to be friends?"
"Yes. But it's so awkward—I've been avoiding them all week, and they sort of called me on it on Friday and asked me point blank if I didn't change my mind on being friends—and I had no clue what to say. I do want them as my friend, but I don't want to hurt them…" She shook her head. "What do you think?"
He looked pensive for a moment. "Well, Allie, I think—you've already hurt them. There was no fault of yours in it, but you broke their heart. Unless you're prepared to change your mind, there's nothing you can do to take it back. You really have only two choices here: you can either cut them from your life altogether, or… you can do what they ask and be friends. And if that's your decision, you gotta know it's gonna be uncomfortable, and you just need to sit with it—knowing that it is not your job to police their feelings."
She felt a crease appearing on her forehead. "I'm not sure if I understand what you mean."
"They're their feelings," he explained. "You've made yours pretty clear when you said no. There's nothing else you can do except let them deal with their feelings. It's not your responsibility."
"So I'm just supposed to ignore it, act like nothing happened?"
"No, not ignore—but move on. Give your friend time to figure things out. If they decide it hurts too much, they'll tell you—with words or actions, but you'll know. But, hopefully, they'll find a way to get over the disappointment and really be just friends."
Still frowning, she nodded, pondering his words. What he was saying made sense—she just didn't know how to do it in practice. She remained silent for a long while and he didn't interrupt her quiet meditation. Before either of them spoke, there was a knock on the open door to the master bedroom and one of the guys they'd seen earlier installing a camera pole stood on the threshold.
"Excuse me, Mr. Starr, we're done."
"Great, I'm coming," he replied and then said to Alice: "You're okay to wait for a few minutes?"
She looked at her watch. "Sure. I still have some time before I have to leave for the airport." She only had her carry-on, so she didn't need to be there too early. She'd decided not to take some of her birthday gifts with her—they were too big for her small suitcase or wouldn't go through security (as in case of the knife). Instead, Jake was going to mail them by courier, paying extra to make sure the package would arrive in one piece—especially mom's painting.
Aaron left with the contractor and Alice spent the next few minutes just looking at the city down below them, still contemplating Aaron's advice. Then she decided to take the opportunity and went to the bathroom (bathrooms and kitchens—two of them—were the only things that were actually finished in the house, though not yet decorated), and eventually decided to explore what was on top of the stairs that led up from the floor she was on—she had thought it was the last one. It turned out to be correct, but there was also a flat rooftop that formed yet another observation deck, complete with a stainless steel grill and a kitchenette. The view from here accorded a much wider angle of observation—almost 360 degrees—and so she stayed there, moving from side to side to have a look at different parts of the vista.
She was just admiring a huge mansion on a hillside a few hundred feet below when she heard footsteps behind her and turned around.
"Here you are," Aaron said with a smile. "I thought I'd lost you."
"That's gonna be a recurring problem in this place," she noted with a smirk. "Security system all done?"
"Yep. All seems to be working." He nodded and joined her at the balustrade. "What were you looking at?"
"That villa over there." She pointed with her thumb, turning to lean on the railing as well. "Your house is huge, but that place is just ginormous."
"Yeah, but every time I've been here, it seems to be empty. Haven't seen anyone move around yet. Don't know who's supposed to live there."
"Maybe it's an actor who just happens to be away on location?" She wondered, but without real interest.
"Maybe."
For a moment they stood there in companionable silence, and Alice thought how nice it was to not be pressed to fill every second with words. She thought about Jake, Deanna, Cooper or Archer—all people with a positive, sunny disposition (though sometimes with a teasing twist, like Jake and Archer), and all she considered friends; none of them could stand much silence, making their presence tiring in the long term. She needed to take breaks from them—even Jake, who was relatively better at shutting up than the rest of them. But she's never felt that way about Aaron, and she thought it was because he didn't demand attention all the time.
She peeked at him from under her lashes, studying his profile. Long lashes and features too delicate for what the society would deem an example of male stereotype of beauty; brown hair pulled in a ponytail on the nape of his neck and eyes in almost the same exact shade, but with specks of amber visible only when one was really close; clean-shaven today, but even with a shadow of a beard, he could not be called overly masculine in appearance. And yet, she knew, thousands—if not millions—women swooned over him all over the world. Part of it was surely his singing voice—a bit raspier baritone than how he normally spoke—but another part was that something elusive in the way he moved, his expressive face, his honest, warm eyes. It was magnetic and came through even in pictures and videos, though to a lesser degree than in person.
Alice was used to it, of course. This September marked twenty-seven years that they'd known each other. And all through that, the ups and downs of life, and even after they'd taken widely different paths, they kept in regular contact and they were always there for each other. Alice thought of all the times Aaron had come through for her in various ways: giving her a sense of belonging at school when she felt like an outsider; comforting her after her dad died; celebrating all of her important milestones—college graduation, commission to officer, getting a PhD, being promoted… he always believed in her even when she didn't—like that time after she had killed for the first time, or when she didn't think she would be able to get back to work after hurting her shoulder; he listened to her embarrassed story about Espinoza and let her vent when her short-lived relationship with Peter, a fellow PhD student at AFIT, went up in flames; and then, the way he literally—or so it seemed—held her soul in place until she calmed enough to start feeling real again… He was really an amazing friend. She didn't deserve him—but the thought of him leaving her life was too much to handle. So, she reasoned, as long as he wanted to be part of it, she would let him—and try not to hurt or disappoint him in the process.
Most of her life was sealed up in secrets—but not all of it. And, she figured, if there was something she could tell him—she should. Because he asked, and because he deserved to know. No matter how embarrassing it was.
"So I went to London for the first time recently," she said hesitatingly after a long silence.
He looked down at her. "Really? When?"
"Late July. It was on orders—I had to give a briefing to someone. The United Kingdom is a close ally and we cooperate a lot," she explained, seeing his raised eyebrows. "I flew a redeye there, walked around a bit, delivered my briefing, got drunk in an English pub and went home the next morning."
"That sounds nice. How'd you like London?"
"It was really cool. I loved the feeling of history that surround you there—it was very similar to Paris in some respects. Though it was also extremely crowded—I was there just before the Olympics started."
"I can imagine," he agreed with a smirk. "It was always crowded every time I've been there—and there was no Olympiad at the time." He paused and then asked: "How did you like a real English pub?"
"I can't really remember much of it," she admitted sheepishly, saw his surprised expression, and sighed. "You know I lost someone recently. A… boyfriend, you could say, though that word doesn't really seem appropriate." Aaron's eyes became softer, full of compassion—but to her it looked too much like pity, so she looked away, leaning on the railing. "His name was Basil. He was British. We worked together."
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and kind.
"I didn't go to his memorial service. I couldn't. But I know his father still lives in London, so when I was there, I decided to go, ask him where is Basil's grave… His body was never recovered so they buried an empty casket but I thought—I could still pay my respects, you know? I got to his father's door and almost knocked before I chickened out and fled." She paused, but Aaron didn't interrupt this time. "And so I found myself in a random pub, ordering Vodka Martinis like there was no tomorrow. I just… I just wanted to stop feeling for a moment."
From the corner of her eye she saw him make a move like he wanted to touch her, but he stopped himself.
"Some guy sat down next to me and we started talking," she continued quickly, eager to move off the difficult subject. "And I kept drinking until… well, I can't exactly remember. I blacked out." She exhaled with frustration at herself. "I was very lucky. He turned out to be ex-RAF—British Air Force. He took me home and let me sleep it off. Made me breakfast and coffee in the morning." She shook her head. "I didn't deserve such kindness. Good guy."
"God, Allie." Aaron's voice was exasperated, concerned and relieved all at the same time. "You could've been hurt…"
"Trust me, I know. I've had more luck than sense. At least then."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She looked at him for a moment—his face was scrunched in a deep frown—and then glanced back at the vista before them. The sun was high up, its relentless rays making it feel even hotter than it already was; maybe that was why she was suddenly sweating. Though, deep down, she knew it was only part of it.
She took a deep breath and told him the Cho story. He didn't interrupt her other than with some indefinite angry noises, and she peeked at him a few times to ascertain his reaction, but otherwise she kept her eyes on the hills in front of her or the wooden railing she was leaning on. She spoke without much detail, and ended with a short description of her testimony at the court-martial.
"Tomorrow I'm going back to watch the closing arguments and see if there's a verdict," she finished. "I don't expect they will find him guilty. Most of the military is still all about boys will be boys and all that crap. The conviction rate in sexual assault cases is laughably small—like three or four percent."
He didn't answer for a long moment, so she finally looked up at him. His face was contorted in a weird way—suppressed rage, she figured. He was staring into space, gripping the railing so hard the knuckled on his hands turned white.
"Aaron?"
"I could kill him," he wheezed through clenched teeth. "Can I kill him, please?"
She scoffed. "No. I don't want you to end up in jail. Hey." She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder gently. "It's okay. Nothing's happened."
"Nothing?!" He shook his head violently, unglued his hands from the balustrade and turned to her fully. "Allie, what he did to you… what he tried to do…" He grunted. "He hurt you!"
"He didn't. I mean, yeah, he punched me and stuff, but it was nothing."
"I don't mean just physically." He exhaled loudly, trying to regain control over himself. Alice had never seen him this shaken.
"I've been through worse," she answered without thinking and immediately bit her tongue. This was not the way to calm him down.
But it deflated him. "Allie, I—I'm so sorry," he murmured helplessly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You already have," she assured him, smiling encouragingly. "And I'm fine, really."
He took an uneven breath. "I know you're not. I mean, I can see it—you're struggling, more than you are willing to admit even to yourself. And I don't blame you—with the kind of loss you've suffered, and this, and whatever is there that's even worse…" He didn't finish his thought. "I want to help."
She shook her head a little. "You can't." And then she sighed and added: "Unless you can turn back time."
"I'm afraid not." He looked a little defeated. "Allie—"
"I'm fine," she repeated the lie. "Really."
He looked down at his hands, balled up into fists. He relaxed them with difficulty. "I really wanna punch that Army punk."
"He'd kick your ass." Alice rolled her eyes.
"I don't care."
She touched his shoulder again and when he looked at her, she stepped up and hugged him close. He was over eight inches taller than her, which meant that her head was on his chest and her arms around his back, but he enfolded her in his, too; and they stood there like this for a couple minutes, until she felt his tense muscles relax under her embrace. Then she stepped back.
"I don't need a savior," she told him in a serious tone. "I can deal with it on my own."
"Then what can I do?"
"Just be there for me?" Her voice was a lot smaller than she wanted it to be.
He closed the distance and hugged her to his chest again. It felt nice—it made her feel safe, for some reason. Probably because it reminded her of the last time he held her in his arms like this, helping her get through a dissociative episode.
"Always, Allie. Always."
They remained linked in an embrace for a long moment, until finally Alice sighed, disentangled herself from his hold, and looked at her watch. "It's time for me to go. Can't be late for my flight."
He nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I'll walk you out."
But they didn't talk all the way down. He accompanied her outside and to her car, too.
"Allie—" he began as they stood at the curb.
"I know." She shook her head. And then added impulsively: "Thank you."
He smiled crookedly. "Not that I've done anything."
"You've done a lot," she assured him, returning his smile. "Bye, Aaron."
"Bye, Allie."
She got into her car and drove off; she could see him in the rearview mirror, standing there until the road turned and he disappeared from view.