“Ah, now you look like a princess
and not a street waif! Are you hungry, my dear?” gushes my father. A hearty soup and bread are served. Wine is
poured. There is a file on the table with the official Robesson seal on the
front.
“Yes, I am,” I smile and
smooth down the giant bubble of a satin dress I have on. “Father, I have so many
questions.”
“I imagined you would. How
is your head?”
“Better, thank you.”
“Tomorrow evening we will
have a wonderful dinner party to welcome you home, with many guests and all
your favorite dishes. But for now, it’s just you and me and soup and bread.”
“Oh, let’s skip the party
for now. I really don’t feel much like a party. Maybe later.”
“Isabella? You never turn
down a reason to have a party. Your head must still be hurting. You must feel
unwell. Very well, I’ll postpone the festivities until you feel more like
yourself.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Tell me what you
remember, my dear.”
“I remember working for a
trucking company, in the office. I did some office work, but mostly worked out
truck routes, like shortest distance plus highest speed limit, miles per hour
times miles per gallon, lots of Math. It was a giant ever-changing puzzle with
many variables. I liked my work. I lived in a tiny, sparse apartment. I was all
by myself, Father. My co-workers were old, boring, married, forty-year old
people. There was no one my age, no one to talk to and laugh with. It was a
dull, lonely existence.”
“Yes, Bella, I hid you in
Demby, Ohio, the most remote, isolated place I could find.”
“Alone? You couldn’t send someone
with me? You stuck me in that cold, remote, dreary dirty, dust-hole all by
myself? How could you?”
“Our scientists said they could
dampen one signal, but two Robesson signals could have drawn our enemies
directly to you. Cora cried, pleaded, and begged to go with you, and Justin,
too. But I couldn’t. Why hide you and then attach a beacon signal to your back?
So, what happened after that?”
“A dull, boring, gray
life. I have no idea how long I was there, over a year, maybe two. One day was
just like another. Then one day I woke up in a private clinic in Tampa, Florida
with what I was told I had a memory loss caused by a virus. My head was aching.
When I was released, I went to my beautiful home, a condo on the beach. It was
like paradise. It was wonderful. And just when I thought my life couldn’t get
any better, I was kidnapped by some international terrorists, one named Werner.
They had me do some code breaking and encoding for them.”
My father nods as he
listens to me.
“Then we escaped. We jumped out of a window, we slid down an
awning, we ran down the street, and slipped into a little vintage clothing shop,
where we met a
very sweet older woman who
helped us find clothing to disguise us.”
“WE? Bella, who is ‘we’?”
“Me,” I fear telling my
father the truth, “and my husband, Jakson Blake.”
“Do you remember marrying
this man, this Jakson Blake?”
“Yes, Father, I do. It was
a lovely little ceremony on the beach with a few friends and some people from
work. My best friend Annette was my maid of honor. The weather was perfect. And
Jakson’s parents came in from London. Oh, they’re wonderful people, Father. It
was beautiful! I know that Jakson Blake is my husband,” she nodded.
“And what does this Jakson
Blake look like, daughter?”
“Tall, thin, dark hair,
dark eyes. An attractive man. Kind, funny, sweet.”
“How long has this man
been travelling with you as your husband?”
“I’m not really sure. A
year, a year and a half. Why?”
