Page 152 of The Redheads
“You are. All of you are.” He walked to the window and looked outside to where the light shone through the window.
I took a bite of the cereal. “Where am I?”
“Idaho. My house. I’m almost never here, but it’s mine.” He shook his head. “We have to talk about what to do with you now. Eat your cereal. Drink your coffee, then we’ll work it out.”
I did as he directed because I needed food. Still, I had barely gotten any down when I just couldn’t eat anymore. My stomach twisted in knots. Maybe I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. Max didn’t believe he could love someone because of whatever shit he’d been through that he wouldn’t talk about. If I’d just hung on, maybe he would’ve come around. I groaned. No, that was how people got themselves in trouble—believing in what couldn’t be. If someone told you who they were, you were obligated to believe them.
He was an almost forty-year-old man. If he didn’t love me, I had to believe he knew what he was talking about.
Michael took my bowl and put it in the sink. “The day I had to leave Layla in France unprotected was the second worst day of my life, and I’ve had pretty big ones.”
I sipped my coffee. “I can wash my own dish.”
“Yes. Do that. I’m just leaving it in the sink.” He grinned at me. “I’m a little…compulsive when it comes to certain things.Dishes have to go in the sink when they’re done. We’re lucky if I don’t start clearing the table while everyone is still eating.”
That was a funny image. It made me grin. “Can I ask what the worst day was? Or is it one of those things you don’t talk about?”
He sat in the chair. “The day after Layla left with Zeke for Washington, I told Bridget how I feel about her. Then she left for Hong Kong.”
“What?” I practically shouted and almost fell off the stool.
He held up his hand. “I came to suspect you didn’t know. The secrets you keep from each other in this family could fill up my whole house. I tell you this because I want you to understand that I feel your pain. Not that I’ve felt it, but that I feel it. All the time.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “It hasn’t yet gotten better for me. It might never. But I’ve been able to live my life, and my concern is that locking you up to keep you safe is just going to make things so much worse.”
I was still trying to digest that A, he had confessed to Bridget and she’d run away, and that B, Michael had been walking around taking care of all of us in this mess in this amount of pain. What in the fuck was the matter with my sister? Who threw away that kind of love? Not to mention, I was downright convinced she’d been in love with him for forever too. I really needed a phone. Being out of touch was getting old.
“Should we throw me to the Russians and be done with it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But I’ve been considering how we can let you loose, with a discreet guard, and not keep you locked up. So that you can have a life, see a therapist.” He threw that one in there, and I supposed I could be upset if he hadn’t been absolutely correct in my need for one. His being around since I was sixteen gave him some rights to say things to me. “And find some happiness. Max is a moron. I mean, I really liked him. He had you, and he let you go. Idiot.”
I smiled. That was the kind of thing friends said, and right then, for the first time, Michael felt like my friend. We’d gone through gunfire together. Maybe that had opened some kind of door. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“If you could pick any place out of New York, where would you go?”
Good question. Max’s words about Portland and how that could have made him close but not too close to his family resonated with me. “I’d like to be able to see Layla. See Noah grow up. Listen to Zeke go on about the wine. I’d prefer to do so without having to live with them, but they are really remote. I need…I need to go back to school. Get some kind of certificate to go with my degree, so that I can do something other than live off my reputation. Maybe raise money for organizations that help people? Not just the very rich amusing themselves. Meet people.”
“And that would be where?” He asked the question, raising his eyebrows like he already knew the answer.
“Seattle.” It occurred to me that I’d known the answer this whole time. Of course I should go to Seattle. I loved Seattle. It was a really fantastic city.
“That would work, if you’re willing to do the hard part.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
“You’re too recognizable. Hope Radford is wanted by the Russian mob, so Hope Radford has to disappear. Your middle name is Amelia. That was your great-grandmother.” Michael really knew quite a lot about us. “Her maiden name was West. Amelia West. She can go wherever she likes. I’m actually quite good at disappearing people, better at it than I should be. Paperwork can be altered easily, particularly when taking the name of a dead person who already had a social security number.”
My mouth fell open. “Wow. I…I guess I could go by Amelia.”
He nodded. Michael had really thought the situation through. “You can. There’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?” My tired brain struggled to keep up with him.
“The red hair. That is why people recognize you. Change your hair, and you can live a more normal life. With security quietly watching. The Russians will be dealt with. Soon. In the meantime, there is this. What do you think?”
I’d always been a redhead. I’d made a living from it. Matched my sisters. Stood out in public because, for some reason, it had garnered so much attention. It was also why I’d gotten stuck. Somehow, it had become my identity. Was it possible to leave Hope Radford in Maine? To leave behind the woman that had one-sidedly loved a man who couldn’t feel that way about her? Start over?
“Sure. Let’s do it.”
Michael touched my shoulder. “I can never get over how brave you are.”