1 3 7 – ZOË Read online

  “Amazing,” I said, impressed.

  “Not to change the subject, but the doctors think you’ll be able to go home soon.”

  I sat up, excited. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “I can’t wait. I know I’m getting stronger each day…I walked down the hall and back yesterday.”

  “That’s great!”

  “I just want to have a normal life again,” I confessed.

  “You will, princess. You will.”

  ***

  I was allowed to go home in late June. With the aid of a cane, I walked out of the hospital accompanied by my husband. He led me to a futuristic looking car with an opalescent paint job that reflected the manicured shrubs growing along the hospital’s entrance. The passenger door opened automatically as I approached. Michael helped me inside before letting himself into the driver’s seat. The reflective exterior of the car allowed for privacy, but the interior was see-through. I was reminded of the one-way mirrors used in police interrogation rooms. I found it rather disconcerting that I could see the road beneath my feet.

  “What is this stuff?” I asked, amazed.

  “A new material that is stronger than steel but much lighter. It’s also biodegradable,” he explained as he pushed a few buttons. The solar-powered car began to move forward silently without Michael’s hands on the wheel. “It’s programmed to take us home. Manual steering is optional. This car is a prototype and not available for sale yet.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “I own the company that makes them. I won’t release anything to the public that I haven’t tried and approved myself.”

  “Oh. Are all cars solar powered?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Impressive.”

  I turned to look out the window. Everything looked the same and yet different. I recognized some store fronts and buildings, but there were a lot of new things mixed with the old. People looked neater, sleeker and then I realized why.

  “There are no fat people,” I said, thinking aloud.

  Michael laughed. “I always appreciated your frankness.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be politically incorrect.”

  “You’re right, princess, there are no more fat people.” He paused. “Let me rephrase that. There are still people who are naturally larger, big boned or simply more voluptuous. There are no more morbidly obese people. Obesity as a life-threatening disease is a thing of the past.”

  As the car maneuvered itself through traffic, Michael explained the eradication of obesity via psychological treatments. I was disturbed to learn that people were subjected to daily sessions of mild ‘punishments’ akin to that of Pavlov’s dogs. When the addiction to food was broken, the obese person began to lose weight quickly.

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?” I asked.

  Michael shrugged. “It works. These people now lead a normal life, free from the dangers of premature diabetes and heart disease. No more obesity means a healthier population. A healthy nation is a strong nation.”

  “I suppose you have a point, but-”

  “Let’s not talk of diseases, princess,” he admonished gently. “I am so excited to finally get you out of that hospital and take you home.”

  I bit my tongue and smiled at him. Michael had informed me earlier that he had sold our former luxury townhome in Great Falls and built a new multi-million dollar estate. The car veered onto a quiet, sun dappled street lined with mature trees and eventually stopped at the end of a cul-de-sac. In front of us was a set of massive iron gates with a twenty foot high brick wall stretching out in each direction.

  “Home sweet home,” Michael said with forced cheerfulness.

  Seems more like a prison. I looked at him and smiled.

  “All the homes in the area have been outfitted with the latest in security systems. The outer walls are actually made of steel with laser sensors if anyone tries to breach them. I paid professional masons to give them a cosmetic facelift because I know how much you like the look of old bricks. Don’t worry, princess, you’ll be safe here.”

  I couldn’t help but frown at his words. Why would I have to worry about my safety? My thoughts dissipated the moment we went through the gates. The lush greenery made me gasp in delight. There were too many trees to count and several flower beds. I also noticed flagstone paths curling in and out of small nooks containing marble fountains, cedar gazebos and biomorphic outdoor metal sculptures. As the car wound its way up a long cobblestone drive, a stunning two-floor contemporary house came into view. The modern construction was composed of mainly glass and stone, with a few artisan touches crafted from wood. Several decks graced the upper level, and the lower level had a wraparound slate patio with attractive outdoor furniture.

  “Do you like it?” Michael asked.

  “I love it!”

  “What do you think of the pool?”

  “What pool?” I inquired, following his gaze.

  “That one,” he replied, pointing. “I had it built with you in mind. In fact, this entire home was designed in your honor. I know how much you like the outdoors and natural materials.”

  The big free-form pool was surrounded by lush landscaping and included a rocky waterfall.

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  We got out of the car and he took my hand. As he led me inside, I could not believe this was to be my new home. I had never imagined living in such grandeur- our former townhouse was already luxurious enough for me. The kitchen was huge. The sophisticated looking appliances had the same opalescent sheen as the car, so I assumed they were made from the same material. The enormous living room boasted an open fireplace that was shared with an equally big dining room. The décor was an eclectic mix of ultra modern and tasteful ethnic pieces.

  “Come and see your studio,” Michael said, leading me to a section of the house that was apart from the main living areas.

  “I’ve never had my own studio before.”

  “Well, it’s about time, isn’t it?”

  We went through a glass corridor that contained a bathroom and a storage room. Trees and shrubs grew on each side of the glass, which gave this part of the house privacy. Where the corridor ended was a metal door.

  “Open it,” Michael urged.

  I opened the door and stepped into the past. “Oh, Michael!” I cried.

  The room was filled with antique furnishings. Even the massive wooden desk where a holographic computer monitor sat was a priceless antique. The legs of the desk were twisted like ropes, and ended in carved lion’s claws gripping balls. Three walls boasted medieval European tapestries and paintings; the fourth wall was made entirely of glass. The view outside was of a traditional mini-Tudor garden, complete with an ancient stone sundial.

  “And look there,” Michael pointed to the space above the door.

  “Your family’s coat of arms,” I said, admiring the slender unicorn dancing upon a single rose. The entire shield was expertly carved in white marble with many embellishments.

  “It’s not a replica.” When I looked at him sharply, he continued, “I had it sent to me from my ancestor’s castle in England. It was tough, but I finally won my case in court.”

  “You had this pried off a castle wall?” I asked in disbelief.

  “It was in the courtyard, actually. When they refused to sell the castle, I insisted on buying the coat of arms. When they refused, I took it up with the law.” He paused. “You know me; I stop at nothing. I always get what I want.”

  “These tapestries…the furniture…”

  “Most of it comes from England, France and Germany. And one piece comes from Norway.” He pointed to a beautiful drinking horn perhaps once used by Vikings. He continued, “I know how much you love antiques. I thought if you had a special place where you could read or sketch it would make your transition a bit easier.”

  I threw my arms around his neck in appreciation of his incredible generosity. “Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.
I love my studio.”

  He kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair as if I was a child. “You’re welcome, princess.”

  Chapter Three

  The dreams began shortly after my release from the hospital. I would wake up in the middle of the night feeling confused. I dreamt of mundane things (mostly of my childhood): my grammar school, my parents when they were younger and little Maddy. Sometimes, the dreams were eerie. The doctors assured me that this was normal and there was no need to worry. They explained how my memory bank was rebooting itself via the subconscious after so many years of dormancy. I found a bit of comfort in this explanation and decided to start a dream journal. Since everything was now written on tablets, it was hard to find an old fashioned leather-bound diary. But I eventually obtained one and placed it by the bed along with a pen.

  I had a dream about my father the following night. He picked me up from junior high school in his red truck. During the ride home I whined about a boy in science class who refused to acknowledge my existence despite my crush on him. As my father consoled me, his hands melted into the steering wheel and I began to cry.

  I woke up with a start and turned on the light. I felt very alone in the king-size bed. Michael had kindly offered me the master bedroom with en-suite bathroom while he slept just down the hall. He hadn’t visited my bed once since my arrival. I was still in the process of healing both physically and mentally, therefore I understood why he made this arrangement. I picked up my brand new journal and jotted down the details of the dream along with the date. I flipped the book to the beginning and wrote on the inside page: Memory Dreams.

  I woke up the next morning feeling far from refreshed. I did my rehabilitation exercises, got dressed and went downstairs. I knew that Michael had eaten his breakfast early and had already left the house for an all day conference. I sat down at the dining table.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Adams,” said Juana, the middle aged live-in housekeeper Michael had hired several years ago.

  “Good morning,” I replied, helping myself to coffee. Juana set a plate of fresh fruit and wheat toast before me. “Thank you.”

  I ate breakfast and then went into my studio. The day was too beautiful to stay inside so I grabbed my sketchpad and a few books and went out into the small Tudor garden- my private garden. A set of lounge chairs and a table with an umbrella had been set up for me on the stone slab. The view was perfection. Birds sang and played in a marble birdbath and bees hummed over fragrant flowers. I had been outside for nearly two hours when Juana came to check on me.

  She opened the sliding glass door and poked her head out. “Excuse me, Mrs. Adams, would you like some freshly squeezed orange juice?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Juana went back inside the house and I returned to my sketchpad. I felt antsy and wanted to go for a run, but I knew that wasn’t yet possible. I missed the feeling of my feet pounding the pavement as the wind blew in my face. The doctors assured me that I would be able to run again very soon. It was all a matter of time.

  Juana poked her head out the sliding glass door again. “Mrs. Adams?”

  “Yes?”

  “There is someone here to see you,” she said, looking apprehensive.

  “Who is it?”

  “He told me to say it was a surprise.”

  “Oh. Okay. Bring him here.” Juana hesitated, looking upset and unsure of what to do. I raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, Mrs. Adams.”

  She disappeared. Within a few moments a tall man with broad shoulders and wearing dark glasses walked towards me. He was casually dressed in a pair of slim black pants and close fitting blue shirt that flattered his muscular frame. Juana stood in the doorway with a worried look on her face. She was wringing her hands nervously.

  “Still as pretty as ever,” the man said.

  I recognized the voice at once. “Lance!”

  Lance Adams took off his glasses to reveal brilliant blue eyes that were incredibly similar to those of his older brother. The only difference was that they lacked the hardness of Michael’s authoritative stare.

  “It’s damn good to see you again, Zoë,” he said, bending down towards the lounge chair to give me a hug.

  I returned my brother-in-law’s embrace. “It’s so good to see you, too. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, but more importantly, how are you?”

  “I’m getting better every day.”

  “That’s great.” He paused and looked at me in awe. “I can’t get over it…you look exactly the same as when I last saw you.”

  “So do you.”

  Lance’s hair was the same sandy brown that Michael’s had been before it turned grey. He wore it shoulder length and slicked back, tied at the nape. Michael, who disapproved of long hair, had constantly criticized his younger brother’s appearance.

  I looked to Juana, who was still hovering in the doorway.

  Lance followed my gaze. “Do you still bake those amazing cookies, Juana?” he asked.

  Juana looked uncomfortable as she nodded in response to his question.

  “She baked a batch yesterday, in fact,” I said, eyeing her closely. “Juana, why don’t you get us some refreshments, please?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Adams,” she replied before leaving Lance and I alone on the patio.

  “You have no idea how good it is to see you,” he said, turning his attention back to me.

  “Same here.” I smirked and asked, “So…how old are you now? Forty?”

  Lance feigned a mad face. “Easy there, sci-fi girl,” he teased playfully. “I’m still thirty-nine.”

  “Sci-fi girl?”

  “Would you prefer cryo-chick?”

  I laughed. There had always been a high comfort level between us, and the easy banter we shared was usually fraught with humor.

  “I bet you never thought you’d make international headlines someday,” he said softly.

  I shook my head slowly. “Never.”

  “Time, Newsweek, New York Times, L.A. Times, Boston Globe, Washington Post…how does it feel to be a celebrity?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t been out in public much. I’ve already been warned that when I’m fully recovered I’ll be expected to do many interviews. Michael won’t let anyone near me until I’m ready. You know how protective he is.”

  “Only too well,” he said as he pulled the other lounge chair closer to me and took a seat.

  I bit my bottom lip and lowered my eyes. “I asked about you while I was in the hospital. I wondered why you hadn’t come to see me.”

  Lance reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “I was overjoyed when I heard the news that you were awake and okay. It’s been so long…I never gave up hope.” His eyes were intense and he added quickly, “None of us did. I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you sooner. There are good reasons for that, however.”

  “Michael told me you were living overseas.”

  He nodded. “I bet he told you we lost touch and he had no idea where I was, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, I can’t say I blame him for sheltering you from the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  He let out a sigh and confessed, “Michael and I aren’t talking. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  I was shocked. “But he was like a father to you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m very sad to hear this, Lance.”

  The enormous age difference between the two brothers was due to the fact that Lance had been an ‘accident.’ Michael had always believed that his younger brother was simply too immature to handle the family’s fortune or be involved in any kind of business. Lance had always resented his older brother for treating him like a child after their father died.

  He suddenly laughed and asked, “Do you realize that I’m now older than you?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m
going through the same thing with my sister. It’s very strange.”

  “How is Maddy, anyway? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

  “She’s great. Now she treats me like the kid sister.”

  “Getting a taste of your own medicine, huh?”

  “I guess so.” I gave him long look. “You know, I’m surprised you two never got together.”

  “Me and Maddy?” Lance shook his head. “Nah, she looks too much like you- it’s weird.”

  I crossed my arms. “Are you saying I look weird?”

  “God, no! You’re beautiful,” he blurted out.

  Realizing what he just said, he blushed and looked away. There was an awkward moment of silence before Juana came out with a tray containing two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and plate full of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Juana asked.

  “No, thank you. That will be all,” I said.

  Juana left, sliding the door closed behind her.

  “I’m so glad some things didn’t change,” I said, looking at the cookies. “When I was a child, I imagined that people would be eating astronaut food in the future or taking some kind of nutrient-filled pill.”

  “Nope. We’ve retained our taste buds and continue to satisfy them just as our ancestors had.”

  “Very funny.”

  He bit into a cookie. “Mmm. These will be around until the next millennia. Juana is amazing in the kitchen,” he said as he motioned towards the cookies. “She is like a cookie pro. You name it; she can make it- oatmeal raisin, peanut butter, chocolate chunk…”

  “So, you and Juana obviously know each other.”

  “Sure. I only stopped talking to Michael two years ago.”

  “That explains her apprehension when she announced you were here.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “What caused the fight that made you two lose contact? I mean, there were always squabbles between the both of you, but you usually made up afterward.”

  He stared at me and I could see he was debating whether or not to tell me the truth. “Some other time,” he said.

  His face looked so serious that I thought it best not to pursue the matter.