She pulled back, running a hand through her hair. Her head was tilted and one foot was on top of the other. The white dress she wore reminded me of paradise.
St. Catana.
I missed the island. I missed the people occupying the island. I missed Jru. Égée. Teddy. Egypt. Rhea. Rugger.
“He’s away, but he will be back soon.”
“How soon?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t be certain, but I’m going to try my best to get him back home as quickly as I can. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Janeese.”
This time, my hand was accepted. Weary eyes and a forced smile greeted me. She and Josiah resemblances were uncanny. She was stunning. Her face belonged in magazines and on billboards. Her skin was silky smooth. Her teeth were straight. And perfect. Her hair was soft. It hung down her back, pressed with the precision of a master stylist.
She was over five feet, but far from the six foot mark. I towered over her with ease. She was barely one hundred and fifty pounds. The stress of her brother’s incarceration and the pain of her husband’s death had likely stripped her of a few pounds. Still, she was breathtaking.
“If you don’t mind, there are some questions I need to ask you to clear up my timeline and tie up my motion.”
“Motion?”
“To dismiss.”
A gasp fell from Janeese’s lips. “Dismiss?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “That is my plan, and if you are up to it, I’d like to speak with you. If not, I can return at a later time. I won’t be long. Ten minutes at best.”
“I– I have ten minutes to spare.”
“Thank you.”
“Aubrey–” Josiah’s mother called out to his niece.
Just like Janeese and Josiah, Danielle’s skin was flawless. Free of blemishes. Free of wrinkles. They were aging backward. Hadn’t the gray consumed her strands, I wouldn’t have guessed her age bracket.
“Come this way, sweetie. We’re going into the playroom so Mommy and Attorney Childers can talk.”
“Okay. Coming!”
Aubrey’s feet patted against the floor. She was on the tips of her toes as if lowering her feet would cause physical pain. She reminded me of someone…
Of my Rome.
We’d known she was a ballerina before she ever touched a bar.
“This way,” Janeese insisted.
Click.
Clack.
I followed her down the time capsule that was formally called a hallway. My feet slowed to a creep as Baby Josiah, wrapped in a white and blue blanket, summoned my attention. Then, there was young Josiah, standing next to a red power car in jeans and a Tommy hat.
Kindergarten Josiah.
Fifth grade Josiah.
