Page 9 of Reclaim

“Yeah sure, let me get it.” The sound of papers shuffling echoes in the background while I wait. “Okay, I’m back.”

I glance at my computer and how detailed my notes are. “Mr Michaels, do you want to meet up for coffee instead?” I hear Joe’s warnings in the background, and push past my better judgement. I’m only doing the best for my client, right? “We can talk about it in more depth that way.”

“Yeah, just tell me when and where.”

“I can meet you this afternoon,” I proposition eagerly. “I can leave work a little early. Four sound okay?”

“No worries, I’ll just tie up some loose ends over here and meet you...”

“Oh, yes, sorry. How about at Mist Coffee? It’s just on Castlereagh, in between the Downing Centre and The Family Court.” It’s the most public and semi-professional place I can think of, and I know solicitors and clients meet there all day long.

“Okay, sweet,” he says. “I’ll see you at four.”

The call ends, and my hands begin to sweat unusually. I shake them out and head to the bathroom. Washing my face with cold water, I stare at my reflection and talk myself off the ledge. I’m piecing a family together. I’m helping someone who would otherwise let themselves drown into the system come up for air. Tugging the necklace from beneath my shirt, I kiss the stone and close my eyes. I hear my grandmother’s voice in my mind, leading me in the right direction.

Your head and your heart aren’t enemies; they’re long lost lovers desperate to be reunited. You don’t have to choose between the two.

* * *

“CanI order a caramel latte with two chocolate brownies, please?”

The barista tinkers around on the register, before acknowledging my order. “What name should I put that under?”

“Emerson, please.” I say with a saccharine smile.

“That’ll be ten dollars.”

“I got this. Do you mind if I add a short black to that order?”

Straightening her back, the young barista pays attention to the deep and unexpected voice behind me. A tattooed arm is stretched out beside me, grey script running up and down the muscled forearm.

“And what name should I put on that?” she asks, the flirty inflection in her voice an obvious change from her uninterested state earlier.

“Hendrix.”

I school my face, don a mask of professionalism, and turn to meet him. He seems to have already figured out who I am, his stance casual and laid-back, patiently waiting for my reaction.

Standing in front of me is the less-damaged and less-haunted version of Jagger. It’s like a punch in the gut, being reminded how two people can look exactly the same on the outside and be like night and day on the inside. Jagger’s emptiness is deafening in Hendrix’s presence.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry. I just didn’t...” I ramble through my nervousness and put my head down to avoid any further damage.

“Let’s grab a seat.” We manoeuvre through the wooden chairs and find a table at the back end of the shop, away from the whirling and buzzing of the coffee machines. He waits for me to take my seat before following suit.

Regaining my composure, I pull a pad of paper and a pen from my bag, placing it between us. “Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Emerson.”

“I’m Hendrix.” He holds out his hand. The friendliness he emanates surprsises and comforts me as I grip his hand. “Sorry for interrupting you at the register. I heard you say your name, and you looked the way Jagger described you. I just put the pieces together.”

“Oh.” I stop myself from asking him what he means, and change the subject. It doesn’t matter what Jagger said to him about me or why. “I’m sorry about my fumbling at the register. I didn’t realise you were twins.”

“Oh, that’s what it was?” He laughs, “We haven’t stumped anyone with our looks in ages.” His voice is nostalgic, and I give him a moment to take the mental trip down memory lane.

“I’m glad he finally called you.”

“Me too.” His jaw clenches the exact same way Jagger’s did, but while Jagger is full of anger, Hendrix is full of apprehension. “I didn’t think that call was ever going to come.”

I do a little victory dance inside knowing for whatever reason, Jagger listened to me and called his brother. “Have you gone to see him yet?”

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