Page 48 of Perfect Order
I’m furiously typing up a report to send to headquarters about what’s happening when Beckett’s phone he had forwarded to mine for the duration of the flight buzzes with a text. I flip to my text app and read a message:
Kylie: Hey. Are you there? I think it’s time for us to talk.
I respond on his behalf.This is Kane. Beckett isn’t available right now.
The dots move for a few seconds.Oh. Okay. Thanks. No need to tell him I texted. Thanks anyway. I just wanted to apologize, well, for everything.
I don’t know why, but my heart pounds after seeing that. Beckett wouldn’t hold a grudge, and seeing her apology triggers something in me. Gene never apologized, not even at the end when I held his bleeding body. He just kept repeating over and over he’d done it for Brit. Erzulie isn’t cut from the same cloth. She’s hurting, she’s in pain. She’s just trying to find herself in a world where’s she’s as much the victim as I was. Then I recall what Caleb said about what she prefers to be called. My fingers fly.Lee, this is completely not my place, but if you just need someone to talk to…I hit Send.
Immediately she replies,WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?
Um, Lee? Someone mentioned you like being called that.
I do. It’s just…few people do anymore.
What the hell am I supposed to say now? But I don’t have to guess. She texts again.Kane?
Yes?
Thanks. I think I just needed to be reminded deep down of who I really am.
How unusual, I think. But moments later, the pilot is telling us to buckle in as we’re getting ready to touch down. And with no idea of what we’re about to face once we leave the sanctuary of the plane, I shove the conversation with Kylie Miles to the back of my mind.
For the moment.
However you celebrate and whomever you celebrate with, may you find peace tonight.
—Beautiful Today
I slip out of the car and am practically swept away by the cold air pressing me forward to the last place I want to go and yet the sole reason I’m here. Quickly, I grab the bag I slipped into the trunk before I change my mind. After all, what news do I have to share with my Lee? I sure as hell haven’t found the person who caused her murder.
It’s anger over that which pushes me forward down the snow-covered gravel until I’m standing in front of the stone my parents tearily informed me was laid earlier in the week.Months—it’s been months she’s lain beneath this cold dirt. Alone. Unacknowledged.My head is down as I recall the number of times she pleaded with me to move to the city but I wouldn’t. And as the business took off, I couldn’t take time. No, I didn’t make time. I thought we were making do with nightly phone calls.
“Lee, I’ve got a critical meeting tomorrow. I can’t drive down to the city tonight.” I scanned a tablet with a multimillion-dollar contract and struck through a clause I didn’t agree with.
“But there’s so much happening.” My own face pouts back at me over FaceTime. “Too much to share over a call.”
“Is it important? Why can’t you share it with me now?”
“Because now you’re busy. And as for it being important, well, it’s just my whole life.”
I can still hear her laugh after that comment as I fall to my knees at the base of her, our, tombstone etched with both our names as this plot was purchased to hold both of our souls when the day eventually came to lay our bodies to rest. A mournful wail escapes me when I read what my parents decided to inscribe it with:
I’m half a heart without you.
“God, Lee. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for not getting away sooner and letting something come between us. I should have known. Then you wouldn’t be gone. I could have done something. Anything.”
The wind picks up as I pull a sleeping bag out of my bag. Then I pull out a small Christmas tree powered by a battery. “Every year, no matter where we were, you and I stopped what we were doing to wish each other Merry Christmas at midnight.” A watery laugh bubbles up. “Mom and Dad swore we didn’t even care about Santa, we just cared if we said it to each other. Don’t think I’m letting that tradition go just because you’re not able to say it back.
“If I could have anything for Christmas this year, I would ask for more time with you. All the years we were each others Lee. I never expected that to change—for us to become Leanne and Kylie. For you to become Erzulie and my life to go the way it has. I read your journal. Vut God, Lee, the more I've gotten to know you by stepping into your shoes, I understand you even more. Why didn’t you tell me about any of the pain you were feeling?”
The wind whips through my jacket, a reprimand. I bow my head. “I had to do it. I have to know everything about you so I can find out who harmed you. I have to set your spirit free, my Lee. Maybe then, there can be peace.
“I never told you I did some research when you first announced your stage name—Erzulie. At first, I thought it was just a play off our name, Lee. But it was so much more than that, wasn’t it?” I press my hand right over where Lee’s ashes are buried. “The loa spirit’s Erzulie’s symbol is her heart, and that’s you. I’ve never known another person with a bigger heart than you. You embody femininity and compassion, just like the name you assumed. I just wish I’d given it this much thought when you were alive.
“Ah, Lee, you were right when you chose your stage name—Erzulie. Erzulie Fréda Dahomey, the Haitian African spirit of love, beauty, jewelry, dancing, luxury, and flowers. She is the Erzulie that’s you, my beautiful twin. I’m certain she likely told her stories through song, seducing her lovers with her mysterious voice and tales as you so often did. But did you know there’s more than one Erzulie, just like there were two of us?”
I draw my fingers through the snow around the tree and draw a heart with our initials on either side before going on. “Erzulie Dantòr is considered to be the loa of vengeance and rage in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. And that’s who I am. That’s the Lee this has made me.”
