Page 56 of The Damaged Billionaire

“I think so,” I murmur as I step out of the car. My stomach feels heavy. Like it already knows that this conversation is going to take a lot out of me. I have no idea what, if anything, I will find, but I feel like it is the right thing to do.

“I’ll take a walk around and come in later. Give you guys some time,” Eddie says, slapping my arm and walking off down the road to play soccer with the local kids. Now that is a guy who wants a family. He doesn’t even have to tell me he does.

Walking up to the house, people in the street look at me suspiciously. I am obviously not from around here. My shirt and suit pants, shiny black shoes, sunglasses, and expensive car make me stick out among the rocky road. The houses are separated by rice fields so green and lush, it’s a wonder they are even real. Although hot, the sky is a rich blue. It is beautiful.

I don’t get a chance to knock, as Helen’s husband opens the door, expecting me since I had Melody contact him while I was in transit. He offers me a big, warm smile, one which I immediately return.

“Come, come,” he says, ushering me inside the small home. I need to duck as I walk through, the doorframe smaller than I am used to, and as I stand just inside the door, I get a vision of the entire place. Heaviness overtakes my heart at the conditions he lives in, but his smile is bright as he looks me over. I give him a smile of my own, remembering that he is happy, healthy, and this is his life.

There is a small shrine on the far wall, and my shoes click on the cracked tile floor as I walk over to it. A few photos of Helen are propped up with fresh flowers and incense burning. He must miss her, and my heart bleeds. She looks just how I remember.

“Please sit?” He waves his hands toward the sofa, and as I take a seat in this cluttered living room of Nanny Helen’s home, I feel equal parts welcome and out of place. Inside is quiet, with no traffic noises. Only a few squeals of laughter float in from the kids outside, the fan blasting us with warm air, not taking away the stifling heat at all, but I am grateful for it. Helen’s husband sits beside me and pulls out an old photo album, seemingly knowing what I need without me even verbalizing it.

“This is the last time she came home before she died.” He points to a photo, and I look down at Nanny Helen’s smile. I am too big for this small sofa, and I take up almost the entire space, but I hunch over and look at the photo in the album with a sigh. Helen came to our family straight from Indonesia when she was young. When she started, I’m told she could barely speak English, but by the time I was eight, she was fluent. Looking at her now, a flood of memories come back, mainly of me laughing, and her smiling, constantly feeding me, and showering me with love.

“How was she when she came back for that holiday?” I ask. She came back for her annual Christmas holiday for a week. Enough time to see her family and spend time with her husband. As an adult, I am not sure how she did it, but she was the sole breadwinner, the kind of woman who lived off very little because any spare money she had she sent home to her family. He looks solemn. He lives by himself now, as he and Helen had no children because she was too busy being paid handsomely to look after someone else's.

“She was beautiful. Radiant. Full of energy. Talked about you nonstop,” he says in broken English with a laugh. “She would be so happy to see you now, all grown up.” His smile is genuine, looking at me proudly. I give him a small smile and a nod, my lips pursed. It feels nice to know she loved me. At least someone did.

There is a small knock on the door, and we look up and see Eddie. His soccer game with the kids must’ve been short-lived. I make the quick introductions and Eddie sits at a stool opposite us as I get back to learning more about Nanny Helen.

“Does heart failure run in her family?” I ask, because she was young, fit, and happy. But the cause of death on her medical certificate is heart failure. I have read and reread that certificate numerous times these past few weeks and have come to the conclusion that unless she had a secret addiction of some kind, then she must have had a family history. There is really no other explanation.

“No. Her parents are still alive. As are all her siblings. Each of them as healthy as the day they were born.” I can’t believe he is so calm. My insides are tangled, my stomach in knots. God, I need Willow. I flick my eyes and meet Eddie’s as he looks at me. A mix of confusion and suspicion is on his face, and I look back to Helen’s husband, needing to know more.

“So she had no ailments at all?” I ask, frowning, because that doesn’t make sense.

“Only her allergy,” he says, flicking the page in the book to show more photos of Nanny Helen on her final trip home that Christmas.

“Allergy?” I look at him in surprise. I can’t remember any allergies.

“Nuts. She was highly allergic to nuts. All types, tree nuts, seeds, you name it.” I see Eddie run his hands through his hair, the look on his face one of uncertainty.

“I don’t remember that,” I murmur as I feel nausea clawing at my stomach.

“Neither do I,” Eddie says, and we share a silent moment, knowing that pieces are starting to come together, but it isn’t the full story yet. We continue to look over the beautiful, smiling photos of Helen, and we work through a second album, then a third, but my mind is not settled. It is like my memories are coming together, and I can feel the answer to my questions right at the surface. I just can’t grasp them yet.

* * *

“So, what are you going to do about the information?” Eddie asks me. He slept for most of the flight home. The heat and kids in Indonesia had him soaked by the time we got back outside after spending time with Helen’s husband.

“I had no idea she had an allergy! Why can’t I remember these things?” I growl, frustrated at myself. I am itching to see Willow. I jumped off the plane and into our waiting car so fast, Eddie struggled to keep up.

“I think you are placing too much pressure on yourself. You were only twelve. I am surprised you remember anything.” He looks at me, concerned. My younger brother is the nice Rothschild boy. He has women follow him everywhere like all of us do, but he is a bit softer than the rest of us. He hates the billions we have. I am sure he would prefer to travel the globe and get lost in communities all over the world, volunteering and helping others. But he has a role to play in our family business, and we couldn’t do what we do without him.

“She gave up her entire life for me, Eddie,” I say to him, still not comprehending that a woman who wasn’t my mother did that.

“It is the life many women lead. They leave their home countries to make money abroad and send it back to their families. It is common. You can’t feel bad about that. You never had a say in it all anyway.” His brow crumples as he looks at me.

“I have been having flashbacks. Memories pop up and then disappear just as quick.”

“How long has this been going on for?” he presses.

“A while, but they have become more vivid this past month or so. She has always been on my mind, but I think I blocked it out. As a kid, I was shipped off to boarding school so fast that I barely had time to think about it. Then girls started paying attention, and partying became my go-to.”

“That was when you started working with Willow, right?” Eddie asks curiously, and he is right.

“Willow has really opened my eyes to a lot of things, but I think the biggest thing she has done has helped me clear my mind and clean up my lifestyle, which has allowed all these old memories to flow.” I smile, thinking about her. She was hired to help my reputation, but she doesn’t even know how much she has helped me. I rub my head, itching to see her. “I have a headache thinking about everything. Anyway, are you all good with this Singapore deal?” I ask him. He loved Singapore. He had some good meetings himself.

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