“I had to be sure,” she replies in a trembling voice.
Carty pushes himself up from the sofa and comes over, his expression a mask of confusion.
“What are these? Are you? Did you…”
Finally she nods tightly, her fingers fluttering up to press at her lips.
“I’m pregnant, you guys,” she whispers.
“Well, that’s awesome!” Timothy announces. "I mean, isn’t it? Guys! Tell her it’s awesome!”
“I want to go home,” she whispers.
Carty slides his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “Timothy can’t fly the helicopter at night,” he explains again. “We will leave first thing in the morning. It’s just one night. But we’re still together.”
“No… I mean I want to go home,” she says again. “Sacramento. To my home.”
“Yeah, Sacramento isn’t far,” Timothy shrugs uncertainly. “I mean, we can go there too. We’re all gassed up and everything.”
She backs away, putting her hands up. Though she’s clearly limping again, no one wants to say anything to her about it.
“Alone,” she whispers, stricken. Her eyes are wide and fearful, her cheeks pale.
“Lola, let’s talk about this,” Carty half whispers, the emotion plain in his voice.
She shakes her head tightly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says in as strong a voice as she can muster. “I’ve made up my mind. I want to be alone. Please don’t follow me.”
We all stand there, helplessly watching as she limps toward the penthouse elevator and pushes the button. No one says a word as the doors open and she climbs inside, her shoulders shaking, her shoes in her hand.
After the doors close, we all stare at each other and at the pile of pregnancy tests on the table, wondering just how everything went so horribly wrong.
Chapter 19
Carty
Though it is late October, our corner of the mountain has gotten much more popular. From my vantage point in the study, I can see frequent helicopters buzzing by and even the occasional boat on the lake with a photographer sporting those extra-long-range lenses.
Ever since we came back to the house in the mountains, people can’t seem to leave us alone. Timothy even stopped going online because mentions of our family and our story are everywhere.
Last week, a pair of reporters in cross-country skis had the audacity to show up at our front door. Liam and Kill chased them off, but I am sure they won’t be the last.
I hope the bad weather sets in soon. That should at least give us a few months of peace and quiet.
How long has it been since Lola left us? I’m not sure. Weeks, certainly. Perhaps a month.
No one wants to talk about it.
For three years or so, we lived here together without any contact from the outside world. Sure, Jake would go out for supplies, but on his own he was hard to recognize. I was the one who had been in all of the newspapers and TV shows when things with Whitney got very heated. Though Jake and I look quite a bit alike, he can blend better. He’s a quiet person, and doesn’t really stand out unless you’re looking for him. I mean, other than the fact he’s six foot four, he really blends in quite nicely with the other local mountain people.
But after one night in Lake Tahoe to promote Lola’s story, all of a sudden everything changed again. Now that people know where we are, they can’t seem to leave us alone. Lola’s story has reignited all kinds of interest, not just in recent events, but in our family history going back a hundred fifty years. They’ve even started rereleasing ot
her movies about the gold rush, since that is so much a part of our story. I guess the miniseries about the Donner party—those unfortunate people who starved to death up here about two miles away when trying to get to California—has also been on the History Channel a few times.
I don’t know how to feel about this.
When everyone thought we were dead, I felt alive. I felt safe. Whitney broke my heart, and I am not ashamed to say it. So retreating was a welcome rest. It was a time to heal.
And now, that time is over.