Alex in Wonderland (The Wonderland Series Book 1) (14 page)

Cord was
tired of arguing, a painful reminder of his turbulent childhood. “You haven’t
thought this through, Alex. Anybody can see it’s a half-baked idea that—”

“So now
I’m stupid too. Is that it?”

Now it was
Cord whose patience was running out. “Once again you’re putting words in my
mouth.”

“I’m
stupid and immature and—”
 

Cord’s
temper blew. “Alright then, yes! Spoiled and selfish too! What’s more, I don’t
think your love is strong enough to hold us together when the going gets
tough!” He made a fist and pounded his head. “Dammit, Alex! Why do you make me
say things like that?”
 

“So
everything’s my fault, is it?”

Cord knew
to keep his mouth closed, to hold in his rage before matters worsened. It was a
trap he'd learned from his father and he refused to fall into it.

Alex
misread Cord’s silence. “Fine,” he said, dumping his wine on the beach. “I’ve
had enough of this cheap shit.”

That was
one revelation Cord couldn’t ignore. “I’m sorry it’s not vintage French.”

Alex
forced himself to calm down, determined to display maturity and control. “I’ll
call
Chandler
and ask him to pick me up.”

“Do
whatever you like,” Cord muttered, thoroughly exasperated. “You always do.”

“Because
somebody’s got to know what they’re doing!” Alex snapped.

A tear
trickled across Cord’s scar as he watched Alex walk away. He waved at the old
fisherman and said, “I’ve got a phone call to make too, along with the biggest
damned gamble of my life.”

22

Paradise
Lost

Alex sat on the cottage’s front
steps, feeling like he'd lost his last friend in the world. It had only been
half an hour since he and Cord argued, but the minutes dragged with a painful
slowness. He started to swallow his pride and walk back to the beach but
decided the best plan was to stay put. He knew in his heart of hearts that Cord
would come back, and he would apologize then.

“Cord!” He jumped to his feet when
a familiar silhouette emerged from the shadows. “I’m so sorry!”

Alex threw himself in Cord’s
powerful arms but they remained hanging at his sides. He stepped back,
frightened and bewildered.

“What’s wrong?”

Cord’s husky tone was unreadable.
“Have you forgotten what just happened?”

“Of course not,” Alex replied
anxiously, “but I said I was sorry. Can’t we just forget about it and have our
nice surf and turf dinner? Let’s open another bottle of Chardonnay.”

Cord grunted. “I remember how much
you like the first one.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Poor baby,” Cord said. “You think
that by just apologizing everything goes back to normal? It doesn’t work that
way. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

Alex was confused. Cord kept
changing the rules, kept doing things he didn’t anticipate and certainly didn’t
understand him. This was the man he loved, yet he didn’t comprehend his
behavior at all. He stared into the night, helpless and lost.

“When is Chandler
coming?”

“He’s…he’s not. I didn’t call him.”

Cord looked stricken. “What?!”

“Well, I started thinking about
what I said and did and decided you were right. I was stupid and had no business
being a drama queen and storming into the night.” Cord backed away when Alex
tried to embrace him again. “What’s wrong?”

“I hope with all my heart you’ll
understand what I’m about to say, Alex. I truly do.”

An icy pain slashed Alex’s heart.
“Please don’t say you don’t love me, Cord. Please don’t say this is some
terrible fag joke and that I’m just another notch on your belt. You’re my first
real love, and I can’t handle knowing I was a fool.”

“I meant it when I said I loved
you, babe You can be sure of that.”

“Then what are you trying to tell
me? And why do you look like a damned deer in the headlights?”

“I only did it because I thought
you were going to keep running. I thought for sure—”

“No!” Alex knew what was coming and
covered his ears as though he could block the terrible truth. “You didn’t! You
couldn’t have!”

Cord nodded slowly. “I called your
father.”

The rest of Cord’s words were
buried in a dull roar originating somewhere deep in Alex’s guts and radiating
outward until his fingers and toes tingled. He was emotionally unmoored, like
the
night he witnessed a drive-by
shooting outside a seedy jazz club on

He jerked his head toward town.
Riding a soft gulf breeze were the sounds of screeching tires and high-pitched
female laughter. Was calamity averted? Was someone amused and thrilled by
near-tragedy? Nothing made sense!

When Alex remained mute, Cord said,
“I did it for your own good, Alex. You’re not equipped to keep running away,
mentally, emotionally, any way you look at it. You’ve got to go back and face
your father with the truth. Otherwise you’ll never find peace of mind, and
we’ll never find a future together. Anything built on lies is doomed to
failure.”

Alex heard only what he wanted to
hear. “Spare me the platitudes, man. You’re going after the money aren’t you?”

“No,” Cord said tiredly.

“Liar!”

Alex had never wanted to hit anyone
in his life, but for a moment he thought of beating Cord’s chest hard with his
fist. He was oddly comforted when the urge passed, telling himself it wouldn’t
have done any good. He was no match for that mass of muscle, but he delivered a
verbal barb he hoped would sting.

“I just hope that some day someone
hurts you as much as you’ve hurt me.”

“Damn, Alex! Why can’t I make you
understand this is the best thing I could do, for you, for me. For
us?”

“Bullshit!” Alex snarled. “Now get
the hell out of my way. I’m going to Key West
if I have to walk every fucking step of the way.”

“You’ll never make it,” Cord said
wearily. “The police will be here any minute.”

As if choreographed, a siren wailed
down the street and grew with alarming speed. While Alex’s feet remained rooted
to the ground, a patrol car screeched to a halt not twenty feet away. Its blue
lights remained flashing as a pair of middle-aged cops got out and strode
toward the cottage. They seemed to Alex to be moving in slow motion.

“Alex Sumner?”

A wave of nausea swept over him and
for a moment he thought he would be sick. He wobbled toward the porch, but when
Cord rushed to help he shoved him away. Propelled by anger, his composure flooded
back.

“Yes, I’m Alex Sumner.”
 

“Your father’s looking for you,
son.”

Alex sighed tiredly. “Along with
the rest of America
I suspect.” He looked from one policeman to the other. “Well?
You going
to handcuff me or something?”

“Not if you cooperate,” the cop
replied.

His buddy opened the car door. “Get
in please.”

Alex started for the car but paused
to face Cord a final time. “A while back you said my love for you wasn’t strong
enough, but you’re wrong. It’s your love that’s weak, not mine.” He looked him
hard in the eyes. “I didn’t make a phone call and run away, Cord.
You
did.”

“Alex, I swear—”

“But you were right about one
thing. I
am
stupid. It was the money all along, wasn't it?"

“Sure, babe. It was always about
the money.”

PART THREE

“Let’s all move one place on.”

-Lewis Carroll,
Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland

23

You Can’t Go Home Again

“You were kidnapped, understand?”

Randolph Sumner paced the library, double
bourbon in one hand, advance copy of the
New Orleans Times-Picayune
in
the other. He shook the newspaper in his son’s face and scowled.

“Look at these headlines, Alex.
It’s all right here in black and white, and I’ve kept it very, very simple. You
were kidnapped at gunpoint in the parking garage at

“Yes, sir,” Alex muttered. He
turned his head, repulsed by the smell of bourbon. He had never seen his father
drink so early in the day.

“I’m not so sure. Since you got
home this morning it’s like you were on something.” The elder Sumner sipped his
drink and studied his son. “Damn, boy! Is that it? Are you on some kind of
drugs?”

“No, Daddy.”

Sumner frowned. “I think maybe you
need to see Dr. Marlow.”

“I’m just tired, Daddy. It was a
very long night.”

He doesn’t have a clue, Alex
thought. As usual he’s blind to all crises and needs except his own. If anyone
ever deserved an “It’s All About Me” tee-shirt, it’s Daddy.

As his father’s rant continued,
Alex studied his bedroom slippers and thought about last night’s flight from Key
West. Alone aboard Sumner Petroleum’s corporate jet,
he had been overwhelmed by the emotional debris of his desperate escape
attempt. The combination of two shattering events had rendered him almost
catatonic. First was the defeat of returning to live under his father’s thumb,
and second was discovering Cord, the first great love of his life, was a
fortune hunter. By the time he shuffled into the Garden District house at four
in the morning, Alex felt like he was phoning in his life. The powerless sensation
intensified when he heard his father’s latest series of dictates, and he
doubted if a Parris Island recruit could feel more
debased.

“Like everyone else, Camilla knows
only what she’s been told,” Sumner continued. “Your mother phoned her last
night right after the Florida
police called. We told her you’d call as soon as you could. I’m sure she’s home
right now, waiting to hear from you.”

Just what I need, Alex thought
glumly. More lies, more spider webs of deceit, more of Daddy’s endless
bullshit. God, help me! I’m so exhausted I just want to sleep for the rest of
my so-called life.

“Fine.”

Alex barely looked up as the phone
was shoved at him. “For the love of God, boy! Do I have to dial for you?!”

With his father standing over him,
berating him like a child, Alex was so unnerved he called a wrong number.
Sumner grabbed the phone, punched in the proper code and thrust the phone back
in his son’s face. When he heard Camilla’s chirpy hello, Alex felt sick to his
stomach.

“Hello, Camilla.”

“Alex, darling! Thank the Lord
you’re home safe and sound. I’ve been worried sick of course and, well, I was
so thrilled and relieved last night when your sweet mama called with the
wonderful news.”

The receiver seemed to grow heavy
with the weight of Camilla’s syrupy diatribe. Conversational details failed to
penetrate Alex’s fog, rendering him incapable of responses requiring more than
an occasional “Mmm-hmmm.” A long silence made him realize he was supposed to
say something.

“What’s that?”

“Poor baby. You sound so stressed
out. I was just asking if you were up for dinner tonight at Galatoire’s. If
you’re not, I totally understand. I mean, after all you’ve been though I
wouldn’t blame you if you crawled back into bed and—”

“Maybe lunch tomorrow,” Alex
managed. “I…I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Then you just stay home and rest
up,” Camilla gushed. “And you call me first thing in the morning. We have so
much to talk about and of course the wedding’s less than a month away now.”

“I know,” he muttered. He listened
to Camilla’s treacly good-bye and put the phone back on the hook. He looked at
his father. “We’ll have lunch tomorrow.”

“Good.” Another sip and more
pacing. “You’ll stay home today and come into the office tomorrow. I’ll
organize a little ‘welcome back’ party, so be prepared. The media wants an
interview but I told them you’re too distraught and issued a press release
instead.” He held out a piece of paper. “Read it.”

Alex only pretended to peruse the
pack of self-serving lies before handing it back. “Okay, Daddy.”

“Then you think we’ve
covered all our bases?”

Don’t you mean all of
your
bases? Alex thought. “You always do, Daddy.”
 

 
“Somebody’s got to know what they’re doing,”
Sumner grunted.

Alex shuddered inside. The rude
declaration was exactly what he’d said to Cord last night, a time and space that now seemed light years away.
The more he thought about Cord, the more the man seemed to be only a fantasy, a
dream that had morphed into a nightmare from which there was no waking. He
closed his eyes, then opened them again in hopes he would find his memory of
Cord erased. Instead he faced his scowling father.

“Damn!"

“What did you say?”

“Just talking to myself, Daddy.”

“That does it. You’ll see Marlow
today.”

“I don’t need a doctor, Daddy. I
just need some sleep.”

“Alright then.” His father downed
the whiskey and set the glass aside. “I’d better get to work. Lots to do today
and I know the phone will be ringing off the hook. It’ll be just as bad here,
but I don’t want you talking to anyone except close friends. I’ve put a major
spin on things and I don’t want you undoing it. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That reminds me,” Sumner muttered.
“I’d better call Turner and thank him again for all his help. CNN’s coverage
was amazing, wasn’t it?”

As usual, Randolph Sumner didn’t
wait for a reply and rushed away on his own cloud of self-importance. That was
fine with Alex. The less he saw of his father, the better. He looked at the
empty glass and considered a shot of whiskey. The idea disgusted him, not so
much at the idea of alcohol at nine in the morning but that he would be
imitating his father. No, he thought. I need to work on clearing my mind and
getting a hold on reality. He closed his eyes and drifted again, smiling when
he replayed his father’s absurd, utterly predictable performance.

The most amazing, yet least
surprising thing was that Sumner never once asked why his son ran away from
home.