Hannah's words were coming out steady and the tone brooked no interruption. "My parents didn't die in a simple car crash even though I've told the lie so often that it seems more real to me than the truth.
"I was six the night my parents died. My mother woke me up to go the sheriff's office to pick up my father. He was drunk as usual and he had been arrested in a bar fight. My only real memory of her is the smell of her cream and the varying hue of her bruises. I guess she was pretty hopeless. She had no one but my father.
"That night I sat in the backseat in my cotton nightie and asked him what had happened. He reached back and slapped me so hard my head hit the side window. Then he passed out and my mother started the drive home.
"We drove for a long time, much longer than it should have taken. She talked, but my head hurt and I didn't understand a lot of what she said. I finally fell asleep and I don't know what happened to my mother's mind then. When I awoke, it was to a huge thundering noise and a glaring light.
"I sat up and shouted for my Momma and she turned and grabbed my hand and held me. The noise was so loud I couldn't hear her at first and then she shouted 'Forgive me' and her hand was torn out of mine.”
Neeley was perfectly still listening to Hannah’s quiet voice. The noise of the restaurant had faded to a distant murmur.
"That was all I remembered,” Hannah continued. "In the hospital everyone whispered dreadful accident and what a miracle for such a small child to survive. But I knew my mother was waiting for the train and the only accident was that the car had sheared in half rather than crumpling into a pile of jagged metal. I was barely injured. My parents were destroyed."
Neeley stared at Hannah, not quite wanting to believe her but knowing it was true. "Oh my God, Hannah. Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because now you'll understand the end of the story. Nothing from that night, the train, the hospital, nothing was as bad as months later when I tried to explain to my first foster mother what had happened. The look on her face when I told her of my mother's holding me in that car was terrible. That was the worst.
"I swore that no one would ever look on me with such appalled pity again. But we both know that was an empty promise."
“Why would I know that?"
Hannah signaled the waiter for the check. "Because you've been motivated by pity since you first discovered what a sham my marriage and my life were and how screwed I was that John had left me in the hole he did."
Neeley held up a hand in protest. "I never meant that. I think you've been incredibly strong and I wouldn't have made it without your help. I don't pity you."
Hannah put a fistful of francs on the table with the careless American gesture that signals your money means nothing to me. "I didn't say you pitied me. I said you were motivated by pity. The pity is for you. Really it's for the you in that airport holding a bomb and knowing Jean-Philippe didn't give a shit about you."
Hannah wasn’t done. “I learned some things over the years from those women you listened to at the golf course — my bitch brigade. I bet you ten-to-one your Jean-Philippe could hand you that bomb and kiss you good-bye because he had someone else ready and waiting to take your place. That’s the way men are.”
Neeley's hands were clenching into fists and she dropped them into her lap as if they were untrustworthy and could at any moment cause her acute embarrassment. "Why did you tell me your story now?"
Hannah pushed her friend into the beautiful spring afternoon. "Because I know betrayal too. But I know something you don't. Sometimes betrayal is the only love left. Remember that."
CHAPTER 27
Strasbourg was an amazing city, fascinating enough to cause some of bad emotions of recent events to fade as the two women drove through it. Neeley was reminded again and again of its magnificence as she and Hannah searched for the Rue d'Adelshoffen. It was in a part of the city, Schiltigheim, she was not familiar with, being far north of the suburb where she and Jean-Philippe had lived before they moved to Berlin. After they left the restaurant, she had driven down a street just a few blocks from the Parc Orangerie. She passed the large apartment where she had spent so many wonderful summers bathed in her grandparents' adoration. Neeley had been devastated by their deaths, but at least they had not lived long enough to watch her destroy her life with Jean-Philippe.
Hannah consulted the map and groaned hopelessly at the maze of canals and bridges that made up the city. Finally she gave up and assumed the air of tourist. She took in the old center of the city with admiration. The towering cathedral and the four hundred year old houses met with her approval as did the endless blooming flowers hanging from every window and adorning every pot.
She thought of the austere Kansas countryside that had been her birthright, the endless miles of nothing and wondered about Neeley even more.
"How could you grow up here and become caught up with Jean-Philippe?"
"Remember, I only spent summers here until I graduated high school. The rest of the time, I was caught in the happy bosom of my family in the Bronx."
Hannah craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the Kammerzell House built in 1467, one of the oldest houses in Europe. The narrow streets were clogged with traffic and pedestrians so their progress was slowed considerably.
"Tell me about your mother."
Neeley momentarily gave up maneuvering the small car through even smaller breaks in the traffic. She leaned back and thought about an answer. "My mother lived her entire life waiting for my father to have a good mood. Eventually she got tired of waiting and she tried to make him have one. She pretty much became an extension of him, a parasite to his emotion. Mostly I just remember a lot of tension and manipulation. It was like something was always about to happen, but never did. My mother just wanted him to be happy no matter what."
Hannah whistled. "Polar opposite of my mom, eh? I find it fascinating how different people are. Look at us: nothing in common, yet look how great we get along."
Neeley saw an opening for one of the small canal bridges and went for it. "We have to get along great. The same people are trying to kill us."
"Well, yeah, that may be what brought us together but you have to admit our personalities mesh well. You could have dumped me along the way, tossed me to the wind so to speak, but you've stayed with me and protected me."
"Oh, my God, not this again. Hannah, your personality would mesh with anyone's. You're the universal donor of relationships, but hey, I'm not complaining."
"Neeley, do you have any idea where you're going, or better yet, why we're going there?" Hannah was watching her partner closely.
"I'm just following the note. It was from Gant, so I know it's important. Gant obviously wanted me to go there. I just don't know why. Maybe it’s the mysterious third piece that Racine thought I had."
“The third piece,” Hannah mused. “You said Gant wrote it was the ‘why’ in his note?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think that means given we have the what — the pipeline deal; and the who — Senator Collins and Bin Laden?”
“I don’t know,” Neeley admitted.
“I think the why takes this whole thing to another level,” Hannah said.
“What level is that?” It was indicative of the new nature of their relationship that Neeley’s question was straightforward.
“That the who and the what is only the tip of the iceberg,” Hannah said. “The why is the bulk that’s hidden from sight right now.”