Limbo

"RACHEL" :

NOVEMBER 2014: Los Angeles

"Oooh, you got such pretty material, you'll be able to make all sorts of neat things!" Evie enthuses as we take my shopping bags out of the car. "I really like that color-changey stuff you picked out at the last store, but why did you get such a small piece? That would be such a cool dress, or a blouse."

"Yes, it would," I agree. "But it was also twenty-seven dollars a yard, and a whole dress might take eight to ten yards, so it would be pretty pricey, and it might be harder to sell. But if I just use it as an accent on a dress or a jacket, or as part of a purse, then I can get more projects out of this smaller piece. Later this evening, if you want to, you can help me sort through everything and figure out which pieces need to be washed before I use them."

She nods as we carry the bags through the garage and into our new home, making our way to my room to drop them onto my bed. Then we head toward the kitchen to get something to drink, and to let everyone know that we're back.

When they took me out of the hospital in Edmonton, the original plan was to fly to the hospital in Sacramento, where I'd stay until they made sure I was well enough to go home with them. But before we ever got on the plane, Reid got a call informing him that reporters from all over the place had basically laid siege to both the hospital and Aunt Wendy's house, and were determined to talk to me, and Evie, if they could get away with it.

So he made a few calls, and we wound up going to a hospital in Santa Barbara instead, and having to talk to them about bringing in some extra security in case anyone figured out we were there, and when Jed or Reid went to the house to get things for Aunt Wendy and Evie, they had to have cops go with them, to keep from getting mobbed, or followed back to the hospital.

We were a little confused at first, not quite sure why something that happened in Canada was getting so much attention here, but then we found out some rather startling information that kind of cleared things up a bit. When Whitworth and the others got everyone processed, they found out that Jane was actually wanted in the States... for murder. Her name is really Millicent Jane Crawford, and, surprisingly, she actually is a doctor, at least until her license gets pulled. They have a warrant for her in Kenosha, Wisconsin for killing her own father after he threatened to have her committed when he found out that she'd been communicating with my father online, and was trying to mortgage not only her own house, but his, for money to take to Canada with her. She had also planned on taking her three kids with her, but her dad had talked to her ex-husband before he confronted her, and had him pick the kids up at school, so she'd had to leave without them, fortunately.

That, along with all of the publicity over the band's involvement, made it almost like a feeding frenzy, and it got so bad that we had to make some rather extreme changes. Reid got in touch with people from both the FBI and the Canadian government, and it ended up with them completely sealing up mine and Evie's records, and we both picked new names. Our aunt and Jed got married, and she stopped using her nickname, Wendy, and went back to her legal name, Gwendolyn, or Gwen. They let Evie and I choose our new names, and she decided to have Eve as her middle name, in case one of us accidentally called her Evie in front of someone. And since they're working on formally adopting her, she took Jed's last name, so her official name is now Lily Eve McKendrick.

It took me a little while to decide on what to call myself, but I finally managed to piece together something that I was happy with, since I chose them to represent good memories I had. I chose Cameron as my last name, because that was Sawyer's middle name, and kept my own middle name, Frances, since it was our mom's middle name as well. The first name was the hardest to choose, but I can actually thank Ash for helping me come up with it, because while I was looking at names on the computer, something he'd said popped into my brain. The first night that we were actually "together", he had made the comment about waking up to a "beautiful sunrise", and since that's one of the last really happy memories that I have, I used that as my inspiration and gave myself the name Dawn.

We also wound up moving to Los Angeles, which I wasn't really comfortable with at first, and I actually considered going somewhere else on my own. But then I read something on social media about Ash moving to Las Vegas, so I decided that it would probably be safe. Jed and our aunt both found good jobs, we got Evie settled in school, and I'm almost done with my PT, and working on starting my own business. I've been hitting up a lot of flea markets and online sales, and I've acquired a large number of vintage and ethnic-style sewing patterns, which I've been combining, and adapting with a more modern flair. I have several pieces made up already, and I'm working on some more, so I can have enough advance stock to start up a website. Then, if that does well, maybe I'll get the attention of an established designer or fashion house, and get a chance to work with one of them.

As we get to the kitchen, we realize that our aunt has company, and I recognize her as a new friend from her job that I briefly met once before, a woman named Amy. They look up as we come into the room, and they both smile and say hello. "So how was your shopping trip?" Aunt Wendy inquires. "Did you find anything good?"

"I found some pretty nice fabrics, and stocked up on some silk ribbon and embroidery floss. Bought a couple of books, of course," I reply, pointing a thumb at Evie. "And she found a couple of new cookbooks that she just couldn't live without, as usual."

"Hey, if I'm gonna be a chef, I need recipes to practice on!" Evie shouts from the refrigerator. "Besides, I only got the ones that were on sale. You want a Dr. Pepper or a Pepsi, Sissy?"

I take a Dr. Pepper, and we sit down to chat with them. As Evie is telling us about a couple of "really yummy-sounding" recipes she's already found, Amy's phone rings, and she takes the call.

"Hello? Yes, this is she," she says to whoever she's speaking to. Then her face sort of falls, and her voice raises a bit. "You can't be serious! It was supposed to be ready this afternoon, I need it tonight! No, I don't suppose that there's anything to be done about it now, but I don't think you should count on getting any more of my business in the future."

She ends the call, looking rather upset, and my aunt asks, "Is everything all right, Amy?"

"No, unfortunately, it isn't," she sighs. "Do you remember me telling you about that award ceremony that I'm going to with my husband tonight? Well, that call just informed me that the alterations on my dress, which were supposed to be finished, and which I've already paid for, haven't even been started. So now I have to go out and hope I can find something presentable, that actually fits, before I go home, and hope I don't make us late!"

Aunt Wendy doesn't say anything for a minute, then she looks at me, and sort of raises an eyebrow. I know what this means, and just sort of put up my hands and shrug, so she says, "Maybe it won't be that bad. We might actually be able to help."

"How do you mean?"

I take a breath, and explain, "I've been sewing since I was a little girl, and I'm actually working on trying to be a designer. I have some pieces that I've made, and I'm not sure if anything will interest you, but you're welcome to have a look, if you want to."

"She's actually quite talented," my aunt adds. "And I'm not just saying that because she's my niece. You know my clutch that Brenda is always drooling over? Dawn made that for my birthday."

She agrees to look at my stuff, and I'm a bit surprised when she actually seems to fall in love with a couple of pieces, and runs off to the bank to get money for them, since I don't have a card reader yet. I do have some business cards that Reid's wife Monica made for me, though, and she asks for some of them to take with her, offering to hand them out if anyone shows an interest in her outfit.

I give her a handful before she leaves, but I don't really expect anything to come of it, so I'm a bit surprised when Evie walks into my room, holding Aunt Wendy's phone. "The lady who was here earlier is on the phone, and she wants to talk to you, Sissy," she informs me.

I take the phone from her, and say, "Hello, this is Dawn,"

"Oh, good! It's Amy, and I have a question for you. Would you be interested in meeting with an established designer, and letting him have a look at your portfolio, if you have one?"

This is definitely not something I was expecting, and I probably sound like an idiot, because the only thing I can manage to get out is, "Huh?"

She giggles, and says, "As soon as I got here this evening, I had people asking where I got my outfit, and I've already handed out several of your cards. But a friend of my husband's is a designer, and he was fairly impressed with your work. He and a few other people are going to be at our place tomorrow, and I told him that I'd see if you might be interested in stopping by with some sketches, or samples. He said that he's willing to give you an honest evaluation of your work, and might even consider sort of a mentoring thing, if you're interested."

I finally manage to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and answer. "Wow, this was quick! But if you're sure that this person is legit, then I'd be an idiot not to at least talk to him. Where do I need to be, and when?"

She assures me that the guy is the real deal, and gives me her address, telling me to be there around eleven the next morning. Then she has to go back to her dinner thing, so she ends the call, and I take the phone back to my aunt, with Evie practically dancing circles around me, wanting to know what's going on. When I tell them what happened, we have a small squeal-fest, bouncing around the living room while Jed sort of chuckles at us.

We're all pretty stoked for the rest of the night, until they decide to turn in for the night, and I gather up my sketchbooks and lay them on my dresser before I get into bed. Then, just as I'm about to nod off, I think of something, get up, and walk to the dresser. I open one of the books and take out a page, putting it in one of the drawers, because that's the one thing that I doubt I'll ever actually make. I think it's probably my best design, and it's definitely my favorite, but I don't think I could actually stand to see someone else wear it, and I know I never will, or at least not the way I originally pictured it.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, I jump up and practically fling myself in the shower, then spend at least thirty minutes deciding what to wear. I'm so nervous that I don't want to eat anything, but Evie insists, and makes me some French toast, and I actually manage to eat a little over half without it coming up again.

I leave the house a little after ten, to make sure I'm not late, and as I'm driving, I realize that she never told me which designer I was going to be meeting with. I spend the rest of the trip thinking of different designers in LA, trying to guess who it might be, but I still don't have any ideas by the time I pull up to the gate.

I push the button, and a man's voice comes over the speaker, asking for my name. When I answer, he tells me to park, and then walk around the back of the house to the sliding-glass door, because everyone is hanging out in the TV room. I follow his directions, and as I get to the door, I see Amy starting to pull it open. Then, when the light isn't shining off of the glass, blocking my view of the interior, I catch sight of something that freezes me in my tracks for a second. "No way," I think to myself. "Get a grip, Dawn, you're letting your imagination run away with you."

But then, I see someone move toward the door, and a familiar voice says, "Holy shit, I don't fuckin' believe this!"

I'm not imagining things, this is real. I thought he was gone, but he's not. So, once this is absolutely clear, my instincts take over, and I do the only thing that my brain tells me is reasonable. I turn around and run, back toward my car.

I can't stand to see that look on his face again.

I have to get out of here.

Notes