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It’s Friday morning and I’m getting ready to go back to New York for a day of meetings and one last week before I permanently move to DC. I’m not looking forward to it. It’s incredible how I’ve lived without her for thirteen years, but now the prospect of a weekend away makes me feel a longing I'm sure I won’t survive.

I’m afraid to step out of the cocoon we’ve created at her house. But work calls for both of us and her mother is going to be back tonight.

I'm drinking coffee and checking my schedule for this afternoon’s meetings while Milly is dropping Anthony off at school. It’s her first day taking him since she got sick, and I’m glad she's feeling well enough to do it. Yesterday, she slept a lot during the day and I worried that I had pushed her too hard when we’d had sex.

But, when I was showering last night, she slipped in the shower with me and we put that built in bench to work.

I’m smiling to myself when I hear the door that leads from the garage to the kitchen open.

I look up to see Milly, looking not a day over eighteen, walking through the door. It’s still cold in March, and she's pulling off her jacket and kicking off her boots before she walks back in.

I just take her in. She has worn her hair in that single, fat braid since she was fifteen. Her hair is longer now than it was then and the braid’s tail wraps around the tip of her breast. And I feel envious of the braid. I get up and walk toward her.

She looks up as I approach and her beautiful mouth tips up into a smile that lets me know she's happy to see me.

“Hey, D.” I smile back at her. She hasn’t called me this since we were in high school and it feels so good and familiar to hear it on her lips.

“Hey, Red.” I wink at her and then lean forward a little to kiss her. I taste the minty sweetness of her toothpaste as her arms come around my neck.

Our kiss goes from a greeting to a prelude and before I know it, she’s on the counter, her top up around her neck and her hard pebble sized nipple in my mouth. She is starting to unbutton my jeans when her landline starts to ring.

Her hands still, and I release her nipple with a pop to look up at her. She is staring at the phone with trepidation.

“You okay? You need to get that?” I ask her. She just nods and hops down, pulling her shirt down as she walks to the other side of the kitchen island where the phone is cradled.

“Only my mother, sisters, and the FBI call this phone,” she says without turning around.

She looks at the caller ID before she picks up the phone and a frown settles between her eyes. She clears her throat before answering it.

“Hi, Agent Walker.” Her voice is civil, but devoid of all warmth. She listens for a second and then reaches into the drawer below the counter, pulls out a pen and notepad and begins to write. She bites her lip as she writes, her brows drawn together in concentration.

After a few minutes, she finally speaks, “Yes. I understand. My mother will be back today, and I’ll contact my sisters and talk to them.”

She listens for a few more minutes. “I understand.” And then she hangs up. She returns the phone to its cradle slowly and then turns around to face me. She jumps slightly when she sees me, as if she forgot I was here. The look on her face is haunted.

She turns back around hiding her expression.

I walk over to her and put my hands on her shoulders, she relaxes and leans back into me, her head lolling on my chest.

“Red, don’t hide from me. What’s going on?” I speak gently, knowing that whatever conversation she just had unsettled her.

She lets out a long exhalation of air and turns around in my arms.

“That was the FBI. We have been in constant contact since my dad’s disappearance. They check in on us, we have to report to them every time we leave the country. They monitor our contact with each other. They are so overbearing. But recently, they got a credible break in their efforts to locate my dad.” She sighs and pulls out of my arms.

She looks annoyed and sad. She told me last night about her list, the one she made after her husband left, and that exonerating her father is one of the things on it. And while I don’t think he had anything to do with what went on at Enron, he did disappear with a lot of money. I have no clue how he can come back and be redeemed.

“And?” I prompt when she doesn’t start talking again.

“They say they know he's in Syria, they have been trying to get an extradition order to bring him back here, but that option is dead now. No way, no how.” She bangs her head lightly on my chest but doesn’t speak.

“Okay, so what do they want from you guys?” I ask, prompting gently but impatient to hear where this is going.

“They have been asking us for months to do a press conference. One where we make a direct appeal to him, ask him to return. Addie has refused and my mom has been sort of ambivalent about it. Lilly and I decided we wouldn’t do it unless all of us were prepared to do it. They haven’t brought it up again since last year, and I was relieved because every time I tried to talk to Addie about it, it turns into an argument. But Agent Walker sounds determined we do this. She said this is our only chance to reach him. The only way to bring him in is if he turns himself in.”

I look at her and think carefully how to phrase my next question. It’s been a question I’ve had since they disappeared.

I walk us over to the center island and have her take a seat on one of the dark brown leather barstools that line it. I sit in the one next to her and swivel so we are facing each other. I look her dead in the eye, making sure my sincerity shows, but that I am also conveying my concern.

“I want to ask you something. And I want you to think about your answer before you say anything.”

She quirks her lips in confusion, but just says, “Okay.”

“Don’t you find it strange that the FBI has been so focused on your family. Has been so intent on you guys. I understand the need to get you out of Houston, especially after your car was set on fire and the house was vandalized. I understood, a little, the need for people to not know where you were right away. But why did you guys have to change your names. Why were you required to cut off everyone from your previous lives?”

“Because we were in danger!” She looks at me like I’ve just asked her if Earth is flat.

“From who? Disgruntled Enron employees? There were dozens of other executives living in Houston, some who were actually implicated in the wrongdoing. Some who had been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. None of their families were relocated.”

Her eyes widen in alarm. “Really? Are you sure?” she asks in a voice laced with wariness.

“Yes. They had to endure their houses being egged, threatening phone calls. They were ostracized. Some of them upped sticks and moved on their own. But no one else’s family was relocated by the FBI. At first I thought it was because on top of whatever he had done wrong at Enron, your dad had taken all that money and disappeared. But then my father told me that your dad wasn’t a suspect in any of the activities that contributed to the collapse. It was his disappearance with all of the money that made him seem guilty. And it was that crime and not the fraud and fake accounting they wanted him for.”

She hops out of her chair and starts pacing. She looks at me, her eyes wild with worry.

“How come you know all of this and I don’t? How come my mother doesn’t know?”

“I looked into it after you left. Haven’t you?”

“No, honestly, I stayed off all the news sites after we left, but the Internet was also nothing like it is now. There was no social media, and this has been our lives for so long, I haven’t thought it might not be true.”

“Well, I looked, recently because I’ve been suspicious. His disappearance, it looked like greed. But I didn’t think your father was that kind of man. Your dad loved his family above all else. I ate countless meals at your family dining table. I couldn’t believe your father would abandon you for money.”

She doesn’t stop pacing, but she turns to look at me. “Your mom, when I called, said a lot of things. I know now that as far as you were concerned they weren’t true. But there was real venom in her voice. Her anger at my father, at me, it was real. So why was she so convinced he had done something wrong if you weren’t?”

I sigh and glance at my watch. It’s a few minutes shy of nine a.m. and my flight is at one p.m.; I have time. And I’m going to tell her now.

“Milly, my dad . . . he did commit suicide. But, it wasn’t because Enron collapsed.”

She stops pacing.

“What do you mean?” She looks horrified.

“My parents had a horrible marriage. My father gave my mother everything, showered her with affection, and all she ever gave him in return was grief.

“He was a well-compensated executive, but it wasn’t enough for her. She lived above our means. Shopped like crazy, ate out two, sometimes three times a day. Would hop on a plane to Sedona for a week at a spa or whatever she was doing there. And my dad couldn’t make enough money to keep up.

“She opened credit cards, lines of credit at stores and then when it became too much she would do a debt consolidation and just start spending all over again.

“The year before everything went down, they had to take out a home equity loan to pay off some of her bills. The only reason they were able to keep up at all was because my dad had a pretty impressive income from his job at Enron.

“I didn’t know any of this until then. Because suddenly they were arguing loudly, bitterly about it. They were worried about losing the house. And my dad . . .” I break off as the painful memories from those hellish days come rushing back.

Milly rushes over to the island and climbs into my lap. She puts her arms around me and rubs my shoulders. She doesn’t say anything, just giving me the contact I need. I’m so fucking lucky.

With her there, I'm able to continue.

“My dad was agonizing. He talked about how he didn’t know what they would do about my college tuition. He didn’t even know if they could keep the house. His only source of income was his unemployment check. The house had been mortgage free before that home equity loan. And the payments were crushing. The only thing of monetary value that he owned was his life insurance policy. It was a big one because he planned carefully.

“And one night after a particularly brutal argument with my mother where she had basically told him she was leaving him; he came into my room. And we had a long talk about life, but mostly about love and relationships. He urged me to never give up on you. He told me what he and my mother had was not love, and that I shouldn’t let their fucked-up situation prevent me from trying to create my own family.

“And then the next morning, after I left for school, he went into his closet and hung himself. He left a note. It said he was worth more to us dead than alive and that the policy would pay for college, give my mother a nice income for the rest of her life and pay off all of our debts.”

It’s only when Milly’s lips touch my cheek I feel the moisture there. I didn’t even realize I had started to cry. I’ve never told anyone the entire story before.

“So, when you called, my mother and I were in a very dark place. I blamed her for his death. I felt that she had driven him to do it. She was angry at me and said I was blaming her when really I should be blaming people like your father. That they wouldn’t be in this position if Enron hadn’t collapsed.”

Milly wraps her arms around me and buries her face into my neck.

“Oh, God, and you were alone. I wasn’t there for you, and you went through this alone. I’m sorry, baby. You lost your dad. You also, essentially, lost your mother. And, on top of this you thought you’d lost me.”

She leans back and kisses me.

“You’re not alone anymore, D. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“I know, baby, and I’m okay. Really. It’s good to get this out.”

I kiss her temple and we sit there holding each other. I feel the energy, the one that has always existed between us flowing. The connection which tied me to this woman from the first time we talked. I know her heart and if I don’t let pride and fear get in the way, I can always see it very clearly. And I know she doesn’t want to go back to the conversation about her father. But we must.

“We need to dig into this thing with your dad a bit more because I have a theory,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve found ourselves in.

“Of course, you do. Go ahead, tell me,” she says with a bit of her dry humor coloring her voice.

“I don’t think your dad disappearing had anything to do with Enron.” She stiffens.

“What? Then why would he disappear on the day of the collapse. Why did he clean out his 401k right before the stock tanked?”

“He saw it coming. And used it as cover for the real reason he left.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she's thinking.

“His leaving doesn’t make sense and when things don’t make sense it’s usually because there is another explanation. I don’t know what it is yet. But I think we should try to find out.”

“We should?” she asks in a voice as skeptical as I’ve ever heard it.

“Yes, but we have to talk about it more later. I suggest we start with your mom.” My phone alerts me to an incoming text and I stand up, sliding her off my lap, I reach into my pocket and pull it out.

“It’s my driver. He’s outside. I’ve got to get to the airport.” I look back at her, hating that I’m leaving in the middle of this conversation. Hating that I have to leave at all. “I’m sorry to leave you right now, but I’ll call you tonight when I get to my hotel.”

“No, it’s okay. My mom should be back in a couple of hours, and I’ve got a lot to do. I need to call Cristal and let her know I’ll take the job.” She smiles and pecks me on the lips. “And I need to get back to planning your event.”

She gives me a wink as she saunters out of the room and I watch her go and think how sweet that ass is and how I hope this week sails by so I can get back to her.