A Sense of Belonging Read online

  A Sense of Belonging

  Laura Branchflower

  Copyright © 2017 Laura Branchflower

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 9780999175224

  ISBN: 099917522X

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No Part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages or reproduce illustrations in a review with appropriate credits; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other – without written permission from the publisher.

  For Joey

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also by Laura Branchflower

  1

  “That’s Tony Prossi,” Tarah Jansen said in a hushed tone, nodding her head in the direction of a man standing beside a table several feet away.

  When Casey Jansen followed her sister’s gaze, her fork slid from her fingers, clanking onto her salad plate. It was the man who had become her secret obsession over the past several months.

  “He’s the attorney who represented Kendall,” Tarah continued.

  Senator Kendall had been charged with a litany of offenses a year prior, the most serious of which was using his influence to steer a multimillion-dollar contract to a friend’s firm, but he’d recently been found innocent. What had been headline news for weeks and predicted to destroy a promising career was all but forgotten, and Kendall was once again in the good graces of the American people, at least those in his party.

  “I recognize him,” Mr. Jansen said dismissively, his eyes shifting from the attorney to his oldest daughter. “It’s because of him Kendall’s still in office instead of in jail where he belongs. Arrogant son of a bitch.”

  “Dad!” Tarah whispered across the table. “He’ll hear you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. I work in this city.”

  Casey tuned them out, her attention focused solely on the man who now had a name. He looked different in a suit, older, more intimidating. Her father had called him arrogant, but she thought “commanding” was more fitting. She drew in a deep breath, feeling almost light-headed as she consumed him with her eyes.

  She willed him to look at her. Then she remembered Tarah, who was sitting directly beside her. Their mother described Tarah as classically beautiful, someone who would remain stunning at every stage of her life. Casey’s self-confidence waned in the shadow of her older sister, who looked like their mother, with her high cheekbones and full lips, but who at five foot eleven had clearly inherited their father’s above-average height. Casey was blonde like her father and, at five foot six, the same height as her mother. In an aqua-green sundress, her curly hair falling loosely around her shoulders, Casey knew she looked pretty, but she wasn’t Tarah. She watched him cross to the back of the restaurant, disappearing into an enclave she assumed contained the restrooms. He would eventually reappear and when he did, she was terrified he’d notice Tarah.

  “He’s even better-looking in person,” Tarah was saying when Casey brought her attention back to the conversation at the table. “I think he’s single.”

  “The attorney?” her father asked, frowning across the table at Tarah. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

  “I only said he was good-looking,” Tarah said. “But I don’t think he’s too old for me. I’m twenty-six.”

  “Who are we talking about?” Mrs. Jansen asked. Their mother had a tendency of losing herself in her own thoughts, often missing minutes of the conversation going on around her.

  “He’s probably ten years older than you,” Mr. Jansen said. “You shouldn’t even notice him.”

  “I’d have to be blind not to notice him,” Tarah said. “I’m sure every woman in this restaurant noticed him. He’s good-looking and rich.”

  “Who are we talking about?” Mrs. Jansen asked again, her voice more insistent.

  “The attorney she pointed out. The one who represented Kendall. Tony Prossi,” Mr. Jansen said.

  “Oh, Senator Prossi’s son is here? Where?” Mrs. Jansen’s eyes began to scan the nearby tables.

  “Was, Mom,” Tarah said. “You missed him.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I did.”

  “I remember him from the news. He’s handsome in that dark, Italian way. He looks like he’s in the Mafia. And if I’m not mistaken, he was arrested a few years back for some drug offense.”

  Tarah rolled her eyes. “That was his brother, and it happened over ten years ago. And he isn’t in the Mafia.”

  “I didn’t say he was. I said he looked like he could be.”

  “That is a completely racist thing to say.”

  “His father’s a senator?” Casey interrupted. “From where?”

  “I’m paying over fifty thousand a year for your education, and you’re asking us what state he comes from?” Mr. Jansen shook his head as he reached for his beer. “Unbelievable.”

  “What?” Casey’s eyes shifted from her father’s to her mother’s. “I’m not a political science major. And it’s not like he’s from Maryland.” She prayed silently that that was true. She wracked her brain, trying to recall the names of either of the Maryland senators. “I bet Lizzie doesn’t know either,” she said.

  At seventeen, Lizzie was the youngest of the three Jansen children and their father’s favorite. Tall and athletic, she looked more like Tarah than Casey, with their mother’s dark hair and brown eyes.

  Lizzie lifted her eyes from her cell phone. “Know what?”

  “What state Senator Prossi represents,” Casey said.

  “Virginia,” Lizzie answered before returning her attention to her phone.

  “For at least twenty years,” Mr. Jansen added, frowning.

  “Sorry.” Casey held up her hands. “I’m learning theory, not current events. And I don’t follow politicians.”

  “You need to start following the news. You sound ignorant when you don’t know something so common,” Mr. Jansen said.

  “Isn’t this supposed to be my birthday celebration?” Casey asked. They were at dinner at The Prime Rib in Washington, DC, celebrating her twenty-first birthday.

  “She’s right, Dad,” Tarah said. “Let’s not point out how ignorant she is for one night.”

  “Leave her alone,” Mrs. Jansen said absently as her eyes continued to scan the restaurant.

  Casey’s eyes returned to the area where Tony Prossi had disappeared, preoccupied with catchi
ng another glimpse of him. She thought of the first time she’d seen him.

  It was an unseasonably mild Saturday in late January, so Casey had decided to go for a run at Glover-Archbold Park. She was two-thirds through her run, heading back towards Reservoir Road on a narrow path surrounded on both sides by dense forest, when she saw him. He was about twenty-five yards ahead, running towards her at a healthy pace. Her heart jumped when he came into view, more in surprise than fear because it was a remote area of trail and she hadn’t expected to see anyone. As the distance between them closed, she was consumed by a feeling of awareness, her eyes moving from his triathlon-worthy body, clothed in shorts and a T-shirt, to his handsome face with a couple days’ worth of stubble. When they were less than ten yards apart, their eyes met. So caught off guard by her reaction to him, Casey didn’t realize until he was almost on top of her that there was barely enough room for them to pass. He had shifted as far to his right as possible, but she was still in the center of the path.

  “Whoa,” he said deeply, touching her arm and propelling her slightly to her right to avoid a collision.

  “Sorry,” she called after him, watching him over her shoulder as she slowed to a walk.

  He held up a hand as he continued running, and then he disappeared around a bend.

  Casey stood on the path for several seconds, the feel of his touch still lingering on her arm. She dreamt of him that night and again the next, and found herself randomly looking for him when she went out in Georgetown. There was no explanation for her response to the nameless stranger, but she didn’t question it. She’d felt an instant connection to him. It was as simple and complicated as that.

  Months passed, and the memory of him faded. She went one day and then two without thoughts of him pervading her mind. By May she could no longer recall what he looked like, and she decided she wouldn’t recognize him if she saw him again. And then she did.

  It was a Saturday in early June, and she was out for a midday run with her best friend and roommate, Anna. They were running along Reservoir Road towards the park. She was laughing in response to something Anna had said and then he was there, barely five yards away, running towards them. Their eyes met and her heart leapt.

  “Hi,” he said as he passed, his body so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.

  Casey glanced back, her shoulder bumping into Anna’s arm as she shifted sideways. “Sorry,” she said absently, coming to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna stopped beside her.

  “Nothing, I…” She continued to watch him, her eyes taking in his broad shoulders as the distance between them grew. She suppressed the urge to run after him.

  “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I don’t know.” Moments later he was out of sight. She resumed running, Anna falling into step beside her.

  “Why were you staring at him?” Anna asked.

  “I thought I might know him,” she lied, not prepared to share her feelings with Anna when she could barely understand them herself.

  She dreamt of him that night and again the next. As June gave way to July and then August, the dreams continued. They were always the same. She would be lying on her bed, fully clothed, reading a book, and he would come into her room. She would close the book and set it on the nightstand as he stretched out beside her on her white duvet. Then she would move into his arms, her face nestled between his neck and shoulder. An overwhelming feeling of love and security would consume her as he enveloped her in his embrace. When she awoke from the dream, the feeling would linger, sometimes for hours.

  She watched for him whenever she was out. It became part of her life, like looking both ways before crossing a street. It didn’t matter whether she was in Bethesda, Tyson’s Corner or Georgetown. If she was out, she continually scanned faces, looking for his.

  A week before her birthday celebration, she saw him again. It was the third week in August. With temperatures expected to soar to close to a hundred that afternoon, she decided to get in an early morning run. She set her alarm for 6:30 a.m. and was running down Reservoir Road ten minutes later when she saw him. He was coming up a side street perpendicular to hers, a yellow Lab at his side. She’d rehearsed the meeting a thousand times in her head, determined to actually speak to him if she saw him again. But she couldn’t. She felt completely overwhelmed as their eyes met.

  “Good morning,” he said as he turned and began running alongside her.

  A barely audible “hi” was all she managed, and then he was gone, his longer and faster strides quickly pulling him ahead and then away from her.

  She ran at the same time the following morning, hoping early morning runs were part of his routine. Her forethought was rewarded. She saw him three of the next four days. Each time, it was early in the morning, and each time they were running in opposite directions—her away from the university down Reservoir Road and him towards it, or vice versa.

  He never said more than good morning, but the familiarity with which he said it grew each day, at least in her perception, and knowing she would see his face in more than her dreams seemed such an improvement, she didn’t feel compelled to force a conversation.

  Casey’s mind snapped back to the present as Tony Prossi reappeared from the back of the restaurant, his posture and stride exuding confidence as he closed the distance between them. His current path would put him within feet of their table, but he stopped before he reached them, greeting the couple at the table directly beside theirs. She could hear the timbre of his voice, but not make out his words, as he conversed with another man. When he smiled, Casey was taken aback by the transformation to his face. He looked ten years younger, dimples creasing down the sides of his cheeks. He joined the table, lowering himself into a chair, and she had a front-row seat to observe the man, literally, of her dreams.

  “Casey? Are you with us?” Her father’s voice broke into her reverie.

  She reluctantly brought her attention back to her own table. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I was asking if you knew your sister was elected captain of her high school team?” Mr. Jansen asked.

  “Yeah, Mom told me.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke, listening absently as her parents discussed the upcoming soccer season and which teams would give them the most angst.

  She couldn’t stop staring at Tony Prossi. He was too close, and she’d been thinking about him for too long. His features were so familiar. His full lips that she’d fantasized about kissing. The dark hair that was just long enough to show a hint of a wave. She’d thought his eyes were blue, but as she continued to study him she decided they were gray.

  His gaze shifted and those eyes were staring directly into hers. Her pulse quickened as her eyes locked with his. He squinted, and she knew he was trying to place her. She looked different with her curly hair falling down around her shoulders instead of pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Casey!”

  She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice, her gaze swinging to his. “What?”

  “Do you want to get out of your head and join us? Your mother asked you a question.”

  “Sorry.” She forced her attention to her mother. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t order more wine,” Mr. Jansen said a few minutes later when their waiter presented a bottle.

  “This was sent compliments of Mr. Prossi,” the waiter said.

  Mr. Jansen frowned in confusion. “Are you sure you have the right table?”

  “Yes, sir,” the waiter said.

  “I’ve never met the man.”

  “This is the right table,” the waiter assured him. “He was very specific.”

  “This has to be a mistake,” he said to his wife as soon as the waiter left. “Why would he send us wine?”

  Mrs. Jansen inclined her head slightly to the side. “Really, Brad? You can’t think of a reason?”

  “Ahh.” He nodded in unders
tanding, his gaze shifting to Tarah. “I don’t think your admirer knows how old you are.”

  “It’s a bottle of wine, not a marriage proposal,” Tarah said, a hint of a smile on her lips as she lifted her glass. “Don’t look now,” she said to Casey moments later, “but he’s sitting at the table directly behind Mom. I’ve met his eyes twice.”

  Casey’s stomach dropped at the thought of him being interested in Tarah. She stole a glance at his table, but he appeared deep in conversation.

  “What admirer?” Lizzie asked, looking up from her phone.

  “The one who sent this bottle over,” her father said.

  “Tony Prossi,” her mother added.

  “May I have some?” Casey held out her wine glass.

  “No, you’re not twenty-one yet,” Mr. Jansen answered.

  “It’s my birthday in three days.”

  “Ask me in three days,” he said.

  “This is my birthday celebration. I’m going to be twenty-one. Can’t I just have a sip?”

  “Do you want me arrested? No.”

  “He’s thirty-five,” Lizzie announced as she stared down at her cell phone. “There’s a whole Wikipedia page on him.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Mrs. Jansen said about the wine after taking a sip. “It has a nice aftertaste.” She proceeded to launch into a story they’d all heard before about one of their neighbors who claimed she was trained in France as a sommelier, but during a blind wine tasting chose a boxed wine as the most superior.

  “His house cost three point eight million,” Lizzie said, interrupting her mother, who was still going on about the neighbor.