You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 13


“I just don’t see what we have to discuss anymore,” Ava said an hour later. She was seated in the family room near the window, wishing she were outside again. It was nearly dark now; last summer’s lush hydrangeas were dark sticks visible through the glass. A fire had been lit, and Dr. McPherson sat in a nearby chair.

“It’s been only a couple of days since your last hallucination,” she said in that soft-spoken yet authoritative voice that bugged the hell out of Ava.

“I wasn’t hallucinating. I saw him.”

The doctor, not a hair out of place, nodded. “And I hear you’ve been refusing your medication.”

“Who told you that?”

“Or that you’re making a habit of flushing it down the toilet.”

“Is this entire household part of some covert spying operation that I’m not aware of?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Everyone’s just concerned.”

“And taking notes, counting pills, reporting back to you . . . or maybe to my husband.” Ava let out a sigh and stared at the fire. “Look, I don’t need this anymore.”

“By ‘this’ you mean . . . ?”

“These sessions and the medications and all of you observing me like I’m some freak in a sideshow.” She climbed to her feet and warmed the backs of her legs at the fireplace. Somehow it made her feel stronger to stand, to look down at the psychologist who seemed to be the epitome of everything Ava used to be but was now not. Evelyn McPherson’s hair was pulled away from her face in a tidy knot and showed off her classic facial features that were as wrinkle-free as her jacket, blouse, and skirt. Dressed in gray, with a scarf of black and pink, her boots, briefcase, and purse all coordinated. Ava tossed a glance at her own reflection in the mirror over the fireplace: zero makeup, hair that was still crinkled from its earlier braids, jeans, and a sweatshirt that was two sizes too big.

She used to look like the psychologist.

Hell, she used to be that same kind of woman, but even more so. No kind, patient smiles for Ava Church. Nuh-uh. Not when she was known in financial circles as a ballbuster.

“I heard you went riding today,” the doctor said.

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Who told you that?”

The doctor shook her head, and the anger that kept flaring up was white-hot now. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it wasn’t an authorized horseback ride,” Ava said through gritted teeth.

“I was just concerned.”

And she looked it, with her concerned expression. Ava almost bought into it. Almost.

“I appreciate that you’ve been trying to help me. But it’s over. I’ll handle this my way. So, this session and any further ones are over.”

“Denial is one of the signs of—”

“Paranoia? Schizophrenia? Some other kind of -ia? It doesn’t matter.”

“Ava.”

“You’re not hearing me.” Feeling the heat of the fire against her calves, she took a step closer to the coffee table. “Maybe I am crazy. It’s possible.” Before the psychologist could interject, she held up a finger. “But it’s my crazy and I’m owning it.”

McPherson’s brow furrowed.

“There’s nothing more you need to do for me,” Ava said, then glanced out the window to the night beyond, a darkness that was beginning to crawl across the island.

Khloe tapped on the half-open door.

“I hope I’m not disturbing,” she apologized in the doorway as both Ava and Dr. McPherson turned toward the sound, “but the door was ajar . . .” She was actually carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups.

“It’s fine, Khloe. We were about finished anyway,” the doctor said calmly.

Not for the first time, Ava felt as if she were in some weird movie out of the fifties where the staff was all in collusion, eavesdropping at doorways, offering tea as a ruse to listen more closely . . .

This was her good friend Khloe, from high school, offering up tea and sharing knowing looks of conspiration with the psychologist.

Bizarre, that’s what it was.

Or paranoia? Maybe Dr. McPherson was right . . .

At least Khloe wasn’t dressed in a maid’s uniform. Slipping into the room in jeans and a sweater, she said, “I thought you might like something before dinner.” After carefully setting the tray on the coffee table and holding the top of the pot in place, Khloe began to pour.

“I’ll pass,” Ava said as Evelyn McPherson picked up one of the steaming cups.

“You sure?” Khloe straightened and they met eye-to-eye. Once friends. Now . . .

“You know I don’t drink tea.” Except on occasion with Cheryl, the hypnotist. “Coffee, yeah. And I used to drink Diet Coke like water. Remember? In high school?”

Khloe arched a brow. “That was a long time ago,” she said as the smell of orange pekoe mingled with the scent of wood smoke. “Did you want a soda? Mom has a case stored in the pantry and I could find some ice.”

“No.” Ava’s cold tone stopped Khloe short. Tamping down her temper, Ava added, “I just want to be treated like a normal human being. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Evelyn said evenly.

“You’ve never been ‘normal,’ Ava,” Khloe said at the same moment.

Ava’s lips parted, but the tiniest of smiles crossed Khloe’s lips. For a second, Ava saw her as she had been so many years ago, when their biggest problems were getting dates to the prom and figuring out how to get the hell out of Anchorville.

Khloe picked up the tray.

“I just don’t want people tiptoeing around me, or coming into my room unannounced, or insisting I have breakfast when I’m not hungry,” Ava said, desperate to be understood. “Just once I’d like to be able to . . . I don’t know . . . sleep in or something. I don’t want anyone worrying whether I’ve had my orange juice or taken my pill. I just need to be left the hell alone!”

“Ava,” the doctor reproached.

“No, it’s okay.” Khloe’s gaze held Ava’s, and it was as if she were seeing her friend for the first time in a decade. “I get it.”

“Good,” Ava said with feeling.

Khloe nodded, then, as if she realized she was suddenly getting much too personal, too close to the friend she’d once been, she swallowed hard, turned, and walked swiftly from the room.

Ava knew they all had a reason to worry, but she was getting better; she was. And she wasn’t going to take any more of those damned meds!

Leaving the doctor still holding her teacup, Ava stalked from the room and headed for the stairs. She caught a glimpse of Khloe’s backside as she disappeared through the kitchen door. They’d been great friends in high school. Sure, they’d had the usual spats, and Khloe had taken a while to forgive Ava for dating Mel LeFever for a time. But they’d gotten past it and spent graduation together, though Ava could still recall the night that Khloe had accused her of stealing the one boy she cared about. Of course, everything changed when Khloe and Kelvin had gotten together. Mel LeFever was a distant memory and Khloe had fallen head over heels for Kelvin.

Khloe and Kelvin . . . “Double K” they had called themselves, and Khloe had eagerly accepted an engagement ring from Ava’s brother only a few months before his death in the boating accident. Ava had been thrilled for both of them, and then the tragedy struck, and Ava gave birth to Noah and the world was vastly different.

Directly after Kelvin’s funeral, a broken Khloe had left Anchorville for a few months, but when she returned, Wyatt hired her as Noah’s nanny. At the time, Ava hadn’t been sure she needed a nanny at all, and her relationship with Khloe had become strained. Kelvin was gone, and maybe Khloe, after listening to Jewel-Anne’s vitriolic rambling about the boat accident being Ava’s fault, had pulled away from Ava emotionally. Their relationship wasn’t the same. But Ava’s protests to Wyatt about Khloe fell on deaf ears.

“It’ll be good for her, let her know that she’s still a part of the family,” he’d said. They’d been waiting in his car for the ferry: him behind the steering wheel, tapping its rounded top to some rhythm running through his head; her staring through the windshield to the bay from the passenger seat. The sun had been out that day, bright rays sparkling on the water, fishing and pleasure boats dotting the bay. The windows had been down and the breeze had helped cool the warm interior of Wyatt’s car, salt air mingling with the new car smell that still lingered.

Noah, strapped into his car seat, had let out a soft coo from the backseat and Ava had reached around to touch his soft cheek. “Hey there, big guy,” she’d whispered, happier than she’d ever been.

“A little help with the baby wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I think that’s the father’s job.”

“But his father”—he’d touched the tip of her nose fondly—“is gone a lot. And that’s the way it’s going to be for a while until I can convince the partners that my time is best spent in Anchorville.”

“Then do it. You’re a lawyer. You should be able to present a strong argument.”

Wyatt had laughed, that deep, throaty laugh she’d loved. “Yeah, well, remember, they’re attorneys, too.”

“Oh, so they’re onto you.”

“Mmmm. Just consider hiring Khloe. The way I see it, it’s a win-win for everyone.”

“I don’t know. She’s not trained.”

“Not professionally, but neither are we.” He’d flashed that damnably boyish grin again and pushed her lightly on her shoulder. “Come on, Ava, she’s the oldest of six kids. She was always helping Virginia out growing up, right?”

“But a nanny? Do we need one?”

From behind the wheel of his Mercedes, Wyatt had glanced over at her. “We still need a little time together, alone.” He smiled at her just as the ferry, churning water in its wake, pulled up to the dock. “We could have some fun, you know. Noah’s going to need a little brother or sister.”

“Someday,” she agreed, smiling despite her reservations.

“The sooner the better. You and I both know these things take time.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “Maybe we can start tonight?”

“Dreamer,” she’d said, but laughed as he’d put the car into gear and guided the sedan onto the flat deck of the ferry. As they’d ridden to the island, she’d relented.

Within two weeks, Khloe had come to work for them, along with Virginia. Eventually she’d begun dating again and married Simon Prescott, a landscaper who had once worked intelligence and communications in the military, then took a job in Anchorville before landing here on the island. So Simon had moved in with Khloe and things had been steady for a few months.

And then the unthinkable had happened.

At Christmas time, Noah had disappeared.

Everything had changed. Khloe, rock-steady while Ava broke into a million pieces, had somehow graduated from good friend to nanny to caregiver.

Ava had been so bereaved that she hadn’t noticed it happening, only knew that she’d spent hours clinging to Khloe and crying, relying on her friend for consolation and care. Wyatt, himself destroyed, hadn’t been able to help his wife as she’d tumbled from despair and grief to a darker condition that no one would acknowledge outright but was the start of her hallucinations, her inability to define what was real and what was not.

“Mrs. Garrison?” She was nearly to the top of the stairs when a gruff male voice caught her attention. Turning, she found Austin Dern at the base of the stairs. “I think this is yours.” He was holding her phone in one hand. “You must’ve dropped it up on the ridge.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even missed it, and as she hurried down the stairs, she thought of the two times she’d dealt with him alone, once in the bay, another time just a step or two from the edge of the cliffs. “Thanks.” She plucked the phone from his fingers and started for the stairs again, then stopped. “You know, I think that considering the fact that you might have saved my life twice, you could call me Ava.”

He frowned as he thought about it, and she tried to ignore that whole sexy cowboy aura that surrounded him. Unshaven jaw, tanned skin from hours outside, crow’s feet fanning from his eyes as if he squinted against the sun, long, lean body covered in faded denim and plaid—definitely not her type. “If that’s what you want,” he agreed.

“I do.” Her gaze touched his, and she realized his eyes were a dark brown and guarded. For a split second she remembered the length of his body pressed close to hers in the cold water. Her nightgown had been molded to her body, showing off every inch of her skin. His arms and hands had been strong, holding her tightly, helping her stay afloat. “Please.”

He considered, then nodded. “All right . . . Ava.” Again his gaze found hers, and what she saw in their depths was as frightening as it was arousing. She suspected that Austin Dern, when he set his mind to a task, didn’t give up until it was accomplished. Her throat tightened, and she nearly stumbled on the step as she tried to back up.

She hurried up the rest of the stairs and quickly walked into her room. Closing the door behind her, she felt flushed, almost jittery, and attributed it to a lack of food. It couldn’t be her reaction to the man. No way. She was not that kind of woman.

Oh, yeah, and just what kind of woman are you these days? Do you even know?

Ignoring her rapidly escalating pulse and the questions that seemed to plague her, she dug in the closet for her computer and notes and flopped onto the bed. She hit the START button on her laptop, and as the machine booted up, she wound her hair away from her face and snapped it into a haphazard ponytail.

Before she could even get into her program, there was a soft knock on the door, and without waiting for her to answer, the door cracked open and a hand slipped through. Clamped tightly in the female fingers was a sweating can of Diet Coke.

Ava almost laughed.

The arm lengthened and Khloe poked her head around the edge of the door. “I found one hidden in the back of the fridge. I think Mom was saving it for herself.” She slipped into the room and leaned against the panels of the door. “Shhh . . . don’t tell anyone. Mom gets pretty tweaked if she can’t get her caffeine fix.” She walked across the room and handed Ava the soda.

“Thanks.” Ava popped the top, hearing the click and distinct hiss of a can being opened.

Khloe hesitated by the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to tell you that I know things are weird around here. Sometimes I think we should all just get the hell off this island, but, well . . . that’s kind of impossible and I know things are going to get better.”

“You mean, I’m going to get better.”

“All of us,” Khloe said. She let out a sigh and looked out the window. A sadness seemed to overtake her. “Well, I’ve gotta run. Simon’ll be home soon.” She glanced at her watch and said, “Oh, God, he might be home already. Wish me luck.”

“You got it.”

Khloe was half out the door when she added, “And the Coke, that’s our little secret, right?”

“Right.”

Our little secret, Ava thought as she took the first swallow from her can.

“Watch out!” Khloe cried as she was pulling the door shut, but not before Ava heard the high-pitched hum of Jewel-Anne’s wheelchair. “What’re you doing here?”

Eavesdropping again, that’s what.

So much for secrets.

They were impossible to keep with her cousin in the house.

Ava was about to climb off the bed and give Jewel-Anne a piece of her mind when her phone vibrated. After digging it out of the pocket of her jeans, she saw Wyatt’s face and number on the tiny screen.

“Hey,” she answered, settling back against her pillows.

“Hey back at you.” The anger she’d heard in his voice earlier had dissipated. “I’m sorry for the fight.”

“We’re married. It happens,” she said, though of course it was happening more often than not lately.

“I just wanted you to know that the house date has to be postponed. Meetings ran late and I’ve got a drink with a client, so I won’t be home until late.”

She’d pretty much figured the house date was off anyway. “Which client?” she asked lightly, keeping the suspicion from her tone.

“Orson Donnelly. Donnelly Software?”

Ava was familiar with the name. The guy had made a fortune in the ever-expanding software industry, developing programs primarily for start-up businesses. But lately, Donnelly and his son had parted ways and the son thought he was entitled to his share of the business or something.

“Yeah, I’ve got to talk him off the ledge, so I don’t know how long it will take. Don’t wait up.”

“Okay.”

“And, Ava?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He hung up before she could respond, and she was left with the phone in her hand, not even able to say to the empty room, “I love you, too.”