You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 8


The next day, Ava felt stronger, ready to take on the world, a part of her that had been missing surfacing for the first time since she’d been released from the hospital.

If she’d had nightmares during the night, she couldn’t remember anything about them this morning, though there was a lingering worry hovering around her brain. She tried to shake it off. Today she wasn’t going to let any stupid dream shackle her, remembered or otherwise.

Tossing off the bedcovers, she got to her feet, ignoring the headache pounding at the base of her skull as she showered, then slipped into her favorite robe and cinched the belt around her waist.

With her hair barely towel-dried, she walked to the bedroom window, threw back the curtains, and opened the blinds. Her stomach clenched, anxiety twisting her nerves, but when she stared through the old glass this morning, she didn’t see her son standing on the dock. There was no terrifying image of her boy teetering over the dark, swirling water.

“Thank God,” she whispered, one hand still wrapped around the cord of the blinds, her shoulders slumping with sudden, nearly overwhelming relief.

Maybe she was getting better.

This morning as she peered through the window, she saw a rising mist and the shivering fronds of dew-covered ferns. The damp stone pathway split, one branch leading to the private apartment in the basement, the other curving past the garden and toward the closest pasture. It was that walkway that wound around to the side of the house, the one that was just visible from her bedroom. She caught a glimpse of Austin Dern rounding up the horses. Dun, palomino, black, and bay, the animals were shrouded in the thickening fog and seemed to appear, then fade as they followed the tall man out of her range of view toward the stable at the back of the house.

She hurried out of her room, past the stairway and down a short hall to one of the unused guest rooms. Its door stuck a little but finally opened to display a bed that hadn’t been slept in since the summer and a side table with books collecting dust. Portraits of her great-grandparents had been hung here years ago, their stern, unsmiling visages glowering down on anyone who stepped across the threshold.

The air inside was still, smelling of dust and disuse, odors that couldn’t quite be freshened with the fragrant sachets tucked in the empty bureau drawers. Even the scented candles placed in front of an antique mirror had lost their aromas.

She crossed to the window where sheer curtains draped over blinds that had been closed for months. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped them open and stared through the dirty glass. From her vantage point, Ava viewed the outbuildings located behind the house and the fields of wet grass that sprawled past the fence line to the brush and thickets of fir and hemlock that crawled up the hillside.

Dern was working with the horses near the stable.

Hidden by sheer curtains, she studied the man who had been her rescuer, the man Wyatt had hired, yet had neglected to mention. With broad shoulders and a long stride, Austin Dern seemed comfortable with the horses, as if he’d been around livestock all of his life; the stereotypical Hollywood cowboy wearing disreputable jeans, a beat-up sheepskin jacket, and cowboy boots. In need of a haircut and a shave, he opened a gate and shooed the horses through. The only thing missing from the image was a Stetson and an accompanying drawl.

He looked up then, as if he were suddenly aware of her interest. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as if a cold breeze had swept over her nape. Again the eerie feeling that he was familiar brushed her soul.

“You’re imagining it,” she whispered, then stepped away from the window and told herself she hadn’t seen him somewhere in her youth. . . .

She remembered the feel of his strong arms surrounding her, the pressure of his wet body against her as he’d dragged her from the sea.

It all seemed surreal now, as if it had happened to someone else.

Surely, if she’d met him before, she could recall . . . ? From the shadows of the unused room, she watched Dern as he walked into the stable, Rover, a stray shepherd that had just shown up a few years back, at the rancher’s heels. For a split second, she thought about trusting him, then quickly cast the thought aside.

No one. You can’t trust anyone. Especially not a stranger who’d just shown up and been hired by Wyatt. Nothing is as it seems . . . remember that.

There was no use fantasizing about the newcomer. She knew nothing about him except that he’d saved her.

It bothered her that Wyatt had hired the man without filling her in. Typical!

She dragged her gaze back to the dock where she’d been certain she’d seen her son teetering on the slippery boards, dangerously close to the deep water, the misting fog swirling around him. Her heartbeat accelerated at the memory.

Had it been an hallucination brought on by anxiety? Or had it been a result of those damned pills she’d been prescribed?

She knew her son hadn’t disappeared on the dock . . . right? So why the morbid fascination with those damned slippery boards jutting into the bay?

What the hell was wrong with her?

Just because the police had suggested Noah fell into the bay didn’t mean it was true. Of course not!

Her head began to throb again and she snapped the blinds shut before returning to her room.

Walking into the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. Over the running water, she heard a quick rap on the door. Sometimes she felt as if her room were Grand Central Station.

“Coming!” Snapping a hand towel from its ring, she dabbed at her face as she stepped into the bedroom and found Graciela letting herself in. “Miss Ava?” she said, her practiced smile intact. “Virginia wants to know if you want breakfast?”

“I’ll get something later.”

Graciela’s smile fell away. “She says the coffee is ready.”

“Good.” Ava waited.

Graciela didn’t budge.

Or take the hint.

“I’ll be down in a little bit. I’ll grab something then.” Who was the boss here? Still the stubborn maid lingered. Ava tossed the towel onto the foot of her bed. “Is there something else, Graciela?”

“Si . . . yes.” She frowned a bit as if reluctant to convey the message.

“What is it?”

“I thought you might want to know that your cell phone’s been ringing downstairs.”

“My cell?” Ava glanced quickly around the room for her phone. “I didn’t hear it.”

“It’s in the main hall, by the door, in your purse.”

“The hall?” Ava’s gaze shifted to the chair where she’d always plopped her purse before bed each night. Sure enough, her bag was missing. “Thanks. I’ll get it,” she said to the maid, whose returning hint of a smirk suggested that she knew Ava was losing her mind. “Just give Virginia the word about breakfast, okay?” she said as Graciela swept out of the room, the door thudding shut behind her.

Good riddance. Graciela did nothing wrong and yet there was something about the pretty little maid that got under Ava’s skin.

Ava sure as hell didn’t remember leaving her purse downstairs. Not that it was a big deal, just another indication that she wasn’t thinking clearly and that the holes in her memory now included smaller rips in the seam along with the bigger, gaping tears she couldn’t sew back together.

But she was certain, feeling as she did today, that the only way back to being herself was by staying off the medication the doctors had prescribed. All those lousy pills did was dull her, and she had to be clear and mentally focused so that she could find out exactly what had happened to her boy and why she was haunted by visions of him.

Quickly she ditched her robe and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and loose-knit sweater. She was pushing her head through the neckline when another series of raps against her door preceded Demetria poking her head inside.

“Hey!” Ava said sharply. “I’m getting dressed here.”

“Oh.” The nurse didn’t seem the least bit concerned even though she mumbled a lifeless, “Sorry.” She was carrying a small paper cup and a glass of water. “Your pills.”

“Just put them on the nightstand.” Ava pulled her hair out of the neck of her sweater and shook her curls free. “I’ll take them later.”

“You know, they really need to be taken on a schedule to keep your med levels even.”

“Let me guess—to avoid any mood swings?”

The nurse’s lips pursed a bit. “Precisely,” Demetria agreed.

“And the mood swings are bad because . . . ?”

Demetria regarded her warily. “I assume you remember jumping into the bay the other night? I think it would be a good idea to avoid another life-threatening situation, don’t you?”

“I’m better.”

“It’s only been—”

“Long enough!” Ava snapped, then tried to rein in her temper. Any signs of volatility would only bolster the nurse’s case. “I know I haven’t been the most stable person around. So, if I start doing swan dives into the bay again, then maybe I’ll consider taking the pills. But let’s just see how it goes.”

“Dr. McPherson won’t be happy.”

“And I live to make her happy,” Ava deadpanned. Demetria was still holding out the damned cup, so she gestured to it. “Don’t worry about those. I’ll call the doctor and tell her what gives.”

“Couldn’t you do that after you take your medication?”

Jewel-Anne’s nurse was really getting under her skin, and it was all Ava could do to keep her voice level. “Just leave the pills on the nightstand.”

“Why do you have to make things so difficult?” Demetria burst out, as if she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I was just thinking the same about you.” She strode by the nurse, bumping her arm to send the pills flying.

“Watch out!” Demetria dropped to her knees and started frantically searching for the meds. “Now look what you’ve done!”

Ava was already heading down the stairs, her footsteps muted by the soft runner that flowed down the center of the old, wooden steps. She wasn’t going to be dragged into an argument this morning. Demetria was one of those self-righteous know-it-alls whom Ava couldn’t stomach. Fine for Jewel-Anne, who somehow had manipulated her nurse into believing that Demetria was in charge.

A weird relationship that.

Ava wanted no part of it.

Downstairs she was met with the sounds of Virginia’s off-key humming over the sizzle of frying bacon, both emanating from the kitchen while a steady rain beat against the tall windows flanking the massive front door.

Graciela was right: Ava’s purse was just where she’d said it would be, tossed carelessly onto a small bench in the foyer. She must’ve left it there yesterday . . . but she couldn’t remember. Deciding it didn’t matter, she scooped up the bag and scrounged through the interior to find her cell planted deep in a zippered pocket.

As the scents of warm coffee and crisp bacon caused her stomach to rumble, she unlocked the keypad and scrolled through her messages. All told, she’d missed three calls—two from Tanya and the third only identified as a “private call.” Also, she’d received one text from Tanya:

Give me a call ASAP.

“Okay, okay.” Punching the RETURN DIAL button for Tanya’s number, she started up the stairs again.

Sharp footsteps caught her attention. “Miss Ava?” Virginia’s voice called after her.

Nearly missing a step, she turned and spied the cook just as Tanya answered. “Hey, I wondered if you’d ever get my message! Make that messages! For God’s sake, don’t you ever check your phone?”

“Hi. Hang on for just a sec, would ya?” Ava said into the cell as the cook, four steps below, stopped dead in her tracks at the base of the stairs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Virginia said quickly, eyebrows pulling together as she realized that Ava was talking on the phone. “I didn’t realize you were busy.” Backing toward the kitchen, Virginia gestured toward the rear of the house and said softly, “Breakfast is ready, in the morning room.”

Ava was about to argue but rather than get into another debate, she said simply, “I’ll be right down,” before mounting the stairs again. Once out of earshot, she turned her attention to her phone conversation. “Sorry, Tanya, everything’s happening here at once.”

“NBD.” No big deal in Tanya-ese. “I got your message. Sorry that I missed you at the shop. Plumbing issues at the house . . . flooded basement, broken pipe—oh, don’t get me started!”

“Sounds bad.”

“It was, in this case the you-know-what was running downhill all right, right into my laundry room . . . Ugh! I shudder just thinking about it, but Al from Al-Wright Plumbing came to the rescue and in a few days, when things dry out, everything will be back to normal. So he says. For now, I have to do all the laundry from home at the shop where I’ve got the small stack unit. Things could be worse, I suppose.”

“A lot,” Ava said as she walked into her room and shut the door behind her.

“Oh, God, Ava, I’m such an idiot!” Tanya said. “It’s nothing . . . just dirty socks and underwear, a little inconvenience. I mean, after what you’ve been through . . .” She let that thought slide and added, “You know, I’m just so, so sorry.”

There was a click on the line, as if someone else were trying to reach her. Ava ignored the call. “It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. They both knew it.

Leaning against the door to her room, she felt the weight of her loss dragging her down, but she couldn’t go there, not today, not when she was finally feeling proactive. “I was just hoping we could get together for . . . coffee, or lunch, or maybe drinks. Whatever.”

“I’d love it! Anytime . . . well, I’d have to work it in. You know, between the salon hours and the kids’ schedules and everything else. That’ll be a trick. With school, soccer, and—if you can believe it—ballet for Bella, it seems like I’m in the car half the day. You should see my gas bill!”

Hauling children to their activities, it sounded like heaven to Ava, but she didn’t voice it. She said, “You’re the busy one these days, so you name the time.”

“Okay . . . let me see . . . I’ve got my appointment book and personal calendar on my computer . . . so how about . . . Oh, gee . . . there’s a chance I can meet you tomorrow. I’ve got an hour for lunch, but it would have to be late, like two or two-fifteen? Is that okay? I’ve got a cut and color that might run longer than it should.”

“Works for me.”

“Okay, just stop by the shop.”

“Twoish. Got it. Bring pictures of Bella and Brent.”

“Got ’em in my station already. Yeah, I know, I’m one of those moms.” She laughed and Ava relaxed a little.

“See you then.” She was about to click off when Tanya’s voice stopped her.

“Wait! Hey, Ava, this entire conversation has been all about me. What about you. Are you okay?”

There was that damned question again.

“I, uh, heard what happened the other night,” Tanya added in a rush. “Is everything all right?”

“Right as rain,” she said quickly as she heard footsteps on the stairs, then added under her breath, “I’ll tell you all about it when we get together.”

“Promise?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Knuckles rapped on her bedroom door.

Good God. Again?

“Cross my heart,” she whispered automatically as she disconnected. Growing up, they always said those three words when they weren’t joking. It was their unwritten rule that whenever either of them said Cross my heart, it meant that whatever they were saying was the God’s honest truth. Then to the door, she yelled, “I’m coming,” as she clicked off her phone while simultaneously flinging open the door.

Jewel-Anne, seated in her chair, fist raised as if to knock again, was planted on the threshold, her wheelchair blocking the doorway and making it impossible for Ava to pass.

“Your breakfast’s getting cold,” she stated flatly. Her doll, a redhead with green eyes, tucked into a special bag that was snapped to the side of her chair, seemed to stare up at Ava with her thick-lashed eyes. Jewel-Anne flipped out one of the earbuds of her iPhone, held firmly in her other plump hand.

“I already told Virginia I’d be right there,” Ava said a tad testily.

“I just thought you should know.” Jewel-Anne was prim today, supercilious as ever. “And Trent texted me. He said he’s trying to reach you, but you won’t call him back.”

“He didn’t—” She remembered the private number on her cell’s tiny screen. “So he couldn’t get me and called you?”

“I guess.” As if disinterested, she shrugged a shoulder.

“Why?”

“Maybe because you didn’t answer and he knew he could get hold of me.” Jewel-Anne said it as if Ava were a bona fide idiot. There was a lot of that going around these days. Too much, in fact. “He’s got a new phone number,” she added, then rattled it off.

Having delivered her message, Jewel-Anne flipped her hair over her shoulder, then pressed a button, reversed, and turned her wheelchair deftly on the landing before whirring away. “You’re welcome,” she called over her shoulder as she passed by the nursery . . . the closed door to Noah’s room.

Ava shook her head as she made her way downstairs again, read the menu on her phone, and called the number she had for Trent.

Sure enough, she got a disconnect message.

She was about to try the number Jewel-Anne had rattled off, one of the few memory skills that hadn’t abandoned her in the past few years, but as she reached the first floor, the phone rang in her hands. “Hello?” she said, reading the caller ID message of “private caller.”

“So you are alive,” Trent teased.

“Against my own best efforts, some people think.”

“Ah-ah-ah, careful. I might be one of those.” But he chuckled in amusement.

“Probably are.” Of all of her cousins, Trent, Ian’s twin, was the one with whom she felt the most connected. Trent, “the sane one” as he referred to himself, was half an inch shorter than Ian, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in looks and personality. “The lady slayer” he’d called himself in high school, and his self-aggrandized opinion of himself hadn’t been far from the truth.

Just ask Tanya.

Or several other of her friends in high school. “So, I’m fine,” she insisted, and let him think what he wanted. No doubt he got reports from his half sister and twin about her “condition” or whatever it was they called it. “Piper already called me.”

He groaned. “Stepmommy Dearest.”

“Exactly.”

“Let me guess. She acted as if she were worried sick about you.”

“That’s about it in a nutshell.”

“But I don’t have to worry about you?” he asked.

“Why don’t you be a freethinker and assume that I’m not insane.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Huh.”

He laughed and they talked as she walked the length of the foyer to the back of the house and the solarium, which offered a wide view of the stables, fields, and hills surrounding Neptune’s Gate.

“Just take care of yourself,” he said as the conversation wound down, and she walked into Wyatt’s office. Cradling her phone against her shoulder, she snagged a pen from the cup on his desk and scribbled Trent’s new phone number onto the palm of her free hand. “Remember, Ava, you’re living in a nest of loonies.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what they all think I am.”

“Then you fit right in.”

“Don’t think so,” she said with a laugh.

“So prove them wrong.”

I will, she thought as she hung up, then transferred his number into the contact list in her phone. But first she had to prove it to herself.