Woke

by Peggy Jaeger

  As Ramon had told me, the times Phil had called him afterward for any updates were all jotted down, the last conversation being July 13th.

  Something niggled at the back of my head about that date. It came to me in a lightning bolt. July 15th was the date Phil told me she’d married Trey.

  I flipped through the file but couldn’t find any more notations she’d reached out to Ramon, or that he’d questioned her, again.

  Her behavior – the crying, the distraction – told me Phil had cared enough about me at the time that she’d continued to be upset about it.

  Why, then, had she never come to the hospital or reached out to my parents? And why the hurried marriage? The romance reader in Maeve might have imagined Trey and Phillipa were so traumatized by what happened to me, they realized life was fleeting and wanted to be together for eternity.

  Somehow it didn’t ring true. I might not remember the day of the party, but I had a lifetime of memories with these two and I couldn’t picture either of them begin so influenced by anything not connected directly to either of them that they’d make such a lasting, binding decision.

  I’d hoped to find answers and the truth in these files and so far all I had were more questions.

  Trey’s file wasn’t as full as Phil’s. He’d echoed everything Phil had said about the party, their whereabouts and what had happened afterward. Ramon had made a few side notes about Trey’s arrogance when questioned initially, and then his continued insistence to be included in any interviews with Phillipa. One note had the word possessive with a question mark next to it and Phil’s name.

  Well, that rang true. Their entire relationship had been a weirdly, possessive one, on both their parts.

  A little niggle of a memory tried to push through my brain, but when I yawned, it flew away.

  I decided to tackle one more file before turning in. Killian Beggs paperwork was more than Trey’s had been, but less than Phil’s. He’d told Ramon about the party and then detailed what had happened since he’d—apparently—been standing next to me when I’d downed the drugged champagne.

  “One second she was standing there, smiling, chatting away about how happy she was. The next her hand flew to her head, her eyes rolled like she was possessed and she fell to the floor, foaming at the mouth. I pulled my jacket off and put it under her head and held on to her while she started seizing. I screamed for someone to call 911 and then I stayed with her until help arrived. My sister has epilepsy so I know what to do when a seizure hits.”

  I hadn’t known that, or if I did, I’d forgotten it all these years later. Ramon had made several notations writing he’d confirmed Killian’s sister did indeed have epilepsy and that all his staff checked out fine. A follow up a few weeks later with him was detailed, but nothing new was revealed.

  My eyes were starting to blur, a sure sign my body was ready to shut down for the night, so I tossed the file on the floor next to the bed. Just as I was about to shut the light, my phone rang and Cade’s name and number sailed across the screen.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” His low, calm voice floated through the phone. I settled back against my pillows and flexed my toes and legs, my entire body relaxing from the soothing and intoxicating note in his voice. It was like having an after dinner glass of brandy – warm and rich, subtle yet packed with flavor.

  “I was just about to call it a night. What’s up?”

  “I won’t keep you from your beauty sleep. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing and how your day was. I’ve been shuttling from one meeting to another, and this is the first time I’ve gotten a chance to breathe all day. But I have to tell you, you’ve been on my mind constantly, all day long.” A deep sigh blew through the phone.

  “That’s sweet.”

  “There’s nothing sweet about the images that have been distracting me during my meetings, Aurora.”

  “Images?”

  “Yeah. Of you. Naked. Sprawled across my bed and with me on top of you. Kissing you. Caressing you. In you.”

  And just like that every soothed and calmed nerve in my body fired like a space rocket and zoomed into hyperdrive. It was a good thing I was alone because the red-hot heat that shot up my face would have been a dead giveaway about what was going on inside me. My ass squirmed against my silk, thousand count, sheets and it was all I could do not to let loose the moan threatening to break through my lips.

  “I can only hope your silence means you’re picturing the same things and not because you’ve gone mute from embarrassment.”

  “It takes a lot to embarrass me,” I fibbed, first swallowing, then taking a mental breath.

  His wicked chuckle sent my toes curling.

  “So that’s a yes for picturing the same thing. Good. I like knowing I’m not the only one distracted here. So, how was your day? What did you do?”

  Smiling, I told him about my killer session with Sam and then my neuro appointment.

  “Everything’s okay, right? With your…healing, I guess is the right word?”

  “All good.”

  “I’m glad. So, when can I see you again? I’d like to take you to dinner and then catch a movie, or go listen to some jazz at a club uptown.”

  He’d remembered I told him how much I liked listening to jazz during my long runs.

  “I’ll get back to you tomorrow when I can check my calendar. I’m so comfy in bed right now I don’t want to get up and check it.”

  Silence met me for a few moments.

  “Cade?”

  “You’re…in bed?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong? You sound weird all of a sudden.”

  “Are you…? I mean…what are you…wearing?”

  My cheeks were getting a nighttime sunburn from this conversation. I could feel Flirty Rory bubbling up with a sassy comeback, but I pushed her back down and asked, “You’ve been imagining me all day in your mind, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll just let you keep imagining what I wear to bed. Or don’t.”

  His breath hissed through the phone.

  “Goodnight, Cade. Sleep…tight.”

  I disconnected before he could respond.

  Snuggling down I couldn’t help the grin pushing across my face. Maybe Flirty Rory and I were more alike than I’d previously thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What’s all this, then?” Maeve asked the next morning when she came to wake me up. Standing next to my bed, she pointed to the files I’d put on my bedside table the night before.

  Damn.

  I’d wanted to shove everything back in the bag Ramon gave me and hide it somewhere in my room so she and my mother wouldn’t find it. I wasn’t ready to fill them in on my meeting with the good detective.

  Now it looked like I had to.

  Maeve didn’t wait for me to respond. She picked up the top file and opened it.

  “Maeve—”

  “Oh, my Lord above. Aurora. What have you done?”

  I winced and threw back the covers. Once I was standing toe to toe with her I said, “Don’t yell at me.” I tried to take the file from her hands but she shifted, holding it out of my reach.

  “This is an official police file,” she said.

  “I know what it is.” I tried again to tug it from her hands but this time she blocked me with her free hand.

  “Where did you get it?”

  Maeve may be twenty years older than me, but she’s the full definition of spry and agile. I couldn’t get close to the file in her hand no matter what I did.

  Finally, resigned to my fate, I plopped back on the bed and gave in to the inevitable.

  “If you must know I got it from the detective in charge of my investigation.”

  Her already pale face blanched and her entire body stilled as if she’d been turned to stone. The file fell from her hands, the pages scattering like confetti over my rug, and the crystal blue in her eyes was almost obliterated from the inky black of her pupils filling them.r />
  Afraid she was going to fall, I bolted back upright and grabbed her arm.

  “Nick? You met with…Nick?”

  “Sit down.” I didn’t wait for her to listen to me, but shoved her down to the spot I’d just vacated. She was so pale I was terrified she was going to faint.

  I’d never imagined she’d react this way to finding out I’d met with her former lover. I figured she be pissed, yes, or maybe even disappointed that I’d kept it from her. But seeing her look so deathly white was terrifying and for a brief moment I rethought my actions.

  “What’s going on?” my mother asked as she came into the room, dressed for the day in a Chanel suit and looking as if she were about to leave for an appointment, every hair in place, her makeup camera-ready. “Maeve? What’s wrong? What’s happened?

  She dropped her purse as she flew to my bedside, sat down and took Maeve’s hand, cocooning it within her own.

  “Your hand is like ice.” She rubbed it between hers. “What happened?” she asked me.

  There was no keeping it a secret now. Before I explained I went into my bathroom and got Maeve a glass of water.

  “Drink this,” I commanded, pushing it into her free hand.

  When she lifted it to her trembling lips I watched her chug it all down. Some of her color returned and her eyes were no longer glassy.

  “Tell me.” My mother could infuse her tone with the command of an army general when she chose to.

  With a shake of my head, I pulled out the chair to my vanity, sat, then confessed.

  Both of them stared at me as if, a. I’d lost my mind, b. I’d grown another head, and c. I’d committed an unforgiveable sin against humanity.

  “What in the world possessed you, Aurora Jean?”

  Ouch.

  Here was the full import of my mother’s anger and disappointment: calling me by my full name. Not once since I’d woken had I heard it spew from her. Until now.

  “Why would you contact him after all this time?”

  “You two won’t ever talk to me about what happened.”

  “For good reason,” she said. “We want to put it behind us and not dwell on the past. You need to move forward with your life.”

  “I get that, I really do. But seeing Phillipa after all these years made me realize I need to know what happened to me and why. I know nothing, mom, absolutely nothing, and I need answers.”

  “Why? It won’t change anything.”

  “Maybe not for you. But I’m the one with a hole the size of Mars in my memory.”

  I rose and then knelt in front of both of them, placing my hands over their joined ones.

  “I don’t expect you to understand because you lived through every moment of that time.”

  “You did, too,” Mom said.

  “Physically, yes. But up here”—I shot a finger to my temple—“it’s a blank. Meeting with Detective Ramon was the most logical thing to do since neither of you ever want to talk about it or answer any of my questions. Please understand this. I didn’t seek him out to hurt either of you or cause you any distress. I hated going behind your backs, but I know you don’t like or want to talk about it. It’s too painful for you. I didn’t tell you just for that reason, to protect you from any undue distress.”

  Both women glanced at the other, their expressions almost identical in their concern.

  My mother tilted her well-coifed head and asked, “And you thought, what? That meeting with”—she flicked a glance at Maeve—“Nick…would give you your memory back?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but it’s worth trying to find out. Someone drugged me. That’s a fact. What’s also fact is that Ramon was never able to find out who did it despite a very lengthy, intense investigation. Over a year of work with no clear cut conclusion.” I ticked my head to the pile of files of my table. “Those are all the witness statements of everyone connected to that night, including yours, daddy’s, Maeve’s, Murphy’s and all my so-called friends.”

  “And you think reading through them will help you remember?”

  “Maybe not so much remember, exactly, what happened that night. But there’s one person Ramon was never able to interview. One person who was there, saw everything that was going on and who might be able to shine some light on who had the opportunity to slip those drugs in my drink, or who might have seen something that didn’t make sense. Or even be able to pick up on something in someone’s statement that doesn’t ring right.”

  “Who? If I remember correctly, Nick interviewed everyone we knew and scores of people we didn’t, like people who worked in the club and for Killian Beggs.” Her gaze darted to the files. “Who could possibly be left he didn’t speak to?”

  I was all set to answer her when Maeve gave a little start and sat upright. Some of her color had returned and her eyes were focused in intently on me.

  “You,” she said, finding her voice. “You were the one person he could never interview because you were in a coma.”

  My mother’s delicate gasp rang around the three of us.

  I nodded. “Me. Since my memory of that day is gone, I thought reading through all of those might bring some of it back. Maybe jar something that will hopefully help Ramon find out who drugged me. It’s worth a shot. It really is.”

  They were both silent again as they sat, perched on my bed, their faces masks of worry and their body’s tense.

  “Aurora, why now?” my mother asked. “You’ve gotten your life back to some semblance of normalcy. You’ve healed your body and started living again. You even went out on a date, something you haven’t done since before.” She didn’t need to explain any further.

  “Detective Ramon asked me the same question.”

  At mention of his name, Maeve’s pale color now darkened with a thick flush across her cheeks. My mother noticed the response, then asked me, “And?”

  “I told him the truth. I’ve always wanted to know what happened that night but that you two took great pains to keep silent. But what really made me want to know everything I could was my chance meeting with Phillipa. Seeing how’s she changed, and wanting to know why she never came to see me in all the years I was asleep. She was my best friend, Mom. I would have thought she’d stick by me in a crisis. I know I would have if the roles were reversed

  “I never liked that girl, as I told you more times than you cared to listen.” Maeve’s discomposure, apparently, had flown. “She was, as my mother would have said, sly and untrustworthy.”

  “I know you never liked her. And I realized after seeing her that aside from that one time with Killian Beggs, no one has kept in touch or even simply called me to find out how I was doing since I woke up. I don’t even know if any of them have contacted you, Mom, because you’ve never wanted to talk about it.”

  My mother sighed, looked down at her shoes, then back up at me again. “In the beginning there were a few who called. Friends of your father’s and mine, not yours. After a while,” she shrugged, “people just didn’t anymore.”

  “And you didn’t find that odd?”

  Another shrug. This time her face turned sad with it. “Most people in our social set were—are—selfish. If something doesn’t concern them, well, they tend to not bother with it. Your father and I spent so much time involved in your care that we let most of our friendships slide. We stopped going to social events, didn’t vacation any more, stopped making an effort to see people. You were our world. Mimsey’s the only one who really stood by me, who realized I had to devote myself to you.”

  “So you can understand why I have to do this, then. I need to know why my friends stopped caring about me and what happened that night.”

  I was prepared for them both to argue more with me. Hell, I was prepared for them to scream and yell, which is a little part of the reason I didn’t tell them from the beginning what I was doing.

  What I wasn’t expecting, though, was to have two middle aged women, so different in almost every way but unified in one thing completely �
� caring about me – agree with me.

  My mother turned to Maeve, her eyes widening, and Maeve stared right back at her, her own gaze intense and searching. They were still holding on to one another, their hands clasped.

  A minute head tilt from Maeve with a furrowing of her brow had my mother mimicking her expression. Some silent, deep-rooted communication flowed between them for a few moments, until my mother nodded. They both turned to me again, their shoulders straight and their expressions resolute.

  My mother was the designated spokesperson as usual. With her coral colored lips pressed together in a determined line and her chin firm, she asked me, “What can we do to help?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the moment, I told them, there was nothing they could or needed to do.

  Then, “I want to read through all these interviews and see if anything sparks. I may ask you to read through them when I’m done, but for now, I just want to know that you support what I’m doing and that you’re not angry with me.”

  “Anger’s not what I’m feelin’,” Maeve mumbled, as she shook her head and stood. With her hands on her hips, she glared at me, a question in her eyes I knew she was too darn stubborn to give a voice to.

  “He’s very handsome,” I said.

  Her eyes flashed for a brief moment, but she asked, “Who is?”

  “You know who. Detective Ramon. Nick.”

  Her shrug lacked the feeling of unimportance I think she meant to convey by hearing his name.

  “He was a handsome man back in the day. I wouldn’t think age would change that much.”

  “He’s retired now. And he’s never married,” I told her, hoping she’d rise to the bait and ask me more about him.

  “Some men don’t,” she replied, her voice filled with acceptance rather than inquisitiveness. “Married to their careers, they are,” she added when I stayed silent.

  “Or their soul mate slipped through their fingers and they can’t conceive of being with anyone else.”

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “You’re starting to sound like one of my romance novels. One of the bad ones with a stupid plot and a naïve, begging to be killed, heroine.”