Back at the table, my brother’s twisted himself into a total meltdown. Red-faced, crying, he’s yelling “Mama!” as loud as anyone I’ve ever heard.
“Where have you been?” My father snaps. He’s dialing the phone with one hand, patting Sam’s back with the other.
I can’t form the words over the screams. Or tell my dad what to do. He won’t want to hear about fuzzy bear or taking a nap. Or that he really needs Ava. I clamp my mouth shut and try desperately to distract Sam with funny faces.
“Where’s Isabel?” Dad mutters, redialing.
Mo’s mom attempts to distract Sam with a muffin. He knocks it to the floor and bangs on the table. Tears stream down his cheeks. “Mama! Mama!”
My father finally gives up. He hangs up, hoists my baby brother to his shoulder, and throws a twenty on the table.
Then I see the reason why Sam’s freaking out. In the corner, a woman with her back to us looks amazingly like Ava. It’s not her. I can tell. But to Sam, there’s no difference.
“He thinks she’s Ava.” I point and try to tell Dad.
He frowns and scans the room.
“Sam thinks that’s his mom,” I repeat.
All of a sudden, it’s Dad, not me, that turns into the Incredible Hulk. There’s no stepping into a phone booth like Superman or fast costume changes in the Bat Cave. His skin doesn’t turn green. But somehow my dad has turned into a monster.
He puts a hand on my neck. We storm through Miss Beulah’s and burst to the outside. So much for male bonding. Dad’s got us buckled in and gone before the next traffic light change. Jaw set, he calls Isabel again. This time she picks up. By the time we reach the apartment, Sam’s still red-faced but ten times calmer after we’ve bumped along in the Range Rover for a few minutes. Live oak trees, with their curling arms full of green leaves, wave as we roll by. The sunlight winks through the branches.
I take off my brother’s shoes and rub his feet, which he seems to like. After another mile, Dad clicks the radio on. Soft melody, just instruments, no singing, floats into the backseat. Sam kicks his legs, toes wiggling with the notes. Phew. Music.
I fall back against the seat, exhausted. My head pounds. But Sam’s okay. And my dad’s turned back into a human being again. Like the Hulk, deep inside, maybe he wants to be normal. He just can’t figure out how.
CHAPTER 44
MITCHELL
SUNDAY, APRIL 25
I’m looking at the staircase in my house. It’s everything I imagined, stately, imposing, with wide, smooth planks of dark wood with even grain. I run a hand over the glossy finish, and my palm races down the railing.
The warm, raw scent of sawdust lingers, mingling with the smell of dinner—freshly cracked pepper, earthy beef juices, and sweet caramelized onions. I hear her chopping vegetables in the kitchen, picture the knife blade slicing through crisp orange carrots, dicing firm Yukon gold potatoes. She’ll add tender peas that burst in your mouth and tangy sweet creamed corn.
Earlier I’d parked on the road, behind a grove of trees. And waited. When I was ready, I walked, picking my way over branches, pushing aside brush. I’d slid my key into the lock and turned. The locks hadn’t been changed, almost if Ava was expecting me to come home.
My hands run along bookshelves, caress the walls, and finger the matching satin shades topping each lamp. I pluck a pillow from the sofa and bring it to my nose, deeply inhaling. Everything reminds me of Ava.
My shelves. My space. My house. Pausing, I close my eyes and picture my fingers around her slender, white neck. Squeezing the tendons, crushing tender vocal cords. Stopping the blood from pumping.
I step into the kitchen. “Hello, Ava.”
She whirls around and drops a carton of eggs. Ker-plunk! Cracked white half-shells roll every which way. Yellow goo seeps into cracks in the ceramic tile. Her lips part into a small oval.
“Where have you been?” I challenge her.
She swallows and grips the counter, balancing there as if the slab of granite is all that will keep her from falling.
“You can’t be here,” Ava says, lifting her chin. The voice she summons is strong and defiant.
I ignore her question and step closer, enjoying that despite the attempt at bravado, her body begins to quake. “Where were you?”
Ava makes a sweeping motion at the yolky mess on the ground. “It’s no secret, Mitchell. The grocery store. And now I’ll have to go back.”
“Don’t play games,” I snap. “I’m talking about yesterday. You were gone all day.”
My wife shakes her head. “That’s none of your business, Mitchell.”
Rage boils in my chest. “It’s always my business. This”—I point at the wall—“is my house. This”—I stab a finger toward the ground—“is my property.”
Her eyes dart toward her iPhone, near the sink. We both spring, but I jump farther and faster. Our bodies collide, a tangle of flesh and clothing, of breathing. I snatch the case, triumphant, and lock it in my hand. Ava shakes her head, a strand of hair coming loose from where it’s gathered behind her head. Her lips part.
Before she can speak, I splay the air with my arm, cutting across the space from wall to wall. “I’ll tell everyone you’re following me,” I threaten. “Stalking me. And you’ll lose your measly hour of visitation a week and everything else.”
“How are you going to prove this?” she demands in a hushed voice. “I’m in my own house. Minding my own business.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I dial my own number and press speakerphone. On command, Ava’s iPhone emits a mechanical dial. And repeats. Inside my breast pocket of my sport coat, my cell bleats a response. My wife’s face drains of color. I grin, hang up, and call my phone a second time. And a third.
“You should have thought of all of this before you began calling me, Ava.” I laugh, stilted and halting. “You should have thought of this before you went off and found a boyfriend.”
Evidence in place, I stalk to the kitchen sink, grab a hand towel, and wipe the cell clean of any marks. My breath comes now in short bursts. Ava closes her eyes. There is only silence and the pulse of my blood.
“I wonder if you planned this from the start,” she finally murmurs. “You had everyone fooled. Especially me.”
She leaves the room, chin held high. Chasing is futile. She’s already lost. I strain to hear her bare feet. On the staircase. In the hallway overhead. In our bedroom.
In the silence, upstairs, I hear a lock click into place.
CHAPTER 45
GRAHAM
MONDAY, APRIL 26
When I open my door Monday morning, the paper is open on the front porch, edges damp. I blink twice, making sure I’m not still in a dream state. Delicate fingers touch the ink on the page. A watch face catches the sunlight. My gaze travels from the wrist to arm, then shoulder. Ava looks up at me, forehead creased, green eyes pale and pained. God, she is beautiful. Get ahold of yourself, counselor, I remind myself.
“Hey,” I manage, after I’ve caught my breath. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”
Ava glances behind her, then pops to her feet, looping her bag over one shoulder. “Mitchell was in the house last night.”
My heart lurches. “What?” I open the door and pull her inside. “Let’s go back to my office.”
Ava collapses into a wide, stuffed chair in the corner. She tucks her legs close, making herself small and compact. “I’m so stupid. I was unloading groceries. I haven’t gotten the locks changed yet.” She pauses and runs two fingers across her lips. “Showed up in the kitchen. Demanded to know where I’ve been.”
“Damn.” My chest contracts.
“I know.” Ava shivers. “When I told him he couldn’t be in the house, he freaked.” She pauses. “He grabbed my phone and called his cell. Over and over.”
“Like you’d been the one . . .”
“Like I wanted him there,” she agrees, sweeping at the air for emphasis. She lets her fingers fall, coming to rest o
n her bent knees.
“What the hell?” I rake a hand through my hair. “How can you be so calm? Why didn’t you call me?” I raise my voice an octave and pace in front of her.
Ava dips her chin and shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. I let him win. I left the room, went upstairs, and locked myself in the bedroom. After a few minutes, he left.”
Slowly, I stop walking. Damn. It’s brilliant. Correction: she’s brilliant. “No kidding?”
Ava grins a little. “No kidding.” She looks past me. “Of course, I set the house alarm. With a new code. And sat up all night.”
“I’m getting a patrol to go by your house. Every few hours. Maybe every hour, if I can talk them into it.”
Her eyes flutter to mine. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We both know even that might not dissuade him. My mind swirls. “Can you go somewhere else? Should we get you a safe house? An apartment?”
“I don’t know, Graham.” Her voice chokes on my name.
“There’s got to be a way to protect you,” I say, rubbing the stubble on my chin. “Let me think on it.”
She nods.
“Let’s get to the rest of your weekend. The trip. Tell me what you found out.”
Ava rubs her temples, remembering. “It was one heck of a meeting, once I convinced Frank to open the door and put down his gun.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Once a soldier . . . always a soldier,” she says.
“And?”
“Karen had epilepsy.”
I straighten and wrinkle my forehead. “No kidding? Is that how she died?”
“Newspaper didn’t say that,” Ava replies. “But Frank told me.”
I make coffee as she fills me in on Mitchell’s father, back from the dead. The pistol, Frank’s military background and deployments, Mitchell running away. That he tended to be jealous of the success of others—no big surprise there. Ava wrapped up Frank’s account of Mitchell moving away and not telling anyone after Karen’s death.
“Whew!” I make some notes and wipe at my brow in mock relief. “Is that all? I thought you said something actually happened.”
“I started to ask more, but his home-health nurse arrived. Frank has some medical issues. I didn’t think I could quiz him while she was there. I left my number,” Ava adds.
“That’s all crucial to know,” I say. “His behavior with Karen sounds suspicious. And disappearing after his wife dies? Not telling his own father? Then pretending his dad is dead? That’s beyond weird.”
Ava rubs her forehead. “I should have known. Why didn’t I see this? He was so charming, so convincing.”
“Sociopaths usually are,” I snap. “They only show what they want to.” I think about Ted Bundy and Ted Kaczynski. “If you cross them, upset their perfect fantasy world, they strike back.”
She reels back a little at the statement, then runs a finger along her lip.
“What is it?”
“Something I asked Mitchell once. About dating after Karen died.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And?”
“When he went out with people,” Ava continues. “He said something about breaking it off before ever getting to date three or four.” She locks eyes with me. “But he’d never tell me anything else. Why. What they did.”
My hands turn clammy and cold. Mitchell is terrified of rejection. “Female staff?” I ask.
Ava shakes her head. “Not many equals.” She presses her fingertips together. “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t actually like women.”
“Starting with his own mother,” I say ruefully. “All the pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, giving us a clearer picture of what Mitchell Carson is all about. It’ll come in handy, I promise you. But, right now—” I pull a paper from the top of a stack next to my elbow.
Ava watches, her brow clenched tight.
“We have to deal with this.” I hold up a sheet. “It came in late last night. Mitchell must be paying this guy a fortune to be at his beck and call. He’s calling the shots, not his lawyer.”
“What does it say?” Ava makes a face.
“It’s a stalking accusation. Some not-so-veiled threats.” I scan the fax. “They aren’t going to press charges now out of the goodness of their hearts and all of that garbage.” I shuffle through the stack. “This worries me more.” I pass the page across the desk. “It’s a new motion. Asking for emergency child support.”
“What?” Her face falls.
“Ava, listen.” I try to boil it down. “He can ask. He can also ask for you to shine his shoes and give out hula-hoops. It doesn’t mean he’s going to get it. In this situation, the judge will look at your past earnings. Had you been married say, ten years, and stayed home the entire time, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
“My earnings—when I did work—were nothing compared to his.”
“Obviously, I’ll be sure to point that out at the hearing. He’s trying to hurt you. Wear you down. Get you to back off and scare you. We’ll counter file, which should help.”
Ava swipes a tissue from the box and dabs at her eyes. “Graham, I can’t handle this.”
“Yes. You. Can.” I lean across the desk and point, trying to swing a balance between firm and semi-playful.
I’m rewarded with a half smile. She raises her hands in defense. “Okay, okay.”
“But on the off chance they get somewhere with this crazy motion,” I add, “put some feelers out for a job, even something part-time. You still have connections at the school?”
Ava nods. “It’s about time I talk to them. I could use the work. Plus, I’d be close to Jack. The school’s asked me to come back several times. Just last month Miss Anne mentioned it.”
“Good. It’s time you pay her a visit.” I pause and get up out of my seat. I wince a little. My leg is killing me.
I stop when I notice Ava’s expression of horror.
“Your knee!” she exclaims and sits straight up. “Yikes.”
I reach down and probe with my thumb and index finger. Great. Swollen at least three times the normal size. “So much for the marathon.” I stand up. “I’ll have to withdraw from Boston.”
Ava hugs her arms to her chest and gives me a curious look.
“Darn motocross accident back in high school.” I pretend to twist handlebars on a dirt bike. “That last berm cost me the race.”
“I thought—” She stops and shakes her head. “Never mind.”
“Listen,” I say. “Don’t worry about me. You get ready to do some damage control. Remember, Mitchell’s doing his best to slaughter your reputation.”
Ava slings her bag over one shoulder and shakes her head. “I’m not going to let him.”
CHAPTER 46
JACK
MONDAY, APRIL 26
Dr. Bennett’s outside Dad’s apartment. I know, because as soon as the doorbell rings, I peek out the window. Her red glasses are the first thing I see. She’s dressed up today, in a navy-blue skirt and jacket. Her hair is pinned back.
Isabel’s in the back, doing laundry. The washer’s on spin cycle, churning and bumping, and I know she can’t hear anything. Other than the noise, I like wash days. The apartment always smells fresh and clean, like outside after the rain. Dr. Bennett frowns, rings the bell, and knocks again.
As I watch her, my hands get tacky and wet, and I rub them on my jeans. Because of detention, I’m not supposed to go out of my room. Dad lectured me, just before he dropped me off and headed back to the college. But now Dr. Bennett’s cheeks are pink. And she’s fanning herself with her hands. I can’t let her stand out there waiting. I run to the back of the apartment.
“Someone’s here,” I say, tugging on Isabel’s shirt. Sam and I follow her as she pads cautiously toward the front door.
Isabel leaves the chain in place as she opens the door a crack. Warm, damp air trickles into the apartment, making me shiver in the air-conditioned room. Dr. Bennett smiles and wipes her forehead with he
r fingertips.
“Hi there. I’m Dr. Bennett, here for my appointment.” She smiles and waggles her fingers at baby Sam, who coos and sticks a finger in his mouth. “Hi, Jack.”
I wave hello.
Isabel looks puzzled. “Doctor Carson, he no here right now.” She smiles and attempts to shut the door. “Come back later, no?”
“No,” Dr. Bennett says, frowning, “not come back later. I have an appointment now.” She twists her wrist and points at her watch. “Can you call him, please? Tell him I’m here?”
The suggestion doesn’t go over well. Isabel purses her lips.
“I’ll wait right here. Maybe he forgot.” Dr. Bennett smiles and backs away. “How about that?”
Isabel picks up Sam, puts him on her hip, and shakes her head. “You no wait. You come back. So sorry.”
“How long will you be here tonight?” Dr. Bennett asks Isabel. She’s still smiling, but a tiny trickle of sweat rolls down one cheek.
I hold out my hand, wanting to tap Isabel’s arm and interrupt.
“What time do you go home?” Dr. Bennett tries to change the question. “What time are you finished watching the children today?”
“Sometime six o’clock. Most night, finish seven. But Friday night, Bingo!” This makes Isabel light up. She loves Bingo.
Dr. Bennett’s eyes meet mine. I try to smile, but my stomach feels heavy like I’ve swallowed rocks.
“You come back?” Isabel asks again.
“No, I’m—”
“Uno momento.” Isabel closes the door on Dr. Bennett. After the lock clicks into place, she bends down and looks down at me. She’s so close I can see gold flecks in her dark eyes. “You know thees lady?” she asks me softly.
“Yes,” I answer. “She’s nice. We go to her office once a week. She knows my dad. He takes us there.”
Isabel hugs Sam close, bouncing him up and down. Knowing my babysitter, she can’t stand having someone waiting outside. “She supposed to come?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Dad didn’t tell me.”
Isabel shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “Five minute,” she mutters. “Five minute.” When she opens the door again, Dr. Bennett’s still standing there. Isabel watches her with a wary eye.
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