A Family for Christmas

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Is it fresh?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Shawn’s sister, Mary, is there. She’s standing right by the spot.”

  Shawn had a sister? “Where is Mary now?” If the woman was there that day, did she know what Shawn had done to his wife? Would she testify?

  Why hadn’t Cara mentioned the woman before?

  Cara’s eyes opened. “I don’t know where Mary is,” she said, looking like she’d seen a ghost.

  “So, this is the first you’ve remembered her?”

  “No.” She frowned, looking at her lap. “Mary’s my best friend. Sometimes I’ve felt like she’s my only friend. She and Shawn are really close. They grew up in foster care and he always looked out for her. She came to California with us when we moved from Florida.”

  “Does she work at the surfing school, too?”

  “No. She works at a gift shop down by the pier.”

  “So...would she be there? If you tried to call her?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I...” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Cara...” She couldn’t shut him out anymore. They had to figure this out. He had to know where he could take her so she’d be safe and get help.

  “I thought about her when I was first recovering, thought about her, and... I was picturing her happy now.” She looked at him, her brown eyes wide. She’d left her hair down, probably to dry. He liked it that way.

  “Happy now?”

  “With me gone.”

  “Why would you being gone make her happy?”

  “She...stood up for me against him.”

  Everything within him stilled. “Did Shawn hit his sister, too?”

  “Only when she tried to come between us when he was angry with me. He had no beef with Mary. He loved her...”

  “You said he loved you, too.”

  She nodded. Swallowed again. Brought her tea to her lips but returned it to her lap without sipping. Both of her hands cradled the cup now.

  “So, you think with you gone, he and Mary are close again?”

  She gave her head a little shake—something he’d seen her do so often. And began to understand that she did that when she was confused. Couldn’t figure something out.

  Because she couldn’t remember.

  If only she’d told him from the beginning...

  “I’ve been trying to picture her happy,” she said, her voice soft. “It worked in the beginning...when I was sleeping so much. But now... I don’t know. Every time I think of her, standing by that stain, I get...scared.”

  And she didn’t know why. He didn’t even have to ask to know that.

  She’d said she did something bad. He needed to know what that was.

  Had she hurt Shawn? It would have been self-defense. The police could help her...

  “What else do you remember?”

  “Steps. I remember falling down some cement steps.”

  “How many of them?”

  “I don’t know. Not many.”

  “What else?”

  “I remember yelling at Mary.”

  “Yelling at her.”

  She nodded.

  “You were angry with her?”

  She shrugged. “I have no memory of ever being angry at Mary.”

  She’d taken so many blows to the head over the years...who knew what kind of damage might have been done?

  “What about the days before that last day? What do you remember of them?”

  She shrugged again. “What do you want to know?” She’d worked. Done laundry. Made meat loaf for dinner. She’d bought a new purse at the pier...

  “My purse,” she said. “I had my purse in the van. I remember because it had come with this little ID card and I’d filled it out. The pen I’d used, it had black ink and I liked that it matched the purse, but then it ran out of ink and I had to use blue.”

  Almost smiling in relief at the detailed memories, signs that her brain function was generally normal, Simon fell in love all over again. Wished he’d known Cara all of her life. All of his.

  From what he’d put together, she’d been unconscious for a long time before he’d found her. Her hazy memory was a given in those circumstances.

  She’d said she’d done something bad.

  “What else do you remember about that last day? Or any time in between then and when I found you?”

  She talked about the van she and Shawn had been in. About driving for hours when every bump in the road hurt. She talked about the pill he’d put in her mouth, holding her jaw closed and making her swallow.

  Bile rose in his throat as he listened to the details of a man treating her like an animal. He wanted to draw her attention to the fact that the treatment was criminal. But as long as she kept talking, he didn’t interrupt.

  She gave him glimpses into the hell she’d been living in, but nothing that answered his questions.

  “You said you’d done something bad,” he finally said when she fell silent. He’d long since set his tea on the table. Had his arm along the back of the couch, close to her.

  She nodded.

  “What did you remember that you aren’t telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then how are you so certain that you did something wrong?”

  “Shawn told me I did.” She said the words like they were obvious.

  “Shawn told you.” He repeated her words back to her, maybe in case she could hear them like he did. Mostly so he could think before he said anything else.

  She nodded. “When we were in the van. He told me that I’d done something horrible.”

  “Did he say what?”

  Twisting her face, she looked away. “I think he did. I remember feeling this horrible sense of...life being over. But I think I passed out again. The next time I came to, he was there, drying my tears...”

  “Why were you crying?”

  “I guess because I was in so much pain.”

  “I saw you in about as much pain as a human being can take and you never shed a tear...”

  Meeting his gaze, she frowned. “Yeah. I don’t ever cry when he hits me. It only seems to convince him that he’s doing the right thing...” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I was crying, but I was, and he kept telling me that everything was going to be okay. That he’d gotten me away before anyone could come get me and that he’d keep me safe. He said it would be just the two of us from then on, just as it had been in the beginning, and that I’d never be alone.”

  “Until he dumped you on the side of the road.”

  “Yeah.”

  He could almost see the thoughts flitting through her mind. Waited for her to put facts together in a way that made sense.

  When she sighed, a deep breath that ended on a shudder, he said, “Cara, did it ever occur to you that he was lying?”

  Her lips flattened. “Don’t you think I’ve wanted to believe that this whole time, Simon? But I know he’s right. When he told me... I can’t remember what I’d done, but I have a very clear sense of knowing, deep in my soul, that when he told me, I knew he was right. And that whatever it was, it meant my life was over.”

  “But you don’t remember what it was.”

  “I started to remember this morning,” she said now. “In the shower. It hurt so badly I wanted to die. Then... I don’t know, I couldn’t help how I reacted.” With an embarrassed grin, she added, “And apparently I couldn’t help that it happened in front of you.”

  He ignored that last part.

  And had a feeling that, for the first time since he’d found her, Cara hadn’t been completely truthful with him.

  She knew more than she was
saying.

  But not enough to fully explain?

  Given what she’d told him so far, he actually understood her reluctance to incriminate herself without knowing all of the facts. He didn’t like it that she’d lied. But he trusted her, still. Implicitly.

  “So...what do you say we give this a little more time?”

  Pulling the blanket down, she hugged it to herself.

  “Your memories are returning, Cara. In many cases of traumatic amnesia, it just takes time and the mind’s ability to relax for the memories to return. You feel safe here. The memories are coming back. It makes sense that, for now, for a while longer, at least, we could continue as we have been and see what happens.”

  “You need to get on with your life, Simon.”

  “My sight hasn’t recovered nearly enough yet for that,” he told her. “Besides, the holiday is coming up. No sense you going to a shelter and being with total strangers over a holiday.”

  He saw tears in her eyes as she watched him. Had the sense that she wanted what he was offering. A little more time to heal.

  He couldn’t get her this close and then abandon her.

  “To disrupt your process now, to expose you to the stress of a new place, new people, interviews and settling in, could cause you to repress the memories that are returning.”

  Professionally, he knew his assessment was correct. But suspected that he was also thinking of himself—he just wasn’t ready to deliver her out of his life.

  He’d tend to his own eye work, be more diligent than ever. He would not quit believing in himself.

  He told himself he wanted her somewhere safe, and where she could get the help she needed. For now, his cabin was that place.

  Still, when Cara nodded, he knew the palpable relief he felt was not a good thing.

  And took note.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Santa Raquel, California

  FOR MORE THAN two weeks now, Edward had been sleeping in her bed. Joy was staying with him—they’d moved a twin bed into the far corner of Lila’s sitting room—but many nights the little girl cried for Julie and Hunter before falling asleep.

  Shawn Amos’s case was in the process of discovery—a time for both prosecution and defense to gather and present their facts to the court—and the man still had not made any known effort to be in touch with his daughter. Or to prevent Edward from having custody of her.

  He could just be waiting for the charges against him to be dropped—his attorney had made a motion to that effect that had been denied—or to be cleared of the charges before disrupting his daughter’s life, but Lila didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t even asked after the little girl’s welfare.

  She saw Edward and Joy every day as they came and went through her office—once in the morning, once in the evening. She’d taken a room in one of the bungalows closest to the main building for those nights when she needed to stay over.

  And she was spending more time at her condo in town, too.

  She’d made up her mind to have Thanksgiving there alone until she got a text from Brett Ackerman telling her that he needed her at the Stand as he and his wife, who’d mentioned stopping in with their son, were not going to be there after all. They were going to be spending the day with Ella’s brother—who’d been Brett’s roommate in college—and his family.

  While the residents would be just fine with the staff on duty that day, Brett always liked for there to be a family atmosphere with the “head” of the family having a presence at the table.

  So, there she was, dressed in her usual brown suit—a skirt instead of pants—her hair in a bun, walking shoes and adding, at the last minute, a fall-colored floral blouse that Sara had given her for Christmas one year...helping the residents who were on kitchen duty put the turkey and dressing on the buffet with all of the other fixings.

  She could hear the buzz of conversation as residents filed in and took seats at the tables all set with pilgrim centerpieces, placemats and cloth napkins with turkey napkin rings.

  Hunter and Julie had invited Edward and Joy to the Fairbanks mansion for Thanksgiving, and knowing that Edward was not going to be at the Stand made the day like any other holiday she’d spent with the residents over more than ten years.

  Except this year there was a sadness lurking within her that hadn’t been there before.

  Waiting while everyone got through the line and was seated, Lila called their attention to a short prayer of thanksgiving. She asked each resident to find something to be thankful for. To plant whatever it was in her mind. To think about it in the days ahead. To draw strength from the good in her life—no matter how small that good might seem at times.

  And then she went back to the kitchen to get the extra bowl of mashed potatoes. Lila was content with her lot. At peace. Truly happy to be able to be of valuable use to women who had their whole lives ahead of them—and a comfort to those who were facing the last half of their lives alone. Her life had meaning.

  She was contributing good to the world.

  She was needed.

  And this year she was sad.

  She’d done the unthinkable and had fallen for one of her families. For Edward. She’d inappropriately crossed boundaries and now was paying the price. Sadness warring with her hard-won peace.

  She had it all figured out. And she knew the cure, too.

  Time. It takes time. Her mantra was repeating in her mind as she came back into the dining room to find a seat among all of the women and children already feasting. A couple of women from different tables waved her over and she was contemplating having dinner at one table and dessert at the other when she saw Edward walk in. His pristine brown suit gave him away, but she’d have known it was him from any distance.

  In a pair of jeans with an orange turtleneck and brown sweater, Joy accompanied him, holding his hand.

  Her first thought was that there weren’t any tables left with three empty seats. And then realized that she had no reason to invite herself to their Thanksgiving table.

  He was scanning the room. Hurrying over to tend to him before they drew too much attention to themselves, her heart fluttered.

  “Edward!” She’d been about to ask why he wasn’t with Julie and Hunter when he sent her a look.

  “Hi, Joy, you look pretty today.” Lila put an arm around the little girl’s shoulders. “Did Grandpa do your hair?”

  Joy nodded.

  “Have you eaten already?”

  She shook her head.

  “We’re going to eat here,” he said. “Julie and Hunter are outside and would like to join us, if that’s okay with you.”

  His gaze had an entirely different message for her. Something was clearly wrong.

  Moving with as much speed as she could without raising alarm, Lila efficiently got help putting up another table. Leaving Joy’s former housemother to set the table with placemats and napkins, Lila asked another woman to gather dishes, while Darin Bishop, who was a permanent resident at the Stand whose wife and child had mental disabilities, got chairs. In less than five minutes Julie and Hunter were seated with Joy and had plates full of Thanksgiving dinner.

  Lila let Edward lead her outside the cafeteria and down to her office where Chantel was waiting.

  At the sight of the detective, Lila’s heart started to pound.

  “Amos slipped out of his bracelet,” Chantel said. “Sometime within the last hour. They found it hanging on a surfboard at the school.” The judge had ordered the electronic monitoring device as a condition of Shawn Amos’s bail.

  “Joy can’t leave these premises and we’re on lockdown as of right now,” Lila said, thinking of the women who’d received permission to have family members—adult siblings, parents—share their holiday meal. Unfortunately, every one of them was going to have to
leave.

  “Julie and Hunter have clearance, so they can stay,” Lila said, her mind focused as she picked up a handset that would immediately connect her to every security officer on duty. Issuing lockdown instructions, which included calling off-duty officers, she then looked to Chantel.

  “We’re already on it,” the woman said. “We have extra patrols in the area and someone will be watching the strip of businesses outside the Stand.”

  Brett Ackerman owned every one of them. He’d be notified.

  Chantel wasn’t done yet. “A tristate APB has been issued for California, Nevada and Arizona,” she said. “They suspect he might be going after his wife. Or to dispose of her body,” she said. “Yesterday the prosecutor turned over some evidence found on a set of three cement steps cut into a small hill behind the Amos home and the friend’s home where they stole the van.” Steps as she described weren’t uncommon between yards that weren’t on level ground in Santa Raquel.

  “What evidence? Why wasn’t I told about it?” Edward’s tone bordered on sharp without quite getting there.

  Lila had to restrain herself from walking to Edward, putting her arm through his. Holding on to him. Holding him up.

  “You weren’t told because of the sensitivity of this investigation. And it was a fingernail, of all things. It was your daughter’s. Shawn’s DNA was found on the underside of it. Like she’d been defending herself against him. Since his testimony mentioned steps, we’ve been scouring all steps in the area...”

  “You’ve been scouring, you mean,” Lila said, sending the woman a look filled with gratitude. God had sent them an angel when Chantel had joined the high-risk team. She was tireless in her determination to protect victims of domestic violence.

  “I’ve had help,” she said.

  Lila wanted to keep Chantel talking about nonessential things. To give Edward time to process. Wishing he could trust the police to do their jobs and leave the worrying to them. But knowing that he couldn’t. What parent could?

  “There could be scars from defensive wounds on Shawn...” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “It would be proof that he hurt her.”