She blinked a few times in surprise, then nodded a greeting before turning and walking out the door.
“Ethan?” Her back to the registers, Lizzie hadn’t realized that the woman they’d just been talking about had been in the restaurant. “Still with me? You look a million miles away.”
He pulled his attention back to the table. “Sorry. I guess I got distracted.”
“You really are a workaholic, aren’t you?” She shook her head in resignation, and Ethan got the impression that she had just written him off as a potential for anything more than a temporary coworker.
Though he would just as soon keep it that way, he made an effort to be a bit more companionable during the remainder of the meal. Yet he found it harder than he would have expected to put thoughts of Aislinn out of his mind.
Ethan went straight back to Joel’s house from the clinic Tuesday afternoon. Lizzie didn’t bother to ask him to dinner again, probably knowing he would have declined if she had.
The phone rang only a few minutes after he walked in. He picked it up, thinking his brother might be checking in again. Instead it was his mother’s voice he heard on the other end of the line.
“You can stop worrying,” she told him, her tone much lighter than it had been the last time they’d spoken. “The tests came back clear. It’s just a little benign cyst. The doctor said I’ll be just fine.”
Ethan felt relief flood through him. “That’s great news, Mom. Must be a load off your mind. Not to mention Dad’s.”
“Oh, yes, we’re both quite relieved.”
They talked a few minutes longer about everything her doctor had said that afternoon. And then Elaine said that she had to go. Lou was taking her out to dinner to celebrate, she added.
“Have a good time. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, sweetie. See you soon.”
Hanging up the phone, Ethan spotted the telephone book lying on the counter nearby. On an impulse, he picked it up. Turned to the Fs. There was only one Flaherty listed, with the initials A.J.
Even as he dialed the number, he wondered why he was doing it. Wondered what he would say if she answered.
“Hello, Ethan,” she said calmly.
Caller ID, he realized abruptly. That invention let everyone sound a little psychic.
Rather than comment about her greeting, he said, “A. J. Flaherty. Aislinn…Jean? Joanne?”
“Joy,” she replied.
“I see.” A little more frivolous than he had expected. It made him curious again about the veiled comment Lizzie had made about Aislinn’s childhood. “I heard from my mother today. The doctor’s report came back exactly as you predicted it would.”
“I’m glad. I know you were worried about her.”
“Yes, I was. I still don’t understand how you knew.”
She remained silent. Maybe she felt as if there was just nothing left to say in response to his continued skepticism.
“I saw you yesterday,” he said. “At the restaurant.”
“Yes, I saw you, too.”
“You know Lizzie?”
“In passing. She grew up around here, too.”
“She works for my brother, you know. We were both free for dinner, so we ate together.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t know why he’d felt the need to explain. She certainly didn’t seem all that interested. “So anyway…I just wanted to tell you about my mom.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“Yeah.” An awkward silence stretched through the line, and then Ethan cleared his throat. “So have you had any new visions?”
“I told you—I don’t have visions.”
“Any new ‘feelings,’ then?”
“No.”
“Nothing more about my supposedly missing brother?”
“Kyle is alive, Ethan.” Her tone seemed to say that she knew she was wasting her breath trying to convince him.
Because he couldn’t tell her otherwise, he said nothing.
“Thanks again for calling me about your mom’s tests,” she said after a moment. “If there’s anything else you need while you’re in town, feel free to call.”
He felt as though there was something else he wanted to say to her, but his mind remained frustratingly blank. “Uh. Yeah.”
Very smooth, Brannon.
“Goodbye, Ethan.” Aislinn disconnected before he could make a further fool of himself.
He supposed he should be grateful for that.
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Cassandra.” The nurse entered the room with a broad, fake smile, her voice artificially cheery. She carried a paper cup that held several pills.
Already in her chair by the window, her knitting in her lap, Cassandra made an effort to speak warmly, though this was one of her least favorite of the facility’s staff. “Good morning. How are you today?”
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. It’s you we’re worried about. Did you sleep better last night?”
“A little,” she lied, taking the cup and the glass of water Nurse Chirpy handed her. She had pretty much given up hope that her problems could be solved with a colorful little capsule.
As much as nice, young Dr. Thomas wanted to help her, there was little he could do to heal the wounds of her past. But, just to make everyone happy—and because there was always the outside chance she could be wrong about their benefit—she dutifully swallowed the pills he had prescribed for her.
Sometimes Aislinn dreamed about cakes. Some of her best designs had come from her dreams, causing her to keep a pad beside her bed so she could make rough sketches before the elaborate dream designs escaped her. She might have worried about that being a little weird, but having heard that writers and designers described similar experiences, she figured maybe it was relatively normal for creative types to dream up ideas.
She woke Wednesday morning groggy. Not particularly well rested. She could vaguely remember tossing and turning during the night and she thought maybe she had sketched something on her pad, though she couldn’t remember exactly what. Probably a cake. Considering that she’d been mostly asleep when she’d drawn it, she doubted that the idea would be worth pursuing.
It was quite a shock to see a man’s face staring out at her from the notepad. Drawn with some detail, the face was strong, handsome, appealing. He looked a little like Ethan. A little like Joel. But not exactly like either of them.
Although Aislinn had always thought Joel was nice-looking and she was a bit too attracted to Ethan for her own peace of mind, she had to admit that the man she had drawn was more striking than either of them. And there was no doubt in her mind that this man was their brother, Kyle.
Shaken, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the drawing. She didn’t remember sketching the face. But, even more disturbing, she had never shown any talent for drawing portraits. Were she to try, she wouldn’t be able to do it again now, wide-awake.
She picked up the phone. “Ethan?” she said a few moments later, hearing the unsteadiness of her own voice. “There’s something I think I need to show you.”
Twenty minutes later he was at her door. From the look on his face, she must have sounded more disturbed than she had even realized when she’d called him.
“What’s going on?” he asked the moment she opened the door. “Are you okay?”
Now that she’d had time to think about it, she rather regretted calling him. Had she been more awake, less perturbed by seeing the drawing, she would have talked herself out of making that call. Ever since she’d hung up the phone, she had been berating herself. She had pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, brushing her hair into a ponytail and forgoing makeup, trying to brace herself for Ethan’s disbelief and renewed suspicions about her.
She hadn’t expected him to look so worried about her.
“I’m fine.” She motioned him into her living room, which was decorated in soft creams and taupe. Soothing colors.
Aislinn’s home was her retreat from a hectic w
orld that could be overwhelming to her at times. When she was here, she sought peace and refuge. She rarely even turned on the television. She met with clients only at her shop these days. Only a few close friends spent much time in this sanctuary.
She hadn’t expected to invite Ethan here.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you so early,” she said, self-consciousness causing her to babble a little. “I had a small shock when I woke up and I called you without stopping to think about it. You told me to call you if I had any other insights about your brother.”
His eyebrows dipped downward into a frown as he turned to face her. “You’ve learned something new? You’ve had another…what do you call them? A flash?”
“No, I don’t call them flashes. I just have feelings.” She’d said the words so often they were starting to sound clichéd even to her. She shook her head impatiently. “I made coffee after I called you. Would you like some?”
He looked as though he intended to refuse and then he stopped himself. His expression wry, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I haven’t had any coffee yet this morning. Something tells me I’m going to need it.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“No. I jumped in the shower to wake myself up and then headed straight over here. You gave good directions, by the way. I had no trouble at all finding your house.”
She glanced at his damp hair and pictured him taking a quick shower and throwing on the polo shirt and khakis he wore. Deciding she’d better put all thoughts of that out of her mind if she wanted to be relatively coherent, she motioned toward the kitchen. “At least let me feed you while I talk.”
He hesitated, then nodded again. “I could eat.”
Like the rest of her house, her kitchen was done in peaceful, earthy colors. A commercial-type refrigerator/freezer, double ovens and abundant counter space remained from when she had operated her business out of her home. She had bought the house specifically for the spacious kitchen, the largest room in her otherwise smallish home.
“Nice,” Ethan said, glancing around as he took a seat at the small oak table. “Did you grow up in this house?”
“No, I bought it a few years ago.” The down payment had come from an insurance payoff after her grandfather’s death. Because that was a long, complicated story, she didn’t elaborate. “Do you like oatmeal?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t had oatmeal since I was a kid.”
“Really? I have it quite often. It’s what I had planned for my own breakfast this morning. It will only take me a few minutes to make some, if you want to try a bowl.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” There was a note of impatience in his voice, as if food was the last thing he wanted to talk about just then. “I still don’t know why you called me over this morning,” he reminded her as she started assembling the ingredients for their breakfast.
She stilled her hands for a moment, then went back to work. “I think I’ve been stalling a little. I know how you’ll react.”
“You think you know,” he corrected her. “Why don’t you tell me and find out for sure?”
She was glad to have something else to do while she talked, so that she didn’t have to look at him while she told him about her restless night. About waking to find the drawing on her nightstand.
“It’s there,” she added. “In that sketch pad.”
He picked up the pad she had set on one corner of the work island and turned pages. The first few sheets were filled with cake designs, roughly drawn with little detail, difficult to decipher for anyone except her. He stopped on the sketch of the man’s face. “Is this what you’re talking about?”
She glanced over her shoulder, then looked away again. “Yes. I don’t remember drawing it. I didn’t even know I could draw like that. I’ve never been able to sketch a recognizable face. But when I woke up—there it was.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“Yes.” She could tell by his tone that he’d already guessed her answer. “It’s Kyle. The way he looks now, I mean.”
Ethan looked at the sketch for a long time in silence, then set the pad aside. “You understand that I’m having trouble believing this.”
“I knew you would.”
“So you just sat up at some point during the night, drew this face in your sleep, and decided this morning that it must be my brother.”
“It sounds strange when you put it like that.”
“You think?”
She winced in response to his tone, but didn’t pause in her breakfast preparations. “As I said, I probably shouldn’t have called you. It rattled me a little to see the drawing this morning, and I acted without taking enough time to talk myself out of it. But since you’re here, I feel like I should tell you everything.”
“Definitely tell me everything.”
She carried two bowls of steaming oatmeal to the table, then returned to the counter for a pitcher of milk and small bowls of brown sugar and raisins. Spreading a napkin in her lap, she sat across from Ethan and picked up her spoon.
“As I said,” she began, sprinkling brown sugar and raisins into her bowl, “I knew who I had drawn as soon as I saw the sketch pad this morning. But that wasn’t all I knew. Which is why I felt that I should call you.”
Having heaped a generous spoonful of brown sugar onto his oatmeal, Ethan paused in the process of adding raisins. “What are you talking about?”
“I got a couple of names. Do you know someone named Mark?”
“I’ve probably met a few Marks in my life, but no one comes immediately to mind.”
“What about Carmen?”
Watching him closely, she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “What about Carmen?” he asked.
“Who is she?”
“As if you don’t already know.”
“I don’t know,” she refuted. “The name popped into my head this morning, and I knew it was important, but I don’t know who she is.”
“Carmen was the name of Kyle’s nanny. The one who disappeared the same day he did.”
Aislinn’s expression didn’t change. Either she had already known the answer to her question—despite her assertion otherwise—or she wasn’t particularly surprised by his response.
Deciding to play along until he could figure out what she was up to now, he asked, “The name just came to you this morning?”
She nodded, dipping a spoon into her bowl. “Mark and Carmen. Both names just kept repeating in my mind. You must think that sounds strange—and, trust me, it feels that way to me, too. I know I keep saying this, but this is all so different for me. So unlike anything I’ve sensed before.”
Yes, she kept saying it. And he still didn’t know what to make of it. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been that hard for you to find out the name of Kyle’s nanny. Old newspaper reports of the storm and its victims, maybe even something Joel let slip one time.”
“Joel never talks about your brother’s accident. Neither Nic nor I knew anything about it until we’d known him for almost a year—when she went to Alabama with him for the reunion. He has never mentioned the nanny at all.”
While she obviously resented his implication that she had looked up the information she claimed had simply come to her in her sleep, she managed to keep her irritation in check. Only her slightly clipped tone let him know how she felt about his comment.
“I didn’t say you did look it up. I merely pointed out that you could have,” he said mildly. “Is that all you have? The two names?”
She started to say something, then fell quiet, nodding as she ate another spoonful of her oatmeal.
He swallowed a bite of his own, savoring the creamy, brown-sugar-sweetened taste. It was good. Much better than he remembered from childhood. Either his tastes had changed or Aislinn cooked oatmeal better than his mother had. Didn’t mean he could believe anything she told him, of course. “What were you going to say just now? Before you changed your mind.”
“I—nothing.”
He set down his sp
oon. “Aislinn, I may not be psychic, but I can tell you’re holding something back.”
She sighed and pushed her half-empty bowl away. “It’s all mixed up in my head,” she admitted. “I don’t like sounding like a flake when I’ve never thought of myself that way. Before now, everything I’ve felt or guessed seemed so…I don’t know, normal. Maybe a little more intuitive than most people but nothing too far out of the ordinary. To be honest, I worked pretty hard at maintaining that illusion. Keeping some of my feelings unsaid, even with Nic, drawing little attention to myself, putting all my energy into my cake-design business. And then you came to town.”
“And what exactly changed when I came to town?’
She motioned toward the sketch pad, still open to the drawing of the man she said was Kyle. “That, for one. I really can’t draw like that. If you asked me to draw a face now, I wouldn’t be able to. Not with that kind of detail. And I’ve got to tell you, it creeps me out to think of myself sitting up in the night drawing in my sleep like some sort of zombie.”
Her wording might have been amusing had he not identified a bit too closely with the distaste in her voice. He suspected he would have felt much the same way had he been presented with evidence that his actions had been controlled by some outside force. He was way too much of a control freak to be comfortable with that image.
“And then there were the names,” she continued, her hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. “Mark. Carmen. Carmen. Mark. Just hearing them over and over in my mind, like when you get a snippet of music in your head and it just won’t go away. That’s what those names became to me. Annoying and repetitious.”
“I can ask my mother if she remembers anyone named Mark. Maybe Carmen had a boyfriend. Or a brother.”
“Maybe.” But neither of those explanations seemed to completely satisfy her. After a moment, she shrugged. “It would be a start, anyway.”
“You can’t give me any other leads?”
She shot him a quick glance, as if trying to determine whether he was making fun of her, and then she replied, “Just one other possibility.”
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