by Ellery Kane
“Ian was never good at losing,” I say, like I’m any better. “It brings out the worst in him. So what do you think happened? To Ian?”
“Well . . .” A single dry laugh clunks from her throat. “I know you didn’t kill him.”
That makes one. And I cling to her belief in me, wondering what she’d say if I told her the truth. “How do you know?”
“The creepy phone calls. You were with me that night when I got one. That—and you’re my therapist. C’mon.”
“Cleo, I—” I start to confess. The pictures, the extortion. What I’d done that night. All of it. But I stop myself. I need her. “I think you should tell the police what you know. I understand you’re afraid, but I’ll go with you. I’ve been getting those calls too. And right now, the cops think I did it. And I’m pretty sure whoever’s on the other end of the line has made sure I look guilty as hell.”
I watch her face for signs of resistance. But in my job, you learn to expect the unexpected. To anticipate the revelatory. And still, I’m unprepared. “I already did. Before I came here. It’s not like I had a choice. My dad’s on the city council. He took me to the station himself. Neither of the homicide detectives were there, but Jack Donovan’s son took my statement. He was really nice. He saw how nervous I was and said we could just go for a walk and talk.”
“Which son?” Dread hollows my voice.
“Um, I’m not sure. I didn’t know there was more than one. I got his card though.” She searches her pocket for it. “It says Luke Donovan. Is that good or bad?”
“What did he look like?”
“Is this really—?”
“Yes. It’s important.”
She stares at me blankly, so I open the burner phone, pull up the browser, and type in a name. “Is this him?” I ask, showing her the screen.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
I curse under my breath, and hers quickens. She pulls her knees to her chest like a child, shivering like a small, terrified animal. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t talk to Luke. This is Cooper. And I think he’s the one setting me up.”
“That’s really, really bad. Because I also told him I found something in Maddie’s bedroom on Valentine’s Day. When Kate nearly caught me and Ian, and I had to sneak away. He asked me to meet him there tonight. To show him.”
“To show him what?” My fingers dig into the chair’s plush arms, and I lean forward. Not unlike Marge. Wooden face, awaiting my fate.
“I can’t be totally sure. I was in a rush to get out, but it looked like a secret cell phone.”
“You didn’t take it?”
“I’d planned to ask Ian about it when I saw him the next day, and then I’d just assumed the police would find it. But as far as I know it’s still in Maddie’s room.”
Marriage is like a hurricane. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. And no matter if it lasts five months or fifty years, it always ends the same. With only one of you left standing.
—Ian Culpepper, Love CPR
Valentine’s Day
This Year
Ava rolled onto her side to get a better view of Luke. He stood at the dresser, his back to her, his lower half wrapped in a towel. The only light came from the cracked bathroom door, a thin spotlight splitting his shoulder blades.
“I’m watching you,” she teased.
She couldn’t see his face, but she could picture it breaking into a lazy grin. Luke smiled a lot. And she liked making him smile. Could it really be that easy—that simple and straightforward, just as he’d promised her?
“In that case, let me give you something to look at.” The towel dropped to his feet, pooling without a sound.
Ava expected him to come back to bed with her, to press his still-damp body against hers, warm with sleep. But he didn’t. Not right away.
Her eyes tracked his slow walk from the dresser to the chair in the corner, where he’d laid out his CPD T-shirt and jeans. He reached inside his duffel bag and turned toward her, grinning.
“Don’t open it now,” he said, tucking the red envelope between the lamp and the alarm clock. He’d carefully printed her name on the front, and the thought of it, of him doing that, made her feel guilty somehow.
“I didn’t intend to.”
He laughed the way he always did when she goaded him. Like he couldn’t tell exactly where he stood with her. Ava recognized the insecurity, as familiar as her own face in the mirror. “So, I’ve got the city council meeting tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to go out after? To a proper Valentine’s dinner?”
She didn’t answer. Because she couldn’t tell the truth. And she didn’t want to lie. Not to Luke. Not if she didn’t have to.
“Or I could cook for you at my house?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, ever hopeful.
Someday, she’d say yes. When all this with Ian had blown over. Then, maybe.
“I’ll get Chinese delivered.” She reached for Luke’s hand, tugging him back. Knowing he’d need no convincing.
“Happy Dragon it is,” he said, sliding next to her beneath the covers. “But only if you get extra potstickers.”
She found his mouth in the dark, knowing the way nearly by heart now. He tasted like her own toothpaste. And her guilt faded to a single, perfect thought: Today, my Valentine’s curse will be broken.
****
Ava stared out her office window at Ocean Avenue, jealous of the tourists meandering the cobblestone street. She wanted to be a stranger in a strange place. Instead of herself, here. The buoyancy of the morning had deflated when she’d read Luke’s card, replaced by her old friend. Guilt.
He’d bought the card from the gift shop at the end of the block. She knew because she’d seen it in the window and thought of him. And of her father and a card she’d given him once. Though she couldn’t remember a Valentine’s Day before he’d been too depressed for a silly commercialized farce—his words. No wonder she’d married a man who felt the same.
The card had an old-fashioned look to it, a cherub-faced boy peeking through the center of a ruby-red heart. Outfitted in the traditional blue uniform, he held a sign: “POLICE” BE MINE. Inside, the fancy type read, I’m out to cop your heart.
And Luke hadn’t left it at that. Of course not. He’d written to her, the words as neat as her name on the envelope. Each demonstrative stroke a reminder of how much of herself she’d tried to hold back from him.
Dear Ava,
I know you hate this sort of thing, so I’ll be brief. Today is not your favorite day. It’s cursed apparently, for good reason. But if you let me, I promise to change that. I’ll make every day your favorite day. You’ll be my favorite person, and I’ll be yours (if you’ll have me). I’ve told you a hundred times I love you, and I’d wait forever for you to say it back. Don’t make me. Please say you feel the same.
But tell me tomorrow, since anything that starts today is doomed.
Yours,
Luke
Ava ran her finger across Luke’s name, playing it out. If she told him she loved him—that she had for a while now—what would be next? Living together. Getting married. Having babies. The endless conveyer belt of expectation. And then what? How would it end? Because it would. Eventually. End. And she’d be right back here, the shell around her heart that much harder, reading some other schmuck’s Valentine.
She slipped the card back into its envelope and tucked it inside her purse where it couldn’t scrutinize her and issue its demands. She couldn’t be soft. Not today. She had revenge to attend to.
Like a sign of approval from the universe, the bell in the waiting room dinged—her 10 a.m. neurotic, Georgina Wimberley—and she stood to answer it.
Mrs. Wimberley flashed a platinum smile. Her mask, they’d started calling it in their sessions. Because Ava had noticed the tightness around the mouth, the
furrow between the eyebrows.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Doctor Lawson.” And Ava smiled back, her own mask undetectable.
****
The day dragged. And the churn of unease in the pit of Ava’s stomach ratcheted up with each passing hour. By five o’clock, a storm of epic proportions raged within her. A full on Category Five. And the sky outside matched, darkening like a bruise.
It had been one week since she’d given Ian the ultimatum. Since she’d waved him over in the parking lot of the Monterey Peninsula Country Club, shown him the are-you-fucking-kidding-me memory card, and told him what she wanted. Only what she deserved. Payment for the idea that launched his career. Not her fault he’d run it into the ground. And the money she’d paid a local computer guy to undo his Bang Dr. Ava handiwork, to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
There wouldn’t be time for a run today, so she didn’t bother changing. Just raced down Highway One to Monterey. She pulled off at the exit for Fisherman’s Wharf, gently tapping her brakes and making the turn into the parking lot.
This is it.
She’d expected to feel different. Excited or emboldened, more alive. Instead, fear prickled at her skin, dried her mouth. And guilt—that too, always that—left her second-guessing. Maybe Ian had been right when he’d shaken his head at her threats, told her she’d never follow through with it. That she didn’t have the stomach. And why couldn’t she forgive him? He’d actually had the nerve to ask that.
“Watch me,” she’d said. “Be there. Valentine’s Day. Or else.” Sounding like a lunatic who’d watched too many action flicks. He didn’t know about Ricky, of course. Who Ava felt sorry for. Who’d managed, somehow, to be even more pathetic than her.
A part of her, a big part, expected him not to show. Typical Ian, to deprive her of the climax. But his sleek silver Mercedes stood out like a sore thumb in the lot, where most of the cars were cheap rentals or family sedans.
As she pulled alongside him, she caught her breath, horrified at the little girl waving at her from the car seat. Ava mustered the courage to wave back, hoping Maddie didn’t recognize her, didn’t tell Daddy—“That’s the lady who took my picture.” But Maddie had more pressing concerns. Like struggling to open the wrapper of her red-heart lollipop while maintaining a firm grip on her teddy bear.
Ava scowled at Ian. Now this was just like him. Classic Ian. He’d brought Maddie along to prove a point. To make her feel like scum. Which she did.
He rolled down his window, and she did the same, shouting expletives with her eyes since she couldn’t speak them.
“Get out of the car,” he said.
“Why? Can’t you just hand it to me through the window?”
“So we can talk like civilized adults. That’s why.”
“As if you’ve ever been civilized.”
Ava heard Maddie giggle, and for a moment, she thought of Kate and the manufactured twitter of a laugh she’d always made on Love Doctored. “Who’s that, Daddy?”
“It’s Daddy’s friend. From a long time ago. Why don’t you tell Mister Bear what you did in preschool today? Daddy will be right back.”
Before Ava could protest, Ian had invaded her country. Right around the passenger side and into her car. He held a blue, canvas bank bag in his lap. And suddenly, the air seemed thinner. Toxic. With the cloying smell of chalk and sandalwood aftershave.
“You brought your daughter? I’ll be sure to nominate you for parent of the year.”
“Kate had a doctor’s appointment and the sitter was busy, so I had to take Maddie. You know, I canceled a TV gig to be here. And those are a rarity these days.”
“Oh no! Not one of your precious TV gigs. I’m surprised they still want you with all the blood on your hands.”
She looked at his hands then. It had been a year since she’d felt them on her body. One of them on her hip, to be exact. “Trouble in paradise?” she asked, gesturing to his ringless finger.
Ian actually smiled at her, sheepish as the day they’d met. “I lost it last March at the country club. You know I was never really a ring guy.”
“Must be convenient.”
He sighed, sounding defeated. “We don’t have to do this. This petty game.” But she wanted him to fight back.
“Do you have it? All of it?”
“Part. It’s all I can give you for now. I’ll have the rest next month.” He unzipped the bag, and turned its open mouth to Ava. She tried not to gape at the stacks of cash. The flat, perfect bills that she’d exacted from him. Her pound of flesh.
Ian tossed the bag at her, like he couldn’t bear to touch her. And it landed heavy on her lap. “This isn’t you, Ava. You’re not like this.”
She hated the way his face softened, the way his voice pleaded with her. “Like what?”
“Spiteful.”
A strangled laugh croaked from her throat. “Really, Ian? That’s all I am. That’s what you made me. And you’re no different. Spite is the glue that held us together.”
He sat quiet, and she wanted to punch him. To shake him. To make him lash out so she could lash back. And she wielded her weapon. “Thank God we never had a child. I feel sorry for Maddie with the two of you as parents. Poor girl. She’ll be in therapy before she can write her own name.” Kept jabbing, poking, wounding, until he had no choice but to strike back.
“Kate’s pregnant again.” He cracked the door open and stepped out. Leaned down and leveled her the way no one else could. “She’s more of a mother than you could ever hope to be. Enjoy your dirty money, Ava. Good luck getting the rest.”
She braced herself, ready for it, but he didn’t slam the door. He left it unfinished. And that was worse. Like he couldn’t be bothered.
Ava’s hands trembled with rage as she drove down the feeder road toward the freeway, Ian still chattering in her head. And the impatient sound of the low fuel light didn’t help, fluttering her heart with its sudden ding. At the last minute, she swerved into the station and pulled her car to a stop.
She reached into the back and grabbed the bag of money, jerking it to her like the arm of a petulant child.
Started counted. She’s more of a mother . . .
And started again. Enjoy your dirty money . . .
And again from the beginning. Until she finished, finally. The total, well short of what she’d asked for.
Desperate for release, she yanked the gear into reverse, intending to peel out, gas gauge be damned. But the blare of a horn stopped her cold. The bared teeth of a furious driver in her rearview.
The anger of twenty-one years gathered inside her. Like stagnant water, it seeped from her pores. Ran down her cheeks. It filled her, every bit. And it was no wonder there was no room for Luke. Or love. Anything good would be drowned by it, lost in the swampy muck.
When she finally opened her mouth to scream, she remembered her father’s face—the raw anguish—the moment she’d said it. I hate you. I wish you’d just die. And nothing came out.
****
Ava drove away from Cliffside and sped for home, still barely keeping her head above the water line.
“Your mother had a bit of an outburst earlier. We had to sedate her.” That’s what Nurse Ellerby said when she’d arrived. And Ava felt relieved. And then awful. What kind of daughter would wish for that?
The kind with a bag of money she needed to stash.
So she kissed her mom on the forehead and headed for the closet safe, wincing as she turned the dial.
6/5/96
Some days are cursed, she thought as she pulled into her driveway.
And maybe curses can’t be broken. Only endured.
She trudged inside, fully intent on grabbing a book, going for a run. Taking a hot shower. One of million things she’d counseled her patients to do. Healthy coping, she called it.
Well, fuck that
.
She poured a glass of wine, whipped out her laptop, and went straight to her unhappy place. Kate’s Facebook page. How long had it been since she’d checked it? She cursed herself for not being prepared. For not seeing whatever nauseatingly perfect we’re expecting photo Kate had commissioned.
But, she didn’t find it. Only this:
Kate Culpepper was tagged in a post.
Below, the trendy La Noche Restaurant had posted a picture of Kate and Ian at a window table. The caption read:
Love Doctors dining at La Noche on V-Day . . . love is in the air!
15 mins ago–Carmel, CA.
Ava studied the photo, opening it in full-screen view, paying attention to the particulars. Kate’s flat stomach in her curve-hugging red dress. She couldn’t be too far along. No alcohol for her, just water. Ian’s glass of red, full. Far Niente, no doubt. His favorite. And she’d certainly given him a reason to drink.
The idea struck her—the way the worst ones do—as brilliant. She didn’t have any Adderall, but she still had the Xanax Ian had prescribed her. And that was even better somehow. Fitting. Karma in the form of a little white bar.
Just a pill, she thought. Or two.
One last time.
****
Ava parked on the street across from the restaurant. From here, with the Nikon, she had an unobstructed view of her target: the long, sleek, dark neck of the wine bottle, the gold foil peeled back, tipping toward Ian’s glass. And she laughed out loud when she saw the waiter cart the bottle away. Probably to a serving station.
Child’s play, she thought. Even easier than the first time. As long as she could be patient—which she could—and exact, holding out for the precise moment.
It came sooner than she could’ve hoped. But not before she made note of the absence of laughter between them. Only because she laughed so much and so often with Luke. Kate’s face seemed dour. And Ian checked his cell phone twice. For a moment, Ava considered going home, victorious in the knowledge that she had Luke. That Luke would never do such a thing. That Kate and Ian were not the couple from the shiny Facebook photo but its negative, devoid of light.