by Kate Morris
“There’s a teepee,” she said out of the blue. He’d thought she was just high when she said she lived in the garage, but she’d been truthful. A teepee, though? “Wanna’ see?”
“How could I not after hearing that?”
She grinned and went to a smaller, shorter set of stairs leading up to a loft that overlooked the living room. He followed dutifully, forgetting all about the actual reason he was supposed to be in her apartment. Her feet were bare now, as she must’ve ditched her boots and probably her socks along the way.
Sure enough, it was a small space, but there was, indeed, a teepee in the corner. She got down on her hands and knees and crawled in.
“C’mon,” she beckoned and waved.
There was no way Tristan was getting in there.
“Tristan, come in,” she pleaded.
Like an idiot, he got down and crawled in, too. He had to admit, it was pretty cool. There were little twinkly lights that she switched on and lots of pillows and small, soft blankets piled in there. She laid on a pink pillow and blinked up at him lazily. Tristan tilted his head to the side and regarded her cautiously.
“Like it?” she asked, her pupils dilated.
She was either high, or he was because Tristan was pretty sure she was flirting. And she definitely looked like she wanted him to kiss her. He knew a lot about women- well, mostly just that look they got when they wanted to be kissed.
Not happening.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” he said and announced. “I better get going.”
“Really? So soon?”
He chuckled. She was so weird. He just nodded.
“You can come back another time, though, right?” she asked with a crooked grin and offered a series of long blinks through black, thick eyelashes.
“Um, maybe,” he said. Never.
“We could play in the woods,” she suggested sleepily and yawned. “That would be fun. We’ll play hide and seek with the kids. They love that. I’ll even let you find me.”
“And if I find you? What then?” Fire. That was playing with fire and totally stupid on his part. Why was he goading her like that?
“You’ll just have to find out, Mr. Impatient,” she said, assigning another annoying name to him.
She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again. Tristan backed out of the teepee but covered her first with a pale pink blanket that matched her pillow. Her cheeks were flushed the same color.
He hurried out of her apartment, jumped again when the damn lights in the hallway turned on, and pulled her door shut at the bottom of the steps. He wished there was a lock on it. That was no good. Oh, well. She wasn’t his problem after today. He’d never see her again.
He backed out her drive until he came to a place where it was wide enough to turn around. Then he sped back to the base where he was met by his L.T., who’d gotten the whole story from Freddie and Royce. He let him off the hook for getting into another fight, and Tristan turned in. His roommate was already in bed. Some of the men on the base were up and about. A group was running laps around the perimeter, something they did a lot to stay in shape. He just wanted some sleep before he did anything. It was the weekend, and he didn’t work most weekends. The younger guys got stuck on weekend duties.
Tristan took a fast shower in case that flu at the hospital was clinging to him. He didn’t have time to be sick right now. He only had three to four more months on this base, and if he passed the psych eval by Dr. Andersson at the end of it and was deemed fit for active combat duty again, he’d be gone in a flash. No more country western bars. No more living in the boonies. No more driving hot blondes to the hospital and then watching her fall asleep in her damn teepee. Tristan just wanted back in the fight, wherever that was and whatever that entailed.
He crashed in his bed in just boxer briefs since Freddie kept the house too hot. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. He had prescriptions for sleeping pills, but they just made him have messed up dreams. No thanks.
Tristan tossed and turned and ended up flat on his back with one arm flung over his head, staring at the ceiling as the sun rose higher and higher in the morning sky.
His mind was wandering to Avery with too much frequency. He knew the moment he’d seen her who she was. He didn’t exactly know, but he knew he’d seen her in Dr. Andersson’s parking lot. He hadn’t put it together that she was her daughter. So much for his detective skills. It was pretty freaking obvious. She looked a lot like her mother, had an elegance about her like Doc. Until she was high on pain meds. Then she had a very youthful, spunky way about her. That was probably the side she only showed to her family. He’d noticed over the years that when people were drunk or high on pain meds that they’re guards were let down. She was no different.
He rolled to his right side and tried to force her out of his mind. He’d never have to see her again, so what did it matter. She was annoying anyway. If he were being honest, he was more attracted to women like that bartender. She was sexier than Avery Andersson, judgy little homeschool snob. She’d insulted his tats. That was a no. She was too uptight. Wound too tight. Too prim and proper. Annoying.
So why had so many men been staring at her? Why had he? Why had that freak attacked her? The men staring was easily explained away. She was hot, had a smoking bod, and was basically gorgeous like a Swedish bikini calendar girl. But that asshole attacking her, dragging her away like that was going to be acceptable? Sure, he had some not so chivalrous thoughts about her, too, but men were taught to keep it in check. That dude was a psychopath. It wasn’t just that he looked like he wanted to rape her right there in the bar. It almost seemed like he wanted to murder her, too.
That train of thought led him to thinking about the bouncer’s comments. The third psycho in a week had a freak out at their bar, and the cops didn’t even question the witnesses? That didn’t make sense. Something felt really off about the whole thing. When he got up later, he was going to go into town again and follow up on it. Not for Avery Andersson, prissy pants extraordinaire. He wanted to know for himself. He needed some answers.
Tristan finally drifted off but was plagued with nightmares. This time they weren’t the usual ones where his buddies were burning alive in the middle of a battle. This time he dreamed about Avery. This time he wasn’t able to save her when a psychopathic maniac with bloodshot eyes and saliva drooling out of his mouth and mumbling weird non-words grabbed her. This time the man got away with her, and Tristan was left standing there with empty hands. When he startled awake, he was covered in sweat.
The sun was setting again. They’d made it another day. In light of the world’s current events, that was a big thing. Their group was thinning. People were moving on, finding shelter elsewhere, and many had decided to strike out on their own against advisement. It was a bad idea. Safety in numbers would help ensure survival now, but if they wanted to go, then nobody could stop them.
This was a good time of day, but also the worst. They’d made it another day, but that didn’t mean they’d make it through the night. Like most hunters in the animal kingdom, they came alive at night. These were just a different kind of animal but no less active at night.
Chapter Six
The next morning, which was late afternoon, she was awakened by Abraham, who tapped her leg. Avery sprang awake and sat up disoriented.
“Geeze, Avery!” he exclaimed once she crawled out of the teepee, having not remembered crawling into it in the first place. “What the heck happened to you? Are you okay?”
“What?” she asked, her mouth so dry and the consistency of a cotton ball that had been stretched apart and placed on her tongue. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“What time is it?”
“After one,” he said. “Mom said to come and get you for lunch. She tried calling, but you weren’t picking up. Did you-did you get drunk last night, Ave?”
“What? No!” she answered indignantly. “Of course not.”
“Then what
happened?” he prodded and helped her to her feet. “Were you in an accident?”
“Long story,” she said. “Let me grab a shower. I’ll be down in a half hour, okay? Then I can tell everyone at the same time.”
“Sure,” he said and made sure she got to the bathroom safely. “Oh, and Dad’s home.”
Great. Her father was going to lose his mind when he saw the state she was in. He already wasn’t happy about her going to bars and such with her friends. He’d wanted her to take the full scholarship to Cambridge she’d been offered last year to follow in his footsteps, but her heart just wasn’t in it. She’d already taken two and a half years of classes online and was already working in her field of choice. She fully anticipated Abraham following in their father’s footsteps, though. He was a brilliant young man. Avery just preferred art over science. It was hard for her father to understand, but he was still supportive of her choices.
In her bedroom, Avery stripped in front of the full-length mirror mounted to the wall and gaped at the bruising on her body. Her summer tan hadn’t begun fading yet, but she could still see purple and blue and dark magenta bruising on the right side of her body, her ribs to be exact. Her forearm had a thin line of a bruise that probably perfectly matched up to the railing width at that bar. And somehow, the edge of her forehead where her hairline met her skin was also bruised, that one was small and only about the size of a dime. She hadn’t needed stitches, but there was a tiny bit of bruising around the small cut on her chin. All in all, she was a wreck. It reminded her of the time she’d gone riding with Renee at her house and had been bucked off and hit the wooden fence enclosing the outdoor pasture instead of the plush, deep grass on the other side, of course. She hadn’t broken bones that time, either, but it had hurt just as much as last night’s debacle.
She hit the button for music and listened to the Lakme Flower aria duet. It was one of her favorites. She loved opera, used to take lessons when she was younger. Music was very important to her parents, and each child either learned an instrument or was taught the importance of using their voice as one. Abraham, Ephraim, Joy, and Faith all played the piano. Her father, she, and Kaia played the cello. And Cyrus and Finn played the violin. Her father’s mother, Elsa, had been a cellist in the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. Her own mother played the piano when she was young but didn’t so much anymore. But she was a great lover of the classics and insisted the children learn. Her father explained that it made better mathematicians, so it was a no brainer.
As she shaved the pale blonde hair from her legs, the greatest tenor of all time, Signore Luciano Pavarotti began the first strains of Nessun dorma from Puccini’s Turandot. It always made her tear up when he surrendered to the sheer power of his vibrato and let it loose. Thank God for men like Pavarotti that he recognized his given talent and shared it with the world. She had never experienced the pure bliss of surrendering to anything or anyone with total and complete trust and ease. It would be a freeing feeling, but Avery was not able to let go of herself in that way. It was also what probably held her back in reaching complete satisfaction with life. Her life was blessed. She knew that much, but there was something missing that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But her father wholeheartedly believed in never stopping learning and striving to better oneself. Maybe that’s just what she felt. The lack of complete intellectual fulfillment.
Avery braided her damp hair and dressed in khaki slacks and a pale blue polo shirt and matching cardigan. Slipping her feet into the worn brown leather loafers she’d left in the living room the other day, something caught her eye. She walked over to the back of the sofa and picked up the discarded brown leather jacket almost the same color as her loafers. A lot of memories about last night flooded back into her brain in a rush. She suddenly remembered that man, Tristan, coming up into her apartment earlier. He had complained about the lack of a lock on her door. She remembered that part and showing him the teepee. Avery groaned to the empty room with embarrassment and felt her cheeks reddening. What had she been thinking?
She hung the jacket on a hook down the hall and touched the small screen near the door to shut off the final strains of Madame Butterfly.
Rushing to lunch with her family, Avery entered through the main glass door and shut it behind her. The comforting scents of their home and her mother’s cooking greeted her. The house was filled with the smell of her father’s favorite meal, beef tips with mushrooms and Swedish dumplings braised in red wine and served over mashed potatoes. It reminded him of home.
Her father had grown up very privileged, had private tutors and a house staff, as he called them, which included maids and a cook and an estate manager. They lived in a home that was more castle than house, passed down for many generations. His mother and father both were quite famous, each for their own accomplishments. Her grandfather was a nuclear physicist like her father and had passed away three years ago, exactly six months after his wife. And her grandmother was not just a famous Swedish opera singer, she traveled the world sharing her talents. Her father was an only child. He was raised with the best tutors, who were told that Hugo should not have free time to laze about. He’d never seen a television program until he’d studied at university. He’d never been to a party until he met her mother. He was literally all work and no play. Ophelia had changed him for the better. Now, he believed in a healthier balance, but they still didn’t own a television.
When she walked into the kitchen, the kids were carrying trays of food and stacks of dishes to the long table.
“Avery,” her father said and walked over with outstretched arms.
“Hi, Dad,” she said and walked into his embrace and stood there a moment reveling in the spotlight he managed to shine down upon each of his children when he was home.
“I heard your contract was accepted by the hospital,” he remarked.
“Yes, it was,” she said, pulling back.
If she was hoping to tell the family later, or preferably never, about what happened, then that wasn’t going to happen. Her father’s blonde brow furrowed deeply, and he grasped each of her shoulders to hold her further away from him for inspection.
“Avery, what happened to you?” he asked.
“What do you mean, Hugo?” Ophelia questioned and walked over to them as she removed her apron. “She’s… oh, my! Avery, darling, what…?”
“It’s alright. I’ll explain everything once we’re seated,” she said. “I’m fine. I promise you.”
Her father’s scowl didn’t disappear as they took their seats. Her mother led the prayer, and the second it was over, a thousand questions flew at her at once. She took her time and explained everything to them slowly. Joy started crying.
“Joy Elsa Andersson, stop that nonsense at once, young lady,” her mother scolded. “You’re scaring your little sister. Avery is well and in one piece.”
“Thanks to the help we received, I came out unscathed. Well, mostly,” she said, trying to draw the attention back off of Joy, who could be rather emotional about most things. Kaia, on the other hand, was ready to go to town and hunt down that Steven person. She had a bit of a temper.
“That’s very fortunate, darling,” Ophelia remarked.
Her father said, “I don’t know about that. This is a serious matter. The police should’ve taken a written statement from Avery. I’m going to go to town after lunch to speak with whoever is in charge of the police department. That man who did this needs to be held accountable.”
She then told them about the bouncer. “And one of the men who helped me, his name was Tristan, he took me to the emergency room last night. Then he brought me home.”
“Avery, why didn’t you just call me?” Ophelia asked and toyed with the pearls around her neck. Her mother looked elegant and lovely today in a pale-yellow dress and her pearls.
“I didn’t want to wake you. It was late, and the children were in bed. I knew you would be, too. He was nice. I felt like after what he did, I could trust him enough t
o take me to the hospital.”
Outside, the sun hid behind clouds, and a light rain began to fall. She always liked the rain. Today it felt a little gloomy, though, in the wake of things.
“Oh, and I lost my phone,” she remembered. “I need to go back to that place before they actually open tonight so I can see if someone found it and turned it in.”
“And you are sure the doctors gave you a clean bill of health? You seem awfully bruised,” her father commented with concern. He was so protective of his family.
“I’m fine,” she said. He had no idea how bruised she was under her clothing. All he was seeing were the few small ones on her face.
“No concussion?” Hugo questioned, to which she shook her head. He took a sip of his red wine. Ophelia had convinced him about ten years ago to drink wine with his dinner for his heart health. It was the only alcohol they allowed in the house.
“Wow, only nineteen and already involved in your first bar fight,” Abraham teased.
“Abraham, that is unacceptable, young man,” her father scolded.
He was always the disciplinarian, which explained why they respected him and also why they sometimes ran wild, too. He wasn’t around a lot. Maybe a few days per week at most. Their mother’s way of raising children was definitely a lot more lenient. She wanted the children to explore and get dirty and be adventurous. She took their education very seriously, knew the importance of it having studied so hard to get where she was, but also wanted them to experience a well-rounded childhood, as well. That’s how it usually was around here, a little bit crazy with a lot of dirt mixed in. When their father was home, they studied harder, were more cerebral, and spent a lot of time reading or talking with him. When he was gone, all bets were off. They still did their schooling and took it very seriously, but they were ten times more vigorous about play time and outdoor exploring.
“Sorry, sir,” Abraham apologized and sent a conspiratorial wink to Avery.
