by A. J. Banner
His face turns white. “Why would she push Lauren?”
“I don’t know. Seems I’m being kept in the dark about a lot of things these days.”
“I didn’t know anything about the scarf.”
“Uh-huh.” I raise my brows, my mouth dropping open. I’m sure I look as incredulous as I feel.
“I swear. I don’t know what it was doing in the water.”
The connection hovers just out of reach, but it’s there. I feel it in my bones, in my blood. Nathan, Hedra, Lauren, the scarf. Keith the monster chasing her. Or is he simply a buttoned-up, fastidious surgeon? Careful about his work? Loving in his own way? I don’t know him at all, not really. I don’t know Nathan, either. I thought I did.
I look around at the living room, in which I’ve enjoyed games, laughter, intimacy, a feeling of home. Now it’s just a collection of furniture, the happiness leached away. I no longer belong here. “I have to go.”
“Stay.” Nathan steps toward me. I step back.
“Don’t,” I say.
“What will I tell Anna?”
Now he’s using her to try to keep me here. A cheap shot. “Whatever you need to tell her. This is not on me.”
“Don’t go. There’s nothing going on between Hedra and me.”
“That is such bullshit.” I tug off the engagement ring, put it in my pocket. As I walk out the door, I remember the first time I came over for dinner. I gave him the potted azalea now replanted in the garden, dormant in the autumn gloom. He admitted to googling “dinner recipes for first dates,” picking one he wouldn’t easily mess up—spaghetti carbonara. But he burned it, and that time I was the one who lied, because I was already falling for him. This is the best meal I’ve ever had, I said, and I kept insisting it was true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The hours pass in a blur, like nondescript scenery from a train window. I draw the curtains, plunging my life into dimness. While I curl up in bed, feeling supremely sorry for myself, the months unravel. Was I too trusting? Too eager? Did I fall for Nathan too soon? I became infatuated with him when we first met, or was it two days later, at Career Day? I peeked into Julie’s art class and saw him in uniform, answering questions about his life as a paramedic. He brought his gear for show-and-tell. Anna beamed as the students gathered around. He showed them his stethoscope, trauma shears, his automatic defibrillator. He told riveting stories related to each piece of equipment, holding the kids enthralled. I was enraptured, too, and when he looked in my direction, our gazes locked. I backed out of the room, feeling my cheeks flush. Half an hour later, Julie sidled in. “He asked about you,” she said. “He’s in the hall. Go and talk to him before he gets away.”
I found him at the water fountain, bending to take a long drink. He straightened and grinned at me, shook my hand and introduced himself again. “In case you forgot, I’m Anna’s dad.”
“How could I forget?” I felt his firm fingers gripping mine. All eyes were on us, and then he let go.
“Could we talk outside?” he said. “About Anna’s speech therapy.”
“Sure, of course.” I followed him out into the school yard. “She’s making great progress.”
“I wanted to thank you—she’s so much more confident now.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked point-blank. I expected him to beat around the bush, talk about the weather. But he looked right at me, asking a straight question.
I laughed. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“At my place? Is that too forward?”
“I should trust you, right? You’re Anna’s dad.”
“Yeah, trust me, but I warn you, I’m the world’s worst cook.”
“I’m pretty sure my mother was,” I said before I could stop myself.
“No, I am. See you Saturday night at seven? Anna won’t be there. She’s at her mother’s house this weekend.”
I nodded and went back inside, wondering if I had broken some school rule, flirting with a student’s father on campus. But I didn’t care. My heart was turning cartwheels.
Julie ran into my office, and I gave her the scoop. “Dinner at his place already?” she said. “No lunch or coffee first?”
“Your number is on speed dial in case I get into trouble.”
“You’ll be fine. He’s a good guy, a good dad.”
I could see she was right when I showed up at his house for dinner. I handed him the potted azalea, and he smiled. “Anna will love this,” he said, putting the plant on the table in the foyer. “She’s getting into learning flower names.”
“Then I made a good choice.” I took off my shoes and promptly stepped on a piece of green Lego.
“That’s where that went,” he said, picking up the piece.
“Did Anna make those?” I said, pointing to Lego birds on the coffee table—a blue jay, a robin, and a hummingbird.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “She was never much into dolls. Oops. Dinner.” He dashed into the kitchen, attempting to salvage a pan of burning spaghetti. On the fridge, he displayed numerous photographs of Anna—proudly pointing to a missing front tooth, holding up a spelling test plastered with a big gold star, twirling in her pink tutu.
He removed a stack of her library books from the dining table before we sat down to eat. “She’s a big reader, too,” he said.
“She should come over and check out my books,” I said. “I’ve got a huge collection. And, of course, you should come over, too.” I blushed, and he smiled.
Over a candlelit, charred dinner, he related the best and worst aspects of his job, from the joys of delivering twins in the ambulance, to the pain of losing a child who’d fallen from a tenth-floor window.
I told him about my work at Anna’s school. “I love my job. It’s challenging. Sometimes we even work with a therapy dog. I have one student who refuses to read aloud unless he’s reading to the dog. He’s afraid the other kids will make fun of him.”
“What kind of dog?”
“We’ve had a golden retriever, a yellow Lab. Recently we had a four-year-old Bouvier des Flandres named Penelope.”
“A Bouvier des what?” He laughed, nearly snorting wine from his nose.
“You know, a big fluffy dog with pointy ears and a beard. Looks like a gigantic Jim Henson puppet.”
“I loved Jim Henson movies! Anna and I just watched The Muppets Take Manhattan.”
“My favorite is The Dark Crystal.”
We discussed films, from horror to comedy to animation. The conversation inevitably circled back around to Anna, to her love of dance and nature. To her speech disfluency and my efforts to help her overcome stuttering. At the time, I’d been treating her for only a few weeks.
“Patience is important in my job,” I told Nathan. “It’s all about repetition, small steps, individualizing the treatment plan. I never say the word stuttering directly to the child.”
“Rianne told me about that.” He refilled his wineglass, and I held up my hand, indicating I’d had enough. The mention of his ex-wife put a slight damper on my enthusiasm, but I quickly recovered. Nathan and I talked late into the evening. It had been a long time since I’d become so absorbed in a conversation that I’d lost track of time.
At eleven o’clock, I leaped to my feet. “I should let you go to bed.”
“Sleep is overrated,” he said, but he graciously let me go. We could have easily fallen into bed together that first night, but he never tried to rush me. Always attentive, always excited to see me, he took me kayaking, hiking in the mountains, beachcombing, to dinner. He lured me in, so how was I to know what he would do?
I try calling Hedra again, still no answer, and no response from Keith. Nathan doesn’t want me to talk to her now. I’ll put her in danger. Right, in danger of having to explain herself to me. It takes all my energy, but I pull on a coat and head out to my car. Nathan extended Hedra’s stay in the hotel, which means the key card in my pocket s
hould still open the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I drive back to the Oak Terrace Hotel through a bright, cold afternoon. Nothing moves—not the sky, not the leaves. Autumn hangs suspended in time. The hotel units look benign in sunlight, even bland, lounging along a gentle hillside on the edge of a protected forest. No answer when I knock on the door to room fifteen. I look over my shoulder, nobody coming. A seagull soars overhead, squawking its way to the sea. I swipe the key card through the lock. The door opens easily. Part of me didn’t want the key card to work. For all of this to be a mistake. But clearly Hedra has been renting this room for five or six days. My stomach clenches as I step inside and close the door.
“Hello!” I call out. “Hello! Anyone here? Hedra?” My voice echoes.
No answer.
I look to my left, into a living room sparsely furnished in a generic style. A faint smell of onions drifts from the kitchen. I find the remnants of an omelet in a pan on the stove. Evidence of Hedra is littered all over the unit. A tube of lipstick has rolled to the edge of the countertop; a pair of women’s shoes point toward me from beneath the coffee table. Elle magazine sits open to a celebrity page, next to an empty mug.
At the small dining table, someone recently sat, perhaps eating the omelet and toast from a plate still dusted with crumbs. I start up the stairs to the second floor. A knock on the door. My heart thumps. My hand slides down the banister.
“Housekeeping!” a woman calls out.
Housekeeping. Of course. I go down and open the door. A young woman stands there in a brown uniform. She’s round all over. She gives me a broad smile. Her fingers curl around the handle of a rolling cart full of towels and toilet paper rolls. “You called about towels,” she says.
“Ah, yes,” I say, glancing up toward the second floor, then back at her. “I’m in the middle of something. Could you come back tomorrow?”
A shadow of irritation crosses her face. She pushes a strand of shiny hair behind her ear. “You still want pool towels?”
So, the hotel offers this luxurious amenity. “That’s okay. We’re good.”
“What about your husband?”
My mind trips over the word husband. “Um, he’s okay, too.”
The maid nods and rolls her cart along the sidewalk toward the next unit.
I flip the “Privacy Please” sign face out, close and lock the door, and tiptoe upstairs. Straight ahead of me—a small bathroom. Toiletries laid out on the counter. Lotion, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste. Singles of each item. Hotel shampoo and soap in the shower. Only one bedroom up here.
“Hello?” I call out. I push on the open door. A curtain flaps in the window. Unmade queen-size bed. A pile of pillows. On the nightstand is an empty prescription bottle. I hear a moan. Someone is here, on the other side of the bed.
Adrenaline courses through my veins. I step around, and I see her slippers first, pale feet, the white lace of her nightgown. She’s lying on her side, facing away from me. Lauren, I see Lauren, lying on the beach. There’s a smear of blood on the corner of the nightstand, as if she stumbled and hit her head.
“Are you okay?” I say, rushing to kneel next to her.
Her hair covers part of her face, but I know it’s Hedra.
“Are you all right? Hedra, talk to me.” I gently shake her shoulders. She doesn’t respond, but she’s breathing. “Did you fall?”
No answer. “Hedra, wake up!” I fumble in my pocket for my cell phone. As I call 911, Hedra moans and shifts onto her back. The hair falls away from her face, revealing a thin cut on her forehead. I grab for a tissue from the nightstand, dab at the wound. The blood is clotting; she’s not bleeding. My brain switches into high gear. “What happened, Hedra? Tell me!”
She mumbles, lashes fluttering. Her eyes open a little, those emerald eyes, sleepy, drugged.
The operator comes on the line. “Nine-one-one. Where is your emergency?”
“I’m at the Oak Terrace Hotel, room fifteen. Please send an ambulance.”
“What is your emergency, ma’am?”
“A woman might have overdosed on medication.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I think she fell and hit her head. I found her this way. I don’t know what happened. She’s breathing . . . and conscious, but she seems confused.”
“Help is on the way. What is your name, please?”
“Marissa Parlette. I’m a friend.”
“Are you in any danger there? Are you safe?”
“Yes, I’m okay. I don’t think anyone else is here.”
“Do you know what medication she took?”
“No, I’ll ask her.” I nudge her shoulder. “Hedra! What happened? What did you take?”
She mumbles an incoherent reply. I rush around to the nightstand. “It looks like . . . Sinequan pills,” I say, reading the label on the bottle. “The prescribing physician’s name has been removed. What’s Sinequan?”
“It’s a type of antidepressant,” the operator says. “How many pills did she take?”
“I don’t know. Hedra, did you take these pills? How many?”
Her lashes flutter. She moans again.
“She’s not answering,” I say.
“Any vomiting?”
“No, no vomiting. How long will the ambulance take?” My head swims; I sit on the carpet to keep from fainting.
“They’re about three minutes out.”
They must have had another call nearby—we’re way out of town. Hedra groans, and I squeeze her hand. “Hang on, help is on the way,” I tell her.
She reaches up and clings to my sleeve, clawing at me. Murmuring. “Nathan . . .”
“He’s not here. I’m Marissa. I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Where are you, Nathan? What have you done?
More mumbling, her fingernails digging into my arm.
On the telephone line, I hear beeping and indistinct voices in the background. The operator is asking more questions, but they pass right through me. A siren screams in the distance. I see lights flashing outside through the window facing the parking lot. “They’re here,” I tell the operator.
“Lauren . . . ,” Hedra says.
“What about Lauren?” I say. “She’s gone, Hedra. Remember?”
Her eyes roll back.
“Stay with me,” I say. “The ambulance is here. I need to go downstairs and let them in. Okay?” She moans softly, fading. I extract myself from her feeble grip. As I stand up, she looks at me and says, “Lauren. Knew. Lauren. She knew.” Then her eyelids flutter shut.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“I told you, she was like that when I found her,” I say to Detective Harding as the ambulance speeds away, lights pulsing. Siren blaring. I didn’t recognize the paramedics who raced up the stairs to tend to Hedra. Did I expect to see Nathan? I wanted to scream at him, accuse him, run into his arms, punch him.
“You came to this hotel because . . .” The detective points his pencil toward the overhead sign. Other hotel guests step out on their balconies, watching, the manager talking to a policeman in a nearby patrol car.
“I told you that, too. I followed Nathan here.” My mouth tastes sour.
“Your fiancé.” Dan Harding jots a note, an annoying scratch of the pencil.
“I found a key card in the closet after the dinner party. Hedra must have left it behind. But she denied it.”
“You let yourself into the unit . . .”
“If what I did was against the law, arrest me.”
“So you followed Nathan here last night and—”
“I saw them together, hugging, through the window. I came back to talk to her and found her.” There, now I’ve told someone. The detective, of all people. What I saw, what Nathan and Hedra did. It’s real. No going back.
“You came here to confront her.”
“Maybe, if you want to put it that way.”
“So, you would have good reason to argue with her? Get into a pushing match?”
“I didn’t argue with her. I
didn’t do anything to her. I found her on the floor.” I look up at the unit, the lights bright inside, the police combing through the rooms. “She took the pills, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
“I saw the blood on the corner of the nightstand. I thought she must have fallen . . . Will she be okay?”
“We don’t know yet.” He looks toward the room, back at me. “Did you see anyone else in the immediate area?”
“Nobody. She was alone.”
“You make a habit of following people, breaking into their hotel rooms?”
“I had a key, like I said. And I wasn’t following people. I was following Nathan. Hedra said Lauren knew. I’m pretty sure that was what she said to me. Before she passed out. ‘Lauren knew.’”
“What do you think she meant?”
“Maybe Lauren knew about her affair with Nathan?”
“Uh-huh.” The detective runs his forefinger across his mustache. “Could your fiancé have a history of meeting women at hotels? Maybe he was involved with Lauren as well?”
The wind pricks my skin like a thousand needles of ice. “I have no idea.”
“The night Lauren died, were you outside, checking up on Nathan? Like you were doing tonight?” He waves his pencil in a small circle in the air.
My face is going numb, the lights of the police cars blinding me. “No, I was in bed.” My mind flies back to the morning I found Lauren, when I ventured out in my sneakers. They were damp, bits of grass clinging to them.
“Are you sure? Could Nathan have been meeting Hedra that night, too? Maybe a rendezvous on the sly?”
“What are you getting at?” I stare at him coldly. My breath steams up, clouding the air between us.
“Just curious,” he says mildly. “Perhaps Nathan was here at the hotel with Hedra Black today, before you arrived.”
“He couldn’t have been here. He’s working.”
The detective nods. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Nathan said he was helping Hedra leave an abusive marriage.”
