Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets

by Lynn Osterkamp

  “Ride your shortest board,” he said. “The beach break is fast and steep. Turns quickly.”

  “No, Tyler. I need advice about my life, not about surfing. I’m stuck with helping this Moxie group find out what happened to Sabrina.

  “Stay frosty, dude. Moxie has awesome energy, but they’re about to fall into the pit. They can be sucked up by the barrel and get worked. Don’t let them blow it.”

  “What are you saying? I have to save Moxie? Why? And from what?”

  I was wasting my breath. Without another word, Tyler floated off toward the window and disappeared into the dark evening sky.

  He brought up Moxie, I didn’t. So he knows something about those women. Why did he say they have awesome energy?

  I was so immersed in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear my phone. When I jumped up and grabbed it, I saw it was Elisa calling. I knew I didn’t want to tell her that I was getting involved in another possible murder investigation. During the last one, she had given me as many dire warnings as Pablo had. But I picked up anyway.

  “Hey, Cleo. What’s up? You never called me yesterday with the lowdown on your lunch with Bruce.”

  “Sorry. I was depressed about a long discussion Pablo and I had about our future. I didn’t have energy for anything else.”

  “Do you want to talk about that?”

  “I do, but not right now. I’ll tell you about Bruce, though. But you’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “You remember that woman who disappeared in the Indian Peaks Wilderness a few weeks ago? The one who was celebrating her fortieth birthday with a group of friends?”

  “You mean Sabrina Larson?”

  “Right. Do you know her?”

  “Not exactly. It’s complicated. You go on and then I’ll tell you.”

  “Okay. Well as part of the celebration, the women all went off on individual personal journeys and Sabrina never came back. One of the women is Bruce’s sister and Bruce wants me to help her try to contact Sabrina to see if she’s dead. I think maybe she believes Sabrina was murdered.”

  I stopped and waited for Elisa to yell at me. She’s not only my best friend, she’s a psychologist like me, and she’s my clinical supervisor when I need one. I can tell her anything, even about my clients. The upside—she keeps my confidences and supports me when I’m down. The downside—she’s not shy about bawling me out when she thinks I’m heading off in the wrong direction. I expected dire warnings about how I need to stay away from anything even faintly resembling a murder investigation, how I have my professional reputation to think about, and how now that I’m pregnant I should be especially careful not to put myself in danger.

  But instead she said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, “Honey, we need to talk and we need to talk soon.”

  “If you’re going to lecture me about staying out of trouble, I’d rather skip it,” I said. “I already know the drill.”

  “Not this time, you don’t,” Elisa said. “That missing woman has a sixteen-year-old son and he’s my daughter’s boyfriend. Do you remember me telling you Maria has a new boyfriend? A snowboarder? Well, that’s him. Ian Larson, Sabrina Larson’s son. Like I said, it’s complicated. If you’re alone tonight, how about Maria and I pick up some takeout and come by your house for a talk?”

  Chapter 5

  “Ian’s an awesome snowboarder. He’s in Breckenridge right now competing in the halfpipe Grand Prix. It’s a serious competition.” Maria paced around my kitchen, speaking with rapid enthusiasm, her long straight brown hair flipping from side to side across her face as she turned. She wore tight tattered jeans and a grey hoodie that said, “Music is an outburst of the soul.”

  Her words tumbled over each other as she continued to sing Ian’s praises. “If he does well there, he moves on to major events in New Jersey and Idaho this winter where he could win money and maybe get a slot on the U.S. Snowboard Team. He’s been snowboarding since he was five, and competing since he was ten. I mean if you saw him on the course, you’d be blown away.”

  Elisa and I listened quietly as she spread out containers of roasted vegetables, poached salmon and spinach salad and I sliced a baguette to put on a plate with a hunk of gorgonzola. When I sat down at the table, Elisa sat across from me, rolling her eyes.

  “I saw that, mom,” Maria said, as she finally ground to a halt, dropping down into the chair next to me. “If you have something to say, go ahead. We’ll let Cleo decide who’s right.”

  I’ve known Maria since she was a baby—I was her nanny for a few years when I was trying to make it as an artist—and her pacing was a behavior I recognized as a sign she was seriously upset. I never like to get in the middle of a disagreement between her and Elisa, but I love her like a daughter, and I wanted to connect. “Wait a minute, Maria,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. “I haven’t even gotten a hug from you.”

  “Sorry, Cleo,” she said turning so we could hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “So Ian is your new boyfriend?” I asked. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s tall with shaggy brown hair and huge blue eyes that are like deep pools of water,” she said, looking dreamily off into the distance like she could see him standing there. Then she turned and smiled at me. “Cleo, I know you’d like him. He’s sixteen like me, but he’s so mature for his age. I think it’s because he’s been competing for years as a snowboarder like I have with violin. He has a clear focus, doesn’t mess around with drugs or other stupid teenage stuff. He’s the first guy I’ve met who gets why violin trumps everything for me. And I get why he has to be at this halfpipe competition,” Maria finished, shooting a glare at Elisa.

  “But his mother is missing,” Elisa said quietly.

  “Come on Mom, you know he cares about her a lot,” Maria said. “And he misses her. But he says she’s amazing at taking care of herself. He knows she’ll be okay.”

  “But it’s been almost three weeks. Where does he think she is? Isn’t he starting to worry?”

  “Mom, he can’t take in negative energy right now. He needs to stay focused. His mom wouldn’t want him to lose this competition because of her.” Maria’s voice was becoming shrill.

  “So he’s at the competition now and his mother is missing,” I said, calmly. “He’s still only sixteen. Did he go by himself?”

  “He’s with his coach. There are lots of times his mom can’t go because she’s working or whatever. He’s fine. His aunt Brandi is fine with it, too.”

  “His Aunt Brandi?” I asked.

  “Brandi is Ian’s mom’s sister. She was living at their house anyway, so she’s handling stuff here at home. She’s hilarious—sometimes she seems more like a teenager than Ian does—even though she’s thirty.”

  I remembered what Gayle had said about how Sabrina had not wanted Brandi to be Ian’s guardian. “Do Ian and Brandi get along?” I asked.

  “Totally,” Maria said with a grin. “Everything’s fun when Brandi’s around.”

  “But she must be worried about Sabrina too.”

  “Of course she is, but she gets that Ian needs his focus. And she knows Sabrina can take care of herself. Brandi is really good for Ian. She keeps him from getting down about his mom. Keeps him thinking positively.”

  Elisa sighed. She wasn’t scowling or looking visibly upset, but I could sense a lecture on the way. Apparently Maria did too. “Okay, Mom,” she said exasperatedly. Then, to me, “Cleo, Mom says I need to talk to you about how people act when they’ve lost someone. She thinks Ian isn’t facing the situation, that he’s in denial or pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think Mom doesn’t get Ian. I know what it’s like to practice for days, months, years to get to a competition. Mom doesn’t understand. He needs his focus.”

  Elisa finally lost it. “Maria, look at me,” she said sharply. “We’re talking about a serious situation here. Ian and
Brandi are acting like his mom is away on vacation. I find that very strange. What is going on? Where does Ian think his mom is? Apparently he doesn’t think she’s still up at Indian Peaks injured or lost.”

  “Not really,” Maria said. “After all the searches, they probably would have found her by now.”

  “So,” Elisa went on, “do Ian and Brandi know something no one else does?”

  Maria closed her eyes for a minute and took a deep breath. “You two are both psychologists so you understand confidentiality,” she said looking us each in the eye in turn. “Everything Ian has told me is confidential, so I’m not going to tell you anything unless you agree to keep it that way. Do I have your word?”

  “We can’t make a promise like that, Maria,” Elisa said sternly. “A woman is missing, your boyfriend’s mother. Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know everything that might help find her?”

  “It’s not my information to give out, Mom,” Maria said, sounding close to tears. “I promised Ian to keep his secrets.”

  I thought about how committed Ian and Maria must be to each other. Two intense focused kids like them could fall head-over-heels in love in a flash. It reminded me of when Pablo and I met in art class our sophomore year in college. We were instant soul mates deeply in love for the next three years until he broke my heart when he went off right after graduation to travel and find himself. I could imagine the fear Maria might be feeling at the thought of losing Ian if she betrayed his confidences.

  I put my arm around Maria’s shoulders again and gave her a squeeze. “It sounds like you’re in a tough spot,” I said. “I wouldn’t ask you to betray Ian’s trust. Maybe you could tell him your mom is worried? Maybe you and he could talk to your mom together?”

  I pretended not to notice Elisa giving me the evil eye from across the table.

  Chapter 6

  I lay in bed that night thinking about Maria’s fierce, yet naive, love for Ian. Ah sixteen—such a romantic age. Again she reminded me of myself. I was only a few years older than she is when Pablo and I fell in love our sophomore year in college. We stayed together until we graduated. If this pregnancy had happened back then, Pablo and I might be married with a sixteen-year-old child today. Or—given all the ups and downs in our relationship—maybe we’d be divorced with a sixteen-year-old child. All of that is hard to imagine now.

  I wouldn’t have chosen to get pregnant at age twenty or twenty-one, but if I had, I would have had no hesitation about marrying Pablo. I loved him deeply, trusted him totally, and believed in our future together. I thought of him as my soul mate until that night a few days after our college graduation.

  When Pablo said he’d saved up to take me to dinner at the pricey Flagstaff House to celebrate our graduation, I was sure he planned to propose. After all, the Flagstaff House is known as Boulder’s most romantic restaurant, and widely acknowledged to be the best spot in town to pop the question. And we’d been together for three years. I intended to bring up my concerns that we were too young for marriage, that maybe we should wait a year or so. But I also planned to say “yes” to his proposal, because I knew we were destined to be together forever. I was floating on a joyous cloud as we walked into the elegant restaurant in the foothills.

  Our table, next to a floor-to-ceiling window, gave us a breathtaking view of the city of Boulder 6,000 feet below. A stunning sunset matched my inner glow. I felt glamorous and grownup in my perfect little black cocktail dress, cut and gracefully draped to mold to my figure. I had spent more than I should have on it, but I wanted this night to be a magnificent memory. As I looked at Pablo, my handsome lover, looking especially delicious in a tie and jacket, I was in heaven.

  We drank wine and ate amazing food in celebration of our newly minted fine arts degrees. We speculated about the acclaimed artists we would become. The future stretched endlessly in front of us. Everything was possible. When I look back now, it is with sadness for my naive former self who loved and trusted in a way I have never done since. And sadness for Pablo who had no idea of what I expected from him that night.

  Just as I finished the last bit of my dessert—a chocolate torte I’ve never had a taste for since—Pablo took my hand in his, gazed soulfully into my eyes, and said, “Cleo, I love you so much. I hope you know how much I will always love you.”

  As I looked deeply into adorable brown eyes, I melted inside, waiting for the proposal I knew was coming. Except it didn’t.

  Instead, he said, “But I need some time away from Boulder, from everyone I know. I need to find myself as an artist and I can’t do it here. I’m going to Mexico—to that artist’s community, San Miguel de Allende.” His face lit up and he dropped my hands. “So many artists live there. Galleries, art courses and workshops are everywhere. Diego Rivera painted there. Can you believe it?”

  Shock nearly flattened me. All I could do was gasp out, “Why do you have to leave?”

  He looked off out the window briefly, then turned back to me with a determined look. “For a while now, I’ve been focused on creating art that pleases others—like my teachers and judges of our student shows,” he said. “But a lot of the fun has gone out of it for me. I don’t know who I am as an artist anymore. My work doesn’t have the energy I want it to, the energy of an artist freely exploring and creating.” His voice gained intensity. “I need to reinvent myself as an artist, somewhere where art is in the air, where I can live cheaply, where I can devote all my time and energy to art.”

  Tears ran down my face. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “Cleo, I’d like to ask you to wait for me, but I won’t ask that of you. I want you to be as free as I am to make whatever choices work for you.”

  No way. I couldn’t accept that. I’d do whatever I had to do to keep him. “Maybe I could go with you. I’m an artist, too. I could study and learn there alongside you.”

  He shook his head no. “Much as I’d love to have you with me, Cleo, it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to me to have you there. I need to live a solitary existence so I can create without distraction. I have to be able to follow whatever inspires me, to head off in a different direction any day I choose to, without any obligations.”

  “So you are breaking up with me.” Now I felt anger growing inside me. He was so full of himself. How could he set me up this way? I didn’t want to explode and make a scene in the restaurant, so I gathered my forces, stood up and said as calmly as I could manage, “Give me the keys. I’ll wait in the car while you pay the check.”

  ““Wait, Cleo. The evening doesn’t have to end this way. You know I still love you.”

  Other diners were looking at us and a waiter was on his way over. It was tempting to sit down, but I stayed strong. “Give me the keys right now or I’m going to start shouting at you,” I said.

  He handed over the keys and I walked out with as much dignity as I could muster.

  In the car on our way down the mountain, I asked the question at the top of my mind. “Why, the Flagstaff House, Pablo? Why did you take me there to break up with me?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t take you there to break up with you, Cleo. I took you there to celebrate our graduation and our exciting futures as artists.” Then he launched into the “we can still be friends” spiel. I saw it as a sop to his guilt.

  “Forget it, Pablo. Forget me, like I’m going to forget you,” I said. “Have a good life.”

  We didn’t speak or see each other again before he left. I didn’t answer his calls, didn’t go out where I might run into him. Of course I was nowhere near as blasé about his decision as I pretended. I felt blindsided, rejected and abandoned. Now that I’m a trained grief therapist I can look back and recognize the stages of grief I went through. First was shock, denial and isolation. I stayed home alone, cried, slept a lot, and was as miserable as I’d ever been. When I got tired of wallowing in self-pity, I moved on to anger. I burned all the pictures I had of him and threw out the things he’d left at my apartment. I started telling our
friends what a shit he was.

  The pain was intense for many months. I missed Pablo in so many ways and so many places. And I missed my vision of our future together. But I gradually let go of what was and moved on to what was to come. I committed myself to working intensely on my own art, painting with Gramma in her studio part of every day. I took a part-time job as a nanny to Elisa’s one-year-old daughter, Maria. And I got involved in a relationship with Brian, a hunky graphic artist, who didn’t want commitment any more than I did at that point, but who was always ready for a good time.

  § § §

  Six years later, Pablo moved back here to help his parents after his brother got involved in a gang selling drugs and ended up in jail. He called me to meet him for coffee at The Trident one summer night. When I walked in, he was sitting at a quiet table reading a book, just like in our student days. But he looked different. Thinner, longer hair, face more finely drawn.

  We hugged awkwardly, but we didn’t kiss. I had thought about this day often over the years. More in the early years, less later. I had asked myself how I would feel seeing him again. Angry? Happy? Excited? What I hadn’t anticipated was what I actually felt— nothing much.

  We brought each other up to date on our lives at the moment, but carefully avoided talking about our shared past or about what we’d done in the six years he was away. Pablo told me about his brother’s problems and the impact it had on his family. Then he said he had decided to go into police work to help keep kids like his brother out of gangs. He was already taking the Police Academy training. And he was living in Longmont with his family.

  I said I had just started a doctoral program in clinical psychology at the University of Denver, because I wasn’t making enough money from my art to support myself, and I didn’t want to be a nanny for the rest of my life. I also told him how worried I was about my grandmother, who was becoming increasingly forgetful. At Grampa’s encouragement, I had moved in with him and Gramma while I went to grad school. It would save me money and he needed the help now that Gramma was declining. He had offered to help me with school costs so I wouldn’t have so many loans.