Five Years Gone
Page 23
He rolls his eyes at me. “I told you it would be a few hours.”
That’s a long time with nothing to keep me occupied but music and scenery. My skin feels hot all of a sudden, like it did the one time in my life I broke out in hives. I was thirteen, at a sleepover with friends, when my skin suddenly revolted. Later, it was determined I’d reacted to the laundry detergent my friend’s mother used on the blanket I was given, but now I wonder if that was the case. I’ve never had them again or experienced the distinctive prickly heat that led to them until now.
I take a sip from my water bottle, hoping the cool liquid will help. My throat feels tight—enough so that I begin to be concerned. “Eric.”
“What, honey?”
“I don’t feel good.”
He looks over at me and does a double take. “What’s on your face?”
I hastily pull down the visor and gasp at my reflection. I have blotchy red patches all over my face. “Benadryl.” I recall what they gave me at the ER the first time this happened. “I need Benadryl.”
Eric takes the next exit, finds a CVS and pulls into the parking lot. He jumps out of the car and runs inside while I focus on breathing and trying not to scratch my itchy skin. He’s back momentarily and drops pills into my hand that I take with greedy gulps of water. I close my eyes and wait impatiently for the medication to take effect.
Eric strokes my hair and offers what comfort he can. “Do we need to get you to a hospital, honey?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay.”
It takes about thirty minutes before my throat begins to clear and the violent need to itch recedes. I open my eyes to find him watching me with concern etched into his handsome face. I hate that I keep giving him reason to look at me that way. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Do you feel better?”
“Yeah. It’ll take a while for the red patches to go away, though.”
“What brought that on?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, even though that’s not true. I know exactly what brought it on, but I don’t understand why. The last time, it was laundry detergent, or so we thought.
“Has it happened before?”
“Once when I was thirteen.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No! Not at all. Unless…”
“What?”
“I’d understand if you didn’t want to be seen with me when I have welts all over my face.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. As long as you’re all right, that’s what I care about.”
“I’m all right.” I tell him what he needs to hear, but the incident has unnerved me. I’ve tried so hard to move forward with my life after learning John is alive, but the thought of a few days without frantic activity to keep me busy brought on an outbreak of hives. I can’t deny the connection as much as I might wish to.
I hate the way I feel when I think of him. I hate knowing he’s out there somewhere, back from his long mission, and couldn’t care less about me, not that I want to hear from him. I don’t. I want nothing to do with him. I want him to go away and leave me alone once and for all. I want to be free of him.
Free. What would that be like? I’ve been obsessed with wondering what became of him for so long, I can’t remember what it was like to live any other way.
The Benadryl makes me drowsy. I want to spend this time with Eric, but I can’t keep my eyes open.
Chapter Twenty-Six
AVA
I hear Eric calling my name. He sounds like he’s far away, but then I feel his hand on my shoulder gently shaking me.
“Ava, honey, wake up.”
My eyelids weigh a hundred pounds, or so it seems. I force them open and blink a large Victorian house into focus. Something about it is familiar.
“We’re here.”
“Where’s here?”
“The Fairlawn Inn. Camille told me you’ve been here before and loved it.”
“Yes! Once with our parents. I did love it. This is amazing, Eric. Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad you’re happy. Do you feel better?”
“Much better. Sorry about conking out on you. It was the Benadryl.”
“No problem, but I did miss you.” He smiles and kisses the back of my hand. “Want to go in and see if it’s like you remember?”
“Uh-huh.” I’m so touched by the thought he put into taking me somewhere that would please me. The inside is just as I remember, cozy and welcoming with antique furnishings. We’re shown to our room, which features a sleigh bed with a floral quilt and canopy. “The last time I stayed here, I had to share a bed with Camille.” I rest a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. “I’m much more excited to share a bed with you.”
“I should hope so.”
His reply makes me laugh, and I vow to put all my focus and attention on him this weekend. That’s the least of what he deserves after going to all this trouble to arrange a romantic getaway for us.
We spend that afternoon taking a hike on trails that surround the inn and have a delicious dinner at a nearby restaurant in downtown Hunter. It’s a lovely, relaxing day that ends with a soak in the claw-foot tub in our bathroom. I’m facing him, and he’s got my feet in his lap, massaging the bottoms of them.
“Thank you for this,” I tell him. “I really needed it.”
“You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately.”
“I know.” I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s noticed. He notices everything where I’m concerned. “I’m sorry if you’ve been feeling neglected.”
“I haven’t. Don’t worry about me. I have, however, been worried about you.”
“Really? Why?”
He seems to choose his words carefully. “You’ve been very… absorbed by the wedding.”
“Do you know that most people these days are engaged at least eighteen months? A six-month engagement is almost unheard of. It’s a lot to do in a short amount of time.”
“I realize it’s a lot, and I want our big day to be perfect for both of us, but I worry that your enthusiasm for the wedding might be coming from a different place.”
“What different place?” I play dumb, but a twinge of panic hits me. He knows. Of course he does. He knows everything.
Tipping his head, he looks at me imploringly. “Ava…”
I don’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to do this with me. I’m not going to be threatened if you want to talk about him—”
“I don’t.”
Eric doesn’t say anything, but he looks at me without blinking for such a long time that he breaks me with his compassion.
“He’s the last thing I want to talk about. I’m sick of talking about him. I’m sick of seeing his face everywhere after not seeing it anywhere for years. I’m fed up with the speculation about who he is and where he is. I’ve had enough of feeling like a fool for caring so much for so long when he clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. Is that what you want to know?”
“It’s a good start.”
“I don’t want to think about any of those things. I want to think about you and me and our wedding. I want to talk to you about going off the pill soon so we can try for a baby right away.”
His eyes widen with surprise. “You do?”
“Yes, I do. I want to be a mom. I want a family with you. If you still want that, too.”
“I want it. You know I do.”
“If I’m overly focused on our wedding, it’s because that’s what I want to be thinking about. Not that other stuff.”
“I understand, but I don’t want you to ever think you can’t talk about the other stuff with me or that you have to hide it from me.”
“You’ve been so amazing through all of this. I don’t know that I would’ve been able to handle it at all if I hadn’t had you to hold my hand.”
Sitting up, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “Yours is my favorite hand to hold, and I’ll
always be there for you, Ava. Good times and bad. That’s what I signed on for.”
“I don’t want any more bad times,” I whisper, my eyes filling. “I’m so tired of being sad. You make me happy. The wedding makes me happy. If I fill myself up with those things, there’s no room for the sadness.”
“You know that I’m always happy to fill you up with me.”
I snort with laughter even as I brush away tears.
He stands and reaches for me. “Let’s get out of here before you turn into an old prune.”
“We can’t have that. I’m getting married soon.”
“Yes, you are, and the groom didn’t sign on for an old prune.”
We go back to bed and stay there until the following afternoon, laughing, talking, making love and making plans. In need of food and coffee, we go into town for brunch and spend the rest of the day checking out the antique shops, bookstore and galleries.
A movie we’ve both been wanting to see is playing in the town’s movie theater, so we buy tickets to the five o’clock show and grab dinner afterward.
It’s a relaxing, invigorating getaway, and as we leave to head back to the city around noon on Sunday, I do so determined not to let the wedding become more important than my relationship with Eric. On the way out of Hunter, we pick up a copy of the Sunday New York Times and pore over the flattering story about the four of us.
“That’s a great picture of us all,” Eric says. “We should frame it for them.”
“And for us.”
“Two of everything, for sure.”
Rob and Camille text us to share their delight with the story and the photos. Nice change in the narrative about our family, he says.
I text back for both of us to tell them we loved the story and the photos.
“Thank you for this weekend,” I tell Eric when we’re on the highway headed back to the city. “It was just what I needed.”
“You’re welcome, and it was definitely my pleasure.” He waggles his brows at me so I don’t miss the double meaning.
“After this weekend,” I say, patting his leg, “you should be set for sex for the next month or two.”
“Ummm… Wait. What?”
I lose it laughing. His expression is absolutely hysterical. I’m laughing so hard, I almost don’t hear my phone ringing. I grab the call from my mother right before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Ava…”
“Mom? Is something wrong?”
“Honey, agents from the NCIS were just here.”
“What? Why? What’d they want?”
“It’s John, honey. He’s trying to find you.”
* * *
JOHN
It took twenty-seven days, but I’m now able to stand for up to five minutes at a time thanks to the prosthesis I’m learning to tolerate. I’m told I’ll be able to stand for longer periods over time, but for now, five minutes is all I can handle. They also tell me I’m well ahead of schedule in my recovery. All I know is the pain is excruciating, I still look like absolute hell and I’m out of time.
The interview with 60 Minutes is set for a week from Sunday.
I have to see Ava before I go on national TV to tell my story. About three weeks ago, I decided I can’t call her out of the blue after nearly six years. More than anything, I’m afraid she’ll tell me to go to hell, hang up and never speak to me again. I can’t take that chance.
I used the phone to look her up online and found no sign of an Ava Lucas in San Diego. She was never into social media for her personal life because she had to deal with it so much at work, so that’s a dead end. I asked Muncie to go to our apartment building and find out if she’s still there.
Muncie came back with a report from the super that she left almost a year ago and didn’t leave a forwarding address. This is the best news I’ve had in years.
“I want you to find her,” I tell Muncie, buoyed by the fact that it took her five years to move out of our place.
“How am I supposed to do that, sir?”
“Get the NCIS on it.”
“I don’t think they’re in the business of tracking down ex-girlfriends.”
“They want me to do that interview with 60 Minutes, right?”
“So you’re saying…”
“If they don’t find my girl, there’s no interview.”
That’s how I got the NCIS involved in tracking down Ava. It didn’t take long because I knew she was from Purchase, New York, and her parents were lifers there, at least they were when I knew her.
“She’s in New York City, sir,” Muncie reports late on a Sunday night by phone.
“What else?”
“You asked us to find her. We found her. That’s all I’ve got. You want her address?”
“Yeah.”
He rattles it off, and I write it down so I have it. “I want you to go there.”
“What? You want me to go to New York and find your ex? Er, um, sir?”
“She’s not my ex.” Or at least she wasn’t when I last saw her. No, she was the sun, the moon, the stars, my whole life. The best thing to ever happen to me. There was nothing “ex” about it. “Didn’t you say the Navy made you available to tend to whatever I might need?”
“I did, but—”
“I need to see her and talk to her before I go public with my story. There’re things… that she should hear from me.” I need her. I have to see her, to find out if what we had is still there. I have to know if she still loves me the way she once did.
“Why can’t you call her? Don’t you have her number?”
“I do, but…” I can’t tell him I’m afraid she won’t take the call. “It would be better if you went there and told her I need to see her. That it’s urgent.”
He is silent for such a long time that I fear he’s ended the call.
“Muncie?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Please. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t really need to see her.”
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he says reluctantly.
“You will? Really?”
“Yes, sir. I said I would, and I will.”
“You’ll tell her I need to see her? And arrange to get her here?”
“I’ll do what I can, sir,” he says with a deep sigh. “That’s all I can promise until I talk to my chain of command.”
“Of course, there’s that interview they’ve got me doing…”
“I understand your position, sir.”
“I don’t want her to see me in the hospital. Set it up for a hotel or somewhere other than this place. In fact, I know just the place.” I give him the name of the hotel I want. “Get a suite.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“No, that’ll do it. Just hurry up about it, will you?”
“Yes, sir. I understand your urgency.”
“You can’t possibly understand my urgency, Muncie.”
“No, sir, of course I can’t. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I’m so excited by the possibility I might see her—soon—that I can’t sleep that night. I lie awake the entire night, staring at the ceiling, reliving every minute I spent with her, the bliss I knew in her arms, the overwhelming love I felt for her and received from her in return. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and living without it, without her, for all this time has been the worst form of torture. I’d do it again to bring Al Khad to justice, but I paid a hefty price for that victory, and so did Ava.
I need the chance to apologize to her, to try to explain… I just hope and pray she’ll see me and give me the chance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ERIC
She’s in a state of shock. Since she got the call from her mother and heard that John is looking for her, she has barely said a word to me or her sister or any of the friends who came to be with her after I shared the news with them.
We don’t know what to do for her.
“I don’t know what to do for her. None of us know what to do.”
“I’d come there, but I’ve got two kids down hard with the stomach bug, and the last thing you all need is to be exposed to that.”
“True.”
“Wait her out, Eric. Let her talk to you when she’s ready.”
“I’m trying not to make this about me, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little freaked out by this development.”
“That’s totally understandable.”
“I know you're her therapist and not mine, but tell me this—what the hell am I going to do if she goes back to him?” Saying it out loud, giving voice to my greatest fear, makes me sick.
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself with that.”
“Am I, though? This is what she’s waited almost six years for—a chance to see him again. What if she takes one look at him and forgets all about me?” That I’m unloading on a woman I barely know is a sign of desperation I’d never dare show anyone else. I need to be strong for Ava, and I will be. As soon as I stop freaking out about what it means for me.
“As difficult as it may be, you have to take this one minute at a time. Deal with what’s right in front of you, and not what might happen. I’m not permitted to speak about Ava’s treatment, as you know, but one thing I can tell you—she loves you very much and frequently talks about how critical you’ve been to her putting her life back on track.”
“That’s nice to hear.” It’s nothing I don’t know, but I begin to wonder if all I’ve been to her is a diversion until the one she really wants comes back to her.
“It’s the truth, Eric. Hold on to that, no matter what happens.”
“I will. Thank you for your time.”
“Please ask Ava to call me if I can help. I’m available to her at any time, and I’m sorry I can’t come there.”
“It’s all right. I totally understand, and she will, too. We’ll be in touch.”