Five Years Ago
Daisy was in her car, taking a first drive in her much-coveted Mercedes CLK, the one Tom had surprised her with the night before. The day was sunny, blue skies, puffy white clouds. Flowers bloomed, and the heavy scent of honeysuckle gathered in her nose.
She was happy.
She’d been truly astonished last night when the car rolled into the driveway. She caught a glimpse of something in the front yard and glanced out the kitchen window. She knew immediately what was happening, rushed out the door. The car purred on the cracked concrete, dark and sleek, a midnight blue so deep it was nearly black, the halogen headlights ringed in . . .
“What’s this? Tom, what have you done? It has eyelashes? My car has eyelashes?”
Tom laughed, and she could see he was thrilled at her overwhelming joy. Daisy was a hard woman to please—she knew this. Tom knew it as well, and spent much of his time thinking about ways he could make Daisy smile. Delivering the vehicle she’d dropped so many hints about loving was only one gesture in a long line of gestures.
But this one was worth something to her.
She rewarded him with some bedroom acrobatics that she wasn’t sure she still had in her, but was happy to find she did. The car symbolized a new beginning. A fresh start for them.
But as she drove, imagining the simmering jealousy behind the admiring glances of her friends at the club, and enjoying every minute of being able to finally, finally, throw her bounty in their smug faces, her cell phone rang. The navigation display popped up with the number for her daughter-in-law. Tom had set up the Bluetooth in the car so all Daisy had to do was click a button on the steering wheel to answer.
Daisy’s good mood slid away. To say she wasn’t fond of the woman who shared her son’s bed was an understatement. She’d never warmed up to the girl, thought she was trouble from day one. Like mother, like daughter. That day, so long ago, when Josh had taken her side, always rankled. Josh had always liked Aubrey, yes, but Daisy never imagined he’d marry the little brat.
What did they say—A daughter is a daughter for all of your life, a son was a son ’til he took him a wife? Even knowing her son would grow up and leave her eventually, that he’d chosen to do so with Aubrey Trenton was enough to send her blood pressure through the roof. Daisy relegated to second place by Marie Trenton’s little girl, of all people?
It wasn’t right—Daisy and Josh had been pals, best friends. She’d sacrificed everything for him. Created a new life with a man she didn’t necessarily love in order to give her son stability, a good, solid, loving world to grow up in. And little orphan Aubrey stepped in and ruined everything.
She took a deep breath and answered.
“Yes?”
“Daisy?”
There were tears in Aubrey’s voice, beneath the steel, which was surprising. The hard, sharp edge of the girl was all Daisy ever saw. Daisy supposed she couldn’t blame her for needing to protect herself, after the hullabaloo, but when speaking to her family, she should adopt a more pleasant tone.
“What is it?”
“Daisy, you need to come over. Josh is missing.”
Today
The cigarette pack was empty.
Tom had stopped crying.
“Are you really going to contest?” he asked.
“The insurance payout? Of course. Josh and I had a deal: I cosign on the house, he makes me the beneficiary.”
“We don’t need the money.”
“Well, that little sociopath doesn’t deserve it.”
His lips thinned in the way that made her cringe. “Daisy. Aubrey is not a sociopath, and damn it, Josh loved her. He wanted her to be taken care of. That’s why he had the life insurance policy in the first place.”
“And what about me, Tom? I was his mother. I raised him, and loved him, and tried to keep him safe. Safe from his real father. Safe from her.”
The comment struck a nerve. He quietly stood, took the overspilling ashtray and the empty tumbler, and said, “You should probably eat something, dear.”
Daisy tried not to glare at Tom. She really did. How was she supposed to eat? Her son was dead, and the woman who killed him lived.
She’d lost nearly forty pounds in the past five years, twenty of which she’d needed to lose, another twenty that made her look like a washed-up model still trying to cut it on the runway. Some of it was muscle—she tried to keep up her tennis game—but she was mostly just skin and bones and sinew. A walking bag of seething loss.
Tom was right. Vodka and cigarettes and regret were only enough to sustain her temporarily.
She stood mechanically and went to the kitchen. Tom followed. She sensed he wanted to talk more, to be touched. To have her apologize for throwing Ed in his face. To something. But she kept her eyes and hands averted, started a pan of leftover soup to warm, put a small baguette in the oven, placed napkins and spoons on the table.
They ate in silence. That is to say, Tom ate. Daisy just swirled her spoon around in the thick gold broth. When the scrape of metal against china signaled that Tom’s bowl was empty, she stood. Tom stood as well. He started to open his mouth, closed it again, sighed, and shuffled to the basement door, disappearing down into the gloom.
Daisy grabbed both bowls, dumped her meal down the disposal, tidied the kitchen.
She took the vodka from the freezer and poured one last shot. There was a bottle of pills in the cabinet, ones designed to help her sleep. Help her forget. She reached for the orange plastic, dumped two in her palm. Dropped them on her tongue and used the vodka to chase them down her throat.
Day one thousand eight hundred and seventy-four was over.
CHAPTER 11
Aubrey
Today
When Aubrey woke, she was acutely aware of three things. One, the sun was well up in the sky, which meant it was late morning. Two, her head was splitting, caught in a vise grip of throbbing pain. Three—and despite the pain, she was at once relieved and disappointed—her bed was devoid of the man she’d met last night. The man who’d so passionately made love to her. The man whose touch, whose kiss, reminded her of what she’d lost.
What a dream. What a delicious dream.
Eyes closed, she stretched, and felt the soreness in her legs, and between them. She wanted the fantasy to continue. To pretend that the world she knew was something different.
Josh.
Josh always had risen before her. Was he in the kitchen, making breakfast? She didn’t smell anything. No coffee. No bacon and eggs and toast. Only the stale breath of a hangover, and a sudden brimstone whiff of regret for what she’d done.
She opened her eyes, worried, glanced at the pillow. No one there.
Her drowsy mind caught up to the situation. Not Josh. Chase.
Jesus. She’d actually brought a stranger home and slept with him. How could she have let that happen?
What did you expect, Aubrey? You had enough alcohol to drown a horse. This is why you don’t drink anymore. You black out. You lose time. You do stupid, reckless things.
She got up and walked downstairs.
The house was very empty.
The alarm was set.
She was alone.
Winston was asleep in a pool of sunshine by the kitchen door. She must have let him out when she got home last night, so he’d slept through his morning constitutional. She roused him, took him out into the yard, played for a few moments, left him to his business. Went back inside to make herself some coffee.
Maybe take a few aspirin.
Should she try to eat? Her stomach flipped, and she decided no, not yet. Let the coffee get in first. Then she could self-flagellate.
She saw the edge of a piece of paper under the phone. It had been ripped from a notebook.
Her heart skipped a beat. She picked up the paper. Read with incredulity.
Aubrey,
Last night was . . . Well, I’m speechless. I can’t wait to see you again. I apologize for slipping out this morning. I had an early flight and didn’t want to wake you. I’ll call you later. I hope that’s okay. I’d love to come back and spend some time. Maybe next weekend? Or maybe even before that. If you’d like, that is. Anyway, thank you. It was a lovely night.
He’d signed it simply, a one-word scrawl: Chase.
She leaned back against the kitchen counter, running the paper across her lips. Her grazed lips swollen from his kisses, the tender skin abraded by his beard. At least he hadn’t disappeared without a word. That would have been too much to bear.
What have you done?
She slid down onto the floor. She felt dirty. Tainted. When he’d touched her, when he’d kissed her—she’d felt Josh.
The Josh.
All of him. And so she’d allowed him to be.
There are things you don’t forget. The way a man makes you feel, the way he moves his mouth, his hands, his body. The way he walks. None of those things could be changed. Could they?
Aubrey, listen to yourself. Be rational. Think, for a moment, about what you’re saying.
She did. She thought it through, from the first moment, at the edge of the park—their park—when he got out of the cab. His gait, the shoulders squared, the cock of his head.
She’d been so sure. And when he kissed her last night, she’d known, without a doubt, Chase was Josh.
Impossible.
Wishful thinking?
Wish fulfillment. Bolstered by bits of lunacy brought about by the horrid news about Josh being declared dead, delivered in such a hurtful way by his beast of a mother, coupled with a very long run with no prep and a major overindulgence in adult beverages.
That was all.
Winston came in through the open door and cuddled against her. She stroked his ears.
One of the things she’d learned in therapy: the mind is a very powerful entity. It can play tricks. It can be manipulated. Hers in particular had been strained to the point of breaking by Josh’s disappearance, and the harassment, the trial and the alcohol abuse. By her past. She was an easy mark, should someone want to take advantage of her fragility.
Had Chase Boden taken advantage of that? Maybe he’d been lying all along, maybe he knew all about Josh and her background. Maybe she was just another notch on his belt. Maybe he fucked a new girl in every town and slipped out in the morning, leaving behind a note.
God. She’d been played. No, it was worse than that. She’d allowed herself to be played.
You stupid, stupid girl.
She screamed, the harsh sound echoing in the house. Winston leaped away, flinching, then scooted next to her, tongue lolling, worried. She buried her face in his flank and cried.
Her thoughts chased themselves, piling up like snowflakes in a winter storm, melting under her memory’s withering heat. She indulged her demons. Dreamed of a world in which Josh was alive, that he’d come back for her. It was a warm and happy feeling, one that she wanted to stay wrapped up in like a blanket, heated from within with happy memories.
Now, Aubrey. No need for that. Go easy on yourself. You suffered a trauma yesterday, whether you want to admit it or not. And you reacted in a completely healthy way. Probably the healthiest way you could have. Josh is not coming back. You must move on. Your rational mind accepts this, even if your subconscious occasionally betrays you. Why else would you have acted so out of character yesterday—drinks with a stranger only the top of the heap?
She had no idea how long she sat on the cold kitchen floor, the hard tile making her buttocks ache. She couldn’t shake the thought that somehow, some way, Chase was Josh.
Her therapist wanted her to reach out when she felt herself drowning in uncertainties. But she didn’t want to hear that emotionless, clinical voice right now.
What do you think, Aubrey? How does that make you feel?
If I knew, would I be coming to you for the answers? No, you stupid shrink. I’d decide for myself.
There was only one thing left to do. She called Meghan, who answered on the first ring.
“Yo! What up, buttercup? How are you feeling this morning?”
“Hi, Meghan. I’m . . . okay.”
The languorous tone was gone. “Aubrey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s . . . I need to talk about Chase Boden.”
Meghan chuckled. The all-knowingness of it set Aubrey’s teeth on edge. She rarely got angry with Meghan—that was counterproductive. Meghan was a fairy, an ethereal spirit, uncontrolled, uncouth, un-everything. She didn’t respond to anger, or any emotion save actual pain.
“Stop laughing.”
“Ah. I see. He did seem rather intent on getting you home safely.”
“Meghan, I don’t know anything about him.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Meghan!”
“You did! Oh, my God, Aubrey, I am so proud of you! You’ve needed to do this for a long time. Shake off the cobwebs. You know your cherry was growing back. Bad things happen to women who don’t have sex. How was he? The way that man moves, his hips sway. When I watched the two of you heading out the door, all I could think about was—”
“Could you back off for just one second, please? I’m not kidding around here. I need to know who this guy is.”
“What’s the matter, sweetie? Did he eat and run?”
Meghan’s tone was unmistakable. Aubrey could practically see her eyebrows waggling lasciviously.
“Don’t be gauche, Meghan. I’m serious. I need to know everything I can about him.”
“He said he was a writer. Google him. He probably has a website. Listen, I have to go. The store beckons. Call me later. I’m really proud of you.”
“Meghan, I need to talk to you now.”
A muttered curse. “Sorry, shut the door on my hand. All right. The store can wait a minute. Shoot.”
“In person. There’s more. I can’t do this over the phone. Please come over. Please?”
Meghan sighed deeply, then said, “I’ll be there in five. But I don’t have long, sugar. No offense, but there’s a lot to be done today.”
Aubrey hung up and waited, unmoving, at the table. The thick wooden round had been in Josh’s family for years. He’d done his homework at it—they’d done their homework at it—and Aubrey knew on the underside of the table Josh had written in big black marker, I love Aubrey. His mother had never found out. God, Daisy would have shot him dead for defiling the furniture, especially with a declaration of love for Aubrey, of all people.
Daisy had thrown roadblock after roadblock in the way of the burgeoning romance the minute she saw it might be something more than puppy love. Aubrey never understood what it was about her that Daisy hated so. Josh told her it wasn’t true, that Daisy just needed time to wrap her head around their relationship, but it never happened. Aubrey tried so hard, too, to be friendly, and kind, and loving, but the witch would never let her in. After a few years of Daisy’s open hostility, Aubrey came to detest Daisy as well.
Some people are just meant to rub each other wrong.
Whatever thread, however thin, that held them together after Josh’s disappearance was severed permanently during Aubrey’s trial. Daisy’s gaunt, bony face swiveling to see who was watching her enter the courtroom, the stylish black suit, even the pillbox hat complete with veil—come on, how precious could you be?—seemed tailor-made for the prosecution. Aubrey would never forget the look on Daisy’s face as she sat on the witness stand, the manic glee in her eyes. “I have no doubt she played a role in my son’s disappearance. She’s always been off, that girl. From the moment I met her, I knew she’d be the death of Josh.”
Thanks a lot, Daisy.
Five minutes later, Winston rose to his feet and st
ared at the door. There was a knock, shave and a haircut. She answered it, and before Meghan even got inside Aubrey said, “It’s Josh.”
Her friend’s face, usually inscrutable, softened. “Sugar, no one blames you. It’s been five years. He’s dead. He won’t care.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Meghan leaned back and crossed her arms, assuming her usual stance. The move killed all her soft edges, made her look tough, uncompromising. She could be a biker assassin just as easily as a coffee shop owner.
“Speak to me.”
Aubrey took a deep breath.
“This may sound crazy. But hear me out. Chase reminds me so much of Josh. It’s almost like . . . almost like he knows him. Or knew him.” Or is him, but of course that isn’t true, it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. A girl knows these things.
To her credit, Meghan held back the laughter, though Aubrey could see her mouth twitching. She shook her head. “Sweetie. You need a nice cup of tea. Maybe with a little whisky in it. Hair of the dog. You really did tie one on last night.”
“I’m serious.”
“Come on now, Aubrey. Josh is dead. He’s been gone for years. If he were alive, he would have come back. You know that. And if Boden knew your husband, he would have said something.”
“He did things, things only Josh knew I liked.” She sounded ridiculous, she knew, but she needed to push forward on this.
Meghan sighed. “Aubrey, honey. When’s the last time you saw your doctor? Have you been taking your meds?”
“Damn it, Meghan. I’m not hallucinating, or imagining things. Not this time. There’s a connection between them. I swear it.”
Meghan sighed deeply and ran her hand through her cropped hair. There were a few strands of gray mixed into the black. When had they started to age? Aubrey didn’t feel any older than she had when Josh was here, though she must have gotten older, if her heart was still beating. She had to think for a moment when her birthday was—she hadn’t allowed a celebration in five years. May. In just a few weeks, she was going to be thirty.
“You know, we’ve been through this before,” she said, and Aubrey heard the recriminations in her tone. The solicitude of dealing with the madwoman in the attic.
No One Knows Page 6
