Not a Sound

by Heather Gudenkauf

  Today I’m not looking at the scenery. I’m trying to make sense of the recent events of the past and still can’t seem to wrap my head around all that’s happened. Gwen’s death, David’s newfound interest in me, not to mention Jake’s, the break-in at my house, the condition of David’s boat and Peter McNaughton’s strange behavior and his cryptic statement that leads me to think David is inextricably involved in all of it. The thing is, it still just doesn’t quite all come together for me.

  By the time Stitch and I make it back to the house, I’m not any closer to understanding it all. I use my new key to open the front door and look carefully around the house for anything that’s out of place. All seems to be in order so I’m relatively confident that no one has been in the house during my absence.

  The light on the phone flashes and I answer it as Stitch goes off in search of a drink of water.

  “Amelia, it’s David,” he says and I’m immediately wary.

  “Hi,” I say, still a little out of breath from the run. “What’s up?”

  “I’m in my office getting caught up on some work things and I was wondering if you happened to be using my computer last night?” A stab of anxiety pierces my chest. How could he know?

  “I’m sorry, that didn’t come through on my closed captioning. What did you say?” I ask, trying to buy myself a little more time to think of how to respond.

  “I asked if you were working on my office computer last night?” he repeats. Again, there is no way to know if David is just curious or if he’s onto me and angry.

  Did I clear the browsing history? I think I did. If I didn’t he could have easily gone back and seen the sites I had visited. No, I’m sure I cleared it. My next guess is that his clinic website has a feature that lets him know what time someone logged in and out of the site. I decide the only thing I can do is play dumb.

  “Your computer? No, I wasn’t using it at all. Why?” I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. I hold my breath waiting for his response.

  “Just wondering. It looked like someone was in my office. I must have moved a few things around without realizing it. Thanks again for coming over for dinner last night and staying with Nora. She really enjoyed it. I’d really like for you to be able to spend more time with her. I think it’s healthy for both of you.”

  “Me too,” I say, not sure where this conversation is going. He has to know I was on his computer and in his patient files. This isn’t just some casual call.

  “Just take care of yourself,” he says. “Keep making those good decisions and everything will turn out fine.”

  What the hell does that mean? I wonder. Take care of myself by not drinking? Take care of myself by eating a well-balanced diet? Or take care of myself as in don’t dig around into something that is none of my business?

  “I appreciate your concern,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. But I can’t help but add, “You know me, though, I jump headfirst into things.”

  “I do know you, Amelia, better than anybody. Just take care, okay?” David says.

  “I will,” I say, then disconnect. Well, that sealed it. David knows I was in his computer files. I don’t know if he can tell exactly which files I was digging into, but he knows I’m onto him. This is getting out of hand and I have to be careful. I have Nora to think about.

  It’s time to eat crow and put aside the embarrassment I felt the other day with Jake. I need to fill him in on what’s going on. I pull out my phone and send a text to Jake. You free tonight? Steaks on the grill and Rear Window?

  I wait, staring at my phone for his response. It comes almost immediately. I’m on call for the next four days. How about Wednesday night?

  Four days feels like an eternity, but it’ll have to do.

  Wednesday works. How about at six?

  See you then, but I’ve had your steaks. Don’t touch them until I get there.

  19

  I go into work Monday morning still distracted with my visit to David’s house on Friday and his strange phone call to me on Saturday. I keep rehashing everything that points to David having something to do with Gwen’s murder.

  I mentally tick off the facts that I do know:

  Both Marty Locke and Peter McNaughton have alibis for the time of the murder

  Gwen sent me an email saying that she had an ethical work-related dilemma she wanted to talk to me about, yet

  David told me he hadn’t seen Gwen in months, but

  His medical records clearly show she had an appointment with him, as did Jo Ellen Beadle

  Jo Ellen Beadle and her baby died during childbirth when David was present

  Marty said that Gwen was worried about a woman she knew who was pregnant

  David’s boat appears to have been thoroughly cleaned recently and there was a blond hair left behind that could have belonged to Gwen

  All interesting information, but it proves nothing. Jo Ellen Beadle also had a history of Waldenström’s macroglobulinemia, a rare blood cancer, so there is a good chance that she was treated by Dr. Huntley or his partner. I enter Jo Ellen’s name into the computer system and her file appears. Jo Ellen was a patient here and Dr. Huntley was her oncologist. Beyond this, there is little information. It doesn’t look like Jo Ellen’s medical reports were scanned and entered into the electronic file yet. I get up and go to the standing file cabinets and pull open the drawer where the names beginning with B are stored. This is when I realize that I forgot to return Rachel Nava’s file to Lori and will have to bring it in tomorrow. I find Jo Ellen’s file right away. It’s about six inches thick and it takes two hands to pull it from the drawer. I set it on my desk, feeling a bit guilty. This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing right now.

  I flip to the final page in the file and see that Jo Ellen’s last recorded visit with Dr. Huntley was approximately six months before she died. Her treatment protocol, in very basic terms, was administered in a combination of chemotherapy and a monoclonal antibody that targets and attaches itself to the cancer cell in order to mark it for destruction by the body’s own immune system. Miraculously, Jo Ellen was in remission right when she became pregnant and was able to halt treatment.

  Stitch nudges my leg, alerting me to a presence. I look up. Dr. Huntley is standing in the doorway, a pink slip of paper in his hand. “Phone message,” he says. “I told Lori I was coming back this way and would deliver it to you.” He hands me the slip of paper, and Stitch wags his tail happily as he pulls a dog treat from his pocket, feeds it to Stitch and then moves on.

  I unfold the piece of paper. It’s a phone message from David.

  David forgot his cell phone at home. Wants to know if you can pick up Nora at 3:10 at school and take her home? Call his office if it won’t work for you.

  Once again, David’s actions thoroughly confuse me. I can’t figure him out at all. I’m still suspicious and am convinced that he’s hiding something but it’s not enough to keep me away from Nora. Of course I’ll pick her up.

  * * *

  At noon I log off my computer and return the pile of files I was working on back into the file cabinet, say my goodbyes to Lori and the others and head out into the cold with Stitch. We run several errands including a stop at Target and the grocery store to stock up on mom-daughter necessities for our afternoon together.

  I arrive at Nora’s school a few minutes before dismissal and park across the street to wait. The doors to the school open and a flood of children spill out onto the front walkway. I step from the Jeep and cross the street to meet Nora. She exits the building arm in arm with another little girl. I wonder if this is the little girl with whom Nora had a sleepover. Their heads are bent close together and they are both grinning widely, revealing a variety of gaping holes where they lost baby teeth. A sobering thought overtakes me. I’ve missed so many firsts i
n my time away from Nora. I wasn’t there when she had her first visit from the Tooth Fairy, I wasn’t there when she first tied her shoe all on her own or rode her bike without training wheels.

  I fight the urge to run up the walkway to meet them and instead hang back, not wanting to be the overbearing mom. I don’t know what she has told her classmates about me. Has she told them that her mother—stepmother, I amend—doesn’t live with her anymore? Did she confide to her best friend that her father forced me from the home because I drank myself into oblivion every night? Did she tell her classmates that I can’t hear?

  Then a new fear overtakes me. What if Nora is ashamed of me? Maybe she’s told her classmates absolutely nothing about me. Which would be worse? I wonder. Nora’s friends knowing the truth about me or thinking that I never existed?

  My fears are short-lived. Nora looks up and her smile widens when she sees me. She gives a hurried goodbye to her friend and runs my way, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders.

  “Mommy,” she says, the sweetest words I could ever read on someone’s lips. She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her face against my stomach. I savor the moment. When she finally pulls away from me, she has a confused expression on her face.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” I say. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Helen,” Nora says, and I turn to see an elderly woman walking toward us. Helen reaches for Nora’s hand and pulls her close to her.

  “Hello,” I say. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Nora’s stepmom, Amelia. I’m picking Nora up from school today.”

  Helen’s expression morphs from confusion to worry. She shakes her head and starts speaking so quickly that I can’t understand her at all.

  “David called me,” I explain patiently. “He told me to pick Nora up at three ten and to take her to the house.”

  Again, Helen shakes her head and holds more tightly to Nora’s hand. “Tell her who I am, Nora. Tell her it’s okay.” Nora looks embarrassed but begins to speak but Helen isn’t listening, she’s looking around. She catches the attention of a man wearing a badge that identifies him as a teacher at the school.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Nora’s my daughter, my stepdaughter. Her dad asked me to pick her up.” Parents and students walking by are giving us curious looks and I can tell the attention is upsetting Nora.

  “Let’s go inside the school and we’ll figure it out,” the teacher says, and we follow him into the building and to the main office.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says after conferring with the school secretary. “I’m afraid your name isn’t on the pickup list.”

  “And her name is on the list?” I ask in disbelief, gesturing toward Helen, who looks thoroughly mortified.

  The secretary checks her computer and nods.

  Great. Why would David leave a message asking me to pick up Nora and then not even make sure I’m on the approved list?

  Nora is near tears. This isn’t her fault. I draw her close to me. “Don’t worry, honey,” I say. “You go on home with Helen. I’ll call your dad and we’ll get it figured out. It was just a miscommunication.” Nora gives me a tight squeeze.

  We all head back out to the school yard when Cole and Bennett, the two officers who apprehended Evan Okada outside my house, come up the walkway. My heart skips a beat. Maybe they’ve caught the person who tried to break into my house. Very quickly, I realize that’s not the case.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Ms. Winn,” Officer Cole says, glancing down at Nora and then back at me. “We need to speak with you for a moment. Privately,” she adds.

  I look at Helen and the teacher, horrified. Did they actually call the police? How could they have arrived so quickly? But they look as confused as I do. “Nora, honey,” I say. “Go on with Helen and let me talk to the officers, okay? I’ll call you later.” Nora nods uncertainly, but releases my hand. To Helen I say, “Will you please tell David to call me when you see him?” Helen agrees and whisks Nora across the street as if she can’t get away fast enough.

  I turn my attention back to Cole and Bennett. “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Have you been drinking this afternoon, ma’am?” Cole asks.

  “What?” I ask in disbelief, not sure that I understood her correctly.

  “We had a call a few minutes ago about a woman in a car with your license plate driving erratically. Have you been drinking?”

  “No,” I say. “Absolutely not. Who called you? Who told you that?” Nearby, a small crowd is forming. Across the street stands poor Nora, clutching tightly to Helen’s hand.

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid we’re going to have to give you a field sobriety test,” Cole says.

  “What?” I cry. “I haven’t been drinking. I promise. Please, my daughter is over there.”

  “If you refuse, you could have your license revoked for one year. Is that what you want?” Bennett says. “Is there any reason other than being under the influence as to why you can’t perform the field sobriety test?”

  “Please don’t do this,” I implore. “Not in front of Nora. Please.”

  Cole looks at me for a moment as if deciding what to do then crosses the street to where the crowd watches. After a moment the group disperses, including Nora and Helen. I want to call out to her, to tell her that this is all wrong but I don’t want to embarrass her any more than I already have.

  Cole returns. “Okay, let’s get this done.” She has me stand on one leg with my foot six inches from the ground. Then instructs me to walk heel-to-toe for nine steps and then turn and walk back toward her. Finally, she holds a penlight in front of my eyes and moves it from side to side.

  When she finishes she says, “You’re free to go, Ms. Winn. You passed all the tests just fine.”

  “I told you,” I say, trying to hold back my tears. “Can you tell me who made the call?”

  “Sorry, we don’t have that information. We just go where dispatch sends us. You have a good day now.”

  I get into my Jeep and the tears fall freely. How can a person just call and accuse me of drunk driving? It doesn’t seem right. I will never forget the fear and confusion on Nora’s face. No child should have to witness that. Cole and Bennett have returned to their squad car and are waiting for me to pull away from the curb.

  I slowly inch out onto the road and, still crying, begin the drive home. This can’t have been a coincidence. I know David orchestrated this. How could he do this to me? How could he do this to Nora? I have to explain to her that it was all a terrible mistake. But what if he doesn’t let me get anywhere near Nora now? We were happily married before the accident and when we argued we did it fairly. Rationally. Does David hate me this much? Is he so desperate to keep me from digging more deeply into his connection to Gwen and her death that he’s willing to completely destroy my life?

  If that’s the case, he’s got another thing coming. I’m not going to cower in a corner and allow David to dismiss me so easily. By the time I reach the highway my tears have stopped falling. There must be some kind of recourse against someone who files a false report or makes a malicious accusation. As I turn down the road that leads to my cabin, I’ve moved past having my feelings hurt and now I’m just pissed.

  20

  I tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out what I was going to do next. I’ve gotten too close to this and I know it’s David setting me up. I’ve decided that I’m going to tell Jake everything that I’ve found out. David is playing a dangerous game. But first I need to get through this workday.

  I balance the box of doughnuts in one hand and the cardboard tray filled with cups of coffee in the other as Stitch and I push through the front door to the center and set the box of doughnuts and coffee on the counter and head back to the file room. The door is already open and Lori and Barb are standing behind
my desk. Lori won’t meet my eyes but Barb’s bore right through me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask and come around to the other side of the desk to see what Barb and Lori are looking at. My bottom desk drawer is standing open and along with an extra sweater and a bag of mini candy bars is a blue plastic water bottle that I’ve never seen before. “What’s going on?” I ask again, miffed that my coworkers are going through my things.

  Barb reaches down and picks up the bottle, unscrews the lid and hands it to me. I peek inside and see the amber-colored liquid and the scent of Wild Turkey fills my nose. My heart skips a beat.

  “It’s not mine,” I say. Lori won’t look me in the eye. She wants to believe me but I see her doubt. I try to hand the bottle back to Barb but she folds her arms across her chest so I quickly set it down on my desk, sloshing the contents across the wooden surface. Barb’s mind is made up. “That’s not mine,” I repeat. “Someone put it in there.” Heat rises up my neck as I begin to comprehend what’s happening. There’s a zero tolerance policy for having alcohol in the clinic. I’m fired. I could lose my nursing license.

  “My husband did this,” I say. “He’s trying to make me look bad...” I almost add how I’m sure that it was David who called me to pick up Nora at school and then had the police stop me for suspicion of drunk driving, but quickly realize that this won’t help my case. “David is behind this.”

  He knows I’m onto his involvement in Gwen’s death and he knows I’m an alcoholic. He is trying to discredit me. If I went to anyone about what I learned all he has to do is say that I’m a raging drunk who can’t be trusted.