No One Knows Page 7
“Not like this. This time it’s different. I swear. I slept with the man, for God’s sake. Does that not mean anything? Do you think I would do that with just anyone?”
Meghan stared deep into Aubrey’s eyes, assessing. Aubrey imagined she was looking for the madness within, hoping to touch it, capture it, stamp it out.
“No, sugar, I don’t think you slept with him carelessly. I think you’ve been repressing so many emotions over the past five years that it finally all came to the surface.” She leaned forward. “Listen to me. This isn’t rocket science. You fucked a guy, Aubrey. The first one since your husband disappeared. It’s frightening and unnerving, but it is not a sin. You are still a good person.”
“Jesus, Meghan. Are you not listening to anything I’ve been saying?”
“Yes, I have. I ask again, have you been taking your medicine?”
“Meghan. I’m not joking around here. Something—”
“Aubrey, honey.” Meghan ran her hands along Aubrey’s arms. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but only served to distress Aubrey more. She hated to be touched when she was upset. She shuddered and yanked away and walked to the other side of the table, out of reach.
Meghan eyed her coolly. She knew better than to try to touch Aubrey again. “Okay. Let me run this down for you. Chase doesn’t look anything like Josh. He has a completely different build. His hair and eyes are different. His face shape is different. He has a history. A family. A life. Do you agree with all of that?”
“Yes.”
“Verifiable information.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely. Then you understand where I’m coming from. He is not your missing husband.”
“I don’t think he is Josh, I just think . . . Dear God, Meghan, you of all people should know how easy it is to fake a background. You’ve been doing it successfully for years.”
The dart found its mark. Meghan flinched, her mouth narrowing into a fine line.
“Point taken. But, Aubrey, it’s one thing to fudge a few things about your past so people don’t go looking and making assumptions. It’s a completely different thing to morph into another person entirely. Now. You had a lot to drink last night. You had a one-night stand with a relative stranger. And it’s a good thing. You look more alive today than you have in years. Don’t regret it. Just let it go.”
“Meghan—” Aubrey began, but the woman held up a hand.
“No more. I have to get going. Relax. Take your pills. You’re just having a little bit of buyer’s remorse.”
Buyer’s remorse. How dare she. How dare she?
“You can see yourself out,” she snapped.
“Come on, sugar—”
“Out. Now.”
Meghan shrugged and wandered out the door. Aubrey slammed it behind her.
She went into her office and opened her laptop. It took her less than a minute to find the right Chase Boden. She should have done this first, before she talked to Meghan. She clicked on his website and scanned until she found the bio page. With the picture. And his background. He had been modest; he was clearly a respected journalist, with multitudes of articles to his name.
As she burrowed into his website, her head began to swim.
The large, glossy professional portrait definitely showed the man from last night. Square jaw, little cleft, floppy blond hair, deep brown eyes. God, he was handsome.
Stop that, Aubrey. Focus.
She scanned the bio. It was a bit short, but had all the relevant details: After graduating from Dartmouth, he’d joined his family business, a now-defunct jewelry store just outside Philadelphia, in an area called Upper Darby. An image search brought up more pictures, Chase with people she assumed must be his family—his father, stooped a bit, with graying hair, but a smile that mimicked Chase’s own; his mother, a stern-looking woman with light dancing behind her eyes.
Of course Chase wasn’t Josh. But maybe he’d met him, or knew him . . .
She closed the browser and sat back in her chair.
You’re grasping at straws, Aubrey. You’re so desperate to have Josh back you’re trying to turn a stranger into him.
What a fool she was. Meghan was right; Aubrey had gone off her meds, and maybe that wasn’t a good thing. She saw no point in taking them when she was feeling fine, but if she was starting to imagine things again, maybe she should, even if only for a little while. At the very least, she could have some of the blessed numbness back. The pills wiped her clean, let her skate lightly through her daily life, not connecting fully with anyone or anything.
Winston began to bark, loud and insistent, the kind of frantic baying that signaled a stranger was near the house. Probably Meghan coming back to apologize. Aubrey rose and glanced out the window down to the front steps. There was no way to see to the front door from the dormers, but she could see onto the street. A dark blue beat-to-hell Camry was sitting in front of the mailbox, half on and half off the curb.
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The doorbell rang, and Winston’s bark reached a fever pitch.
She could pretend she wasn’t home. But he started yelling.
“I saw you look out the window, little sis. Come on down.”
CHAPTER 12
Aubrey
Twenty-one Years Ago
Aubrey is allowed one toy. She has no idea which to choose—how to choose. They are all dear to her. And they will all be gone, just like the rest of her world. The teddy bear will be the best; he works as an extra pillow. She sleeps with him at night, her head resting on his, her curly hair mimicking his own curly fur. Yes, the bear is the right choice. Especially if there is no bed, no pillows, wherever she is going.
She looks to the dark-haired woman sent from the bad place, who is tapping her foot in impatience. She wants to ask if she may have permission to take two, but she is afraid. She reaches for Bear, careful not to meet the inquisitive button eyes of the rest of her brood. She knows they feel she is abandoning them. She understands their concern completely.
“All set?”
Aubrey looks at the walls of her room, painted a rosy pink. There is a picture of her parents next to her bed. She is too frightened to ask if she may take it with her, stow it inside her bag, her tiny little bag with three changes of clothes and one worn bear. When the woman glances away, she shoves the frame under Bear, trusting him to protect her secret.
“Aubrey? You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you all set?”
She nods. What other choice does she have?
“Good girl.”
The dark-haired woman stops at McDonald’s, buys Aubrey a Happy Meal. The car smells of fake evergreen and grease and cigarettes, and Aubrey can barely choke down the sandwich and fries. She leaves the small movie cowboy in the paper box. The woman said only one toy.
With rush hour traffic and lights, the drive takes twenty minutes, give or take. Aubrey forgot to look at the clock as they left the house, but as they leave McDonald’s, she locks eyes on the little digital display and watches the minutes tick away.
Twenty minutes by car.
If you are traveling in a car that is going forty miles an hour, and you travel for twenty minutes, how many miles have you traveled?
The dark-haired woman whistles.
Aubrey clings to Bear.
The car slows just after dark. The dark-haired woman mutters under her breath, grabs a piece of paper from her purse. She does a U-turn in the street and takes the first left, then stops in front of a small yellow house. Aubrey’s eyes slide across the yard, which has two tricycles, a boy’s bike, and various other items that tell her children live here.
She is at once relieved and frightened.
“Come on,” the dark-haired woman says.
“Where are we?” Aubrey asks.
Aubrey does not know what foster means. She does, though, understand the concept of home, and knows, without a doubt, this is not hers.
She climbs from the backseat, clinging to Bear. One of the porch lights is out, and she can see a large cobweb littered with dead insects strung around the other. Not the fun, fake kind her parents used to put up for Halloween, but a real one. A spider, as big as a cherry, sits patiently in the middle, ready to drain an unwary being into a dried-out husk.
Aubrey begins to shiver. It is not cold—no, she hasn’t felt a bodily sensation like hot or cold anytime since her parents failed to come home and the policeman knocked on the door and the babysitter screamed. This is the kind of shiver that comes from inside, one that can only be comforted by loving arms and gentle kisses. The arms and kisses and kind, loving faces of people she will never see again.
The door opens, and a smallish woman with her mousy brown hair in a frowsy bun on top of her head looks down at her.
Her face creases into a smile, and Aubrey sees that the woman is missing the same front tooth that Aubrey is. She takes this as a good sign.
“Come in, come in. I was just sitting everyone down to dinner.”
The dark-haired woman pushes Aubrey lightly on the back.
“This is Sandra,” she says. “She’s going to take good care of you. I’ll come see you in a few days and see how you like it. Okay?”
Aubrey is suddenly exhausted. She didn’t know it was possible to be this tired. Beyond tired. She closes her eyes and feels the colors of the day swirl behind her lids.
“Okay, Aubrey?”
She nods, not knowing what else to do.
The woman named Sandra takes Aubrey by the hand and gently pulls her into the house. The door shuts behind them with a slam. Aubrey feels the air around her draw close, and her vision begins to swim.
“No, no, sweetie, don’t cry. You’ll be happy here, I promise.”
When the woman speaks, there is a long hiss on the s’s. Aubrey knows that is called a lisp, and it is a bad thing. She changes her mind about the missing tooth.
“Come meet your new brother and sisters. There’s a good girl.”
There are four children strategically placed around a kitchen table, each in various stages of age and dress and cleanliness. Three, the girls, ignore her, but one, the oldest, a boy who looks to be at least twelve, though she’ll find out later he is only ten, stops eating and stares at her. He has olive skin and dark blue eyes, one of which squints a bit.
“Your parents are dead,” he says, not a question, just a flat, empty statement of fact.
Aubrey nods.
“Mine are, too,” he says. “Sit here. My name is Tyler.”
CHAPTER 13
Aubrey
Today
Aubrey walked down the stairs slowly, carefully. Winston was pawing at the front door, mouth moving so frantically that spittle flew from the corners. His gray tail stood straight out behind him like a pointer.
“Winston. Stop!”
She didn’t mean for her voice to be so sharp, but she couldn’t help it. Winston looked at her in surprise but quit barking. He sat down hard, still staring at the door.
Knock, knock, KNOCK!
He wasn’t being polite anymore. The hits reverberated through, making the wood shimmer. Aubrey took a deep breath and turned the knob.
She was greeted with the smile of a handsome dark-haired man. His visage was both completely foreign to her and utterly familiar. One bulkily muscled arm leaned against the doorjamb. His dirty hair was shaggy, unkempt, long over his collar, and he sported a Titans football jersey in pale blue. It had the number 9 and MCNAIR on the back. She recognized this not because she was a football fan, but because she mailed the shirt to him at the penitentiary as a Christmas present the year McNair was murdered.
That he’d shown up wearing her shirt was meant to be a message:
I come in peace.
No. Never peace. Not from her past.
“Tyler,” she said, cautiously. Not a greeting, a welcome, or an invitation, just a statement. She knew better than to leave any room for interpretation.
“How ya doin’, little sis?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? You’re my sister, just as good as if you were born that way.”
Aubrey didn’t respond.
“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”
“No.”
Tyler flashed his grin again. Tyler had impeccably white teeth that were remarkably straight for one who’d never benefited from orthodontia. She wondered how it was possible that he had maintained them, after all these years, all his problems. Stayed off the crack, stuck with the needle. Smart of him. When he smiled, it took her back, and she didn’t want to go there.
Since that day, when she was such a young girl, so scared, so lost, Tyler had stepped up and she’d thought him a leader. But she soon learned he was the follower, desperate to be liked, respected, feared. Once he found that the weightier the gun in his hand, the more respect he earned, he was lost to her forever. When he started using the product he was selling, it was over for him.
“When did you get out?” Aubrey asked.
“Invite me in, sister.” It was not a request. Aubrey moved away from the door and allowed him entry. She couldn’t stop him if he wanted in anyway—he was twice her size—though it was nice to pretend he’d have some respect for her wishes. Then again, he never had, so why start now?
She shut the door behind him and wedged her back up against it. Winston, seeing Tyler, sniffed the air a few times and steadily backed away, disappearing into the kitchen.
“When did you get out?” Aubrey asked again.
Tyler’s eyes slid to the side. She looked at what he looked at, wondering. Together, they took in the small living room: the brown leatherette couch that had a large rip in the middle cushion, the tan carpet that needed vacuuming, Aubrey’s running shoes stacked against the back door, the vertical blinds, half open, half-mast, dusty. A mess, but it could be worse. At least there were no signs of Boden.
She hoped the flush she felt when she thought of him didn’t show on her cheeks.
What did Tyler want? What was he looking for?
Now, Aubrey, why do you immediately assume he’s after something? Why can’t you let him come say hello after a long absence? Why do you have to turn it into something else?
Because you know him, better than anyone.
“I got out a few days ago,” Tyler finally replied. He was hedging.
The hangover came back, biting at her stomach and head with vicious snaps. She didn’t have the energy for this.
“I’m making a cup of tea. Would you like one?” She broke Tyler’s gaze and left him standing in the foyer. Walked toward the kitchen. He followed.
“Tea? What kind of pussy do you take me for?”
She tossed a smile over her shoulder, and at the same time, they both said, “A biiiiiig fuckin’ pussy.”
She relaxed. Tyler was just here as a brother, wanting to mooch some money, food, and alcohol, and he’d be on his way.
“Got any eggs?” he asked hopefully, following her into the kitchen.
“No. Tea is it. Unless you want a frozen dinner?”
“Nope. And if that’s all you have, you need to go to Publix. You look like you’re starving to death.”
The ice was broken now. They could pretend they were friends, if not forever connected through their pasts, through the system. Both systems. He’d never believed she’d killed Josh. He knew her. In his own weird way, he loved her.
She could have had a terribly difficult time while awaiting her bond hearing. Instead, Tyler’s influence had managed to keep her from the worst the coun
ty jail had to offer a pretty young white thing.
“So. You seeing anyone?” he asked.
Aubrey froze, disguised the movement by gracefully reaching for the teapot. She didn’t turn.
He couldn’t know. There was no way he could know. Unless he was staking out the house, waiting.
She arranged the cups, dropped in the tea bags.
“Tyler, what do you want?”
“I can’t just drop in on my little sister because I want to say hello?”
“Not a week out of jail, jonesing for a fix and reeking of alcohol. No.”
She turned to face him. Tyler was unpredictable at the best of times—he could be here to intimidate or woo, depending on his mood and where he was in the cycle. Tyler was forever getting clean, forever relapsing. The people around him bore the brunt of his failures.
His face contorted for a brief second, the attack coming. Instead, he breathed in deeply and his lazy smile returned. Yes, he wanted something. He was willing to swallow his explosive temper to get it as well.
“I hear Josh was declared dead at last.”
“Yes.” Her chin inched a bit higher. “What about it?”
“There’s some serious coin coming your way, I expect.”
“No, actually.”
His eyes widened for the briefest of seconds, then narrowed, mean as a snake.
“Don’t bullshit me, little sister. The world knows all about his ‘estate.’ And the life insurance policy. Why do you think they thought you killed him in the first place? That’s an awful lot of money for a kid to take out on his own life. So”—he leaned against the counter—“I was hoping you would share a bit of your good fortune with your big brother.”
She met his gaze, the dark blue depths muddy, the bloodshot whites tinged with the tiniest hint of yellow. Jaundice. Too many needles. Tyler played the role of crippled junkie too well. It had saved him from being killed more than once; his bosses didn’t like the runners sampling the wares, but he managed to keep them satisfied enough to spare his life. They understood, with the high-grade heroin they were selling, some of their foot soldiers were bound to fall prey to the goods.