Riverbend (10 page)

Lee continued to look at Drake for a moment. And then, perhaps she was convinced or perhaps this new thought occurred to her, she moved her gaze to Annie. “What about the restaurant? You won't be safe there. He'll go there first.”

“Is there a way to ensure she's never alone?” asked Drake. “I'll drive her to and from work.”

Lee glanced at Tommy. “No one is ever there alone except me in the mornings sometimes when I'm doing the books. However, none of us will be any good against a man with weapons.”

Tommy smiled. “Except Cindi.” He looked over at Drake. “That's our bartender. She packs heat wherever she goes.”

Lee crossed her arms over her chest, looking worried. “I don't know. Do you think Billy could cook for you? Just until they catch this guy?”

Annie's heart sank. How could she let someone else take over her restaurant? Billy was a good assistant chef, no question. And they had several prep cooks now that the restaurant was doing so well. But could she really leave her baby in the hands of someone else? “No. I can't give Marco this much control. And there's safety in numbers.” She pushed a stray curl away from her eyes. “Anyway, I
think I need to be at the restaurant. As bait. Otherwise we'll never catch him.”

Tommy's head was cocked to one side. “I hate to say it, but maybe we should get you a gun.”

“I wouldn't know how to use it,” said Annie.

“I could teach you,” said Drake. “Just the basics so you don't hurt yourself. I have an extra one at the house.”

“Maybe I could just poison him,” said Annie. “With some kind of herb concoction or something.”

“Good idea,” said Lee, with an ironic tone to her voice. “But when he's trying to kill you he may not have an appetite.”

“Yeah. Right,” said Annie, with a grimace. “He did always like my cooking though. Between beating the crap out of me he used to enjoy my shrimp scampi quite a bit.”

Chapter Eight

THAT EVENING,
back in Drake's kitchen, Annie tossed together the first of Ellen's summer squash, green beans, and some chicken into a simple stir-fry. It was one of Alder's favorites, despite the fact that it was low calorie and healthy. She always used fresh basil, oyster sauce, and a few chili peppers to give it a kick.

Drake came into the kitchen, dressed in workout clothes, just as she was about to serve it onto plates. “Where would you like your dinner?” she asked him.

He went to the cupboard and pulled out a glass, filling it with water at the sink before leaning against the counter. “I didn't expect you to cook another meal for me. I could've heated up what was in the freezer.” His hair was damp at his neckline, as was his shirt.

“I know, but I had to make something for Alder, anyway.”

“And yourself, too, right?”

“I'm not that hungry,” she said.

“You don't eat much.” He noticed that?

“I eat enough.”

“You need to take care of yourself. For Alder. And to keep up with your job.”

“Trying to keep that thirty pounds off,” she said lightly.

He looked as if he wanted to say something but instead moved towards the front room. “Would you mind keeping it warm for a minute? I'd love a shower first.”

“Of course.”

Alder came in as Drake was leaving. “Hey, Drake,” said Alder. “I'm thirty pages into Huck. It's so awesome.”

“Best boy book ever written.” Drake smiled. “I'll be right back, Annie. But you guys eat without me. I'll just take this to my room.”

“I'll put it on a tray for you,” she said, feeling disappointed. Of course he wouldn't eat with them. It wasn't like they were friends.
Don't get your hopes up
, she warned herself.

“Great.” And then he was gone.

Alder sat at the counter as she served him a large portion over rice. “Oh, man, Mom, does it have to be brown rice all the time now?”

“Yes, it does. You'll thank me someday.”

She served a small portion with mostly vegetables for herself and sat next to him. “You all right with this whole situation?”

“Don't see much of a choice, Mom. And it's not like it isn't an awesome place to hang out. I'm just worried about you going to work tomorrow.”

“Well, Tommy and Lee will be there. We'll tell the staff about Marco. Everyone looks out for me there. You know that. Plus, Linus will keep an eye out from his window at the inn. And Ellen will keep watch on our place and notify the police the minute she sees anything. We're in good hands.”

Alder shoved several pieces of chicken into his mouth and chewed, staring into space. Then he turned to look at her. “Mom, what were you doing with him?”

“Marco, you mean?”

“Yeah.” He stabbed a green bean with his fork, eyeing it like it was a suspect.

She sighed. Of course it was the inevitable question. It was the question she'd asked herself a thousand times. The only thing she ever came up with was—Alder. She'd been with him in order to get Alder. Despite how much she loved her work, he was the best thing she'd ever done. He was the best part of her and the light of her life. But he wouldn't understand this all-consuming love until he was a father someday. For now, she needed to explain it to him in a way that would make it palpable to him. “I don't know exactly, honey. It's hard to explain, really, what it was like to grow up with your grandmother. There wasn't a lot of stability and I was really young when I met Marco. My mother had this boyfriend that lived with us
when I was a junior in high school that was always…” She trailed off. How could she explain to her young son that this boyfriend of her mother's, Phil Turner was his name—she would never forget it—had touched her inappropriately?

She was seventeen the first time he brushed against her as she washed dishes at the sink after dinner. Her heart jumped to her throat, but she dismissed it. Perhaps it was an accident, she convinced herself. Just a moment of being unsteady on his feet. But the next day it happened again and this time he lingered so that she smelled the beer on his breath. She'd known, even at seventeen, that it was only a matter of time before he showed up in her bed in the middle of the night. Terrified, she barricaded the door every night with a chest. But she knew there would be a time when he was able to get her alone. She shuddered, even now, thinking of it. Each day it progressed to bolder and bolder moves until one day in early spring he put his hand on her thigh under the table at dinner. The next night he brushed his finger against her breast while she washed the dishes. She had known better than to say anything to her mother. She would not have been believed, and she knew, too, that if a choice were to be made, her mother would always choose a man over her. This had been proven many times.

Annie figured out ways to stay away. At first she hung out at local fast food places after school, stuffing French fries and milkshakes into her mouth. The food soothed her for the moment and released some of the anxiety until she had to go home, at which point it all came rushing back. Towards the end of her junior year, walking home from school, she saw a “Help Wanted” sign in a local Italian restaurant, looking for a prep cook for the nightshift—a perfect solution, as it would keep her away from home late into the night. And she would get to cook. This was all she wanted. Just to work in a professional kitchen, no matter how menial the task.

When she was twelve, her mother dated a man from Italy. He would come to their house carrying bags of fresh produce and proteins. Unlike most of her mother's boyfriends, he liked Annie, welcoming her into the kitchen to cook with him. One day he taught her how to make fresh pasta. Another time he schooled her in the delicate flavors of the perfect red sauce. After he left, his lessons
remained in her consciousness. She knew from that point on what she wanted to do with her life; she wanted to be a chef.

At the restaurant, the chef, an Italian man named Carlo Gionetti, noticed her enthusiasm and began teaching her more and more techniques. A few months into her time there, he suggested she think about culinary school. It was the first time anyone had suggested a future of any kind. At school she faded into the walls: an average student with no particular talent. But he saw something no one else had. She belonged in the kitchen. Several years later his recommendation would help her get into culinary school.

But before that she was still young and desperate and there was a dishwasher named Marco who flirted with her and made her feel beautiful despite the twenty pounds she'd put on in an unconscious attempt to keep Phil away from her. She moved in with Marco that summer, dropping out of high school and getting her GED. Shortly thereafter, she and Marco both quit the restaurant, despite Carlo's attempt to contact her. Marco made sure he couldn't find either of them in the first of his controlling moves.

Now, to her sweet little boy she said, “Your grandmother's boyfriend was a bad guy and I didn't feel safe there. I met Marco at my first restaurant job. He was handsome and charming and I was terribly lonely and desperate to get out of my mother's home. I didn't know until I moved in with him that he was dangerous. That's how abusers are. They're nice until they have you trapped and then the real person comes out.”

“It's weird that he's my dad.” Alder sighed and pushed some rice around his plate.

“I'm sorry, honey.”

“I mean he is, but he's not. Right?”

“Exactly.”

She heard movement from the doorway. It was Drake, freshly showered, looking handsome in light cotton sweats and a T-shirt. She felt a fluttering in her belly. What was this? Oh yes, her old familiar nemesis: desire. Great. That's all she needed—to want a man way out of her league with major psychological issues. Her taste in men remained intact, apparently. A complete disaster.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Drake, coming towards them. Annie
jumped from her stool, ready to prepare his plate. He put up his hand. “Please don't get up. I can serve myself.”

“Oh, all right. Well, the rest is for you. We have plenty.” She got back on her stool, stealing glances at him as he scooped what was left of the stir-fry onto his plate.

How much had he heard of her confession to Alder? What must he think of her? She must seem like a mess to him. Although, he was the one with the anxiety attacks.
Right. Keep that in mind
, she told herself.
There's no reason to feel inferior to him.
But she did. She always did.

“Thank you, Annie, for dinner. What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“I usually go in at three on Tuesdays.”

“I'll see you both in the morning.”

He left the room.
There's no reason to wish he stayed
, she chastised herself. But she did, nonetheless.

Annie woke from a deep sleep, disoriented. The room was dark and smelled of freshly laundered sheets. It came rushing back to her at once. The phone calls, the subsequent invitation to stay at Drake's home. She rolled over, looking into the darkness, her eyes adjusting so that she could make out the contents of the room. And then a sound penetrated the darkness. It was an eerie, hollow, lonesome sound, unrecognizable for a moment until she realized it was the howl from some kind of animal. Was it a coyote? It had to be.

It came again, this time louder, closer.

Wide awake now, she put her bare feet onto the floor, the carpet soft between her toes, and padded to the window, opening the curtains wide. The stars were bright in the June night's sky, a billion shards of glass scattered across the horizon. There was a sliver of a moon, too, hanging there like an old friend. No matter where you were, the moon always followed. She told this to Alder when he was just a small boy. And it never ceased being a source of magic to him.
“The moon follows me wherever I go,” he would say from the back seat where he was safely tucked into his toddler chair.

Now, at the edge of the yard, was a lone coyote, the light from the back deck illuminating him. He was lean, his fur thin. He lifted his head again, towards the sliver of moon, and howled, high and lonesome. Then, he shifted his gaze to where she stood at the window. She put her hand on the glass, mesmerized by the glow of his eyes that seemed to reflect the stars. After a moment, he turned and ran, disappearing into the thicket of trees just outside the manicured garden.

She heard another noise then. Bells? No, it was music. Like a child's lullaby. Was it coming from down the hall? Was Alder awake in his room and listening to music? Surely not? The child slept like the dead. Despite the mild temperature of the room, she shivered and wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders, walking through the sitting area and opening the door to the hallway, careful not to make a sound. The strip under Alder's bedroom door was black. She went in; he'd left the curtains open so the room was dimly lit. He was sound asleep, curled on his side with the cover over his head. Same as always, regardless of all the houses they'd lived in over the years.

She stepped back into the hallway. Then she heard it again. Piano music. What was the tune? “Hush Little Baby.”
Hush little baby, don't say a word, mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
She'd sung it to Alder hundreds of times when he was a baby.