No One Knows Part 22

He couldn't afford that. They couldn't afford that. He wanted to give Aubrey the moon and stars. She'd grown up with next to nothing, basically the clothes on her back and little else. He wanted to give her indulgences, luxuries-jewelry, cars, houses, art. Trips to exotic locales, richly woven clothes. He had to start earning, now, to meet his lofty goals for their life. He didn't want to do this because he thought she'd love him more, not in the least. She'd had so little beauty in her life; he wanted to give her back some sparkle.

His haunted young love had grown into an exquisite young woman, one he was proud to call his wife. They were a perfect match. She was strong and loving and smart and selfless.

And patient. Aubrey was one of the most patient people he'd ever met. He didn't know if that was a result of being brought up without parents, having to share all her belongings with practical strangers, or whether it was ingrained in her personality. He wished he'd known her parents, could judge how much of them she'd gotten. Nature, nurture, all that.

But they'd died when she was so young, and he wasn't the kind of kid who hung around parents at that time. Which changed. When Aubrey's parents died, something shifted inside him, and he became a grown-up. Ten, and as mature as a twenty-year-old. He needed to be strong for her. Even then, he had an affinity for the curly-headed girl. There was something so incredibly different about her.

Different, and beautiful, and-as she was exposed to new, not-so-nice things-a quiet strength. Though she flouted the rules when they weren't to her liking, she was a good girl. Deep down inside, she was pure.

Unlike him. He was just a man. Just a man with a dream, and a wife he'd put up on a very high pedestal.

He sipped his coffee and pondered his life. He'd committed to paying for school himself, through a series of student loans coupled with savings-he'd started saving for college the day Aubrey's parents died, knowing somehow, inside of him, that he'd need to do this himself. He scraped and scrimped and saved every dime of his allowance, not indulging in records or candy or video games like his friends, approaching his growing stash with a miser's eye. But that money had run out at the end of his undergraduate career, and the loans were piling up. More training meant even more time before he'd even start making enough to begin paying off the loans.

He could ask his father for help. Tom had some money stashed away-he'd told Josh that before he left for school. Pulled him aside, told him he loved him, that he was proud to be his father, and that he'd been saving for him just like Josh saved for himself. It was an emergency fund of sorts, all slated for him. If he didn't need it now, he'd inherit it when Tom died. Daisy didn't know about it. It wasn't for her-God knew if she found out about spare change lying around, it would be spent immediately. But it was Josh's whenever he felt he wanted or needed it.

Becoming a surgeon, fulfilling a dream, this would certainly qualify for raiding Tom's funds.

What was he thinking? He needed to save that money for an emergency. A real emergency. No, he would find a way to pay off the loans himself. He needed to find a source of income on the side, most likely from a part-time job. He barely slept as it was; medical school wasn't exactly a restful experience, and the uppers meant he'd go for days, then crash, hard.

He could probably go to work somewhere like the medical examiner's office, as a tech. He'd done his pathology rotation, hadn't minded it much. And he knew a guy who worked over there; he had an in. The money wasn't insanely good, but the hours weren't bad. He didn't see himself slinging hash or drinks, though bartending could help things add up very quickly.

Then again, he was the one who held lives in his hands every day. Perhaps it would be better for Aubrey to take on the extra work. Maybe she could do some tutoring on the side, just a little extra to pay for groceries and the like. Or work in that coffee shop near their house that she loved so much. He'd seen the owner around, a pretty elfin thing, dark hair in a pixie cut, drinking at Sam's after the store closed. He could always approach her, see if she'd be willing to take on his wife for some part-time work. Then they'd be comfortable enough while he dedicated himself to a surgical residency.

She would do it if he asked. Aubrey would do anything for him.

His coffee was empty. He needed a refill. He went to the counter and scored some more, then returned to his seat and cracked his shiny new surgical text.

Normally he was great at blocking out the conversations around him. But when two men sat next to him, he couldn't help but overhear them. They were whispering, which drew his ear in the first place. People talking at normal levels weren't trying to hide their conversations-in fact he sometimes suspected such people wanted to be overheard. These two were being furtive, and it piqued Josh's curiosity.

He shifted his body so he could be a few inches closer. They didn't seem to notice. One was black, gently accented, and the other was an older white gentleman, impeccably dressed, who seemed much more relaxed and merely listened, encouraging information as it was needed.

From what Josh could ascertain, the black man needed a doctor. A specialist. So he must be sick. The white guy just smiled and nodded and said, "We'll find someone for you. Someone good who you can trust. Don't worry. I promise it will be okay."

The black man obviously didn't feel he was being taken seriously. He grew more and more frustrated until he finally stood and set his coffee on the table, said, "Mark my words." And left.

Josh stifled an internal giggle-the "Mark my words" had sounded a bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger saying, "I'll be back."

He glanced at his watch: 7:30 p.m. He needed to get home to Aubrey, to Winston, to dinner, to sleep. To get up and do it all again.

He began to gather his things. The white guy sitting next to him had crossed his legs and was staring into space. Josh debated with himself, then shrugged. Why not? What did he have to lose?

"Sir? Excuse me."

The man tore his gaze from the deep space universe he was studying and glanced at Josh with an annoyed sigh.

"Yes, I'll watch your things. Go, go," he said.

Josh laughed. "Oh, no, sir. I'm actually leaving. It's just that I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Your friend is ill and needs a specialist? I'm a doctor here at Vanderbilt. Fourth-year medical student. I know most everyone on staff. If you tell me what's troubling your friend, I could give you a recommendation." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Josh Hamilton, by the way."

The man studied him with his right brow raised ever so slightly. As if making a decision, he finally smiled, politely, and said, "Well, isn't this just serendipity." He accepted Josh's hand in his. "Derek Allen. Your offer intrigues me. Would you like to grab dinner and discuss things? Perhaps my colleague could be talked into joining us, and he can hear your suggestions firsthand."

Josh glanced at his watch.

"I should really be getting home."

"Oh, surely you have a few minutes. At least let me buy you another cup of coffee. You may be just what the doctor ordered, pun intended."

Josh had a feeling about the man. Something told him to call Aubrey and tell her he was going to be late.

"All right, Mr. Allen, let's go get some dinner. I'll just let my wife know I'm going to be gone a while."

CHAPTER 39.

Aubrey Today The sun was high in the sky when Aubrey reached Dragon Park. Sweat ran between her breasts and down the small of her back, but she pushed on, passing the mosaic dragon, until she reached the oak. She stopped short about one hundred feet from the tree and looked around.

Would he be here, waiting? Would he know that she'd figured it out?

She didn't see anything out of the ordinary, just the usual accumulation of parents and kids, dogs and plaid blankets and Frisbees, spread out across the grass. Still, she approached cautiously.

Two feet away, she could tell something was different.

She shoved her hand into the darkness and instead of feeling the note she'd secreted inside, she felt nothing. Emptiness. Something compelled her to reach in farther, and this time, she did feel something. It was soft, and square, and attached to a hard piece of parchment. She eased it out gently.

The parchment was an envelope, good Crane stationery, the old-fashioned kind.

And the soft square was a blue velvet box.

She closed her eyes. Recorded every movement, every sound, every smell. Honeysuckle on the wind, jasmine, mud, sweat, blueberries, the crying of a child, the bark of a dog.

When she felt like she would be able to remember the moment forever, she opened the box.

In it was a large diamond. Loose. The pointed end was pushed into the velvet liner. She was afraid to take it out, but having seen some of the sparklers her friends sported, she knew this had to be in the three- or four-carat range.

Her heart beat mercilessly. She slid the box closed and opened the note.

It had two handwritten words, handwriting she more than recognized.

Josh's handwriting.

I'm sorry.

She looked at the stone again, and suddenly it wasn't perfect. A large crack began, running across the surface, and with a rending creak, the diamond split in half and inside was the photograph of Josh, wound around a stranger, and the photo began to move, bucking and thrusting in her hand, and his face came from the black-and-white and said, "I'm sorry, I had to, I didn't have a choice."

Let no man tear them asunder.

Oh, God. She knew what this meant. She knew . . .

Aubrey woke, sweating, crying. Betrayed. Five years of hell, five years of worry, and he was alive, out there. Letting her suffer. Letting them all suffer.

Aubrey didn't remember her dreams often. It was something she'd turned off when she was a child, effectively muting her brain when she woke in the mornings. She had enough nightmares that she needed something for self-preservation, something to protect her and keep her whole. So she'd trained herself to forget.

It worked 90 percent of the time. So long as her life was on an even keel, the bad dreams stayed at bay. But things were on anything but an even keel now, and Aubrey had been dreaming extensively for the past few days, and they were staying with her long after she turned back the sheets.

The morning after seeing the email, she woke exhausted, like she'd been running for hours. As she thought about it, she realized she had: that was a whopper of a dream.

Winston must have heard her crying in her sleep because he was wedged firmly against her side. When she woke and shifted, he moved with her, a low woof questioning if she was okay.

She wasn't.

When she'd cried herself out, she rose and washed her face. The clock said 6:40 a.m.

Tyler.

She went downstairs and realized she was alone. Sometime in the night he'd crawled away-whether to give up and score a hit or because he was actually feeling better, she didn't know. She hadn't even heard him. After she'd seen the email, she'd collapsed, taken a couple of Ativan, and just huddled in bed, weeping.

She felt empty.

She didn't know what to do.

Chase was coming today. How was she supposed to face him? How was she supposed to function, knowing that Josh might actually be out there somewhere? Or that someone was trying to make her think he was? He'd think she was crazy. He'd run so fast and so far she'd never see him again.

Maybe she was.

She made a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table. Put her head in her hands. Ran her mind over the details of the past week.

The cab, the man's walk. The confusion on his face when she turned him. The happiness he radiated when she'd seen him in the coffee shop. The caressing touches at the bar. The overwhelming sex.

Chase showing her pictures from his life, growing up with his family, his dad and mom and sister, happy and content. She watched him mature through the years.

Asking her questions, expecting answers to things she'd stopped thinking about, her life, her feelings, her dreams.

Encouraging her to disagree with him.

Chase Boden wasn't her husband. He was his own person. He wanted her, damaged and broken as she was. And she wanted him.

But Josh . . .

Five long years later, she was on the edge of the truth. Could Josh actually still be alive?

God, she didn't know. She doubted everything. Herself, her world. Her sanity. How could this happen? How could this be? All of the bits and pieces of the past week crashed together, and she realized that he could be.

Maybe Meghan was right. Josh had been waiting to be declared dead and had come back for the insurance money. He'd been hiding in plain sight this whole time.

And if he was alive? Would she discard Chase?

She said, "No," aloud, making the dog jump, even while she thought about what would happen if Josh walked through the door at this very moment.

She was living in a fantasyland. Josh was dead. She knew he was dead. Whoever sent that picture was screwing with her. Trying to unhinge her mind.

Aubrey had a strong desire to stick a knife in the stranger from the hospital. She replayed his approach in the cafeteria, but this time, when he broke off the piece of chocolate, she gutted the bastard and left him gasping and bleeding on the cafeteria floor.

She was sick of being manipulated. Derek Allen was playing with her. He was dangerous.

It was time he learned she was as well.

CHAPTER 40.

Daisy Today Aubrey had left, Tom was asleep, and Daisy wanted to weep. She wanted to gnash her teeth and wail and rend the scratchy, nasty sheet into ribbons. It wasn't right. Her son couldn't be dead. He couldn't. She would have felt that. She would have been able to tell.

Wouldn't she?

She wanted to go find him. They were keeping him from her. What had she ever done to deserve such hatred, such spite? She'd always been a dutiful wife, a good mother. And yet despite all of her giving, she was treated like pond scum by the very people who should love and appreciate her the most.

She should be treated with respect.

Instead, she was stuck lying in the bed, practically motionless, on a sheepskin that smelled of acrylic and must, forced to suffer these indignities.

She hurt. So very badly. Despite the fact she should be healing, despite her bones knitting and the swelling reducing, something was very wrong. She could tell. It was worse than what they told her, or they just didn't know. But she felt the pieces of her life dripping away, slinking into the void. She wasn't going to survive.

She had told Tom how she felt, and he scoffed.

"Of course you are, sweetie. You just hurt now. We can get more pain meds for you. But the doctors are very encouraged by your progress, and they think you'll be out of here next week. You're doing great. You're just fine."

He didn't take her seriously. He'd never taken her seriously. Always faithful Tom trying to placate her, trying to remake the world in his own image.

Fuck that. She wasn't going to sit back anymore.

She had sent Tom away and tried to explain to a nurse what she was feeling inside. Something open. A hole, a vastness in places that were supposed to be solid. The nurse told her it was just the morphine.

It wasn't the drugs, or her imagination. She actually got upset enough the nurse called the chief resident on shift and asked him to come in and take a look.

Pass the buck. In case there was something wrong.

Daisy waited for the doctor to appear. Hospitals weren't conducive to impatient people.