Dangerous Curves (15 page)

S
afety zones and danger zones
. That's what their relationship involved and Kevin was determined to get the hang of it. Her place and his bedroom were definitely danger zones. As was his private theater. They tried not to be alone as much as possible. Dominique helped distract him by focusing on trying to figure out the possible fourth passenger. She'd also told him about the investigator she'd hired to watch Cassie's family.

One afternoon, as they sat in his entertainment lounge, he caught Dominique searching through some images on her phone that the investigator had sent her. “Let me see that,” he said.

He looked through the pictures and stopped when he saw one of the pictures showing Henson's nanny with Marcus at the playground. “I've seen this dress. Cassie was wearing it the night of the party.”

“A dress similar to it?”

He shook his head. “No, not similar. Exactly.”

“Well, it can't be the same dress because they're different in size.”

He frowned. “Even the shoes are the same.”

“Well, maybe it's a popular look. I can't tell you much about women's fashions.”

I can and it's not popular,
he thought. Kevin shrugged, wanting to shed his sense of unease. It was a coincidence. “Hmmm. You're probably right.” He turned on the TV, then looked at Dominique to ask her what she wanted to watch, but saw her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Reginald Avery has gone missing,” the news anchor said.

Kevin turned. But he didn't hear the rest of the report. The face was all that mattered. He knew that face from somewhere. “I think I saw him that day. The day of the accident. Maybe he was outside the building or one of the sales managers.”

“You couldn't have met him there.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's one of my father's biggest rivals.”

S
peak and your mom dies
.
That's what the man told him. He couldn't talk no matter what. He had to save Mommy.

“You have to speak,” Ms. Ruth scolded Marcus as she tucked him into bed. “Do you want to keep making your Dad sad? It's your fault if he is.” She pinned him with a stare. “You're being selfish and mean. Do you like being mean?”

Marcus shook his head, gripping Toro tight. He wished Toro wasn't a stuffed dinosaur but real. Real enough to scare all the monsters away.

Ms. Ruth smoothed out the sides of the sheet. “If you really loved your dad, you would say something.”

She was angry with him, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't want his Mommy to die; he was scared. He didn't want his Daddy sad. His Daddy was so sad. Was that because of him? Because he was sad too? He wanted to be good. He hadn't said anything, so why hadn't Mommy come home yet? How long did he have to be quiet?

“You're a big boy now,” Ms. Ruth said, tucking the sheets tight against his neck. He hated when she did that, but he didn't want to get into more trouble. “Say something.” She frowned when he continued to stare at her. “You can't keep this up. It's not hard, just say one word. Can you do that?”

Marcus closed his eyes, wanting her to go away. Wanting her to leave him alone. Wanting his mom to be the one tucking him in.
Mommy, come home please. I'll be good forever, I promise.
He heard Ms. Ruth's footsteps head for the door and then the sound of the light clicking off. He opened his eyes to the darkness, fighting against tears. Ms. Ruth was right. He was a big boy now and he'd save his mom by doing what the man told him to.

D
rake stretched
out on the couch, a single lamp the only light in the room. The last couple of months he'd spent more time on the couch than in his bedroom. He still hadn't gotten used to sleeping alone. He never wanted to get used to it. Every day he told himself that they were closer to Cassie coming home.

He turned on the TV and flipped through a series of cooking channels to watch. Food and cooking always helped him relax. That was one thing that connected them. He'd already imagined the first meal Cassie would ask him to make. He pictured her sitting at the table while he cooked. And at times, he imagined her in the kitchen, making their favorite Jamaican dish, ackee and saltfish. Cutting up a banana for Ericka to eat. Showing Marcus how to fold an egg into cookie dough, and helping him make a smiley face on his pancakes with strawberries and blueberries.

Marcus. Drake sighed at the thought of his son. He'd come home too late to see him before he was put to bed. Regret and exhaustion made his arms and legs feel like lead. He was about to drift off to sleep when he felt a small hand on his arm. He blinked and sat up when he saw Marcus. “What are you doing up?” He rubbed his eyes. “You can't sleep?”

Marcus shook his head.

“Want some milk?”

He shook his head again, then took Drake's hand and tugged on it. Drake stood and let his son lead him to the kitchen.

“Do you want a snack?” Drake asked him.

Marcus shook his head again, then pointed to the stove then the pots.

Drake shook his head. “I don't know what you want.”

Marcus pointed again with more animation.

“Honey, what do you want? You want me to cook?”

He nodded.

“What do you want me to cook?”

He shrugged.

Drake knelt in front of him. “Can't you tell me? Don't you want to tell me?”

His gaze fell.

“Try.”

He shook his head.

“I can't cook if you won't let me know what you want.”

Marcus pointed to the stove again, firm.

“What are you trying to say?” Drake snapped, losing his patience.

Marcus's lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears.

“No, don't cry. I just…” He drew him into his arms and hugged him. “It's okay.”

But Marcus cried as if his little heart would break and Drake didn't know how to comfort him. “I know you miss Mom. Did you have a nightmare?” He stroked his back. “It's going to be okay.” He stood with Marcus in his arms. “I know, let's make some cocoa and you can keep me company. Would you like that?”

Marcus nodded, then kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you too,” Drake said, setting his son down. He grabbed two cups, wishing he didn't feel so inadequate. He wished he knew how to break his son's silence without making him cry.

E
ric returned
home to the sound of the smoke alarm and the acrid smell of something burning. He set his things down in the foyer and raced into the kitchen where he saw his son crying in his high chair, dirty dishes stacked in the sink, and something charred sitting on top of the open stove. He also noticed another mysterious dish on the counter. Eric closed the stove and picked Geoffrey up to soothe him. “Your mother made a right mess, didn't she?”

Adriana came around the corner, smoothing down a bandage on her forearm.

“What did you do?”

“A slight burn. Don't worry, I took care of it.”

Eric glanced at the blackened mess on the stove, then poked the mysterious mash on the counter. It moved, and he didn't think it was supposed to do that. He looked at Adriana. “Should I ask?”

Adriana frowned and grabbed a fork. “Maybe it tastes better than it looks.”

Eric snatched it from her. “I'm not eating that and neither is anyone else.”

“What else are we going to do about dinner?”

He sighed. “You're determined to have a family meal, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“What is that awful smell?” Nina asked, coming into the kitchen after arriving home from summer camp.

“Your Mom won't tell me.”

“It was supposed to be dinner.”

Nina frowned. “But you never cook dinner.”

“I cook sometimes.”

“A frozen dinner isn't cooking.”

Adriana folded her arms amused by her daughters disdain. “It's still food.”

“But—”

“She was trying to replicate the Sunday dinners we have at Uncle Drake's,” Eric clarified.

Adriana made a face at him. “Replicate? Do you have to talk that way?”

Nina smiled, clasping her hands at the thought of the family being together. “Oh yeah, those are so much fun. Aunty Cassie always…” She let her words fall away.

Adriana tore off her apron in defeat. “I know I can't compare to her. I shouldn't have tried.”

“Perhaps we could serve bread and tea,” Eric said, setting Geoffrey back in his high chair.

Adriana managed a watery smile. “Cassie would laugh at this.” She shook her head. “Oh, what would I do without her?”

“I think Sunday dinner would be great,” Nina said.

Eric shook his head. “I'm not sure, Drake…” he stopped when he saw the hope on their faces. “Okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “If everyone wants to come we'll hire a caterer.”

T
o Eric's surprise
, Drake readily agreed to the idea and suggested they have the dinner at his house as always. He even offered to prepare the meal, brushing Eric and Adriana's protestations aside. When everyone arrived, an elaborately set table greeted them, along with the sight of chicken cashew with citrus rice and scalloped tomatoes, which they all ate with relish. They later enjoyed a succulent bread pudding with lemon sauce for dessert.

After an initial awkward conversation, they soon fell into their old routine, Eric sharing Adriana's disaster in the kitchen and Clay entertaining them with a tale of a crazy client he'd had to help. Nina looked at the adults, her heart glad. She'd been nervous about tonight and remembered shyly going into the kitchen where Uncle Drake was cooking and handing him herbs from her garden. She'd done this before, but she wasn't sure if he'd want them anymore. She hadn't even known what he was making for dinner, or if they would help, but she wanted to give him something. She wanted everything to be the same like before. So when she called out his name, her voice cracked a little.

He looked down at her. She held out the container.

Drake took it and smiled, lightly touching her cheek. “Thanks love, it's just what I need.”

“You haven't even opened it yet,” she said, but she couldn't help smiling back at him. When Uncle Drake smiled, his whole face changed and it made her happy.

“But I know it will be perfect. Go wash up and you'll see.”

And she did. She could taste the basil on the chicken and it was wonderful. Aunty Cassie had to come back to this. She didn't want any of it to change. She felt a little guilty feeling so happy when her cousin Marcus didn't look happy at all. His nanny, Ms. Ruth, had been given the night off, so when they were excused from the table and went into the kid's playroom, they were alone.

“It's okay to whisper,” Nina said as she and Marcus sat on the ground coloring. “Whispering isn't the same as talking.”

Marcus continued to color a picture of a family having a picnic, adding purple to the green grass then whispered, “She says I'm bad.”

Nina felt her heart stop then begin to race. “Who?”

“Ms. Ruth.”

“Why?”

He grabbed another crayon to color in the sun and his voice filled with tears. “She says I make Daddy sad because I don't talk.”

“Why won't you talk?”

Marcus shook his head and colored harder.

“You can tell me.”

Marcus stopped coloring and broke his crayon in half. He grabbed two more and broke them too.

“Didn't your mom teach you that secrets are bad?” Nina quickly waved her hands and shook her head when his tears started to fall. They splashed on his picture. “No, wait, I didn't mean it like that. You're not in trouble and you're not bad. It's just…we all really like when you talk. Don't you want to?”

“Yes,” he whispered, then fell forward and cried on his arms.

Nina patted his back, anxiously glancing at the doorway. She didn't want to get into trouble for making him cry. She didn't mean to. “It's okay. I'm sorry. You don't make Uncle Drake sad, okay? He's happy that…that you're so strong and brave. He told me so.”

Marcus lifted his tear-stained face. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping he would believe her lie. “When I was in the kitchen with him, he said so. We're all so glad you're so much better than before. So Ms. Ruth's wrong. You're not bad.”

E
ric glanced
at Nina through the rearview mirror as they drove home. “You've hardly said anything. What's wrong?”

“Didn't you enjoy yourself?” Adriana asked.

“I did,” Nina said. “It was fun.”

“Then what is it?” Eric asked when she grew silent again.

She scratched her head. “I don't know.”

“You look very serious,” he said.

She bit her lip. “I got Marcus to talk to me.”

Adriana turned in her seat to stare at her daughter, amazed. “That's wonderful.” She looked at her husband. “Eric, we should go back and let Drake know and—”

“No, no Mom…it wasn't like that,” Nina said in a rush.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn't really get him to talk, it was more like a whisper. I told him that whispering was different.”

“What did he say?” Eric asked before Adriana could respond.

“You should turn the car around,” Adriana said. “So we can—”

Eric shook his head. “I'm not turning the car around.” He glanced at Nina's reflection. “What did he say, Nina?”

“That's the funny part. He said Ms. Ruth said he was making Uncle Drake sad. And I think he wants to talk, but he's afraid to.”

Adriana frowned. “She shouldn't have told him that. I'll have to tell Drake.”

“No, don't,” Eric said.

“Why not?”

“Because if he confronts her and there's a conflict, Marcus might think it's his fault and stop even whispering. We have to handle this carefully.”

“But if she's telling him lies that make him feel bad—”

Eric sighed. “I know. I don't like that either.”

“We have to do something,” Adriana said.

“Agreed.”

“Let me talk to her first. Maybe he misunderstood her,” Adriana said.

“Marcus isn't one to lie.”

“I didn't say lie, did I?”

Eric playfully tugged on her hair. “No, I'm sorry.” He looked at Nina and smiled. “Well done. I'm glad you told us.”

She grinned, sitting taller in her seat.

“You're sure you don't want to tell Drake about this?” Adriana said.

“I'm sure,” Eric said in a grim tone. He had to handle the situation delicately. “But I can think of someone else who should know.”