Flash Burned (19 page)

Kyle said to him, “Adam, this is Ari DeMille. We're here to see my aunt.”

“Adam Parker.” He held his hand out to me. “Head of security. Please, come in.”

The house was warmly decorated with a lot of comfy-looking furniture, interesting knickknacks, books, and whatnot. In the back of the house was a large solarium. The tall windows and the wood-and-glass-enclosed doors looked out on another cozy patio and gardens beyond.

“What a wonderful surprise,” said a petite woman with a soft, youthful face, cornflower-blue eyes, and a smart strawberry blonde bob. She smiled prettily at Kyle. “I wasn't expecting you.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze, then told her, “Sorry I haven't been by in a while.”

“I was just so relieved to hear from your mother that you were okay after the explosion at 10,000 Lux.” She placed her hand over her heart. “What a harrowing experience it must have been.”

“This is Ari DeMille—she was there as well,” Kyle said. “Since then, things have gotten a little … complicated. She needs your help.”

“Nice preamble,” I muttered. To Macy, I said, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr.—” I suddenly realized I hadn't asked Kyle her last name on the drive over.

“Stevens,” she politely offered.

Extending my hand, I simply said, “Ari.”

“Very lovely to meet you. Now, why don't we step into an exam room and you can tell me why you're here.”

We left Kyle in the solarium and returned to the front of the house. When the door closed behind us and we had some privacy, I told her, “I'm pregnant. Four weeks.”

It instantly dawned on me, as I considered the date, that we'd missed Christmas. At least, my dad and I had. Which didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, since we weren't holiday oriented and there was no way in hell I could ever have mustered Christmas cheer when all I could think of was the fact that Dane was—

I shook the thought from my head. I couldn't dwell on that currently, though it would forever fester in the back of my mind. If I could trap it in those shadowy parts where I also kept memories of my parents' venomous arguments and all the volatile smashing of glass and slamming of doors, I might maintain my sanity.

Maybe.

“Well,” Dr. Stevens said as she eyed me from head to toe. Then gingerly lifted a few wispy strands of my hair to inspect my stitches. When she stepped back, I raised my arms, palms up, to show her the stitches there as well.

“All of these injuries are from the night of the explosion?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She made a soft
tsk
ing sound. “You took quite a hit.”

“I was lucky,” I assured her, our gazes locked.

With a slow nod, she said, “You were. I understand the owner of the hotel didn't—”

“I'm having a bit of trouble with morning sickness,” I interjected, not able to hear the words that were about to come out of her mouth regarding Dane. “I can't keep anything down and I'm losing weight, not gaining.”

“That's not a pleasant pallor you have, either.”

“I sleep, but … not really. I wake up constantly and then I just lay there, stressing about everything.” I didn't tell her about the nightmares, which were no longer of scorpions and rattlesnakes but of the blast at the Lux and all that bomb had destroyed—much more than just a building.

“That's not good. For you or the baby.” She patted the exam table and said, “Why don't you have a seat and we'll see what's what. Do you have your records from the ER?”

“Yes. And from my stay at the hospital.”

She crooked a brow. “How long were you there?”

“A week. I was pretty out of it at first. And they wanted to monitor the baby.”

“But they cleared you to leave.”

“Dr. Lindsey said everything's fine. And it was at first. But then I started vomiting. It lasts into the day. Sometimes happens at night, after I've eaten. I'm afraid I'm not getting the right nutrients to the baby, but I can't get in to see someone until next week. I don't want to wait that long.”

With a delicate smile, she said, “You won't have to. I have contracts with a number of specialists. One happens to be a fantastic OB-GYN in Scottsdale. I can arrange to have her come up routinely. I can also treat the morning sickness.”

“I'm nonstop nauseous.”

“We'll do something about that. I have several natural remedies, herbs, teas. I believe in a holistic approach to healing. Including the mind and spirit. Helps to keep the body strong.”

I cringed. She was one of the New Agers. She didn't want to know how damaged my mind and my spirit were. But I'd come willingly to her, so I'd try to be open to her skill set, the tools and teas in her medical bag.

She recorded my vitals and noted my blood pressure was low. I told her that was a change from when I was in the hospital. She wasn't happy with my weight but kept the optimistic smile on her face. Then she showed me around the house, telling me there were always at least two chefs in the kitchen from five in the morning until ten at night. There were two TV rooms and a study. Plus physical rehabilitation facilities.

On the west side of the house were the empty accommodations for me. A lovely space with lots of windows that overlooked a secluded courtyard.

“Security is of utmost importance,” Dr. Stevens told me. “There's one guard inside at all times, and others patrol the grounds and monitor the electronic surveillance of the perimeter.”

I thought of the people who'd decimated the Lux and wondered if they took an interest in my whereabouts. I doubted they could find me here, yet was relieved I'd be behind monitored gates and walls.

Dr. Stevens further explained that only the security guards answered the front door. I was safer here than at the house, I surmised, even with Dane's state-of-the-art system. His property wasn't patrolled or manned. Not without Amano.

Then again, 10,000 Lux had been well protected and someone had been able to fuck things up there, not to mention kidnap me.

I shuddered. It was no wonder I remained tense. I hadn't exactly been leading a normal life as of late.

Still … I'd give anything to get it back—my life with Dane, that was.

I collected my belongings from Kyle and settled in. There were forms to fill out and, despite my being Kyle's friend, Security performed a background check. I contacted Mr. Conaway to have Dane's accountant set up wire transfers to Dr. Stevens's practice, under my maiden name. I had no intention of spilling the beans now on my marriage to Dane.

Then I drank some tea and slept.

*   *   *

My first week at the retreat was more about observation of the environment and trying to keep food down than anything else. One of the other patients, Gretchen Lang, had breast cancer and was recovering from a double mastectomy, she told me. As a side note, she sadly reported that the surgery left her feeling inhuman. And certainly not the least bit feminine. She wore yoga suits every day, as I did, and vibrantly colored silk scarves on her bald head. She was into meditating—for hours on end—as well as yoga and Pilates.

Another patient, Hannah Olden, was in her thirties and in a wheelchair following knee surgery that came right after a hip replacement—all from a degenerative disease she suffered. She had her doubts that she'd ever walk normally again, and I could see the toll it took on her, similar to Gretchen's battle with feeling useless and alien in her own body. Hannah spent her time painting gorgeous floral arrangements when she wasn't in physical therapy.

I knew very little about the youngest of Dr. Stevens's patients, Chelsea Brooks. She was a tiny girl with blonde, springy curls and big, amber-colored eyes. She kept to herself, in the corner of the solarium where she sat at a four-foot-long table.

One day, I asked Kyle, “Is she building a mini Eiffel Tower out of an Erector Set?”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “She's amazing. Give her a picture of just about any structure and she can replicate it.”

I started to take a couple of steps forward, to get a better look, but Kyle gently gripped my arm. “She doesn't like strangers in her space. She's autistic. Change throws her. She needs to stick to a routine—new people upset her.”

“Oh.” I felt bad about that. I didn't want to alarm or distress her.

“Don't worry. She'll eventually get used to you. Just stick to the periphery, you know?”

“Sure.”

I didn't have a whole lot to do at the retreat, so I asked Gretchen if I could join her yoga and Pilates workouts, since I'd learned she was a certified instructor of both, with pre-natal experience. She seemed grateful for the company.

The kitchen staff allowed me to watch them prep and cook, which was a nice learning experience and occupied more time. The tea and very delicate biscuits Dr. Stevens recommended for me did wonders for the morning sickness and I was actually sleeping a bit better.

I still woke in the middle of the night, crying softly, trying to contain the heart-wrenching sobs that threatened to shatter the tranquility at the retreat.

New Year's Eve and Day came and went, and I spent both in bed, reading and blocking all thoughts of a Lux grand opening that would never happen.

Slowly, I started to gain weight and look a little healthier than when I'd arrived. Dr. Stevens suggested calming scents to help me relax and keep my stomach from churning. We started with vanilla, moved on to chamomile, then lavender. I gave lilac a shot, but my currently delicate senses were having none of it, and I continued to spend time close to the bathroom.

Sifting through my cosmetics bag, I hoped there was a little bit of Carmex left over, since that had always been a soothing aroma and balm. From the bottom of the deep pouch I dug out a small container. It wasn't the Carmex. In fact, I'd never seen the generic glass vial.

Curious, I twisted the lid off and held the vial to my nose. I inhaled tentatively, then with gusto. Wave after wave of serenity washed over me.

The oil was frankincense.
The
frankincense that Dane had given me, with the enticing orange tinge that seeped pleasantly through me.

Despite my sudden euphoria, the corner of my mouth dipped. I'd never poured any from the bottle into a vial. And I certainly hadn't slipped it in with my toiletries.

Thinking back to that last day I'd been at the house—before coming here—I contemplated the flannel sheets. Such an inconsequential thing for most people. Yet, for me, they held significance. I broke my recently established rule of keeping Dane's voice out of my head, recalling the morning we'd sat on our patio while I'd tried to get him excited over garland for the hotel.

You promised flannel sheets to keep me warm.

His eyes had bored into me.
No. I promised that
I'd
keep you warm.

Oh, right.
I'd kissed him.

Everything had been perfect that morning.

I brushed away tears as I stared at the vial a few seconds more. Then I dabbed a little of the oil on the insides of my wrists before carrying it into the bedroom and dotting the pillowcases with it. The flannel ones. I'd stripped the bed in mine and Dane's room and brought the sheets with me.

As I drew in more of the rich, enticing aroma, an ominous thought occurred to me.

Had Dane changed the sheet set to flannel and put a vial of frankincense in my bag because he'd known something would go wrong at 10,000 Lux? Had he predicted something horrific would happen?

He'd even gone to the length of telling me—insisting, actually—at our wedding that I contact Mr. Conaway if I ever needed anything … and couldn't turn to him for help.

I settled in a chair and stared at the bed, those sheets.

Had he feared all this time that he wouldn't win this game?

*   *   *

It took a while to get moving again. I'd spent another two days under the covers, telling Dr. Stevens I was okay, just tired. She brought more tea and biscuits, the latter a bit heartier than previously, and I dutifully ate. And waited for the fallout.

Feeling somewhat stable, I eventually left the room.

Gretchen caught me in the hallway. “Are you okay? You're pale again.”

“I'm fine, thanks. Just a bad week.” A shitty-ass start to the New Year, actually.

With a nod, she said, “I can relate. Say, have you tried meditation? It's been helping me so much. You might like it.”

I seriously could not be in my head that intensely for five minutes and definitely not for two or three hours. “I'm gonna pass on that. It's not really my thing.”

She gave me her pearl-white smile that quivered at the corners. As though she was trying really hard to project a positive, healthy image but struggled around the edges. I wondered who she attempted to be so strong for—no one ever came to visit Gretchen. She didn't wear a ring, didn't speak of family or friends. A significant other.

Maybe that was why we'd bonded so quickly. The same could be said for me with the exception of visitation, since my dad stopped by regularly and Kyle was always here.

Gretchen went into the solarium for her daily meditation. I followed her. Chelsea let me come a step or two closer to see her current masterpiece, the Chrysler Building. A photo of it—clearly an Internet printout someone had given her—lay on the table beside her neatly arranged Erector pieces.

She didn't seem to mind the audience, so I thought it was more of a personal space issue, as Kyle had noted. He, however, was able to swoop in and chat animatedly to her, though it was always a one-sided conversation. The only people she spoke with, in very low tones so no one else could hear, were Dr. Stevens and the two rotating certified autism specialists who stayed close to her.

Kyle was at the retreat daily. Not just for me. His aunt offered him a maintenance and landscaping job, since he no longer had work at the Lux.