Noah ran and giggled near the shore.
Happily he played in the sand, a small plastic boat in his hands . . . a boat that was the perfect replica of the Bloody Mary. “Where did you get that?” she asked him, and he looked up at her, his smile wide enough to show off his perfect little baby teeth. “Uncle Kelvin,” he said clearly. “He gaved it to me.”
But that was impossible. Kelvin died before Noah was born. Her son never had the chance to meet him. “It was Uncle Kelvin’s boat?” she said, clarifying. Maybe someone else had given the toy to her son.
But Noah was shaking his head, his blond curls catching in the sunlight. “He gaved it to me.” He looked up then, his eyes much wiser than his age. “Why don’t you believe me, Mama?”
“But I do—”
He frowned suddenly. “You don’t believe anyone.”
“Noah, that’s not true. Why would you say such a thing?”
He looked up at her innocently and said, “Daddy told me.”
“Daddy?” she whispered as the sun seemed to go down and her son faded from her sight. “Noah?” she called as darkness descended, and she found herself on the deck of the Bloody Mary, the storm raging. Sails whipped wildly and the wind screamed. Rain lashed the deck as the boat pitched and rolled. Jewel-Anne screamed as if in horrid pain. . . .
And then she was with Noah again, her perfect little son, a child she never thought she’d have after her series of miscarriages. So precious. A miracle. Born right after the storm. She hardly remembered much of the pregnancy, had thought she’d had the flu in the early months.
“Three, you’re coming around . . . Two, you’re surfacing, coming closer . . . One . . . And you’re back,” she heard, awakening to find herself in Cheryl’s studio. She looked down at her arms, empty. No baby to hold.
“You were in the boat again,” Cheryl said softly. “You were screaming.”
“I know.” Ava felt weighted down and weak. There was so much she couldn’t remember about that night, so much grief and sadness. She’d tried through her sessions with Cheryl to learn more about the tragedy of Kelvin’s death as well as her son’s disappearance, hoping the hypnotist would unlock some memory her brain refused to recall. Now, though, she wondered if it was maybe best that she couldn’t recall all the details of that horrifying night.
Both Khloe and Jewel-Anne seemed to have trouble forgiving her for suggesting the boat ride that day. God knew she’d mentally beaten herself up about it, even though she knew it wasn’t her fault. But sometimes it felt like there was something else. Something just out of reach, if she could just remember.
“You okay?” Cheryl asked, concerned.
“There’s that question again.”
Cheryl smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes.
“What?” Ava demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Yes . . . something.”
Cheryl glanced away for just a moment, then said soberly, “It’s just that I think you should be careful.”
“Okay . . . scary. Why?”
“Things aren’t always as they seem or what we want them to be. There’s a lot of bad blood out on the island. You know it. I know it. And sometimes I can’t help myself. I worry about you.”
Ava thought about Tanya’s comments but said, “Don’t,” to Cheryl, touching her surprisingly cold hands. “I am careful, in my way.”
“Good,” Cheryl said fervently.
“Maybe we could get together, next week?”
“Yes . . .” But Cheryl’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere, and Ava left feeling more unsettled than when she’d arrived.
Cheryl closed the door of her basement and leaned against it, waiting for Ava to head down the street. Her expression was sober. Dealing with Ava Garrison was always difficult, and sometimes Cheryl didn’t know if she helped or hurt her.
“Help her . . . you always help,” she reminded herself as she walked back to the room where they’d just ended their last session. A few of her cats swarmed around her feet and she smiled, then reached down to pet each head. Merlin, her long-haired stray, slipped into the next room, his gray tail twitching a bit. Cheshire, her overweight tabby, and Olive, the skittish tuxedo cat with white toes, white chest, and white whiskers splashed upon her black coat, trailed after her.
“Watch out,” Cheryl scolded as she entered the room, closed the door, and went about straightening up. She folded the blanket that had been tossed over Ava’s legs and put her notebook into a desk drawer. She blew out