The next morning, which was late afternoon, she was awakened by Abraham, who tapped her leg. Avery sprang awake and sat up disoriented.
“Geeze, Avery!” he exclaimed once she crawled out of the teepee, having not remembered crawling into it in the first place. “What the heck happened to you? Are you okay?”
“What?” she asked, her mouth so dry and the consistency of a cotton ball that had been stretched apart and placed on her tongue. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“What time is it?”
“After one,” he said. “Mom said to come and get you for lunch. She tried calling, but you weren’t picking up. Did you-did you get drunk last night, Ave?”
“What? No!” she answered indignantly. “Of course not.”
“Then what happened?” he prodded and helped her to her feet. “Were you in an accident?”
“Long story,” she said. “Let me grab a shower. I’ll be down in a half hour, okay? Then I can tell everyone at the same time.”
“Sure,” he said and made sure she got to the bathroom safely. “Oh, and Dad’s home.”
Great. Her father was going to lose his mind when he saw the state she was in. He already wasn’t happy about her going to bars and such with her friends. He’d wanted her to take the full scholarship to Cambridge she’d been offered last year to follow in his footsteps, but her heart just wasn’t in it. She’d already taken two and a half years of classes online and was already working in her field of choice. She fully anticipated Abraham following in their father’s footsteps, though. He was a brilliant young man. Avery just preferred art over science. It was hard for her father to understand, but he was still supportive of her choices.
In her bedroom, Avery stripped in front of the full-length mirror mounted to the wall and gaped at the bruising on her body. Her summer tan hadn’t begun fading yet, but she could still see purple and blue and dark magenta bruising on the right side of her body, her ribs to be exact. Her forearm had a thin line of a bruise that probably perfectly matched up to the railing width at that bar. And somehow, the edge of her forehead where her hairline met her skin was also bruised, that one was small and only about the size of a dime. She hadn’t needed stitches, but there was a tiny bit of bruising around the small cut on her chin. All in all, she was a wreck. It reminded her of the time she’d gone riding with Renee at her house and had been bucked off and hit the wooden fence enclosing the outdoor pasture instead of the plush, deep grass on the other side, of course. She hadn’t broken bones that time, either, but it had hurt just as much as last night’s debacle.
She hit the button for music and listened to the Lakme Flower aria duet. It was one of her favorites. She loved opera, used to take lessons when she was younger. Music was very important to her parents, and each child either learned an instrument or was taught the importance of using their voice as one. Abraham, Ephraim, Joy, and Faith all played the piano. Her father, she, and Kaia played the cello. And Cyrus and Finn played the violin. Her father’s mother, Elsa, had been a cellist in the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. Her own mother played the piano when she was young but didn’t so much anymore. But she was a great lover of the classics and insisted the children learn. Her father explained that it made better mathematicians, so it was a no brainer.
As she shaved the pale blonde hair from her legs, the greatest tenor of all time, Signore Luciano Pavarotti began the first strains of Nessun dorma from Puccini’s Turandot. It always made her tear up when he surrendered to the sheer power of his vibrato and let it loose. Thank God for men like Pavarotti that he recognized his given talent and shared it with the world. She had never experienced the pure bliss of surrendering to anything or anyone with total and complete trust and ease. It would be a freeing feeling, but Avery was not able to let go of herself in that way. It was also what probably held her back in reaching complete satisfaction with life. Her life was blessed. She knew that much, but there was something missing that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But her father wholeheartedly believed in never stopping learning and striving to better oneself. Maybe that’s just what she felt. The lack of complete intellectual fulfillment.
Avery braided her damp hair and dressed in khaki slacks and a pale blue polo shirt and matching cardigan. Slipping her feet into the worn brown leather loafers she’d left in the living room the other day, something caught her eye. She walked over to the back of the sofa and picked up the discarded brown leather jacket almost the same color as her loafers. A lot of memories about last night flooded back into her brain in a rush. She suddenly remembered that man, Tristan, coming up into her apartment earlier. He had complained about the lack of a lock on her door. She remembered that part and showing him the teepee. Avery groaned to the empty room with embarrassment and felt her cheeks reddening. What had she been thinking?
She hung the jacket on a hook down the hall and touched the small screen near the door to shut off the final strains of Madame Butterfly.
Rushing to lunch with her family, Avery entered through the main glass door and shut it behind her. The comforting scents of their home and her mother’s cooking greeted her. The house was filled with the smell of her father’s favorite meal, beef tips with mushrooms and Swedish dumplings braised in red wine and served over mashed potatoes. It reminded him of home.
Her father had grown up very privileged, had private tutors and a house staff, as he called them, which included maids and a cook and an estate manager. They lived in a home that was more castle than house, passed down for many generations. His mother and father both were quite famous, each for their own accomplishments. Her grandfather was a nuclear physicist like her father and had passed away three years ago, exactly six months after his wife. And her grandmother was not just a famous Swedish opera singer, she traveled the world sharing her talents. Her father was an only child. He was raised with the best tutors, who were told that Hugo should not have free time to laze about. He’d never seen a television program until he’d studied at university. He’d never been to a party until he met her mother. He was literally all work and no play. Ophelia had changed him for the better. Now, he believed in a healthier balance, but they still didn’t own a television.
When she walked into the kitchen, the kids were carrying trays of food and stacks of dishes to the long table.
“Avery,” her father said and walked over with outstretched arms.
“Hi, Dad,” she said and walked into his embrace and stood there a moment reveling in the spotlight he managed to shine down upon each of his children when he was home.
“I heard your contract was accepted by the hospital,” he remarked.
“Yes, it was,” she said, pulling back.
If she was hoping to tell the family later, or preferably never, about what happened, then that wasn’t going to happen. Her father’s blonde brow furrowed deeply, and he grasped each of her shoulders to hold her further away from him for inspection.
“Avery, what happened to you?” he asked.
“What do you mean, Hugo?” Ophelia questioned and walked over to them as she removed her apron. “She’s… oh, my! Avery, darling, what…?”
“It’s alright. I’ll explain everything once we’re seated,” she said. “I’m fine. I promise you.”
Her father’s scowl didn’t disappear as they took their seats. Her mother led the prayer, and the second it was over, a thousand questions flew at her at once. She took her time and explained everything to them slowly. Joy started crying.
“Joy Elsa Andersson, stop that nonsense at once, young lady,” her mother scolded. “You’re scaring your little sister. Avery is well and in one piece.”
“Thanks to the help we received, I came out unscathed. Well, mostly,” she said, trying to draw the attention back off of Joy, who could be rather emotional about most things. Kaia, on the other hand, was ready to go to town and hunt down that Steven person. She had a bit of a temper.
“That’s very fortunate, darling,” Ophelia remarked.
Her father said, “I don’t know about that. This is a serious matter. The police should’ve taken a written statement from Avery. I’m going to go to town after lunch to speak with whoever is in charge of the police department. That man who did this needs to be held accountable.”
She then told them about the bouncer. “And one of the men who helped me, his name was Tristan, he took me to the emergency room last night. Then he brought me home.”
“Avery, why didn’t you just call me?” Ophelia asked and toyed with the pearls around her neck. Her mother looked elegant and lovely today in a pale-yellow dress and her pearls.
“I didn’t want to wake you. It was late, and the children were in bed. I knew you would be, too. He was nice. I felt like after what he did, I could trust him enough to take me to the hospital.”
Outside, the sun hid behind clouds, and a light rain began to fall. She always liked the rain. Today it felt a little gloomy, though, in the wake of things.
“Oh, and I lost my phone,” she remembered. “I need to go back to that place before they actually open tonight so I can see if someone found it and turned it in.”
“And you are sure the doctors gave you a clean bill of health? You seem awfully bruised,” her father commented with concern. He was so protective of his family.
“I’m fine,” she said. He had no idea how bruised she was under her clothing. All he was seeing were the few small ones on her face.
“No concussion?” Hugo questioned, to which she shook her head. He took a sip of his red wine. Ophelia had convinced him about ten years ago to drink wine with his dinner for his heart health. It was the only alcohol they allowed in the house.
“Wow, only nineteen and already involved in your first bar fight,” Abraham teased.
“Abraham, that is unacceptable, young man,” her father scolded.
He was always the disciplinarian, which explained why they respected him and also why they sometimes ran wild, too. He wasn’t around a lot. Maybe a few days per week at most. Their mother’s way of raising children was definitely a lot more lenient. She wanted the children to explore and get dirty and be adventurous. She took their education very seriously, knew the importance of it having studied so hard to get where she was, but also wanted them to experience a well-rounded childhood, as well. That’s how it usually was around here, a little bit crazy with a lot of dirt mixed in. When their father was home, they studied harder, were more cerebral, and spent a lot of time reading or talking with him. When he was gone, all bets were off. They still did their schooling and took it very seriously, but they were ten times more vigorous about play time and outdoor exploring.
“Sorry, sir,” Abraham apologized and sent a conspiratorial wink to Avery.
“We must repay this young man who helped you,” her father stated. “Does he live around here?”
“Um…not quite,” she stated and looked at her mother with pleading eyes. She returned Avery’s stare with a blank expression. “I…I think he’s one of your patients, actually.”
“One of…oh, dear. Tristan. Yes, I do have a patient named Tristan. Tristan Driscoll actually.”
“He’s in the military?” her father asked.
“Yes,” Ophelia answered him. “I’ve been treating him for about…three weeks or so I would guess.”
“Is he dangerous, Ophelia?” Hugo asked his wife. Of course, that would be the first thing he’d ask knowing the types of people her mother treated.
“Dangerous? That’s a relative question, my love,” she answered without saying too much. Patient confidentiality was important to her mother. “But I do think we should thank him for coming to our daughter’s rescue.”
“It wasn’t that dramatic, Mom,” Avery corrected. It was every bit that dramatic and more, but she didn’t want to scare her parents.
“Perhaps, he shouldn’t come around here anymore,” her father said, surprising her. He was never uncharitable like that.
“Hugo!” her mother said, immediately trampling on the idea with just the speaking of his name in that tone. “Tristan Driscoll is not mentally ill. He’s not dangerous, either. Well, not to Avery. He just…well, it’s not for me to reveal. And he’s my patient, love. I decide if it’s not safe to continue treating them. You know I’d never put the children in danger.”
Avery didn’t like the idea that her mother probably still thought of her as one of the ‘children,’ but figured it wasn’t about to change anytime soon.
“I don’t want our daughter hanging around with your patients, Ophelia,” he said. “You are treating men with traumatic stress disorders from the things they’ve seen in war. That could make them very dangerous.”
She stopped him again by holding up her hand. “I think we’ll bake some cookies tomorrow. Monday you can deliver them to the base yourself, Avery. How’s that?”
Ophelia wasn’t asking her. She’d already made up her mind. Avery had no desire to see Tristan again. One, she was humiliated at her behavior and for whatever behavior she couldn’t remember. And two, he was a dangerous man, despite her mother’s assessment of the otherwise. She saw what he was capable of last night. Plus, from what she could remember, he’d insulted her, called her a kid. There was also something dark and sinister about Tristan, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps it was her women’s intuition kicking in when she was around him. Now she had to hand deliver cookies?
“Um, I don’t think that’s really necessary. I thanked him,” she said, sounding rude to her own ears.
“Avery, the man stepped into harm’s way to help you,” her mother said in a tone that did not merit argument. Like her father, Avery knew when not to push. Her father was sixty-one, but she’d learned in the nineteen years since she was born not to test Ophelia’s temper. Getting on her bad side was not smart.
Ophelia was looking at her husband, who nodded but set his mouth in a tight line of disapproval. His thick, light brown beard wrinkled when his mouth turned down. His eyes, the color of Avery’s, narrowed on his wife. She figured they’d be discussing this further later in private. Avery felt bad if she was about to cause conflict between her normally peaceful parents. Around them, the excitement of Avery’s ordeal died down, and the conversation morphed into many conversations between two and three people in groups. Avery glanced up from her food to see her father staring at her with concerned eyes. She offered a small smile to let him know she was okay.
“So, Avery, you secured the hospital account, yes?” he asked later when he came up to her in the kitchen putting away leftovers.
“Yes, they liked my ideas and the new design,” she told him proudly.
“That’s wonderful, Avery,” he said. “Very well done, my dear.”
She was redesigning the entire website and platform for the Canton branch of the Cleveland Clinic, ironically the same hospital she went to last night. Her field of choice was graphic design and website makeovers. Most companies in America hadn’t changed their sites in decades, and it showed. They weren’t as functional as they could be, nor were they attractive or eye-catching. Her specialty was using original artwork and design that she would sketch, upload, and manipulate to make each site unique and not reproducible. This was her third big sale this year. She worked with smaller accounts in between the huge deals to make her bread and butter money. She was set to bring in six figures by the end of the year. Last year she’d broken her first year of six figures, well above actually, and this year would be substantially greater with this final account signing on. It couldn’t have happened at a better time, too. She’d just finished a national ad campaign for a grocery store chain.
“Thanks, Dad,” she accepted graciously.
“Any more thoughts of studying at Cambridge next year?”
And they were back to this.
She shook her head and tried to hide her sigh, “No. I don’t think that’s for me. I liked the campus when we toured it. It’s not that. I just like doing this.”
“She can always go at a later date, Hugo,” Ophelia said, stepping into Hugo’s arms and hugging around his waist. “She’s only nineteen.”
Her mother always defused everything. From the children’s quarrels to her and her father’s differences of opinion on her career choice. Ophelia put her psychology degree to good use just in her own home.
“She’s really good, my love,” her mother praised, making Avery smile.
“I know she is,” he said in an exaggerated tone. His accent grew thicker when he was upset. It was starting to get those undertones of a Swedish import now as he spoke. “Of course, I’m proud of your accomplishments, Avery. Don’t think I’m not. I just want to make sure you’re using your abilities to their fullest.”
“I know,” she said. “Hey, I think I’m going to run to town and check on my phone,” she said. “If they don’t have it, I’m going to go to the phone store to purchase another one.”
“Sure, darling,” Ophelia said.
“First, I want to stop at Renee’s and see if anything else happened,” she said, explaining that the other soldiers took them home.
“Be back before it gets too late, Avery,” her father said, two lines of worry demarcating his thick blonde brows.
“I will,” she promised. “If I’m going to be too late, I’ll call.”
“Make sure that you do,” he said in an uncharacteristically overprotective manner.
They were what people called ‘free-range children.’ Avery had heard them called hooligans or wild child types, but that wasn’t the case at all. They were simply misunderstood by people who were raising their children in a more mainstream manner. Her father’s worry was odd. He usually tried to adhere to Ophelia’s less worrisome, more independent way of rearing their kids with certain freedoms that propelled them into adulthood. She wanted them to make mistakes, fall down, take their licks. She, being a psychologist specializing in childhood trauma, wanted her children raised helicopter-parent free.
After dinner, her father went upstairs to his office to work, and the children went about their own ways. The boys took off for the woods, and the younger girls decided to play dolls in the tree house their father had built when Avery was still young. Kaia was going to work with her mother studying for a big exam she had coming up in molecular biology, an advanced college class she was taking online.
She drove to town, which took about fifteen minutes and went straight to the bar. The silence in her small SUV was almost too silent after being in the presence of her family for only a few short hours. Avery turned on talk radio for company and listened as the host discussed a severe flu going around with a professor of macrobiotics from a small research college in southern California. It sounded quite severe.