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ELIZABETH
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AS SOON AS I HEARD the sound of small feet running toward the door, I forgot about Khalid Nouri, Astrid, Red Cliffs, the Cosmo and the Baker Block altogether.
Sam opened the door and little Jacob flew into my outstretched arms.
“Betty! Can we make cookies?” he asked and closed his little arms around my neck. “I’m feeling much better.”
Only my parents and, in some special moments, my partners, called me Betty. And little Jacob Wakefield. His logic was simple—his great-grandma’s name was Elizabeth, and everyone called her Betty.
I lifted him up and showered him with kisses. God, he smelled so sweet. I could spend a week cuddling and kissing him, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Do we have all we need?” I asked as I walked with Jacob in my arms to the Wakefields’ living room, avoiding trucks, trains and cars scattered all over the floor.
“We have chocolate chips,” Jacob said.
“Good. That is a very important ingredient.”
“Thank you so much for coming tonight, Elizabeth,” Sam said and kissed my cheek.
“No problem, Sam. You know I never mind staying with Jacob.”
Jacob tapped my shoulder. “Molly was in the hospital. They cut her stomach open and took out a worm.”
Molly McLaren, a hospital nurse, and Jacob’s on-call babysitter, had had an emergency appendectomy a few days before. She adored the boy and, according to Mrs. Fontaine, had been in love with his father forever. Sam seemed unaware of her feelings. Molly was twenty-three, a decade younger than Sam, and he treated her like a younger sister.
I planted a kiss on Jacob’s cheek. “A worm, you say? Well, it looks like a worm, but it’s a small part of our intestines. It’s called an appendix and our bodies don’t need it.”
“Why do we have it then?”
“Good question, Jacob,” Sam said. “We still have it because it takes nature some time to remove it from all human bodies for good. Mother nature isn’t as quick as doctors. Jacob, tidy up your room, will you? We don’t want Elizabeth tripping over your toys and hurting herself. No TV after nine o’clock. Elizabeth will tell you when it’s nine, okay? Don’t forget to brush your teeth. Come here, buddy, give Daddy a kiss so he can be happy and safe all night long.”
“How’s Molly doing?” I asked Sam.
“I just phoned her. She’s recovering fine.” Sam took Jacob from my arms and hugged him. “Elizabeth,” he said over his son’s shoulder, “if Jacob has a fever, give him Tylenol syrup. Five milliliters; the spoon is in the box. What else? Aha. I made a meat sauce for dinner, it’s in the fridge. Just cook pasta. It’s in the pantry.”
“I brought some chicken soup,” I said.
“Thanks, Elizabeth. You’re wonderful. So, Jacob, your choice—chicken soup or pasta. Or a little bit of both. All right?”
“All right, Daddy. And then me and Betty can make cookies, can’t we?”
“Betty and I, Jacob,” Sam corrected him.
“Betty and you? Aren’t you going to work?”
Sam ruffled the boy’s hair. “You say Betty and I, not me and Betty. Sure, you two can make cookies if Elizabeth doesn’t mind.” Sam turned to me once more “You have my phone number. I’ll call you around ten anyway. Thanks again. I have to go now.”
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AFTER THE SOUP AND pasta supper, Jacob and I baked cookies with chocolate chip eyes and smiles. Molly phoned and talked to him, and then to me about the right temperature for his milk, his bath, his preferred pajamas and books I should read to him. Sam also called to check on us.
Around eight o’clock I checked Jacob’s temperature one more time. It was normal. We curled up on the couch to watch Monsters Inc., his favorite movie.
Or better, Jacob was watching it, laughing, commenting, telling me what would happen next, while I enjoyed watching him and listening to his laugh, holding him in my lap, stroking and kissing his soft, brown hair, breathing in his scent.
I didn’t have siblings or cousins. When I was born, my parents’ generation already had their grandchildren. I was loved, adored and shielded, but I was a lonely child, surrounded by adults. As I grew up, I’d started dreaming of a big, noisy family of my own.
My life, however, didn’t seem to be heading in that direction. My past relationships had been nice and easy, but not passionate and fulfilling.
Some time ago, somewhere after my parents’ deaths, I’d started panicking. I was approaching thirty, and I could hear my biological clock ticking. The age limit for childbearing had been pushed toward a woman’s late thirties, true, but I couldn’t wait much longer. What if I never met Mr. Right? What if I met him when it was too late for me to have children?
My mind and my body screamed for a child, but I was either alone or in a relationship that didn’t make me complete.
I’d realized I couldn’t leave the fate of my maternity in the hands of a man who might or might not come into my life. Before I came to Rosenthal, I decided to give myself one more year, and then to focus on “achieving pregnancy with no male partner involved,” as the brochure of one of the donor insemination clinics I’d recently contacted had stated.
In less than two years I could have my own baby. A baby to love, a little boy to hold and to sing to. To feed him with my breasts. Or a baby girl, to read her the same bedtime stories my parents had read to me. To watch her sleep. To tell her how much I loved her over and over again.
When the movie was over and after we sang the closing song together using Jacob’s coloring pencils as microphones, I scooped him up and carried him to the washroom.
“Come on, let’s brush our teeth and then I’ll read you a story.”
I squirted toothpaste on our toothbrushes and we cleaned our teeth, making funny faces in the mirror.
I took a super-quick shower and put on my nightwear. After that, Jacob and I read a book together about a little monster Leonardo, who couldn’t scare anyone, and then another one about a pigeon who dreamed about driving a bus. Jacob was the Pigeon and I was the Bus Driver, and then we switched roles. And then we read all his favorite books, one by one, eight in total.
It was already ten o’clock when I tucked the blanket around him and kissed him goodnight.
“Betty,” he said in a sleepy voice, “can you be my mom? I promise I’ll be good.”
My breath hitched. I was glad for the dim light in the room so that Jacob couldn’t see the rush of tears in my eyes.
I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Jacob, I can’t be your mom, but I can be your friend, or aunt, sort of.”
“Molly said that, too. Why can’t you? I’d like you or Molly to be my mom. My mom will never come back.”
How on earth could a child of four accept the fact that his mother had left him? I wish I knew how Sam had explained it to Jacob so that I could know now what to say.
I knew just a little bit about Sam’s short marriage. A quiet family life hadn’t been much to his wife’s liking. A B-movie actress from Los Angeles, she was soon bored and unhappy in Rosenthal. Six months after she had given birth to Jacob, she left her son and her husband and returned to L.A.
They divorced and Sam got full custody of the boy. Mrs. Fontaine, who told me this story the first time I volunteered to babysit Jacob, said Jacob’s mother had never contacted Sam to ask about her son.
“You’re a good boy, Jacob. The best I’ve ever known. And I’m sure your mom loves you. You didn’t do anything wrong. She had to go, and she could not take you with her.”
“My dad would be sad if my mom took me with her.”
“Yes. He loves you very much.”
“Why did my mom have to go?”
“She didn’t feel well, maybe. It wasn’t easy for her to leave, you know.” Well, at least I hoped. “But she loves you nonetheless.”
“May I sleep in your bed? Molly always lets me.”
I smiled and uncovered him. “Phew, I thought you’d never ask, Jacob Wakefield. I’m kind of afraid of the dark, but if you stay with me, I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go.”
Jacob jumped into my arms and I carried him to the guest room. I put him into bed and lay beside him. I wrapped my arms around his small body and pressed him against my chest.
In no time we were both fast asleep, all our monsters firmly locked in the closet.
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JACOB WAS STILL SLEEPING when Sam returned the following morning. I had made a pot of coffee and started peeling vegetables for the alphabet soup I’d promised Jacob we’d make later.
“How’s Jacob?” was Sam’s first question.
“Fine. He didn’t have a fever, ate well and slept soundly. How was your shift?”
Sam grabbed two cups and poured us coffee. “Quiet, but then it’s seldom wild here in Rosenthal.”
“Sam, why don’t you sneak in beside Jacob? He’s sleeping in the guest room. I can stay for a few more hours.”
“Can you? Thank you so much. I’m so tired. I think I’m catching a cold.”
I snatched the coffee cup out of his hand. “Then you don’t need this. Have a sandwich and go to bed. Yours, mind you, if you think you’re coming down with a cold.”
Sam rubbed his chin. “Did you talk to Molly last night?”
I confirmed. “She wanted to see how Jacob was doing. Why?”
“I stopped by to see her on my way home. She barely talked to me. I don’t remember doing or saying anything to make her angry.”
“You don’t have a clue, do you?” I said, grabbing butter, ham and cheese from the fridge.
Sam’s face was blank.
I decided to help him put two and two together. “Perhaps she’s frustrated because you don’t do and you don’t say anything.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I looked straight into his eyes. “I mean a date. A dinner at La Petit Maison, for example.”
Sam looked at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted an extra head. “A date? With Molly McLaren? She’s a kid!”
“No, she isn’t. I suggest you take a closer look at her, Sam. You’ll be surprised.”
Sam was shaking his head, but I knew I’d put a bug in his ear. Now we’d see how things would unfold.
I wanted to ask Sam something else, though. “Did you know Astrid Mohegan, the young doctor who worked here a while ago?” I asked as I placed the plate with food and a glass of milk in front of Sam.
A smile spread across his face. “Of course, everybody knew her. She lived here for about a year. We hoped she’d stay. She fit in here so well, like you.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I like it here, too.”
“Rosenthal is a close-knit community. Quite picky when it comes to newcomers. I mean, everybody’s welcome, but not everyone becomes a part of the Rosenthal social fabric. Astrid did, the day she arrived. Funny thing is, she was a quiet and private person, yet still everybody loved her. She was very nice and down to earth. She bought that tiny house where you live now and drove a second-hand car.”
“I hear she’s an incredible doctor.”
“That she is. She worked here both as a trauma and orthopedic surgeon. She seems young to have one specialty, let alone two, plus she came here with a few years of experience. It’s said some people are born healers. Astrid was like that.”
“A born healer? What do you mean?”
Sam took a bite of his sandwich, chewed it and washed it down with a gulp of milk. “It’s an interesting story,” he said. “I’ll never forget it. I was there one evening when they brought in a family that was in a car accident. The mother was clinically dead. Paramedics said there was no chance in hell to save her. Well, Astrid reanimated her. Don’t ask me how. It shouldn’t have been possible, yet she did it. And then, there are other things. All her patients recovered in record time. Mortality rate—zero. Last month I got the vital stats from that year. Guess what? There have never been more babies born in Rosenthal, and not a single person died in the entire town during the year Astrid was here. Coincidence? I don’t know. Maybe. But she definitely radiated positive energy and vitality, no question about that. She was one of those people who touch everybody’s life for the better.”
Hmm. Sam’s story only added to the mystery surrounding Astrid and the people connected to her. I poured more coffee into my cup and refilled Sam’s glass with milk, thinking about the floor in my bedroom that kept bugging me. “Do you know she had a nightingale floor in her house? You know what a nightingale floor is, don’t you?”
Sam nodded. “I believe Astrid came here for a reason, possibly to hide. I mean, look, she studied at the most prestigious medical schools in the country and abroad, worked in Seattle, she was rich—bought that house with cash—and all of a sudden, she comes here to be a small-town doctor. And,” he scratched his head, “while she was here, she used a different name—Rosalie Duplant.”
“What? Why?”
“Yeah. Strange, isn’t it? You know what I think? Jack Canagan came here to protect her. That was my impression. The Blakes were here for the same purpose. Within weeks they were all gone. First Astrid and Jack, and then the Blakes.”
“I see. Lottie’s in contact with Astrid. She seems fine.”
“Whatever her reason was to hide here—if she was in hiding, that is—it doesn’t seem to be a problem anymore. She travels all around the country to do the most complicated orthopedic surgeries.”
I’d bet Mrs. Fontaine knew all this and then some, but she was keeping it to herself. “How did Rosenthal accept the Blakes?”
“Another surprise, they loved them. Dr. Blake was the hospital CEO. He was well liked and respected. The staff adored him. When he left, he donated some serious money to the hospital.”
“And his wife? She was an interior decorator, right?”
“No, she had a real estate office here. Nothing big.” He paused. “Livia Blake is an unforgettable woman. Very beautiful.”
“And Astrid?”
Sam nodded. “She’s pretty. Tall, feminine. Light hair, blue eyes. She looks, I don’t know, ethereal, willow-like. Think Tolkien’s elf-queens. Livia Blake, well, her beauty is of a different kind. Absolute, timeless, like ... like ... some ancient goddess, but at the same time,” here Sam stopped, searching for the right description, “earthy, sensual, primal. Sexy as hell.”
Holy smoke! I knew Sam had a minor in art, but still. Queen Galadriel and Aphrodite, no less! I’d hoped he would help me to find some answers, but it seemed to me I had more questions than before.
I didn’t know what to think about these women and men everybody liked but no one seemed to know much about. Normally, I wouldn’t give them a second thought, but I had a feeling my own life was about to get tangled up with theirs whether I wanted it to or not.
Khalid Nouri may easily become the Baker Block and the Cosmo’s owner. Besides the obvious links that tied him to two people who used to live here, I was sure there was a deeper reason for his sudden interest in restoring a few buildings in a small town in the middle of nowhere.
What was I missing? Was Rosenthal the clue? Astrid’s year in hiding? Khalid Nouri’s accident? What were those rich, mysterious people, whom the very picky Rosenthalers had accepted as their own, up to?
“Do they worry you? All these little peculiarities?” I asked.
“That’s another oddity—no, they don’t. And I’m a policeman. I can’t explain, but I trust those people completely: Astrid, Dr. Demir, Dr. Blake, Mrs. Blake.”
“Sam, one more thing. The men of this story, what do they look like? Are they as handsome as their women are beautiful?”
Sam shrugged. “Not really. I’m no expert in male beauty, but Tristan Blake looked average to me. Mediterranean type, like Italian or something, you know, a tad darker skin, hazel eyes, black hair. Ahmed Demir, too. Slightly overweight, also of dark complexion, although Lottie says he has shed lots of weight recently and looks really good now. Jack Canagan, well, he’s in a different league. A damn good-looking son of a gun. Like a movie star. Tall and handsome, brown hair and brown eyes. Or maybe green; I didn’t pay attention. Rich. Confident.” His eyebrows rose. “Hey, is this about the Cosmo and the block? Is Jack’s company interested in investing? You know he’s in real estate?”
“I know, but we might’ve found a different primary investor.” I told him about Khalid Nouri and ArtePolis. “He’s Ahmed Demir’s cousin. I’ve never heard about him or his company, but then, his business is Europe based. My partners checked him out, though. He’s legit.”
“If he’s Dr. Demir’s relative, then everything’s okay,” Sam said without hesitation. “I can guarantee you.”
I stood up and cleaned the table, thinking about Sam’s words. Mrs. Fontaine seemed to share his opinion. “Thanks, Sam. I just wanted to know who we’re dealing with. Now go to sleep. Sorry for keeping you up so long, I know you’re tired. Are you working again tonight?”
Sam yawned. “No, I’m off till Friday. I was thinking about taking Jacob to the movie theater tomorrow if he’s feeling okay.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will be. Why don’t you take Molly with you? I bet she’d love to go.”
“She’s still recovering from surgery.”
“She might be fine by tomorrow.”
Sam turned and walked briskly from the kitchen. “Women,” I heard him grumbling. “God knows what they’re up to.”
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JACOB AND I HAD A WONDERFUL day together. We made French toast for breakfast and played with his train set. Later we went to Rainbow Rain, a nearby ice cream parlor, and then to a toy store. We had lunch, read more books about the mischievous pigeon, and assembled the Lego racing car from the box we’d bought earlier.
Sam slept until late afternoon, and then he and Jacob gave me a ride home.
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AS I STEPPED INTO MY house, I saw my answering machine button flashing red. Who would phone me here rather than on my cell phone, I wondered, realizing the next moment that I hadn’t heard my cell phone ringing since yesterday. I dug it out from the bottom of my purse. Of course, I’d left it on vibrate.
Between eight o’clock last night and now, there had been one voice message and two missed calls, all of them from Khalid Nouri. Plus, a message on my landline.
I pressed the button on my answering machine and a deep, sensual baritone, slightly edgy, filled the room.
“Miss Chatwin, this is Khalid Nouri. If you happen to hear this message before midnight, or perhaps the one I left on your cell phone earlier, please phone me back. If not, tomorrow morning will be fine.”
“Damn,” I cursed quietly. It was “tomorrow evening” and I still hadn’t phoned back the man I hoped would give me my dream job.