Chapter 3

She unlocked the back door and stepped into the kitchen.

Otis burst past her, scrambling across the slippery tiles to his water dish.

The bite of alcohol fumes slapped her in the face. The pile of sodden paper towels lay on the floor, and tiny shards of glass sparkled in the sunshine streaming through the window. She heaved a heavy sigh. No magical cleaning fairy had made an appearance while she and Otis were out.

Her cell phone rang, the plastic case vibrating across the countertop where she’d left it. Grabbing the phone, she studied the call display. Punching the Answer button, she raised the phone to her ear. “Aunt Clara, how are you?”

“Hello, dear.”

“What’s up?”

“I just got back from Palm Springs. My flight arrived this afternoon, remember?”

Guilt flooded Athena, and she smacked her hand on her forehead. She’d promised her aunt she’d pick her up at the airport, but in all the stress she’d forgotten. “Oh, Aunt Clara. I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

“That’s okay, dear. I got a ride share. I know how busy you are.”

Clara’s statement hung in the air.

Athena grimaced. Her aunt was well aware Athena’s days were spent watching television cooking shows, surfing the Internet, walking Otis, and struggling with her sobriety. She’d had plenty of time to meet Clara at the airport, but no energy to defend her forgetfulness, so she kept silent.

“How are you doing?” A note of concern crept into Clara’s usually cheerful voice. Her mother’s sister was Athena’s only surviving relative. Athena, as a young, grieving orphan, had moved in with her aunt after the tragedy that changed her life.

Those first months living with Clara had been a nightmare—for both of them. Athena was a traumatized twelve-year-old, reeling from the shock of her parents’ sudden, mysterious disappearance. Clara was a single woman with no commitments, and she liked to travel. Her carefree lifestyle ended when Athena was thrust upon her doorstep, but she’d welcomed her niece with loving arms and showed remarkable compassion for the emotionally bruised and battered girl.

Athena would never forget those dark months. Inconsolable and immersed in her unimaginable loss, she’d lived in a world colored in shades of gray and black. Clara’s boundless patience and unconditional love broke through the walls surrounding Athena and helped her heal. Realizing her aunt was speaking, she shoved the painful memories away and forced herself to listen.

“Palm Springs is beautiful. You’d love it…everything’s so green and lush. It’s hard to believe I was in the middle of a desert.”

“Did you manage to get in much golfing?” Even though she suffered from arthritis, the elderly woman was an avid golfer and spent most of her days on the golf links.

Clara chuckled.

Athena closed her eyes and let the familiar, warm sound wash over her like a comforting blanket.

“I was out every day. I’m finally getting a handle on my backswing.” Clara cleared her throat. “But I didn’t call to talk about my adventures. What about you, dear? How’s everything?”

Athena made a face. Even though Clara hadn’t said the exact words, everything was about one, single thing—her drinking. “Fine. Just fine.” The blatant fib tasted bitter in her mouth.

Clara clucked sympathetically. “Hang in there. You’re doing your best. You’ll get this under control, and before you know it, you’ll be back at Schuster & Corbin.”

Her throat thickened at her aunt’s unfailing confidence. She had Athena’s back even if her faith in her niece wasn’t warranted, especially not today.

“What’s wrong, dear? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.” Clara’s concern radiated down the line.

Athena rubbed the back of her neck. Her first inclination was to lie again, but Clara was her biggest supporter on this difficult journey to sobriety. She deserved the truth. “I…I had a drink today.”

A heavy silence, sparked with faint static, filled Athena’s ear. She visualized Clara’s mouth set in a disapproving line.

“Oh, my dear. What happened? You were doing so well.”

“It was just one drink. I—” She stopped. Who was she kidding? If the bottle of vodka hadn’t smashed on the floor, her one drink would have turned into a second, and then another, and another until the bottle was empty. “I’m sorry. I know I promised you I’d quit, but…” Again, her voice trailed off. “A…a letter came in the mail today.” She licked her dry lips.

“What sort of letter?”

Athena’s throat worked, and she struggled to swallow. “A registered letter, addressed to Margaret Anne O’Flynn.”

Clara gasped.

“It’s from a Vancouver lawyer.” Athena inhaled a shaky breath. “Has…has anyone contacted you recently?”

“No, dear. No one at all. I would have told you.” A pregnant pause, and then Clara asked the million-dollar question, “How did they find you?”

“I don’t know, but they did. After all this time, they tracked me down.” Tears stung her eyes.

Another long silence. The fridge motor hummed, a car’s engine rumbled, the tires swishing on the pavement in front of the house. Somewhere down the block, a dog yapped.

“What…what did this lawyer want?” Clara’s voice was rough, as if tears coated her throat.

“I don’t know. The letter didn’t specify.” Athena tapped her fingers on the countertop. The staccato beat was strident in the silent kitchen, but her nerves were strung tight, and she couldn’t stop. “The lawyer wants to meet with Margaret O’Flynn regarding an important personal matter. Apparently, it’s urgent.”

“Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want this.” Clara’s voice broke, and she sniffled. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I understand how you must feel, but have you considered this meeting could involve information about your parents? Maybe this lawyer knows something about what happened.”

Athena stopped tapping and squeezed her hand into a tight fist. “Or maybe it’s a ruse to lure me into the open. Maybe the nightmare’s starting all over again.”

“You have a tough decision to make. If you ignore the letter, you’ll always wonder. Or—”

“I know.” Athena heaved a sigh. “I…I should meet with this lawyer and find out what she wants. I mean, what could it hurt? Right?” Her laugh was brittle.

“Promise me one thing.” Clara cleared her throat. “Promise you won’t have another drink. No matter what this lawyer wants, or what you decide to do about the request, promise me you’ll stay sober.”

Even though the hunger for a drink and the sweet oblivion alcohol promised raged through her like a wildfire, Athena promised. And she meant every word. She wouldn’t drink, not anymore. Not today, and God willing, not tomorrow.

“I’m so proud of you, dear. Your parents would be too.”

Tears filmed her eyes. “Thanks, Aunt Clara.” She ended the connection and tossed the cell phone on the counter. Her aunt’s unfailing confidence in Athena’s ability to stop drinking was misplaced but gratifying. Someone believed in her.

Tearing off more paper towels, she squatted and mopped up the spilled liquor. She dumped the sodden paper towels into the garbage can and strode to the closet and retrieved a broom. Sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan, she discarded the mess into the garbage. Washing her hands in the sink, she dried them on a towel. Her chores completed for the day, she wandered into the living room. Clara was right. Athena had a decision to make—ignore the letter or meet with the lawyer and find out what the hell she wanted.

Otis was stretched out on his bed in the corner by the gas fireplace. He opened his liquid brown eyes as she passed, and his tail thumped the floor in greeting. In another second, his eyelids drooped closed again, and a loud snore rumbled.

Her gaze fell on the envelope lying under the coffee table, and a chill rattled through her. What was she afraid of? She wasn’t a frightened, traumatized child. The past couldn’t harm her. Not anymore. Inhaling a deep breath, she picked up the envelope and tugged the letter free. Sinking onto the couch, she smoothed the paper on her lap.

The letter was typed on official letterhead paper from a Jennifer Smythe at Smythe & Sons, Attorneys at Law, situated at 365 Palmer Avenue in the heart of downtown Vancouver. She scanned the salutation.

Dear Margaret Anne O’Flynn.

She flinched at the long-unused name. Twenty-three years had passed since anyone had called her Maggie O’Flynn. After her parents disappeared without a trace from Shelter Island, the press’s relentless fascination with the tragic story had elevated a horrendous time into pure torture.

Reporters had camped on Clara’s front lawn, their cameras pointed at every window. They dug through the trash, called the house phone at all hours of the day and night begging for interviews, and followed Athena and her aunt everywhere, blasting them with questions they couldn’t answer.

Going to school was impossible, so Clara had homeschooled her. Isolated and stuck inside, the months after the tragedy were the most frightening and loneliest of Athena’s life. The constant spotlight added to her heartbreak.

When the media attention became too much, Clara sold her house. They packed up their belongings and moved across the country, staying in one city after another for a month or so before moving on and ending up in Calgary where no one recognized Athena as that “poor, pitiful child whose parents deserted her.”

The person she was then, Margaret Anne O’Flynn, needed the space to rest, and even, maybe, to be forgotten. A few months later, Clara helped Maggie change her name. Maggie enjoyed the Greek mythology stories her father had read to her before bed. Her favorite goddess amidst the pantheon of Greek deities was Athena, the goddess of wisdom, courage, and warfare.

She loved the strong and powerful name. Athena symbolized everything she wasn’t, everything she hoped one day she’d become. And so, she’d shed her old name like a second skin. Maggie O’Flynn disappeared, and Athena Reynolds was born. Years later, she made the name change legal.

But now this Vancouver lawyer had tracked her down and wished to speak with her as soon as possible on an extremely important and time-sensitive matter. The letter ended with a plea for Athena to call and arrange a meeting as soon as possible. The paper crackled as she crumpled it in her fist.

How had the lawyer tracked her down? The question rang through her aching brain in an endless refrain. Few people who knew her as Athena Reynolds were aware of her birth name. After she’d changed her name, and with the many moves around the country, the media lost track of her whereabouts. Neither she, nor Clara, had been contacted by a reporter in years.

But someone had tracked her down. Someone knew her true identity.

Was Clara right? Could the lawyer have information about Athena’s missing parents? If so, that was the ultimate bait guaranteed to draw her out of hiding. She licked her dry lips. What if the lawyer was working for Angus Crawford? The pounding in her head intensified to a deafening booming, and the overwhelming, bone-deep ache for a drink raged through her like a Category Four hurricane. She tossed the ball of paper across the room where it landed on Otis’s front paws.

He raised his head and sniffed at the paper ball. His ears pricked, and questions shone in his expressive eyes.

“Sorry, boy. Poor shot.”

He yawned, exposing sharp, white canines, laid his head back on his paws, and closed his eyes.

She sank back on the couch, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging a blue velvet throw pillow. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and released the air from her mouth, focusing on the slow rise and fall of her abdomen. The furious pounding in her heart eased, and a heavy exhaustion settled over her. She drifted off to sleep.