Winter's Destiny (3 page)

Amy grew more distressed. “But I would have seen that.”

“It must have taken place before you arrived outside. How long did it take you to get from the study to the garden, keeping in mind that you said you didn’t react immediately?”

She thought back. How much time had she lost before her dash down the hall? She’d been in shock. Time had passed, but how much? “Maybe five minutes. Maybe more. I’m not sure.” She rubbed her forehead, and then looked over her shoulder toward the garden. “I’m confused, Sheriff. You say someone carried the woman to a vehicle. If that’s the case, did she come with someone, or did someone come after her?”

The sheriff removed his hat and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. He twisted the cap back into place. “There was a second vehicle.”

“How do you know?”

Dallas considered a moment before answering. “We know a car was parked over by the lighthouse. We’re assuming the person in question parked there, out of the line of sight of your house. Meanwhile, we found tire tracks near the lighthouse that go right over the edge.”

Amy’s eyes widened. Are you saying…?”

“The car was pushed off the cliff.”

Sleep was impossible. Amy tossed and turned; her dreams were a disturbing collage of the evening’s events. The woman’s face appeared repeatedly, awaking Amy each time. Was she seeing that woman or herself? About 2 a.m. she sat bolt upright, bathed in sweat. In the twilight, Dan’s sleeping outline was visible in the next bed. She missed the comforting warmth of his body next to hers, especially tonight. After Jamie was born, he’d replaced their king bed with two doubles, complaining that Amy’s getting up for the baby disturbed his sleep. When Jamie began sleeping through the night, she tried to convince Dan to go back to their king bed, but he refused.

Amy slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the closet for her robe and slippers, and without using lights, went out into the hall. She stopped outside Jamie’s room. The nightlight by his bed cast soft light across his pillow where
Mush,
his favorite bear, was sitting. How had he forgotten
Mush?
He never went to Nita’s without it.
Amy made a mental note to drop it off for him in the morning. She padded down the stairs to the study.

Nagging thoughts of deadlines and unfinished blueprints prompted her to turn on the Mac. She selected a drawing file in the hope of re-focusing her thoughts onto something productive. The floor plan flew open on the big screen, she made a few modifications, but her concentration waned. She closed the file and left the study.

Amy roamed from room to room listlessly, questions stalking her like ghosts.
Who was that woman? Where did she come from? Why did she come here? Why does she look like me? How’s that even possible?
Amy stopped at the door to the library that was tucked off the living room. Old photo albums lined the lower bookshelves. She hadn’t looked at them in years, and didn’t want to now; but maybe, just maybe, they held a clue.

Walking into the room, she dropped cross-legged onto the braided rug, and gazed reluctantly at the albums, dreading their contents, afraid to see the painful memories that they harbored. It was some time before she gathered enough courage to pull out a fat, pink book filled with her baby pictures and images of her childhood.
Our Daughter
was embossed on the cover
.
Reluctantly, Amy lifted the hard cover.

Her mother’s handwriting leapt from the first page. Amy’s birth was recorded as 12:12 a.m. June 2nd, thirty-two years earlier in Beaverdale, a small town southwest of Portland.

A tiny footprint, a miniature handprint, and a clipping of platinum hair, like Jamie’s, attested to her fragile beginning. Further along, old photos of a scrunched little face stared back at her. “Pixie,” she said involuntarily, recalling her old nickname.

Photo after photo recorded her growth and development. The infant blossomed into a toddler with a head of flaxen curls and a mischievous smile, also like Jamie’s. Amy thumbed through the pages and swallowed hard when a 5x7 photo of her parents jumped from the page. She wanted to snap the book closed to protect herself from the memories.
No!

Inhaling deeply, she willed herself to continue. Quickly, she turned the page. This time it was a photo of her dad that stopped her. He’d been gangly and fun loving in his youth, but over the years he’d changed.
He had matured into a wonderful, confident, caring man
. A deep, dark sadness welled up in her
. If only… No! Don’t think about it.

Her finger slid across to an enlargement of her mom--young and vibrant--cradling Amy lovingly in her arms. Photos depicted the years passing happily. Finally, Amy came to the last and final family photo. Her father, his hand on her shoulder, beamed proudly. Her mom had both arms around her. Suddenly, Amy was in the room with them. She could feel the warmth of her father’s strong hand, mother’s excitement, and their protective love. Her mother’s hearty laughter rang in Amy’s ears. “Oh, Mom.” Amy pressed the book close to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dad,” she whispered. "I miss you both so much." The album slipped from her hands…and she wept.

Memories overwhelmed her, memories she had carefully locked out for years. Her father’s excitement at her accomplishments, her mom’s warm embrace, and days filled with wonder and joy. She had loved her parents with all her young being. Then, suddenly, they were gone. Obliterated. A horrific accident. Bodies so mangled that closed coffins were necessary. She’d never had the chance to see her parents one last time and say her
goodbye
. Amy could never get past that. A single word, but so important.

A year of her teenage life disappeared. She fell into an abyss of darkness, grief, and crippling heartache. It was like being hit by a truck at full speed. Her soul had been crushed.

Amy recalled the premonition that haunted her for days before their accident. Afterward, she’d wished she could have deciphered the strange, ominous feeling. Had she been able to do that, she may have found a way to save their lives. Finally, Amy wiped her tears and pulled the album back into her lap. Her mother’s photo stared up at her. Her beauty held an astral quality. Had it foretold her fate?

Amy was hit by the realization, that at age thirty-two, Amy now looked almost
exactly
like her mom at the time of the photo. Amy pushed herself off the carpet and walked to the fireplace mantle where there was a recent photo of herself. She pulled it out of the frame and returned quickly to the library where she placed it beside her mom’s. She stared in astonishment.
We’re almost identical!

And now—there’s three of us...

Amy thumbed through the baby book again, reading the captions her mother had written. Then, one by one Amy searched each family album for a clue to the existence of the woman she had seen at the window. There wasn’t a sign of another child who resembled Amy.

Hours later, Dan’s disgruntled voice awoke her. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

Her eyes flew open. Light streamed in the windows, rays dancing across her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, and sat up, trying to understand what she was doing on the rug in the library. When she remembered, a heaviness re-settled over her.

She trailed Dan into the kitchen. He grabbed the cereal box; she reached for the coffeepot. “You look like shit,” he told her, pulling a bowl from the cupboard.

“Thanks. Want toast with your cereal?” Amy stumbled around the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew.

“No, I don’t want toast.” He pulled the milk from the fridge and read the date. “It’s expiring this week. You need to go shopping, Amy. You know I hate stale milk,” he grumbled, pouring it over his cereal. “You’re not keeping up with things, Amy.”

She sat down across from Dan, eyeing him. Nothing was good enough anymore. She didn’t buy the right groceries, she allowed dust to settle on the furniture, she let Jamie spread his toys across the carpet, and on and on. The complaint list grew longer every week.

He interrupted her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about last night. You’re obviously stressed out. I think this would be a good time for you to take that vacation your firm owes you. Go away for a while. Nita can look after Jamie.” He looked over at her purposely, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued, “You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. Go somewhere for a couple of weeks. I’ll let Nita know.”

Groggily, Amy got up and poured the rich steaming coffee into her mug and held the pot in his direction. He held out his cup and she poured. “No, Dan, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not leaving Jamie. What I am going to do is find out who that woman is, and what’s going on.”

“No! Amy, don’t do that. Leave it alone. You hear me? Things are getting out of hand. I don’t want you making a bigger deal out of this than you already have.” He ate in silence then dropped his spoon. “Damn it, I wish you hadn’t called the sheriff.” He picked up the spoon and tapped the tabletop with it. “Complicates things.”

Surprised, Amy said, “Really? Most people don’t think of the sheriff as a complication unless they’re on the wrong side of the law.” She cocked her head and looked at him intently, once again feeling anger rise within her.
Does he ever care about anyone but himself?
“You know, for a doctor, you’ve got shockingly little compassion for people.”

Dan dropped the spoon and stared at her. “What did you say?”

Amy turned away.
Where did that come from?
The truth was, she was weary of Dan’s self-centered, uncaring attitude. She turned back, her eyes steady on his, “You never care about anyone, except yourself, Dan. It’s tiring.”

He blinked, unable to believe what he'd just heard. “What’s happening to you, Amy? In all the years we’ve been married, you’ve
never
talked to me like this,” he thought a minute and then added, “It’s not like you at all. Of course, we both know you don’t handle stress well.”

She took another sip of coffee, savored the flavor, and inhaled the aroma, praying for revitalization. Mug in hand, Amy turned toward the hall and headed for the stairs.

Dan stood up. “Where’re you going?”

She threw the answer over her shoulder. “Shower. See you tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever you decide to come home.”

Dumbfounded, Dan stared after her.

As Amy drove toward town, she turned up the morning news. Local reports were first, including mention of a woman reported missing near Cape Peril.
There’s the publicity Dan’s worried about.

She pulled up to her Grandfather’s ranch style bungalow within the golf course community, where he once enjoyed a daily round of golf with Grams and his friends. Amy parked behind what she had nicknamed, his
eight-wheel ride
. The van was in the carport, the electric scooter mounted across the extended steel bumper. No room in the garage. It housed a lifetime of keepsakes and memories. What didn’t fit in there had been stuffed into the crawlspace.

At the front door a weathered sign hung above the mailbox, boldly stating,
The Haddens
. Only one Hadden lived here now.

Amy glanced at her watch and pounded on the door. It wasn’t quite eight a.m., but he’d be up; he’d been an early riser all his life. The door opened and Amy leaned across the wheelchair to give her grandfather a warm hug. He smelled of soap. His craggy face was lined with crevices and ridges; his reading glasses perched halfway down his nose, and the hazel eyes peering over them, danced with delight. “Checking to see if I’m still alive, are ya?” he bellowed.

“I know you’re still alive, Gramps,” she replied. “No point visiting a corpse.” Gripping the handles of the wheelchair, she swung it into the living room, kicking the front door closed behind her. “How’re you doing?” she asked him.

“Better, now you’re here,” he hollered.

Amy motioned for him to lower his voice. He refused to wear a hearing aide. “Sorry,” he yelled.

“Get you anything?” Amy looked at his bony frame and frowned.

“Nope. Had breakfast hours ago. Day’s half over.”

“I can hear you,” Amy said loudly.

“Keep forgettin’. Hardly talk to anybody anymore,” he grumbled pointedly.

Amy curled into a corner of the old leather couch that had been in her grandparents’ living room since she could remember. “Something happened at our house last night,” Amy told him. When she saw that she had his undivided attention, she related what had occurred, pausing occasionally for his reaction. Seeing none, she continued.

Even though Gramps Hadden was in his seventies, his mind was sharp. The two of them had always been close. She knew him as well as he knew her. He was the quiet type—a thinker, not a talker. Until sixteen years ago, he had been an astute businessman, opening his own carpet store just after her birth. Under his management the business had thrived, multiplying into a national chain within a decade. Then tragedy struck. His only daughter and son-in-law were killed. He sold the stores, gave the funds over to an investment firm, and became withdrawn and absent-minded. After the accident, he began spending time away from home, alone, at his cabin. Amy’s laughing, fun-loving grandfather disappeared, although he’d been, and still was, one heck of a card player.

He taught her to play when she was two. She learned that he never revealed his hand, at cards, or in life. In later years, they’d play long into the night, Amy vowing to beat him. It finally happened when she was twelve.

Now the old man’s stoic expression aggravated her. She watched for a sign, a twinge, any reaction at all that would indicate that he knew
something
about the woman Amy had seen. But of course, being the poker player that he was, he revealed nothing. Amy concluded by repeating Sheriff Wayburne’s summation. “…the car was pushed over the cliff.”

He sat perfectly still. They eyed each other. Silence hung heavily between them. Amy watched for an indication he knew
something
. Finally, she saw it in his eyes. A flicker. Was it fear? Knowledge?
What
?