The Sugar Hill Collection Page 6

  “I want to go home,” was all I could say.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go home.” We left the base office and rode in the commander’s jeep to our home. We could have walked, really; it wasn’t that far. But I was glad for the ride. As I stared out the window, my head felt funny, like it was stuffed with puffy clouds. Clouds that kept me from thinking or feeling. We made it home, and I immediately went to my parents’ room as if it had all been a joke. I could smell my mother’s perfume, see Dad’s pile of clothing on the floor. His jersey t-shirt and funky socks. I walked to the closet and opened the door. Vertie cried in the next room as she called somebody on the phone. From what I heard, it was a freak accident. Whatever that meant. Stonework from the roof of the hospital fell on their car. Crushed them. Again the clouds filled my head and I felt nothing. Nothing was real.

  I touched my mother’s blue dress. Saw my father’s gleaming black dress shoes in the bottom of the closet. No, all their stuff was still here. They hadn’t left me. This had to be wrong. I took my ball cap off and tossed it on their unmade bed. I crawled into it and got under the covers. Vertie wept between phone calls. I wondered if she forgot about me. I felt tired suddenly, very tired. I thought maybe I should cry too, but the tears had ceased. I couldn’t be sure Mom and Dad were gone; their things were still here. It just didn’t make sense. As I pondered it, the clouds in my head prevented me from thinking too long. I lay there and fell asleep. When I woke up, the afternoon shadows had swept through the room, casting it in a strange blue tint. I didn’t remember that ever happening before. Then I remembered that my parents were dead and not coming home. Not now, not ever. I didn’t cry.

  I didn’t hear Vertie crying anymore either. Perhaps we were all cried out. I slid out from under the green quilt and sheet and walked to my mother’s vanity mirror. Resting on the table was her pink lipstick. I picked it up, opened it and smelled the silver tube. I liked the smell of her lipstick. I rolled it onto my lips, something I had never done before. Just this morning she had kissed me and left her lip prints on my forehead. I pulled my bangs back and searched for the evidence. It was gone.

  The last kiss she had ever given me was gone, and I had wiped it away. I had wiped her away, and now she was gone forever. It was like some kind of evil magic. Then I remembered the cold hand touching my arm. Maybe that was the moment when the magic happened. I had been so angry with her for treating me like a kid—with them both for leaving me out of their day trip.

  And in my anger I had killed them both.

  Chapter Five – Avery

  Tenille’s voice woke me up. She was reading from a book, I think. What was that? Dickens? I hoped not. I hated Dickens. “You are giving me a headache,” I complained.

  “Avery? Did you say something?”

  “Tenille?”

  “I’m right here.” She pressed the call button, and soon my room was a busy place. Like a true friend, she did not leave me but stuck around through the whole thing.

  “You are truly a miracle, Avery. I am so proud of you. Amy bought you those balloons yesterday with her own money.”

  “I love them. Tell her thank you, please.”

  Helium-filled smiley face balloons bounced along the wall among the dozen or so bouquets that filled my room. Glancing in the direction of the flowers, she said, “That’s nothing. You have so many of them, I had to take dozens home for you already. I hate to see what your apartment is going to look like when you get there.”

  “Help me sit up.”

  She pressed another button, and the bed moved up. I felt stiff all over, but the pain wasn’t as acute as the last time I was awake. “Turn on the news, please. I want to see what’s happening in the world.”

  “I’m not sure you want to do that, Avery. It’s probably not…”

  “Please just do it, Tenille.”

  “Fine. Glad to see you’re as bossy as usual.”

  She clicked the button and changed the channel to News Quarter. My face was on the screen. The headline read: Rising News Star Recovers from Brutal Assault.

  “Who attacked me?”

  “They don’t know yet. The police have questioned quite a few people, but so far, no answers. They’ll get to the bottom of it, I’m sure. In the meantime, you have to get well.”

  “I need to go home.”

  “You will, but I doubt it will be today.”

  “How long have I been out? I mean, here? How long have I been here?” I tried to lean forward to sit up more, but everything hurt and there were cords and lines everywhere.

  “About a week. No, make that eight days.”

  “Eight days?”

  “Avery, don’t try to think about all that right now.”

  I felt the tears sting my eyes. I squeezed her hand. “Please tell me what’s going on. What happened to me? When can I go home?”

  The door opened, and a woman walked in. She wasn’t dressed in hospital garb, and I didn’t recognize her. “Glad to see you are awake. You had us all worried.”

  “Thanks, I think. Tell me, who are you? Not to be rude, but I don’t think I know you, or do I?” My brain struggled to stay awake and alert in the medication haze.

  “Well, that’s my fault, I’m afraid. Mine and your Grandmother Vertie’s; she was my only sister. My name is Anne Beatrice Dufresne. My family, which you are part of, calls me Aunt Anne or Miss Anne.”

  “You are my aunt? I didn’t even know Vertie had a sister.”

  “Yes, well, I am her only sister. We also had a brother, Asner. Would you excuse us for a minute?” she said politely to Tenille.

  “It’s okay, Tenille. I’ll be fine.”

  Tenille bobbed her dark head, her ponytail and pearl earrings bouncing slightly as she did.

  The lady pulled a chair close to the bed and muted the television, and we surveyed one another for a few seconds. Anne had a neat hairstyle; it was a bun, but not one of those old lady hair buns. It was neat and timeless, as were her skirt and fitted blouse. They weren’t off the rack or from some cheap department store. This lady knew her clothing. She could have easily stepped out of a magazine from the ’40s. Or today, for that matter. She wore no jewelry, except a watch at her wrist. It had a black leather band, and she wore black leather low-heeled pumps.

  “I came in the nick of time, I think. When I decided to take this trip, I had no idea this would happen. I never knew that the news business was so dangerous.”

  “Neither did I. I wish I could remember what happened to me.”

  “Don’t be in a hurry to remember. Sometimes forgetting is the mind’s way of protecting us from horrible things. Terrible things.”

  I didn’t know why, but I repeated, “Terrible things.”

  “Yes, terrible.”

  My eyes wandered to the television, and I saw my own picture flash on the screen. Through sticky eyes I read the closed-caption subtitles.

  Avery Dufresne fights for her life after being savagely stabbed in a parking garage. Authorities are staying quiet about who they believe is responsible for the brutal assault. Isn’t that the latest information we have, Amanda?

  That’s right, Ed. Despite the fact that Dufresne had just wrapped up a tempestuous interview with now-embattled Senator David Greeley, police do not think the two events are related. We showed you the video earlier, and here’s the clip again. You can see the newscaster and the politician going at it. He stormed off the set, and Dufresne left the building shortly thereafter. It is my understanding that she was under scrutiny for that interview and did not agree with the station’s tough stance on what they called “gotcha journalism.” We spoke with the lead detective on the case, Detective Jamie Richards, and here’s what he had to say…

  I couldn’t believe it. There was my producer on television, talking about me like I was some sort of silly celebrity. As if she read my mind, Anne Dufresne turned off the television.

  “That’s enough of that for now. I don’t know much about the news business, as I said before
, but it seems to me you might be making a career change soon. Which brings me to the reason for my visit.”

  “So you aren’t here to console me? Tell me about a long-lost family that wants to welcome me into the fold?”

  She did not flinch at my sarcastic tone but considered my statement patiently. “Do you need consoling?”

  “I’m not sure what I need.”

  “I know what you need. You need your family. You come from a very large family, and where I am from, the Dufresne name still means something.” As she spoke I saw her as she truly was, a sick, tired woman, with disease in her bones. I didn’t know how I knew this, but I did. She touched my hand, and I knew even more. She would be dead in less than a month from cancer. She thought she would cheat death, take her own life, but it wouldn’t happen. I gasped at what I saw.

  “Please stop touching me,” I whispered fiercely. She did as I asked and didn’t ask me why.

  So focused was she on her speech to me, she hadn’t even noticed my reaction to her. “And I would like it to stay that way. I want you to come home, Avery. Home to Belle Fontaine, to Sugar Hill. That’s where you belong. Where you have always belonged. It’s not too late to take your place with us.”

  “What? What are you asking me? Just last week I had no one, except an unfaithful boyfriend, my co-workers and Tenille. Now I have a family? What do you want from me?”

  She sighed and pulled the chair closer. “Maybe I am too late after all. Well, it’s done, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. While you slept, I gave you something. A ring. Have you seen it?”

  “I didn’t dream that?” I stared at the ring on my hand, the ring I could not pull off if I wanted to.

  “No, that was no dream. That ring has been passed down by the women in our family since the early 1800s. It represents family unity, a single purpose—and much more. I am dying, Avery, as you well know thanks to the ring. I have bequeathed the ring and all that goes with it to you. You must take care of our legacy now. There is no other way.”

  “What? I don’t understand what you mean. Not a word of it. Thanks to the ring? I don’t know if it is the drugs or my injuries or that it just sounds so crazy, but I don’t get it. Are you asking me to go back to Alabama?”

  “I don’t know any other way for you to manage the estate.”

  “I have a career here, in case you haven’t noticed, Ms. Dufresne.”

  “It’s Aunt Anne or Miss Anne. Yes, I hear what they call you. America’s Sweetheart, isn’t it?”

  I frowned at her. “America’s Newscaster.”

  “That is the past. This is the present. Take your time, Avery. When you get better, Sugar Hill will be waiting. You have the ring now, and it won’t let you go.”

  “I can’t promise you anything, Miss Anne.” I liked that better than Aunt Anne. I couldn’t bring myself to think of her as an aunt yet. I tugged at the ring under the covers, but it wouldn’t move. I’d have to get someone to help me take it off after the old lady left.

  “You don’t need to promise. You have the ring. It will bring you home when the time is right. I have to go now. Your cousin Mitchell is in the waiting room, and I have to get ready for my trip home.”

  The sound of that disturbed me. It sounded so final, like she was giving up. “But you just got here. I know nothing about you.”

  “I have been here a week now. And I did what I came to do.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Her dark silver curls looked silky, so much like Vertie’s. Yes, they had been sisters. I could see that now.

  “So that’s it. You stick this ring on my finger and leave?”

  “I have left you everything you need to know. I have dozens of journals that explain everything, as well as Grandmother Margaret’s recordings. You’ll learn what’s expected, and you’ll do what you’re asked. I have no doubt that you will be the best matrone we’ve ever had. And that’s it. Maybe I will see you again. I am not sure.” She stood and looked down at me. Not with a loving, grandmotherly look but like she was a general assessing a soldier about to step into battle. She nodded to herself and gave me a small smile. “Everything has changed for you now. I hope you won’t come to hate me later.”

  “Why would I hate you?”

  “Goodbye, Avery Dufresne. Take care of our family.” Reaching for her shiny patent leather purse, she gave me a steady look and left the hospital room. I felt the urge to cry, something I rarely did, but no tears came. Somehow I knew that I would not see her again. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the ring felt warm on my skin for the briefest of moments as if it were a witness testifying in a trial. Was this a trial? My reporter’s mind rattled with questions, but chasing after her was impossible unless I wanted to drag the IV machine with me. The door opened again, and I sat up a little taller. I hoped Anne was coming back, but it wasn’t my long-lost great-aunt.

  It was Jonah. He wore a ridiculous black jacket—in the middle of the Georgia summer—and too much eyeliner. He held a handful of cheap flowers.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him with steel in my voice. For him, I would definitely make the crawl to the doorway. If only to throttle him and shove him out of it. I might not know what day it was or what exactly happened to me, but I did remember he was a cheating bastard who had humiliated me in front of the entire world.

  “I came to see you, love. To see if you are all right.”

  “Get out!”

  Depositing the ugly flowers on the wall table, he walked toward me with his hands outstretched. “Listen, Andy tells me you are going to be okay. Candace told him I should come see you, that you needed me. I want to help, Avery.”

  “For the last time, I am warning you. Get out. Now!” My temperature was rising along with my fury. “I am not telling you again.”

  “Don’t be unreasonable, Ava-baby. Look, I am sorry for what happened…”

  I wondered how hard it would be to reach for one of those vases. But before I could manage to grab one, the unwieldy large glass vase flew across the room and smashed Jonah on the shoulder. Glass flew everywhere, and I gasped at the sight of blood on his neck and the side of his face.

  “What did you do that for?” he shouted at me. Another vase shook on the table, as if it were threatening to smash itself against him too. What was going on? My skin felt clammy, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck rose like kites on a breeze.

  Less forcefully I said, “Jonah, get out.” A nurse stepped in behind him and squealed. Great, she was a fan. Jonah was rushed away, and I was left to watch the cleaning department tidy up the mess.

  “Avery? What’s going on? I heard Jonah yelping like a dog. I guess you finally kicked him to the curb?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Tenille. Can you find my doctor? I want to go home. I shouldn’t have to wait, I have been here long enough.”

  “Sure, I’ll find someone to help us. Should I call Candace?”

  “Hell no. I don’t want to talk to that woman.”

  “Uh, okay…”

  Six hours later, my only true friend took me home to my lonely apartment. I made my way through the stacks of cards, letters and teddy bears that littered the living room. Tenille stayed to heat up some soup she’d made for me, and I decided to take a long hot shower. For the first time in over a week, I had a chance to look at myself. My roots were showing, my eyes sported dark bags under them—I looked like a junkie. I carefully removed the loose sweatshirt and sweatpants that Tenille brought me. Thankfully we had managed to sneak out of the hospital without any media spotting me. Candace had been blowing up my phone for the past hour, but I didn’t answer. I had nothing to say to her. Imagine her sending Jonah to the hospital! She had some damn nerve! But what happened after that? How had I moved the glass vases? Did I do that? Was I hallucinating? I stared at the ring suspiciously.

  I turned on the shower and for the first time in over a week really looked at myself. I was taken aback by the long, evil-looking scar on my neck that reach
ed to the top of my breast. I had smaller red scars on the other breast, but the doctor said the cuts weren’t deep. Thankfully, the bastard who did this didn’t quite have the guts to stab me deeply enough to really endanger my life. Except for the one long slash down my body. It was the blood loss that almost killed me. And according to Dr. Stauffer, I had died on the operating table. But the excellent staff at University General had resuscitated me, and here I was. How weird was that. I had died.

  I leaned forward to see the wound closer. I wiped at the steamed-up mirror and peered at the top of my shoulder. Dr. Stauffer said that there was no permanent damage. No major organs were hurt, and cosmetic surgery would hide the scar. But it would be a long process, and I would need plenty of time to rest. I heard a tap on the door.

  “Yes?” I called to Tenille.

  “Avery, I have to go. Kevin has to go to work, and I don’t have a sitter for Amy. Will you be all right? I left your soup on the counter.”

  “I will be fine,” I answered in my fake, I-am-a-confident-woman voice. “Go home to Amy. Kiss her for me.”

  “Okay, but call me if you need me. I’ll come by in the morning.”

  “I’ll call if I need you, but don’t bother coming by. I will probably sleep for a few days.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “Bye, Tenille.”

  “Bye,” she said, sounding a little sad that I wanted to be alone. She would just have to understand. Carefully I crept into the shower. I wasn’t supposed to get the wounds wet, but I didn’t give a damn. It stung like holy heck, but I washed my hair and body. By the time I finished cleaning away the hospital smells, I was ready to crawl into bed. Maybe I would eat just a couple bites of soup.

  I slid the shower door back and reached for my fluffy pink robe. I slid the soft fabric over my body and wrapped my hair in a towel. I patted my face with the end of the towel and froze.

  Scrawled on the mirror in big letters were three words.

  GO HOME, AVERY.

  Chapter Six – Dinah Sweatt