3. Ava
3
AVA
Helena, Montana
Everything that could possibly go wrong seems to go wrong. I’m running incredibly late and with no means of communication, Morgan must be worried sick. My new phone’s battery got fried during its very first charge. By the time I realized it, it was too late to get a replacement because I ended up getting lost in the middle of nowhere. Even worse, my on-and-off breathing problem has made me stop more than I wanted.
This morning, I have no choice but to arrive unannounced and apologize for ruining my best friend’s honeymoon. I feel guilty as hell, but I know Morgan wouldn’t go without knowing I’m safe.
“We’re almost there, baby,” I try to comfort Quinton. Crying is a recurring theme for him this morning as he bawls once more.
While I can manage the exhaustion and the drive itself, the constant need to be on high alert is taking a toll on me. But we all have to arrive in one piece, so I’ll just have to prop myself up and make it.
“Where’s your giraffe?” I’m on a narrow stretch of road, and I can’t stop. So I just have to rely on Elmo to comfort my boy. Elmo nuzzles at him, persisting to cheer up his little boss even though the pup is clearly worn out.
Despite all the commotion, a smile finds its way onto my face as I admire the scenery spreading before me. The first rays of sunlight slowly pierce through the horizon, casting gentle shades of pink and golden yellow onto the Montana sky as if painting a fresh masterpiece. A reward, a greeting, a much-needed reprieve.
I crack open my window, letting in the crisp air and the fresh scent of nature. The gentle touch of the breeze brushes against my skin. This may not be the typical ‘me time’ that people talk about, but it’s enough to convince me today’s going to be alright.
The address that Morgan gave turns out to be a small house several miles outside Helena.
As soon as I pull over, my best friend runs to me, screaming my name. She pats me all over as if looking for injuries. “You’re okay? What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine, Morgie,” I reply, concealing my panting. “Long story. But… I’m sorry I’ve ruined your honeymoon.”
“Don’t be silly! Nothing is ruined! Where’s baby Quinton?” Morgan looks around.
“He’s in there.” I gesture at the back seat. “Word of caution, he’s been very cranky this morning.”
“Hey, Quinnie-Bear!” Morgan greets him, trailing her fingertips along his rosy cheek.
Quinton gapes, unsure what to make of my best friend.
“Do you remember Aunty Morgie?” I tell him, starting to unbuckle him from his baby seat. He wriggles impatiently. I won’t blame him if he doesn’t want to see that mini-throne in the near future. He’s been sitting there too long. I wrap my arms around him as Morgan gently touches his thin hair—it’s so soft, with long strands here and there, almost like candy floss. “Say hello to Aunty Morgie.”
“Mo!” he says.
“Yes! I’m Morgan.” My best friend erupts in excitement. “Of course you remember me.”
“Don’t get too excited, Morgie. He’s calling the dog,” I say with a laugh.
Morgan glares at me playfully, then helps Elmo out.
We unload the car while the dog explores the space, and Quinton plays on his favorite mat, which he hasn’t seen in three days. Toys that Morgan bought seem to interest him, but as usual, the giraffe teether isn’t far from his reach.
Finally, I have time to hug my best friend. “I would’ve been trapped with Willem forever if it wasn’t for you. He sent the invitations already without me knowing.”
“What an ass!”
“And he sent me some ideas about my hair—you know how he always wanted me to straighten my curls. He thought they were old fashioned.”
“No, no, no! Your curls are the eighth wonder of the natural world. I’ll kill whoever dares tell you to straighten them! You only do it if you want to.”
My hair isn’t in the league of the Grand Canyon or Mount Everest, but for sure, I won’t let anyone tell me what to do with it.
Morgan adds, “Well, you’re out of the house. That’s your Neil Armstrong moment.”
I watch Quinton, grateful for our safe arrival. “You’re a little warm,” I mutter as I check on him. “You’re tired, aren’t you? ”
Morgan proudly announces, “I’ve prepared a room for him if you want to let him sleep there.” She scoops up Quinton, and he looks at her like someone has just sounded a stranger alert. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” Morgan says disappointedly. “And here I thought you inherited your mother’s hyperthymesia.”
“Well, Mrs. Biologist, you’re not doing yourself any favors using words like that. He’ll think you’re Aristotle’s daughter,” I chuckle.
Quinton trails his fingers across Morgan’s cheek, bringing a smile to her face. “What about your mommy’s memoria eidetica ? I’m sure you have it.”
People say I have a photographic memory, but I see it as a tool for my art rather than a superpower. As for hyperthymesia, that’s just my friend exaggerating. I’ve never been diagnosed with it, and I don’t remember every detail of my life as the condition suggests. I simply have a strong recollection of things.
Suddenly, Quinton starts crying.
“Quinton, it’s Aunty Morgie. It’s okay,” I try to coax him to stay with Morgan, but the boy rebels, trying his best to get to me.
“I guess your mommy’s right. You can’t stand Latin,” Morgan remarks, handing Quinton over to me. “Or maybe I look like an evil clown—the worst company for any baby.”
“Nonsense!” I deny. My best friend is gorgeous, with her big brown eyes and a classic, elegant smile like Sophia Loren’s. “He’s just a fussy baby. Apart from me, my parents, and my babysitter, he doesn’t want to be with anyone else.”
Morgan ponders. “So he remembers me?”
“Of course,” I reply.
“But he doesn’t like me?”
I shake my head and laugh. “He likes you. It just takes time for him to show it. He’ll warm up to you,” I reassure her. “You can speed up the process if you’re willing to wear the Paw Patrol sunglasses for him.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s his favorite show, and those sunglasses have dog ears on the sides,” I laugh. “Although they’re buried somewhere in there.” My hand gestures toward the bags scattered on the floor.
“I doubt it’d make a difference. It’s me—proof that I’m not cut out for motherhood yet.” She shrugs casually. “Anyway, come on in. This is Quinton’s room.”
I gape in awe when she leads me into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which she had converted into a nursery. “Morgie… you didn’t! See, Quinton. Aunty Morgie did all this for you.”
“Everything is there. Diapers, powder, sheets, blankets, bottles—you name it. Oh, and that’s your glider. The lady at the store assured us it’s the best.”
With its plush cushioning and tall backrest, there’s no doubt that I’ll be able to breastfeed Quinton comfortably there. “And you think you’re not cut out for motherhood?” I comment. “Really, are you sure you and Tyler…”
She smiles. “Not yet, Ave. Remember, I’m five years younger than you. I’ve still got the advantage of youth. Ty is on the same page. He’s happy to wait.”
Sometimes, I forget our age difference. Because it’s never mattered, even when she was three and I was eight when we first met. Now I’m twenty-seven. I never thought I’d be a runaway fiancée, ever, at any age, but the blessing of baby Quinton outweighs all the downsides of my choice to stick with Willem. And my bestie is the one who keeps me sane and optimistic.
“You and Ty are a match made in hea—Helena,” I quip .
“Well, speaking of my husband, I should let him know that you’re here.”
While Morgan makes the call, I take the time to settle Quinton in the crib, singing to him, and his eyes finally shut. “Sleep tight, baby.” I kiss him, then rejoin Morgan.
“Tea?” Morgan offers.
“Please.”
Morgan leads me into the kitchen. “I’ve stocked up. You’ve got everything you need here. No chamomile tea, though.” She winks and then reaches for two bags of Lipton.
I chuckle appreciatively. No, I won’t have to smell chamomile ever again.
We make ourselves comfortable on the two-seater couch in the living room.
Morgan starts, “This is a stupid question, but I need to ask, Ave. Are you sure no one is following you?”
If anyone else had posed that question to me, considering all the effort I had put into ensuring my own safety and protecting Quinton in the past few days, I would punch them in the face. But my friend has every right to ask. She has put herself on the line for my sake. And she has experienced her own share of danger, having been pursued relentlessly after surviving a murder attempt. She understands firsthand what it’s like to be on the run, constantly trying to stay one step ahead of those chasing her.
“Someone tried to chase me when I was entering Utah,” I admit. “But let me tell you, I drove like Max Verstappen at the Miami Grand Prix.” That makes Morgan cock her head. “Well, actually, I drove like my mother!”
We laugh. We both knew she was the epitome of L.A. taxi drivers in the nineties—efficient, talkative, and slightly insane.
I glance at Quinton’s room and add, “With passenger comfort in mind, of course. ”
“I trust you know what you’re doing.”
“They lost me, Morgie. I was sure of that. I went the long way around, always checking if anyone was on my tail.”
She responds with a hint of pride, perhaps reminding me of the valuable tips she once gave me. “I’m proud of you.” She pauses, then asks another question. “And you didn’t tell any of your work friends?”
There’s a special bond among courtroom artists. I’ll miss them. But I couldn’t risk it, considering the close connection between the media, the justice system, and Willem. His company plays a crucial role in the California Department of Justice database network and has won a bid to expand to the federal level.
“No one, Morgie. I told absolutely no one,” I answer.
She acknowledges me with a nod, then sips her tea.
As I look out the window, all I see are vast green fields. I can’t help but wonder, “Do I even have a neighbor around here?”
“Um… about half a mile on each side.”
I quirk my lips sideways. “Okay.”
“Ave, you’re not in California anymore. You have to get used to seeing more cattle than humans.”
“Hey, I’m not a city brat, you know. I can handle rural!”
Morgan giggles. “The next town is only four miles away. The stores there are pretty good. And you’re not that far from the city. By city, I mean the Red Mark HQ. Ty has arranged for the guys to come check on you every day.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“You can never be too careful. Willem will suspect you’re in Helena with me, but I rented this house under a fake name. So there’s nothing that ties this place to you or me.”
“Thanks, Morgie. ”
“Besides, I won’t be here. So there’s no chance of Willem kidnapping and interrogating me.”
Fright and confusion drive me to frown. Frightened because I can’t bear the thought of my ex torturing my best friend and confused because I’m not sure what she means by ‘I won’t be here.’
Morgan laughs, perhaps noticing my expression. “I mean, damn, I’m still going on my honeymoon!”
I ambush her with a joyful hug. “You managed to rearrange your bookings?”
“Ave, good things happen to good people!” she teases me. “When you didn’t show up two days ago, Ty and I took a chance at rescheduling everything instead of canceling. We gave ourselves until today. If you hadn’t turned up, we would’ve canceled everything because it would mean you were in serious trouble.”
“Are you still meeting your researcher friend in Antarctica?” I ask. It seems that my best friend, who’s a wolf researcher by trade, can’t resist combining wildlife with romance, even on her honeymoon.
“Hell yeah. He’s stationed there long-term, so getting there a few days late won’t matter.”
“Luckily, there’re no wolves in that part of the world. Imagine all the penguins!”
Morgan laughs. “Nature knows how to take care of itself.”
Suddenly, Morgan gets a call. She answers. “Yeah? Oh, good… She’s here. Yeah. She’s safe.” She then waits for a while to listen. “No! No, don’t you dare turn around! You hop on that plane, and we’ll see you soon.” She raises her eyes to me, sparkling like her wish-upon-a-star has just come true.
“Who’s that?”
“Your babysitter.”
“What? ”
“Not Quinton’s. Yours .”
This is the second time my friend confuses me in a matter of minutes.
Morgan laughs again. “After all, you were right. There won’t be any need for the Red Mark guys to check on you.”
“Morgie, who was that?”
“It was Jack, silly!”
Warmth fills my chest as if sparked by crackling firewood. Yet, amid these sensations, strange numbness consumes me. This wasn’t part of my plan. The man who has haunted my dreams, the man I never expected to reenter my life, will soon be standing here beside me.
“Jack? Why?” I murmur.
“I called him when you didn’t show up as planned.”
“And he’s still coming even though I’m here?”
“He is still coming because you’re here! As we speak, he’s boarding a plane bound for Helena after a layover at LAX. So he should be here this afternoon.”
“Morgie, tell me, what did he say when you gave the sketch to him?” I finally have the courage to ask her the question. When I drew it, it was really my heart that penciled every stroke. It was how I saw him, how I remembered him. The fear of rejection held me back from ever discovering his reaction.
“He asked why you were too chicken to give it to him yourself.”
“Come on, I’m serious.”
“He didn’t say anything. But his eyes did. He was torn. I tried to nudge him, hoping to change his mind about moving to Hawaii. I sought his brother’s assistance to convince him to join Red Mark so he could be in Helena and have a chance to reconnect with you. But his loyalty remained with the Marine Corps. ”
I let out a hopeless sigh. “I miss him. But life is life. I have to put Quinton first. Jack is just a dream.”
“Well, he won’t be for much longer. He’ll walk through that door in a few hours. And when he does, tell him. Don’t make any excuses, like you won’t do it because the guy has to express his love first. I know you’re not that kind of woman.”
I shake my head. “There’s something about him that makes me kind of…sad. Not just because of the tragedy he had to endure as a child.” I pause, unable to fathom his plight, being taken away from his family when he was only seven. “There’s something else. I’m usually good at reading people, but with Jack, I don’t know what to expect from him.”
“You’ll never figure out a man, Ave. You just have to take the ride and navigate every turn with him, impromptu.”
“Geez, Morgie. You sound like you’ve aged ten years! What has Tyler done to you?”
“In a good way, right? Ty has done wonders for me. He annoys me sometimes, especially with his tardiness. I understand, though. His job isn’t the nine-to-five kind. And neither is mine, for that matter. But I love him—everything about him, including the surprises—good or bad.”
“I don’t know if what I have for Jack is love.”
“That’s another thing you won’t figure out until it’s too late.”
I pause for a moment, then reach a conclusion. “Perhaps it’s already too late.”
It’s true. The moment was brief, but it was love. I loved him because he made me feel safe even though I didn’t know what to expect from him. This feeling wasn’t solely a result of my dismal choice with Willem. It was because I felt a sense of rightness with Jack. There was no one else in the picture, and that remains true even today.
“It’s just us now,” I say to Quinton, who is now wide awake after Morgan leaves for the airport. “Do you like your new home?”
He turns away from me.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” I rub his back. “I know it’s not as big and colorful as your old room, but we’ll find a new place soon. And I promise I’ll paint those animals on the wall again for you.”
“Ma…. ma… ma…” He hasn’t quite mastered the word ‘mama’ yet. Random sounds like that only happen sporadically.
“What is it, baby?”
Once again, he avoids me, crawling away.
“You don’t want my company?” I tickle him with the giraffe teether, and he giggles. If he had a dad, I would’ve called him right away, giving my baby a break from seeing his wearied mother. As if the words are drawn out of my throat, I whisper, “Jack will be here. Can you say ‘Jack’?”
Quinton grimaces. His distress tells me it’s not because he’s responding to Jack’s name. My little boy starts kicking around in discomfort.
“What’s wrong, baby? You’re still tired, aren’t you?”
Despite cradling him for an hour, he still refuses to calm down.
I give in and opt to switch on the TV, hoping it will divert his attention. Just in time, Quinton becomes engrossed in his favorite show, Paw Patrol . I can’t recall how he grew to love it, especially since the show is usually targeted toward kids two years and older. I guess it’s all about the colors and the dogs.
“Po po po,” Quinton babbles, pointing at the cartoon canines in their helmets, flying around using their superpowers.
In the meantime, I find the missing dog-ear sunglasses and start to play peek-a-boo with him.
But he loses interest in the show, and my funny faces behind the shades don’t amuse him anymore. His complaints turn loud, but then he abruptly falls silent and lies limp on the mat.
“Quinton?”
He’s never been like this before, and he’s burning up with a fever.
My chest tightens. I wish I could absorb whatever is troubling my baby, but nothing seems to work. This must’ve been what my mother went through when she took me to the hospital one night. I was only five, but I vividly recall her distress and the sensation of my head ready to explode. Despite her meltdown, she rushed me to the emergency room. And it saved my life.
I bundle Quinton in a blanket and get ready to take him to the hospital. Elmo sprints to catch me at the door, but after hearing my command to stay, his paw nails click against the floor as he tries to stop himself. The pup then sits and watches me with a pitiful expression as I leave the house.
I buckle Quinton in his seat, and he retaliates, crying loudly. I guess it’s better than silence. “I know you don’t want to be in this thing, but just one more time, okay?”
He keeps crying all the way to the emergency room.
A doctor immediately tends to Quinton.
After being given some acetaminophen, the boy begins to drift off to sleep. According to the doctor’s assessment, it appears that Quinton is having difficulty adjusting to the change of weather.
“Give him plenty of fluid,” the doctor advises. “Also, you can put him in lighter clothing. I know it’s Montana, but we do have warm days here. Like California in spring.”
I thank the doctor and leave the hospital in relief. With Quinton sleeping soundly, I think I’ll finally be able to steal a nap until Jack arrives.
On the way back to my car, I spot two men sauntering along the garage. They are dressed in casual attire, but something about their demeanor makes me feel uneasy. They seem to be walking aimlessly at first, but then they approach me. One of them has a beard, while the other is taller and more muscular. They both wear baseball caps pulled low over their foreheads, obscuring their features.
As they get closer, I instinctively tighten my grip on Quinton while hastening my steps.
But they follow, and soon, the taller one glues his back against my car door, blocking it.
“Are you Ava West?” he says, his tone unnerving.
“No. You’ve got the wrong person.”
“We couldn’t help but notice your little one. Is that baby Quinton?”
The bearded man, who has remained silent, hooks his arm around my elbow. Finally, he speaks. “Don’t be foolish, woman. If you do, you and your baby will end up in the ICU. Well, I guess you’re already in the right place, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to toy with that possibility.”
The men drag me into their van, shoving me inside. All I can think about is protecting Quinton.
“You put something in your fiancé’s drink before you left, didn’t you?”
This can’t be! I knew Willem wasn’t just one man, but to be caught so quickly, with Quinton in my arms? I don’t know what I’m going to do.
“Well, your fiancé is dead,” he continues. “So you better keep your mouth shut, or you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail for murder.”
My blood runs cold, and my throat constricts. Willem is dead? That’s impossible! I measured the dose carefully. It couldn’t have killed him!
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, baby Quinton will suffer the consequences. Stay silent, and we can negotiate.”
Although still wearing their caps, the men seem to have let their guards down now that we’re on the move. They don’t even bother hiding their faces. The bearded man bears a resemblance to Zach Galifianakis from The Hangover , but sinister. On the other hand, his taller companion has a distinct set of rounded features.
As if realizing that I’m studying them, the taller one strikes me on the head.
Everything blurs and disappears, only to reappear as if it were a trick of the light.
I find myself lying on the grass. Alone.
“Quinton!” I call out in panic, only to hear my own voice echoing through the park. With every attempt to rise, I feel the weight of my throbbing head dragging me down. A metallic tang fills my nostrils, the scent of my own blood. I ignore my body trying to tell me to slow down. I scour the park, screaming out his name. But my baby is nowhere to be found.
“No…” I sob.
I don’t know where I am, but I can see the Capitol’s dome in the distance, so I’m not far from the city. Overwhelmed by dread and despair, only guided by instinct, I slowly make my way to the one place where I might find hope—Red Mark.