The Wife Stalker(40)
“That’s enough, young man.” Leo gently pushed Evie from his lap, rose to his feet, and stood over Stelli. “You will not be disrespectful.” Taking the boy’s hand, Leo led Stelli from the room.
Piper watched this little drama, exasperated, and wondered how Leo was going to handle it. “Would you help me clean up, Evie? Then we can have our pudding while we watch the movie.”
“Okay,” Evie said, and began to clear the dishes.
They were halfway through Wonder Woman when Leo finally came downstairs alone and joined them in the family room. Piper was dying to know what had transpired, but she didn’t want to disappoint Evie by interrupting the film. Finally, after Leo had tucked Evie into bed and returned, she asked him.
Leo shook his head. “He ranted for a while. He was so angry. I’ve never seen him so angry. I finally settled him down, and we talked about old times.” He pulled Piper closer to him on the sofa. “This has been a much harder adjustment for him than for Evie. Stelli was so close to his mother. Not that Evie wasn’t, but it was different with Stelli.” He sighed. “Anyway, he was pretty exhausted after all the histrionics. I lay down with him, and we both fell asleep for a bit. Sorry it took me so long to come back.”
“You did the right thing. He needs to talk about it.” She paused, letting that sink in. “In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about ways we might help him. There are natural remedies, you know, things that are completely safe and effective. And lots of alternative therapies that could work, too. Why don’t you let me try some of these with him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want him taking any kind of psychotropic drugs.”
“No, of course not. I would never suggest that. The things I’m talking about are completely natural and benign. But they might ease his anxiety and anger.”
“You think so?”
Piper nodded. “I do.”
“I don’t want him to feel like there’s anything wrong with him,” Leo added.
“I understand. I can just add a little something to his smoothies. He’ll never know.”
“All right. Let’s talk more about it tomorrow.”
She snuggled closer to him, satisfied. She’d cleared the way. Now it was time to get to work.
28
Joanna
My restless night really hit me after takeoff, and I slept for almost the entire five-and-a-half-hour flight, which is saying a lot when you’re flying coach. It was midnight when we landed at JFK, and I was still an hour from home. As I took the shuttle to the parking garage to retrieve my car, I felt a second wind and couldn’t wait to get home, power up my computer, and resume the search.
The house was dark when I pulled up, as were the others on the street. The last thing I wanted to do was wake my mother, so I shut the car door quietly and tiptoed to the front door, pushing it gently shut, then turned on a lamp. The drabness of the small living room overwhelmed me after being in Ava’s house. Hers had been so full of light and color, and now I was back in this tiny space that seemed even more dark and depressing than before.
But it was time to brush aside my feelings of resentment or self-pity and get to work. After brewing a pot of coffee, I sat down at the kitchen table and typed “Pamela Rayfield” into Google. A bunch of Facebook profiles came up first, but none of them were hers, of course. I scrolled down farther, but still nothing. Then I had an idea. Ava said that Piper had been a sailing instructor. I typed “Pamela Rayfield sailing.” Voilà! An article in the Capital Gazette came up: “AYC High School Senior Wins Another Major Title.” The article chronicled the third award Pamela had won that year at the Annapolis Yacht Club. A photo of her on the sailboat showed a younger, dark-haired Piper with a smile as wide as the boat. How was it that someone so accomplished at sailing had been unable to keep her second husband and her stepdaughter safe at sea? There were no other hits that seemed to be about her, so I tried “Pam Rayfield” and the first thing that came up was an obituary.
Pam Rayfield, 93, died peacefully in her home. She is survived by one sister, Margo Spencer, and a daughter, Sheila Sherman.
That certainly wasn’t her. I thought about poor Sheila. Had she ever married? Had she spent her entire life taking care of her mother, never having a life of her own? She was probably in her seventies by now, finally free but too old to start her own family. I looked through the rest of the page to see if there was anything else of interest. Some Facebook profiles of other Pam Rayfields, but they resulted in nothing. On a whim I logged in to my Facebook account and typed “Pamela Dunn” into the search bar. Nothing. “Pamela Rayfield Dunn.” Others came up, but none were her. Finally, I tried “Pamela R. Dunn.” It was her! I clicked on the page and a picture of Piper filled the screen. There were only two posts. One was a picture of the beach and under it she’d written California is as beautiful as they say. The other post was of her on a sailboat with Matthew Dunn. The name of the boat was The Pamela. He must have bought it for her. How ironic that it’s what killed him. The most recent posts were from four years ago—it seemed she hadn’t been active on Facebook since. I looked through to see her friends. There were only a handful.
I knew sleep would be impossible after all the coffee and now this discovery, so I pulled up the children’s birthday video on my phone. They were born on the same day—March 14—but two years apart. Stelli’s and Evie’s smiling faces filled the screen as I sat watching the video I’d filmed just a few months ago. Stelli sat on the floor, his smile huge, revealing the adorable gap where his two bottom front baby teeth were missing. He was opening the package and squealed with excitement.