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For twelve long years April Farraday has struggled to recall what happened the night of her mother's fatal fall down a flight of stairs. Did she push her mother to her death? If she is ever to be free to spend her life with the man she loves, April must return to scene of the crime, to Calendar House, and confront her forgotten past.
Spencer Garrick has loved April for twelve years, loved her and lived with the fear that once she recalls what happened the night of her mother’s fall, she will forever hate him.
But Spencer is not the only one who fears April’s memory returning. Will he be able to protect his love before she is silenced. . .forever?
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Excerpt:
The ominous note arrived two days after the invitation.
April’s stepbrother was getting married May first. The invitation from her father was not for the wedding. That was still four months away. Rather, he was asking her to attend the formal engagement party her family was throwing three weeks hence at Calendar House.
The note warned her to stay away.
Shakily, April scanned the unsigned paper for the umpteenth time. The message was simple: If ever again you set foot inside Calendar House you will regret it!
“What do you make of this?” she asked, dropping the note on her doctor’s file-cluttered desk. Obviously, Nancy Merritt, the psychiatrist at the Phoenix sanitarium where April was an outpatient, had been in the middle of evaluations when she’d agreed to this appointment. “I haven’t been home in twelve years. In fact, this has been my home for most of that time. And now, when I’m well enough to face them, someone sends this!”
Dr. Merritt was a plain woman whose cropped brown hair hugged her head like an overturned bird’s nest. Her features lacked beauty, but not strength. The preteen shapelessness of her figure had long ago convinced April the woman fed more on nervous energy than food. The doctor read the mysterious note, then turned her warn brown eyes to April. “How does this make you feel?”
How did she feel? Angry. Offended. A little scared. Although morning shafts of winter sun spilled in through two windows, April hugged herself against a sudden chill.
In the background the soft upbeat sounds of Kenny G filtered from concealed speakers. Usually the music lifted her spirits and soothed her. Today it annoyed her. She stormed to the shelf of books which also housed the stereo equipment and punched the off button.
Dropping her head back on her shoulders, she stared at the ceiling, and drew a deep breath. There was, she noted absently, the usual overlaying scent of pine cleaner in the utilitarian office, a distinctive sign of normalcy. It should have helped her pull things into perspective. It didn’t. Slowly, she faced Nancy.
If she was surprised or offended by April’s actions she showed no sign of it. Irrationally this annoyed April all the more. She paced, waving her hands in the air. “How do you suppose I feel? I’m upset.”
“And…?”
Avoiding the real issue, April said, “And…I want to know who sent that vile note. Other than Daddy, I haven’t seen any of those people in twelve years. Oh sure, they’ve written, sent birthday and Christmas presents, but none of them cared enough to show up on my doorstep.”
“Was that their idea…or yours?” asked Nancy in her gentle persistent way.
Some of April’s bluster deflated. “You know it was mine.”
Nancy nodded. “I’ve never understood why.”
April opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. She still couldn’t bring herself to tell Nancy the whole truth. Nor anyone else either. Until she remembered all the details, she couldn’t even admit out loud that she might have killed Lily. With her blood the temperature of ice water, she eyed the foreboding note. Perhaps the person who’d sent it already knew and was afraid she’d murder them all in their sleep. Her mouth felt as dry as the desert outside, her palms as damp as the dew on the cacti.
“It’s all right, April. You can tell me your reasons when you’re ready. Look, I realize this is unsettling. But I strongly caution you about giving this” –she tapped the note again—“such importance. I’d hate to see it undo all the good we’ve accomplished, or to keep you from achieving a complete recovery.”
April was used to Nancy’s unobtrusive way of letting her figure out what she wanted. And more than anything else, she wanted to be well. She steeled herself against giving the note and its unknown author even a modicum of power over her. “You know what? Nothing is going to deter my plans to return to Calendar House.”
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