Would I be having so many problems with her now if she had had a more normal childhood?
After turning off the lights and closing the door to her room, I headed to my own bed, in the hopes of salvaging a few more hours of sleep myself. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw either Aunt Charlie, all sharp, pointed teeth and predatory smile, foisting a cup of black, tar-like tea on me, or Chrissy in the den, all empty eyes and hollow smile, talking nonsense.
(And then I had to listen to a nasty little voice inside me questioning—was it nonsense? I squashed it down. Of course, it was nonsense. What else could it be?)
The sun had just started to peek above the horizon when I finally gave up on sleep altogether. Chrissy’s door was still closed, and when I checked on her, she appeared to be totally out. I went downstairs and brewed a strong pot of coffee before wading in to the den to begin cleaning up the wreckage.
I took a break around nine and started making Chrissy’s favorite breakfast— gluten-free pancakes. I hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs, and thought I’d prepare a tray to bring up to her, but just as I was flipping them onto a plate, she appeared in the kitchen.
“Hey, you didn’t have to come down,” I said. “If you want to go back to bed, I’m happy to bring you breakfast in bed.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”
“Well, ahhh, after last night, with the sleepwalking …”
“I don’t sleepwalk,” she interrupted, her voice flat. “Are those gluten-free?”
“What? Yes, they’re gluten free, but Chrissy …”
She took the pancakes and poured syrup on them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t sleepwalk. I never have.” With that, she put down the syrup, picked up a fork and the plate, and walked out of the room, leaving me standing in the kitchen alone, my mouth hanging open.
You know. The evil that was done.
I shook my head to clear it. So much for any trace of closeness I had felt with her, the night before. Everything seemed to be back to the way it always was.
You can’t ask her now, can you? About what she was talking about, the nasty little voice inside me questioned.
I pushed the voice down again, and focused on forcing myself to eat some pancakes, even though I had completely lost my appetite. I supposed I should be grateful Chrissy’s appetite hadn’t been affected.
After breakfast, I went right back to cleaning. Cleaning was something I could control. And, besides, it felt like the best thing I could do for Stefan and Chrissy in this moment. I opened every window, vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed floors, scrubbed windows, and even walls. I stuffed towels and sheets into the tired old washing machine (which still worked amazingly well, thank God), and scoured both bathrooms. I even dragged the curtains and the quilts out of Chrissy’s and my rooms, to air outside.
The only rooms I didn’t touch were Aunt Charlie’s bedroom, the studio on the third floor, and the basement.
I also re-packed most of our belongings and stacked them in the garage with intent to eventually put them into storage when we were ready to show the house. Yes, it was an additional cost we couldn’t afford, but didn’t it make more sense to keep everything in boxes, so we’d be ready to move back to New York when we could? Surely Stefan would agree that made more sense than unpacking everything only to re-pack it after we sold the house.
Stefan still hadn’t called or texted, and for once, I was relieved. I had absolutely no idea how to handle the sleepwalking incident. Do I tell him over the phone, when he was in New York and couldn’t do anything, which would just worry him and make it more difficult for him to get things done? Do I wait until he’s here, so I could tell him in person (and he could see for himself that Chrissy was fine)? If I waited, did I risk him getting upset for not telling him sooner?
It was easier to just do nothing—to not make a decision. If he didn’t call or text, the decision was out of my hands. Which may have been why, subconsciously, I had left my phone upstairs on my nightstand, next to my book.
The only person who called was Daphne. “You want to go out with the ‘gang’ on Friday?” she asked. “Everyone would love to see you.”
I hesitated. Was it right to leave Chrissy alone while I went out? Of course, she was sixteen years old, and Stefan and I had certainly left her alone in New York. But still, it felt strange leaving her in the house, and Stefan wasn’t there to help make the decision. And it wasn’t like I was going to be staying in Redemption permanently. Should I really jump back into relationships I would eventually leave, yet again? Was it fair to everyone else for me to do that to them? And besides, shouldn’t my energy be focused on Stefan and Chrissy? On fixing my marriage rather than starting up relationships that were destined to be temporary?
On top of all of that, I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to everyone how there was no “Becca” anymore. I was Rebecca now—responsible, sophisticated New Yorker with a husband and stepdaughter.
Would they even like Rebecca?
The smart decision would be to decline. But, a part of me wanted to go—wanted to renew my friendship with Daphne, even if it wasn’t going to last. I had loved spending time with Daphne and Mia fifteen years ago. And, I missed going out. Back in New York, I was busy every night. I missed that, too. I missed being around friends.
“It will be fun,” Daphne pressed in the silence, interrupting my thoughts.
Fun. God, I so missed having fun. It felt like forever since I had had any fun. I practically owed it to myself. Despite my misgivings, I agreed to go.
I wondered again about that decision as I sat on the porch, sipping my wine and rocking, smelling the fresh, cool breeze as it played against my hair and skin, watching the sun sink lower in the sky, transforming into a bright-orange ball. Hopefully, I’d get a good night’s sleep, and then, I could re-evaluate everything—the night out and what I should do about Stefan—with a much clearer head. And maybe I’d try talking to Chrissy again, about her sleepwalking ….
A police car pulled up slowly, and parked by the curb, interrupting my thoughts. The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped Daniel. I sighed and took another drink of my wine. Great. Just great. At least this time, I had showered and was wearing something decent.
“Evening, Officer,” I called out, as he sauntered over. “I must say, as flattered as I am with all the personal attention, there must be some actual crime in Redemption that requires your focus.”
He looked up at me, unsmiling, and stopped at the bottom of the steps. The sun glinted off his hair, making it look reddish-blonde. His brown uniform shirt strained against the muscles of his chest.
“Your stepdaughter, is she here?”
Uh oh. I frowned. “No, is there a problem?”
He rested one hand on the railing. “Maybe. Maybe not. Earlier today, there was a group of teenagers drinking beer by the lake. Your stepdaughter is underage, isn’t she?”
I gritted my teeth. Just what I needed. She had been gone all day, so she very well could have spent the day drinking by the lake. Although, on second thought, we had only just moved to Redemption! How was she able to make friends so quickly? Was she like this in New York too? God, there was so much I didn’t know about my stepdaughter.
“She’s sixteen.”
He nodded. “You may want to have a talk with her about underage drinking.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help myself. “And feel like the biggest hypocrite on the planet?”
His eyes narrowed. “What she’s doing is illegal.”
“Assuming she’s actually consuming the alcohol—do you have proof of that? But, regardless, geez, Daniel. When I think about the amount of beer you and I both drank out on that lake that summer when we were sixteen, how on earth can I possibly tell her not to do that?”
“You of all people should know the dangers of under
age drinking.”
I looked away. He was right. I should talk to Chrissy about it. A responsible stepmother would. And, knowing Chrissy, she would probably laugh in my face. Where oh where was Stefan?
“I still can’t believe you’re a cop,” I said. “You weren’t exactly the most law-abiding citizen when we were sixteen.”
He leaned against the post. “Like I said, people change.”
Does that mean you don’t stand people up anymore? I clamped my jaw shut to keep that question from falling out of my mouth. Did I even want to know the answer?
“They usually don’t change that much,” I said instead. “If I recall correctly, you were the one instigating most of that illegal stuff we did.”
“Maybe I learned my lesson. Speaking of that summer, did you give any thought to answering a few questions about the night Jessica disappeared?”
And there it was. I tilted my head and smirked. “Ah, perhaps we’ve come to the real reason you’ve stopped by?”
He crossed his arms across his chest, ignoring my comment. “Some things don’t add up. I think it could help a lot, if you would answer a few questions.”
I sipped my wine. “It was fifteen years ago. Did it occur you that perhaps Jessica doesn’t want to be found?”
“Maybe. But it still would be helpful to have some answers. It might help bring some closure to this town.” He paused, staring intently at me. “Maybe it would even give you some closure.”
I dropped my gaze, shaken by his comments and his penetrating blue eyes. I felt like they had looked right through me … seen all my secrets laid bare.
“I just don’t know how much of a help I can be. You have my statement. I really doubt I would remember anything more after all this time.”
“You were the last to see her that night. That alone is worth talking about some more. Make sure the cops asked all the right questions.”
I shivered. The last to see her. Suddenly, a piece clicked into place, and I looked up. “How do you know I was the last to see her?”
A trace of surprise wafted across his face, and disappeared so quickly, I wondered if it had actually happened. His face smoothed back into its unreadable expression. “We have a witness.”
“But if you have a witness,” I said slowly, thinking aloud, “Doesn’t that mean the witness was also there, and also last to see Jessica?”
“The witness left.”
“Left.” I rolled the word around in my mouth. “So, if the witness left, then we don’t know if I was the last to see her or not.”
“That’s why I want to ask you more questions about that night.”
I took another sip of wine. “But, it seems to me, as I’ve mentioned, that I’m not very reliable. I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Wouldn’t your other witness know more than me? And, who is it, anyway?”
“I’m not expecting miracles,” Daniel said, sounding a little frustrated. “I remember how drunk you were that night …”
I stared at him in surprise. “You do?”
He looked at me like I had slapped him. “It was a party. I was there. You don’t remember?”
I clicked my jaw shut. Now what did I do? I really didn’t want to admit to him that the entire night was a black hole. What would he think of me? Would it make me look more, or less guilty? And yet, there was something about the way he was watching me. Did something happen between us that night? Did we have a conversation about why he had stood me up? And why was I so drunk, anyway? I certainly got myself tipsy on more than one occasion that summer, but drinking so much that I ended up in the hospital getting my stomach pumped? It didn’t make sense.
Could something have happened that night with Daniel?
I opened my mouth, still not sure what I was going to say, when a voice behind me said “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I closed my eyes. Chrissy. Great. Just great. How much did she hear? I half-turned in my seat. “Chrissy, how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
“Chrissy, were you at the lake earlier today?” Daniel asked.
She leveled a stare at him. God, she looks just like her father. “Why are you asking?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Is it a crime to be at the lake?”
“Depends on what you were doing.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Chrissy,” I gasped. “What the … “
Daniel stared hard at her. “Not at the moment.”
“Okay, then,” she said. “I know my rights. I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Daniel gave her one final stare before pushing off from the stairs. “Thanks for your time, Becca. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” He shot me a meaningful look that was as clear as if he had voiced the words. This isn’t over.
“Oh, don’t leave on my account, Officer,” Chrissy said, her voice dripping with innuendo.
Daniel didn’t respond. He simply nodded his head to both of us, and sauntered back to his car.
Chrissy moved to stand by the swing, watching him walk to his car. “So, what did he want?”
“To let me know you may be illegally drinking. Are you?”
She shot me a disdainful look. “That doesn’t sound anything like what you two were talking about.”
“Oh, so you were listening to our conversation?”
“Should I not have been? Do you have something to hide?”
Great. Now I was getting the same interrogation. Chrissy had definitely learned well from her father. “Don’t change the subject. You’re sixteen—are you drinking?”
Her phone beeped, and she studied it. “I think you’re the one changing the subject. Did he stop by on Monday, too? When I wasn’t here?”
I stood up abruptly, knocking the swing so it jangled. “Don’t think this is over—I’m planning to have a talk with your father about this.” I moved toward the house.
She looked sideways at me, a calculating and faintly-accusatory expression in her eyes. “Maybe I’m going to have a talk with my father as well,” she said darkly.
Silently, I opened the door and stalked into the house. I was already feeling out of sorts after the conversation with Daniel, and the last thing I wanted was to get into a war of words with my sixteen-year-old stepdaughter.
Still. A tiny voice inside me warned that I should say something to her immediately. There was something very unsettling in the way she watched me, and I realized it made sense to have a conversation with her before her feelings further hardened against me. Even though I knew it, I was just too tired and too drained to deal with it right then.
Tomorrow, I promised the little voice, as I trudged upstairs to bed.
Unfortunately for me, that little voice turned out to be right on the money.
Chapter 9
Chrissy poked her head into my room as I was getting ready for my night out and mulling over the choices my closet offered. “I’m inviting a friend over tonight,” she announced.
Surprised, I looked at her. “A friend? Who?”
“What, you don’t think I can make friends?”
Oh God, the teenage logic. “Of course, that’s not what I meant. We’ve only just moved here.”
Chrissy made a face and drifted away from my door. “Whatever.”
I tried again, softening my tone, as I followed her into the hallway. “So, who is it?”
“You wouldn’t know her anyway,” she said over her shoulder, heading to her room.
I kept following her. “Well, I’d like to know her. And meet her before I leave.”
“She won’t be here before you’re off to have fun with your friends.” The sneer on her face said it all, as she threw herself on her bed, wrinkling up the grey, blue, and white goose down quilt, tapping on her phone.
>
“Why do you care if I go out tonight? Your dad and I used to go out all the time.”
She glared at me. “Exactly. You AND Dad went out. Now you’re going out by yourself.”
“Do you see your father here?” I snapped, feeling both guilty and defensive. Why on earth did I have to justify my decisions to a sixteen-year-old girl? I was the adult. “He left me alone here, too, you know.”
She looked back at her phone, shaking her head. “Whatever.”
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the words that were fighting to come out. Actually, even more than yelling at her, what I really wanted to do was to shove my phone in her face and prove it to her. Show her the single, lonely text I’d gotten from her father that entire week that said, “Sorry babe, work is a zoo. Will call when I can.” You see, he’s the one ignoring me!
I took a deep breath, reminding myself once again that I was the grownup; I certainly didn’t need to get into a pissing contest with my sixteen-year-old stepdaughter.
I decided to switch to safer subjects. “Okay, so what is your friend’s name?”
For a moment, I didn’t think she was going to answer me, but then she surprised me. “Brittany. Happy?”
“Happier. What’s Brittany’s last name?”
She texted furiously. “What does it matter?”
I sighed. Chrissy probably didn’t know Brittany’s last name, either. “Okay, so don’t stay up too late, no boys, and no getting into anything you know your father and I would disapprove of. Okay?”
She muttered under her breath. I took it as a “yes,” and headed back to my room to finish getting ready.
I wondered if I should cancel. Was this a good idea, especially knowing Chrissy was having someone over I hadn’t met yet?
On the other hand, I reminded myself, she’s sixteen. She’s clearly been hanging out with this girl somewhere, and she would probably get into less trouble at the house than she would going out on the town on a Friday night.
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 7
