by Mary Cantell
“Have you…?” Robin let her words drop.
“Oh, no! You mean—”
“You know.” Robin interjected.
“Robin, you know me better than that. I could never sleep with him.” She paused, knowing how much she wanted to—oh, yes—but then thought of the example it would set for Lacy. “We’ve just met a couple of times, you know. Getting our feet wet, I guess.”
“Honey, I know you wouldn’t do that. Of course not. You’re pure as the driven snow, girl, but you know how persuasive men can be.”
Women, too, she thought, knowing the manipulations of her own impulsive heart. With God, she was able to put her thoughts into perspective. Sometimes extra-marital sex without the benefit of marriage can lead to nothing but heartbreak, she knew. It was everywhere, and she wanted no part of it. With everything in her life now, stability was the only thing she wanted. For herself—and Lacy. There was no room in her life for a broken heart—at least, not from casual sex. No way.
“Well, listen, sweetie, I don’t want to keep you from anything,” Robin interjected in her usual self-deference.
“No, no, you’re fine. I’m just waiting for Lacy. She’ll be home any minute now. She’s out with the dog, so I’m just hanging out, folding some laundry.”
“You got a dog?”
“No, no, it’s not ours,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s the landlady’s.”
“I didn’t think you’d have one.”
“You know me well, Robin,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Dog hair, doggie-doo, shots… no thanks.”
Robin cackled on the other end. “It’s true. Dogs are a lot of work,” she added. “But I’m not laughing at you, hon,” Robin said through her laughter. “I just pictured you with one is all.”
Lissa folded the last towel and noticed the light at the window had darkened. Was it twilight already?
“Hey, Robin, listen, I need to run. I think I hear Lacy. Can I call you back later?”
“Oh, sure, honey, not a problem.”
“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”
Chapter Ten
Lissa’s insides tingled when Brian spoke her name, especially over the phone. Every time he called, she had the same reaction; his voice wrapped around her heart. She pressed the phone to her ear, vicariously picturing his whole being standing next to her, and didn’t know how much longer she could be attracted to a married man. It was killing her. Whenever he called or offered to come over, she struggled with her desire to move their relationship forward. How long could she be just friends with this guy?
“Hey, Brian,” she said in her silkiest voice, feeling sexy just saying his name.
“What’s doing?” he murmured.
“Not much, just finishing up a report for work. And you?”
He blew a breath into the phone. “I’m pretty sure it’s over.”
Lissa’s spirits deflated fast. Us? We haven’t even begun. “W—what do you mean, Bri?”
“I just moved out.”
The abrupt impact hit hard but in a good way. Seriously? Out of your house…like you’re separated? Lissa’s heart went into overdrive. “You did?” she inquired calmly. She wanted to do a back flip.
****
Parcels of farmland the color of wheat and sage sat like oversized postage stamps in the sprawling countryside at the foot of the purple-gray Appalachian foothills. Wavy clouds of heat hovered over the roadway in the near distance.
“I could gaze at those mountains all day,” Lissa said, dreamily, of the majestic scenery as Brian drove I-340 toward Farmington Heights on the other side of the county. “With this gorgeous scenery, it’s no wonder they wanted to live in the country.” She looked at him. “You nervous?” she said with a chuckle and nudged his thigh.
He glanced at her and then fixed his eyes back on the road. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you,” she said and playfully knocked his arm. “Meeting my aunt and uncle is the same as meeting my Mom and Dad. They would have loved you.” She patted his knee. “Aunt Celia is my mother’s only sister, so she’s pretty special to me.”
The hint of a smile grew on his lips. “Nope, not affected in the least.”
She saw through his pretend demeanor. “Liar,” she said softly.
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers in hers. “Well, maybe a little.”
“They’re the salt of the earth, and I’ve been telling them about you.” She paused. “Actually, Aunt Celia remembers you from when we were kids, so you’re not like a stranger or anything.”
“Do they know about my marriage situation?”
“No, I haven’t exactly told them that part of your life,” she said. “I don’t think they’d shine much to know I was dating a married man.”
“Technically, married, Liss. My wife’s been unfaithful, and we’re separated. I don’t think that constitutes a marriage.” He eyed her. “Do you?” He squeezed her hand tighter for emphasis.
Lissa smiled, elated at his words, though she knew men sometimes liked to play the field under the guise of being separated. “I guess not,” she demurred. Hope he means it. She looked back at Lacy who was in her own little world as she stared out the window.
“Honey, I don’t think you remember Uncle Charlie and Aunt Celia, do you?”
“Yeah, I do,” she replied as though her mother should know better.
“You do?”
“I remember him from when we were watching cartoons at Nanny’s house—in Philadelphia. I remember because he laughed out loud, and I always wondered what was so funny.”
“Oh, okay,” Lissa said. “I’m glad.” Her mind flew back to the times he’d get mad at her for touching his electronic components—“Don’t touch it”—he always managed to say before she got within arm’s length. Or his car—same thing. He hated fingerprints on his car.
The roadside sign read three miles to Farmington Heights.
“Looks like we’re almost there,” Brian said.
Lissa combed a hand through her matted waves and refreshed her lipstick.
****
“Hi, Uncle Charlie,” Lissa called out the open window while waving as Brian turned into the driveway of the tiny salt box. Charlie wore a short-sleeved madras cotton shirt with khaki shorts and was holding a chamois cloth to the hood of his shiny black Mercedes. The home, set in the fifty-five-plus community on a rectangular-shaped parcel, bore creamy yellow siding amid similar houses on the street in complementary colors of pale blue, buff, and eggshell white. Still a strikingly handsome man at seventy-something, Charlie had a bright smile and a full head of wavy silver hair.
“M’lissa Marie.” A broad grin lit up his face as they approached. “You’re gettin’ prettier ev’ry time we see ya.” He dropped the chamois into the bucket and stretched his burly arms around her as Lissa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “And little Lacy…you look just like your momma, sweetie.”
Lissa glanced around the well-tended property. “Your grounds look immaculate, Uncle Charlie. Love the garden. The roses are gorgeous.”
The floribunda and tea roses bloomed in a riot of pink, yellow and scarlet, coupled with clusters of baby’s breath and other petite florals.
“Yep, they’re Celia’s baby. She’s been tending them for years.”
Their inviting fragrance drew Lacy, who stood over one of the bushes inhaling the blooms. Lissa pulled out her Coolpix camera and snapped a picture of her in mid-sniff.
“Well, don’t just stand out there, c’mon in.” Aunt Celia’s mellifluous yet no-nonsense tone rang out from the doorway. A tuft of silver curls spilled out from under her powder blue head scarf, and the flowery blue and yellow tunic she wore billowed as she waved them inside.
Lissa hastened to the door to greet her. The scent of freshly washed linen permeated the air as they embraced.
“Well, looky you. You haven’t changed much at all, my sweet M’lissa.” She grinned ear-to-ear and then spotted Lacy. “And look at that sweet one. Could be y
our twin when you were a youngin’.” She bent down as Lacy approached the step where she stood and threw open her arms. Her eyes misted as though she were moved at the very touch of the child. She wiped her eyes and announced, “I’ve made lunch and a fresh batch of cookies. C’mon in.”
****
“More cookies, anyone?” Celia held out a cookie tin lined with waxed paper.
Lissa held up her hand, “None for me, thanks. I think I’ve already gained weight just sitting here.” She patted her hip and glanced at Brian, who gave her a wink.
Celia mock frowned. “Oh, you’re perfect, Lissa. You look like a teenager.”
“Aw, thanks, Aunt Celia.” Lissa glanced at Lacy, who leaned over her plate, picking up the crumbs one at a time. To Celia: “I think she liked them.”
“There’s plenty more,” Celia said.
“She’s had four already. That’s sufficient—”
“But, Mom,” Lacy interjected. She held up her index finger. “Just one more?”
“Okay, Lacy. Just one more. But just once I’d like you to finish your peas like you did those cookies.”
“They’re so small, Cel,” Charlie said, holding up one of his wife’s homemade butter shortbreads. “Why don’t’cha make ’em man sized? These look like buttons.” He then shoveled a couple of cookies into his mouth at once. Some of the powdered sugar, unbeknownst to him, fell onto his chin.
With a hand on her hip, she said, “You’re gonna choke on that, Charlie.” A moment later, he let out a cough. “See? Drink some coffee before that dough lodges in your throat.”
“They’re so good, right, Uncle Charlie?” Lissa chimed in as her uncle took a sip of coffee. He raised his head and nodded as he clutched his breastbone. She picked up a broken section of a scone on the serving plate and popped it into her mouth.
Celia pursed her lips at him in mock jest and picked up the coffee urn. “More coffee, Brian…Lissa?”
“Oh, no, Aunt Celia, but thanks,” Lissa replied.
“I’m good, too.” Brian held up his hand. “Everything was great, Mrs. Rossi.”
Mrs. Rossi? It sounded so formal to Lissa. Maybe one day, he’d exchange the Mrs. for Aunt.
Lissa got up from the table and moved into the adjacent living room. On the coffee table lay an assortment of magazines, including several copies of AARP and a stack of National Geographic. Beside them lay a thick leather-bound book with gold embossed pages. She sat down on the sofa and picked up the book.
“That’s an old photo album I brought out from storage. I thought you might enjoy it,” Celia said from the table.
“May I help you clear the table?” Brian asked Celia, who pooh-poohed the idea.
“No, no, Brian, but you’re a dear to ask. The dishes can wait.”
“There are some pictures of you in there, and your parents, too.” Charlie added through a mouthful of shortbread.
Lissa opened the album. Lacy plopped the last bit of cookie into her mouth and left the table to join her. “Here I am, Lacy,” Lissa said, pointing. “That’s me with my mom and dad, and here we are at the house where I grew up.” Before turning the page, she looked over at Brian, who still lingered at the table making small talk with Uncle Charlie. “Come join us, Bri.” She patted the spot next to her where she sat on the sofa as he approached. His thigh brushed hers as he seated himself. Her daughter on one side and her boyfriend on the other. Perfect.
“And here’s a picture of us at Ocean City. Oh, I remember that day.”
“Is that your mother’s sister?” Brian asked.
“Yep, Aunt Lydia.” She nodded and pointed to the man in the picture. “And that’s Uncle Joe.”
The picture was taken near the beach where the water appeared to rise ominously above their heads as the waves crashed behind them.
Lacy pointed to the picture. “That water looks scary.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But it’s just an optical illusion, honey.” Lissa replied.
“Yeah, but it looks like the water is about to come up over their heads.”
“Sure does, very scary,” Brian said with a wink to Lissa, and then he turned to grab Lacy by the shoulders as though pouncing like the waves.
“Hey.” She giggled, basking in his attention.
Lissa grinned and slapped his knee affectionately.
In the back of the album, some papers tucked in the binder—a Yuletide prayer, a recipe for banana walnut bread, and some faded newspaper clippings including one of a strange looking man. Lissa studied it curiously. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that,” began Celia, “it’s one of your Dad’s cases.”
“Is that Hellinger?” Charlie asked, reaching for another cookie. “Biggest case we ever saw in Pinewood,” he added. “Drug cartel busted to smithereens.”
A bald-headed man with a mustache stared from the faded news clipping. Something about him looked familiar. Lissa quickly scanned the story.
The First Federal Bank of Pinewood noticed things weren’t adding up… the county’s sheriff’s department was called in to question a money laundering sting in operation for two years, conducting deals all over the US, and sending money across the world. Over $2.4 million was added to their coffers, and no arrests were ever made until a Mexican cocaine-trafficking cartel used accounts at First Federal to hide money and invest illegal drug-trade proceeds in U.S. racehorses, the FBI said…Skip Ad
Lissa’s expression turned serious. “Hmmm…I never knew this.”
“What’s the matter, Mom?”
“This guy,” she said, tapping the edge of the album with her finger. “He looks so familiar.”
“It’s Joe Hellinger,” Charlie said. “He lived right here in Pinewood. His kids grew up here…probably went to your school, Lissa.”
Lissa mulled over where she’d seen him. The paper boy’s father? “Oh, yeah, I remember that kid. He went to the parochial school and delivered the evening paper—Robbie Hellinger. This was his father?” She paused. “Bri, do you remember him?”
Brian studied the photo. “Not sure,” he said and slowly shook his head. “But vaguely, I recall the story about him.”
“Do they still live around here?” Lissa asked.
Charlie wiped his mouth. “I don’t know for sure. Do they, Cel?”
Celia pursed her lips. “I’m sure the father is still in prison, right?” She looked at Charlie.
“Sure hope so,” he said, pushing away from the table.
“But as far as I know, they’re still here. His kids and maybe even his grandkids,” she said.
“Yep. Locked up for a long time.” Charlie slapped his hands together and rubbed them quickly. “Thanks to your daddy, M’lissa.”
Puzzled, Lissa didn’t remember any of the details. As far as she was concerned, Pinewood was just a sleepy little hollow where nothing bad ever happened. No particular distinction ever hailed from the small community. Rumors of the Hellinger family’s hate for her father never passed by her ears. Her mother made sure of it. Then a year later in 1978, her father died in a car crash—an accident her mother believed was orchestrated on purpose, though the police never found anyone to blame. That was something she wondered about for a long time. Now, her curiosity about it rose again.
Lissa shut the photo album as distant memories stirred of Pinewood, her family—and the Hellingers.
Chapter Eleven
The sun hovered low in the distant arms of tree branches like a ripe blood orange. The atmosphere, still. From the second-floor landing of the old Victorian, Lissa took in the expansive view of the neighborhood. The steeple of St. Jerome’s church pierced the clear sky to the north, and to the south, the silo of Runnemede Farms. Lissa checked her phone. The time was 5:45 p.m. Lacy was usually home from walking the dog within fifteen minutes—twenty at the latest. She was at least ten minutes late by her calculations. As a single mother, she kept a close tab on her daughter just like her own mother had. Ever since the day Lacy left the house without a word, L
issa’s anxiety kicked into overdrive. Like her Aunt Celia once said… the worry gene ran in the family. Lacy had been an angel the first six years of her life, but once she entered school, her independent spirit took flight—and Lissa’s panicky nature right along with it.
As the cars streamed by, her heart beat faster when a white vehicle passed; images of the white van back home in Bryn Mawr and the SUV that tailed her here in Pinewood haunted Lissa way too often. She had to stop being so anxious but wasn’t sure how. It’s just a car. Somebody has to drive them. But was it the same one? As much as she tried to talk herself out of being paranoid, she still couldn’t let go of the old memories that had turned her world upside down. Like a suspense movie where it’s hard to pull away from looking, she watched the cars pass on the street below, hoping not to catch sight of anything else big—or white.
She paced back and forth on the landing; with every step, the floorboards squeaked under her footsteps. The rhythm distracted her, and she made a game of trying to pace without making a sound. Blinking lights near the bushes caught her attention. The yellow-green neon glow of lightning bugs gave her a source of giddy delight as a child, especially the potent joy of capturing one of the tiny creatures in her palms. The hunt for them at the precise moment—just past twilight and before the shadows of dusk—after an afternoon of playing in the pool became the capstone of her summer days. Now, the neon lights failed to conjure the same light-hearted delight and only underscored her daughter’s lateness. Not even warm thoughts of Brian could tear her heart away. Not right now.
Lissa continued to pace as she waited for Lacy. She mentally drew back to her own dog walking experience when, at ten years old, she took care of Mrs. Elmore’s two Scottish terriers, Baird and Laird. Such sweet, quiet dogs. She was happy her daughter was following in her footsteps and taking on some responsibility at an even earlier age.
She leaned on the handrail, resting her forearms on the rough wood. While fiddling with her phone, her elbow slipped, and the phone dropped from her hand onto the floorboards. In a flash, it bounced and then slipped between the rails and fell two stories before landing on the macadam driveway below. The loud crack when it shattered sent a ripple of regret through her. “Oh, no,” she cried and ran down the stairs to retrieve it. Great. Another expense.
