by Nicola Marsh
“Stop.” She glares, defiance and fear in her gaze. “Well done, Mom, intrepid detective.” Sarcasm drips from every word as she slow claps. “Fine. You want the truth? Yeah, I’m using your precious money to buy drugs. And do you want to know why I take drugs? Because I get off on the power trip, knowing I’m doing what I want to my body when I want because I can. I know what I’m doing, so stop worrying about me.”
Christine’s frankness startles me into silence as I battle a sudden wave of nausea that she could be a drug addict as well as an alcoholic, and Christine takes advantage of it. “Just because I’ve agreed to stay here for a few extra days doesn’t mean you get to have a say in my life.”
“It’s motherly concern,” I snap, instantly regretting my outburst when Christine’s expression closes off. “I’m not judging you, but I’m worried, so please promise me you’ll go see Doctor Limstone today.”
Christine’s lips compress in a mutinous line and I know I’ll beg if I have to. Having my suspicions confirmed has sent me into a tailspin. I’ve been a terrible mother and I need to help my daughter battle her addictions; it’s the least I can do. “Just promise me, Chrissie?”
After what seems like an eternity, Christine’s expression softens. “I promise, Mom.”
To my surprise, Christine stands and moves around the table to bend down and give me an awkward hug. I have no idea if I’ve made headway, but for now, it will have to do.
16
Ria
I need to clear my head. After last night’s interlude with Justin, and the amount of time I’ve spent contemplating whether or not to try to contact Grayson, I’m exhausted. Spending a Sunday with my daughter trawling her favorite part of Chicago is guaranteed to take my mind off everything.
“Mom, can we go to the lakeside park?” Shelley tugs on my sleeve as we stand on the corner of Auckland Street, gazing at the crowds streaming in and out of the amusement park.
“Not today, sweetheart.”
The last thing I need is a ride on a roller coaster when I already feel like I’m on one permanently at the moment. “How about a cake instead?”
While my daughter is well behaved on the whole, she does have the occasional meltdown and I’m hoping she isn’t about to now. I’m on edge after the emails yesterday and Justin last night and I crave a smooth day without any angst.
Thankfully, she only pouts for a moment, before nodding. “Can I have two?”
“We’ll see.” I tug the end of her plait. “Poppy-seed and orange flourless slice for starters?”
“Yum.” She rubs her tummy and bounds ahead of me a few feet, zeroing in on our favorite cake shop. In a street famous for its delicious baked goods, my daughter already knows her mind. We’ve sampled quite a few courtesy of May only serving the best at her gatherings and she has excellent taste. I hope my daughter’s logic will extend to all areas of her life and she won’t make the same mistakes I did.
I let out a heartfelt sigh and Shelley immediately stops. “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Never better.” I flash a dazzling smile, mentally chastising myself for inadvertently letting some of my internal angst over Grayson show even for a second. “I’m just craving a piece of that cake.”
She buys my excuse but skips back a few steps to slip her hand into mine. “We’re almost there. Come on.”
She practically drags me into the cake shop, whose window display never ceases to tempt me to try something new. Cannoli, croissants, vanilla slices, apple crumbles, chocolate mousse, mille feuilles and countless other delectable goodies piled high on trays, encouraging prospective diners to press their noses against the glass and try not to drool.
I place our order—the usual poppy and orange cake for Shelley, a modest chocolate cannoli for me—and step aside. The place is packed and I scan the crowd, oddly paranoid. Receiving those emails regarding the Parker women has done it and while I wasn’t included it doesn’t make me feel any safer.
“Mom, they called our number.” Shelley is staring at me and I have no idea how long I’ve been pondering.
I take our cakes and guide her out onto the sidewalk. Sundays are popular in beautiful Donvale Heights and I feel claustrophobic for a moment, surrounded by locals and tourists swarming the streets. Backpackers mingle with bohemian Michigan inhabitants, buskers with yummy-mommies out for a stroll. It’s the place to see and be seen and I usually love the cosmopolitan vibe. Not today.
“There are no seats.” Shelley’s nose crinkles. “Shall we eat by the lake?”
“That sounds lovely—”
“Or we can go visit Auntie Shamira.” Shelley hops excitedly from one foot to the other. “I love her shop. Can we go? Pleeeease?”
I can never say no to my daughter, particularly when it comes to family, not when I already feel guilty for her not having her father in her life anymore. Not that I had any say in the matter. Grayson left me but I know if he hadn’t I would’ve kicked him out the moment I received that incriminating photo. So I nod.
“Okay. Though she’s probably busy and won’t want us distracting her.”
Shelley ignores my warning, hooks her arm through mine and all but drags me around the corner into Fitzroy Street, where Makes Scents takes pride of place halfway up.
I’m not into the nebulous holistic medicine Shamira practices: reiki and spiritual cleansing and whatnot. But her oil blends have helped me relax at the end of a hard day and I know she does a roaring trade. Her shop is surprisingly classy, without a lot of the hippy paraphernalia that categorizes similar stores in trendy Brunswick where we live, a few suburbs away. Handmade soaps, candles and oil blends are prominently displayed, with an intoxicating scent of lavender and peppermint hanging in the air.
We eat our cake outside before Shelley presses her nose to the glass and cups her hands either side of her face. “I can’t see her.”
“Maybe she’s out back…” I trail off as I catch sight of Shamira, hidden behind a Japanese screen in the far corner of her shop, drinking out of a silver hip flask.
She’s furtive, her gaze darting around, like she expects to be accosted at any moment. It makes me wonder. Is this how she copes with her secret all the time? The one that would send Trent into a tailspin if he discovers how far his wife has gone to not give him the child he so desperately wants?
I hate how I saw that photo and read the evidence of what she did in those emails. I like Shamira. We’re friends and knowing her darkest secret does not sit well with me. Though a small part of me wishes she’d reached out to me fifteen months ago when she obviously needed help the most.
To go through what she had alone… it’s heartbreaking and I want to rush into the shop and hug her tight.
With how I’m feeling, coming here is a bad idea but before I can dissuade Shelley she’s already barged through the beaded curtain and entered the shop. Swallowing my trepidation I follow, glad the shop is half full and we’re not the only ones in here.
“Aunty Shamira,” Shelley calls out when she catches sight of her, and waves.
Shamira’s head jerks up, her eyes round and startled, until she sees Shelley. With a deft flick of her wrist she pockets the flask in the loose folds of her emerald kaftan and comes toward us, a warm smile on her face.
“How’s my favorite niece?” Shamira envelops Shelley in a welcoming hug, at complete odds with how Ashlin treated her yesterday. Her simple affection goes some way to easing my distress at knowing her secret and how shocked I am that she’d perpetuate such a monstrous deceit on her guileless husband.
Trent is a gentle giant who idolizes his wife and I’ve always liked him. Alongside May, he welcomed me into the Parker family with open arms years ago and hasn’t changed, despite my divorce from his fickle brother.
“I’m good.” Shelley pulls back and grins, her sweet, open expression making my heart clench. My daughter is so innocent for her age and I hope she stays that way for as long as possible. “But I bet you say that to Jessie and Ellen too.
”
“Maybe.” Shamira winks and tugs on her ponytail, and Shelley giggles.
“Can I look around?”
Shamira nods. “Sure.”
I add, “Be careful,” out of habit, but I needn’t worry. Shelley is a child respectful of boundaries. Whether at home or at school, she’s a stickler for rules and always does the right thing. She gets her over-cautiousness from me and I wish sometimes she’d be more adventurous. Soft women get trampled on, strong women earn respect. I learned that the hard way.
“She’ll be fine.” Shamira’s smile is tremulous as she watches my daughter get lost in a world of dream-catchers and lavender pillows and I know she’ll be a great mom when she has kids.
I’ve never seen her be anything other than loving toward her nieces and you can’t fake that kind of caring. Kids are like animals. They know instinctively who to trust and Shelley openly adores Shamira.
I hate knowing her secret and wish I’d never laid eyes on those stupid emails.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Those cakes around the corner.” I pat my stomach. “We can’t resist.”
“I’m glad you popped in…” Shamira trails off and her shoulders droop, like she’s carrying an invisible weight.
“Everything okay with you?” I touch her arm and she stiffens, confirming what I already know. She’s far from all right and considering what she’s hiding I don’t blame her.
To her credit, she doesn’t fake bravado. “It’s been a rough morning.”
For a moment I wonder if she’s told Trent the truth, before dismissing the idea. If she had, she wouldn’t be here in the shop. She’d be holed up somewhere far from here after Trent turfed her out.
The thought saddens me. “Anything I can do to help?”
She hesitates, as if genuinely weighing up my offer, before shaking her head. “Thanks, but this is stuff I have to deal with on my own.”
I can’t help but make the connection between her moroseness and her secret I’d discovered in that email. Is this the reason she’s so down? The truth hovers on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her I know what she’s done and that it’s okay, I won’t judge her for it. I want to make it better for her, to offer my support and say she’s not alone. Not because I condone what she’s doing but because she’s obviously struggling and she’s a friend as well as family.
“Do you think Ashlin’s becoming more spiteful?”
Shamira isn’t prone to gossip so the fact she’s brought up Ashlin’s name around me is unusual, let alone labeling her as spiteful.
“She seemed more moody than usual at the party,” I say, offhand.
That’s me, queen of the understatement.
“She’s horrible.” Shamira shudders, worry clouding her eyes.
“Did she say something to upset you?”
“You could say that.” Shamira gnaws on her bottom lip, her gaze darting around, as if she’s said too much.
I touch her arm. “Whatever it is you can tell me. I’m discreet.”
I have to be, considering I’m privy to many of this family’s secrets, however unwittingly.
“You can’t tell anyone.” She stares at me, trying to convey a message I have no hope of understanding. “I really need to talk to someone…”
“You can trust me.” I try to make her smile with a boy scout salute. It doesn’t work.
“I know I can.” She gives the briefest nod, as if coming to a decision. “I guess it’s my fault. I confronted her at the party yesterday.”
“About what?”
She toys with the fringe on her kaftan sleeve, fraying the cotton. “I think she’s having an affair with the CEO of Goodware Corp. I saw them being cozy outside a hotel. Justin deserves better and I thought if I confronted her she’d show some regret, maybe admit she’d made a mistake and want to make amends with Justin. Instead, she threatened me.”
If Shamira notes my lack of surprise at Ashlin having an affair with a major business rival she doesn’t show it. In fact, her brow is so deeply furrowed I know there’s more bothering her than discovering the extent of Ashlin’s treachery toward Justin.
“With what?”
I think I know and if Ashlin has information about what Shamira’s done, she’d definitely use it against her.
“Things I’ve done in my past…” She trails off, a blush staining her cheeks. “You know I grew up really poor?”
I nod, somewhat relieved Ashlin doesn’t know everything about Shamira, and she continues. “Back then, I did what I had to in order to survive. But I’ve moved on since. All my family are dead, I don’t have any friends, so I escaped that world and don’t regret it.”
Anger sparks her eyes. “Then this morning I ran into a man from my past. Considering Ashlin’s threat, it seems too coincidental?” She shakes her head. “The timing is making me nervous.”
“But how would Ashlin know anyone from your past?”
“Who knows, but I wouldn’t put anything past her.” Tension brackets her mouth. “It’s seriously freaking me out and I had to lie to Trent about it.” Her fingers continue to fiddle with her sleeve. “I’m not proud of things I’ve done in my past. But I left that life behind a long time ago and if Ashlin has somehow found out about it and opens her big mouth…” She shakes her head. “I’ll lose everything.”
Okay, so Ashlin doesn’t know about Shamira’s more recent deception but my relief is short-lived. While I can’t begin to fathom what Shamira did in her past, it must be bad if she’s this anxious by Ashlin knowing about it.
My inner journalist wants to probe Shamira for answers. What else has she done? Why is she so bothered? But she would’ve told me if she wanted to and I can’t pry, no matter how much I want to. She’s obviously living with regrets and considering what happened with Justin last night I know all about making wrong decisions, decisions that will complicate the dynamics of this family, choices the Parkers might not be able to come back from.
“Hey, it’ll be okay.” I give her a brief hug, offering a trite response I don’t believe myself. Because if Ashlin divulges the truth about Shamira’s past it can cause irrefutable damage to this sweet woman’s marriage. “I take it she blackmailed you into silence? You keep her secret, she’ll keep yours?”
Shamira nods, her expression worried. “I want to tell Justin, I really do, but I can’t.”
“You may not have to.”
The words pop out before I can censor them and she quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Justin has left her.” I sigh, wishing I’d kept my lips zipped.
Round-eyed, Shamira leans in closer. “Do you think he knows about the affair?”
“I think he’s tired of his marriage in general.”
I deliberately keep my response vague, not wanting to delve into how much I know and how I came by the information.
“Smart move on his part.” She shrugs and her expression clears somewhat. “I guess I don’t feel so bad now, knowing about the affair and not being able to tell him.”
She thinks she’s safe. But I know better. The revelation in that email is a hell of a lot more damaging than anything in her past.
“This could be bad for you,” I say, needing to choose my words carefully. “If Justin leaves her she won’t care about the affair coming out, meaning she could blurt the secrets of your past to be vindictive?”
Shamira pales, her dark eyes too large for her face. “Do you think she’d do that?”
“She might.” I pause, desperate to offer a solution without divulging how much I know. “There’s another way you can circumvent this. Cut off the potential threat.” I take a deep breath and blow it out. “Come clean to Trent. Tell him everything you’ve ever kept from him. Before he finds out from someone else.”
I eyeball her, willing her to understand I’m not just talking about the past. That she needs to tell her husband the truth about what she did fifteen months ago or risk losing him.
“I can’t do that.” She shakes her head, lips compressed into a mutinous line. “He’ll walk.”
“It’s the only way to ensure you can’t be threatened.”
Once again I want to tell her what I saw in that email. I want to warn her that the perfect life she’s built with Trent can come tumbling down if her secret is exposed. But Shelley calls out to her aunt, brandishing a daffodil silk eye mask, and the moment is lost.
“Thanks for listening.” Shamira squeezes my hand. “I’ll think about what you said.”
She leaves me standing there and as I watch her goofing around with my daughter, putting the eye mask on and pulling funny faces, I hope she tells Trent the truth.
Before someone else does.
17
Ashlin
Justin hasn’t called me back.
I left four voice messages earlier and he’s ignoring me. He never does that, no matter how I behave. My anger has faded, as has my desire to punish him by meeting up with Aaron today. Bad move. Monumentally bad. This thing with Aaron has run its course and I need to get out. I’m no longer feeling powerful, a woman in control of her sexuality, able to wield it as I see fit, reveling in the attention of a man.
As I lie next to Aaron in an uncomfortable bed in the poorly frequented Starlinton Hotel, I feel… sordid.
I’ve disregarded my conscience for too long. I’m selfish and trying to ignore how much I’m hurting Justin and affecting my kids hasn’t done me any favors. I can’t shake the feeling I’m standing on a precipice and about to fall off.
It’s unnerving. I’m confident in my own skin, in my life. But Justin’s uncharacteristic threat that it can all be taken away has lodged deep. He’s said outlandish things before during our arguments and I’m certain this will be yet another one of those occasions, but what if I’m wrong?
