by A. J. Banner
Why did you do that? I yelled. The girl laughed at me. Lauren shoved her, ran out to look for my bra, but it was gone. Someone had picked it up. She gave me hers, and she went without one that day. She came to my defense not only against drunken frat boys, but also against the cruelty of other girls. And yet. Falling in love with Jensen was the unkindest thing she ever did to me. Not on purpose, but still.
I return to Nathan’s house in the evening, tell him what Jensen told me. “This whole thing is tragic,” Nathan says, resting his hand on mine at the dinner table. “How are you holding up? I know it’s bringing back memories.”
“Good ones as well as bad,” I say. “I wish she had told me about her miscarriage. But sometimes the saddest things are the ones we keep most secret. We can’t bear to talk about them. And she and I weren’t close friends anymore.”
“Did she have any close friends?” Nathan says.
“A couple of nurses at the hospital, I think. She worked long shifts.”
Nathan nods, staring off into the distance. He’s trying to be attentive, but I can tell he’s distracted. He pushes his green beans around with his fork, checks his phone.
“Is something bothering you?” I say.
He looks at me, opens his mouth, closes it, looks at his plate. “It’s been a tough day. Two fatalities. One was a kid. Traffic accident. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt. I hate those calls. Deaths that could’ve been prevented. And . . .”
“And what?”
He squeezes my hand. “A friend is in a bind, I think.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He lets go of my hand. “I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble,” I say.
“You’ve got enough on your plate. I can take care of it.”
“You shouldn’t have to take care of it alone.”
“No, I do. It’s a complicated situation.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling back. “If you want to talk, I’m here.”
“I know you are. I appreciate you.” After dinner, he’s quiet as we clean the kitchen, and he pours himself a scotch, as if to calm his nerves. While I curl up on the couch and jot notes about what I’ll say at Lauren’s memorial service, I catch him looking at me now and then, his eyes troubled. I know he encounters horrific, tragic situations every day. I don’t push him. I give him the space he needs.
I wake to a low rumbling sound—a truck—but while I slept, I felt Lauren close, haunting me in unformed dreams. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then I remember I’m in bed with Nathan. I reach over, squint in the darkness. The covers are in disarray. But he’s not here. Did he get called in to work? There it is again. The motor noise, tires crackling over gravel. My breath catches. I slip out of bed, reach for my robe, tie it around my waist. I hear my breathing as I race barefoot down the hall into the kitchen.
Nathan stands in the driveway. His truck is running, the exhaust pluming up in the waning moonlight. He gets in, backs out onto the street. I reach for my car keys, pull on my boots, slip out the door and lock it. I’m surprised at how quickly I can move. No time to worry about getting dressed. His truck has already disappeared around the bend when I back out. He is turning right. I follow—he’s far ahead.
I forgot my cell phone. No time to go back. I follow Nathan all the way into the sleeping town, past the grocery store, the bank, along Waterview Road, past the closed boutiques, the library. I stay far behind him. Why am I doing this? My dad once told me to keep my trust in the world, my sense of wonder. After the debacle of Lauren and Jensen, he advised me not to shut down, not to suspect everyone of deception. Yet I can’t help myself.
Nathan’s truck climbs the road out of town. I expect him to hang a right at the turnoff to the ambulance station, but he keeps going. “You missed it!” I slam the palm of my hand on the steering wheel. “You’re going to turn around, aren’t you?”
But he doesn’t. We’re on the narrow highway hugging the shoreline. He keeps on for another two miles, past a diner, and then an RV pulls out into the road in front of me, blocking my view. “Get out of the way!” I shout. I can’t pass on this winding, two-lane road. The RV slows to a crawl and soon turns into a campsite. The road is dark ahead. I speed past a hotel, a dark forest, a gas station. No sign of Nathan’s truck.
I pull over to the shoulder, rest my forehead on the steering wheel. Now what? A sheriff’s patrol car cruises slowly past me. I duck my head, pretend to look at a phone in my lap, but I stupidly forgot my phone, and I stupidly forgot my driver’s license, too . . . All for what? Hey, Dad. My sense of wonder went down the toilet.
That was a long time ago. We’ve all grown up. Nathan must have an important reason for driving all the way out here. I pull out into the road, turn around, and head back. As I pass the hotel, driving slowly this time, the sign jogs my memory. The Oak Terrace Hotel. The logo shows an oak tree sitting on an oak leaf. The logo on the key card I found. My heart jumps. I’ve driven past this hotel, but I’ve never stayed here. I slow down, peer into the parking lot as I pass. Silly, what am I looking for?
I take the turnoff to the ambulance station. Nathan parked his truck in his usual spot next to the building. Of course, he’s at work. What was I thinking, tailing him in my nightgown and slippers, hunched behind the steering wheel like a suspicious wife?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I lie awake in Nathan’s bed, in this familiar room with skylights and a rustic chest of drawers, accompanied by the comforting lullaby of the sea. Morning light textures the ceiling in shadows. The longer I look, the more shimmering colors appear, bits of hidden red and gold woven into the gray.
I grab my cell phone off the nightstand, send Nathan a text.
Checking in, couldn’t sleep.
I miss you, he texts back.
Is everything okay?
Yeah, why?
Any problems at work? I type.
Always. Why?
I mean, I thought you were leaving in the morning.
I got called in early.
I want to ask, Why did you drive past the ambulance station? He probably needed to stop at the store or to fill the gas tank.
I get up, get dressed, and go home to gather my thoughts. I wish I could share a cup of mint tea with my dad. Mint was his favorite. “I need you to remind me about the good in the world,” I tell him. He keeps smiling at me from his photograph, his eyes soft and forgiving.
In the afternoon, the police call to tell me they don’t have any leads on the burglary. Nathan sends me a text letting me know the medical examiner will soon release Lauren’s body and that her family settled on a date for the memorial service. I’m still on leave from work, but paperwork keeps piling up, and my mind keeps straying to the Oak Terrace Hotel logo. Could Lauren have gone there? Nobody else claimed the key card.
I call Julie at work. She’s between classes.
“The kids miss you,” she says. “But it’s crazy here. Glad you’re taking some time off.”
“Can we talk? I’m freaking out a bit.”
“Meet me here after school?”
“I’ll be there.” When I pull into the Tranquil Cove Elementary School parking lot at three o’clock, students are spilling out, racing to catch their buses. Although I’ve missed the vibrant, frenetic activity, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. I slide down in the driver’s seat, trying to remain incognito, but I’ve been made. Tommy Aaronson, a delightful ten-year-old boy I’m treating for speech issues related to Down syndrome, sprints across the parking lot toward me, backpack bouncing, and taps on my window. I sit up straight, smile at him, and roll down my window. Still no sign of Julie.
“Miss Parlette, Miss Parlette!” he says, shaking with joy. “I thought you died.”
“I’m very much alive,” I say, opening the door and getting out to give him a hug. His mother rushes after him, pushing her purse strap up over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I was talking to—”
“No worries,” I say.
“When are you coming back?” he asks.
“In a couple of days.”
“Are you sick? I miss you. I’m forgetting how to talk.”
“I miss you, too,” I say and burst into laughter. “You’ll never forget how to talk.” His loving smile turns my heart to mush.
“Come on,” his mom says, grabbing his hand. “You want to go to swim class?”
“With Jimmy and Shawna and Cass and—”
“With all of them.” She grins at me. “You’re probably trying to be on vacation?”
“On vacation, yes,” I say, relieved to meet someone who does not seem to know about Lauren’s death. I watch the two of them rush off, Tommy waving over his shoulder. Julie bursts out of the school and dashes toward me as if she’s making a prison break. She yanks open the passenger door and slides inside.
“Hurry, let’s get out of here.”
I drive off, down to the trail near the waterfront park, and I could almost believe our lives are normal.
“What a day,” Julie says, changing into her walking pants and purple running shoes in the back seat once we park. In a minute, we’re striding down the trail. “I almost had to stay late for a meeting. You saved me. What’s wrong? You look like all the blood has been drained out of you. Been hanging out with a vampire lately?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” I tell her about Nathan leaving in the night, me following him. I show her the key card with the oak tree logo. “He might have turned into this hotel.”
“You think he met a lover there?” She laughs.
“No, I don’t, but I lost him for a bit when I followed him.”
“Seriously, think about what you’re saying. You’re about to marry this guy, and you’re tailing him. Do you really believe he would have an affair?” She pumps her arms as she speedwalks. I race to keep up.
“You’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust him—”
“But you followed him. Why not just call him? Or ask him what he’s doing?”
“That would give him a chance to lie to me, to make up a story.”
“You think if you follow him on the sly, you can catch him in flagrante delicto. I just read that phrase in a novel. I love the sound of the words in flagrante delicto.”
“Stop! I’m not going to catch him with another woman. I wasn’t thinking . . . It was just . . . Lauren just died. He went outside that night, and then he went out again. He overshot the ambulance station.”
“Jesus, Marissa. You’re going to drive yourself insane.”
“I know—my head is turned around.”
“Do you think this is about what happened in the past? With Jensen and Lauren?”
“No, I don’t know. I’m not suspicious. I’m . . . uneasy. Okay, I’m suspicious.”
“Then talk to Nathan. Tell him you followed him in what . . . a lace teddy?”
“A regular nightgown.”
“Oh, how boring. Or go to the hotel. Ask about the key card.”
“They won’t give me any personal information about a customer. They’ll just take back the key, and that will be that.”
“We could go there and try all the doors. Would that help?”
“We’ll get arrested,” I say, laughing. “The key card wouldn’t work anyway.”
“Look, your fiancé is not a philanderer. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. Famous last words, right? I’m pretty sure he’s not a cheater. Like, 99.99 percent sure.”
“But maybe Lauren was,” I say. “Nobody else claimed the key card. Jensen and Hedra said it wasn’t theirs.”
“What about Hedra’s husband . . . what’s his name?”
“Keith. I’m sure Hedra asked him when I texted her.”
Julie jabs a finger in the air. “Ah, but see, if it was his, he would say it wasn’t, wouldn’t he?”
I stop cold. “You mean, if he’d been meeting Lauren at the hotel?” I shake the thought from my head. “I can’t go there. That’s a huge leap. Now we’re way out there.”
“Just saying. It could’ve been his.”
“Or it could’ve been Lauren’s,” I say. “It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”
“Do the police have any leads? How is Jensen holding up?”
“He’s devastated. He told me something about Lauren . . . I don’t know if I should say.”
“I’m your best friend!”
“Don’t tell anyone. Okay? Lauren had a miscarriage not long ago. She was very upset about it.”
Julie’s mouth drops open. “Poor Lauren. Now you’re thinking she might have jumped? That’s more tragic than murder.”
“She may have been depressed, but she wasn’t suicidal. But for some reason it felt like Jensen wanted me to think she was.”
“Now you think he killed her.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“The memorial service is tomorrow.” Julie stops to look out at a raft of ducks on the water. “They say killers like to go to funerals. If someone offed her, they’ll be there.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many cop shows.”
“It’s true,” she says. “There’s always someone who isn’t crying.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Some people are stoic, especially if they’re in shock.”
“But you’re so intuitive. I bet you can tell,” she says. “Just keep your eye on the crowd.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The church next to Tranquil Cove Cemetery is a modern wood-and-brick building surrounded by a forest. A plaque on the wall reads, “St. Barnabas Episcopal Church, lovingly built by local residents.” I’ve been here before—not in the church, but I’ve wandered through the cemetery, reading the inscriptions on the headstones.
A solemn procession files inside, some mourners clad in black, others in colorful attire. The wind picks up, rustling through the treetops. The scent of pine needles wafts into my nose.
A dapper young church officiant greets us at the entrance. “Welcome.” He hands us the program for the memorial service. On the front of the brochure, Lauren smiles out from a color photograph, her dark hair spilling around her face. Full lips curved upward in a playful grin. Her eyes sparkle, alive. In loving memory of Lauren Eklund . . . With her birth and death dates below. Oh, Lauren, what happened to you? I imagine she will walk in the door any moment now, wave and smile and say this was all a joke. She was only on vacation.
We file into the church and I sign the guest book Marissa Parlette. I write in black pen, and I wonder if I’ll change my name, start signing guest books Marissa Black. Where is Nathan? He is supposed to meet me here.
I sit in an empty wooden pew near the back, scanning the church. No sign of him. Bibles and small packets of tissues are tucked into the seatbacks. Rectangular stained-glass windows overlook the forest. At the front of the church, a much larger stained-glass window casts a warm rainbow of light on a small, golden box holding Lauren’s remains.
In the pews, I see Lauren’s colleagues, friends, Brynn’s teachers from school, and other familiar faces. Rianne is clad in a black pantsuit, seated beside Anna in a middle row. Anna is in a deep-turquoise dress and a black sweater. The detective sits off by himself a few rows ahead of us, wearing all black.
Jensen comes in with Lauren’s parents, Brynn, Karina, and relatives I can’t identify. The family sits in the first row. A priest dressed in a white robe enters through the back door and glides down the center aisle to the front of the church. No sign of Keith and Hedra.
Julie slides in next to me. I nod slightly but keep my gaze straight ahead as the priest addresses us with no preamble. “I am the Resurrection and I am the Life . . . Whoever has faith in me shall have life . . . We remember before you this day Mrs. Lauren Eklund . . .”
Brynn is softly crying in the front row. My heart folds into itself. In a flash, I see the church in North Seattle, the funeral for my father. A group of his colleagues and clients gathered to honor him
on that sunlit summer day—I knew very few of them. I’d moved away at eighteen. I’d been living far from him for nearly eight years. My mother flew back for the service, and at first, I wanted nothing to do with her, but when she sat next to me and took my hand, I felt temporary comfort and a deep longing—for what? For my mother to stay, for my father to come back to life? I yearned for the happy family I thought I’d once had, but it was only a fantasy. My mother left a few hours later, and that was the last time I saw her.
Lauren’s family members go up to the podium one by one to recite poems and to reminisce. Tears, laughter, slide shows. I’d forgotten that picture of the two of us in bikinis blowing bubbles in her front yard. Were we thirteen, fourteen? Lauren graduating from high school, her wedding to Jensen. I’m seeing the ceremony for the first time, the way she described it to me. Her baby bump is barely visible.
Tears prick at my eyes, and I reach for the tissues in the seatback in front of me. Detective Harding scans the crowd, working, watching. Nathan rushes in late, still in his uniform. My heart leaps when I see him. He rushes over to sit next to me. “Got held up,” he whispers. I squeeze his hand.
Brynn’s at the podium now, breaking down in sobs. “She was like the best mom ever . . .” Two girlfriends flank her, gripping her arms, as if holding her up. Their eyes are red and puffy. She talks about birthdays, about her friend’s car breaking down on a trip and how Lauren left work and drove five hours to pick them up and didn’t even get angry. About how she made the best three-layer birthday cakes, about how she told Brynn she could be anyone and do anything, about how she lived for others.
As a nurse, she did care for others, but what about in her personal life? Even before I caught her with Jensen, I once looked out the apartment window and saw her returning late, changing out of pumps into her running shoes beneath the porch light, as if she didn’t want me to see. Was she already dating Jensen on the sly? Living for herself?
