Within forty-eight tumultuous hours, David drove Laura to a clinic to “take care” of the situation. He remained in the waiting room while she endured the procedure alone, silent tears running from the corners of her eyes.
He’d been kind on the drive home. Solicitous. A far cry from the volatility she’d seen in him over the previous days.
“My father was forty-eight when he died,” David said as Laura stared out the window, her eyes unfocused on the passing scenery. “A heart attack. He left behind six kids who hardly knew him. At his wake, friends and coworkers spoke about a man who was a stranger to me. He accepted every hour of overtime offered, left before we woke up, and came home too exhausted to be part of the family he was working so hard to support. But what choice did he have?”
Laura glanced across the car, searching her husband’s features for something, anything, that could help her forgive him. That could help her forgive herself.
“What choice did my mother have when she remarried within the year? She couldn’t support six kids on her own, and the months of trying had stolen her savings, her smile, her beauty. Her hope. She needed a husband. But the only thing she had left to attract one was a house full of unsuspecting victims.”
Laura’s breath caught in her throat.
“What kind of man do you suppose she found?” he asked without looking at her.
She was grateful he didn’t expect an answer. There was nothing she could have said to erase the past. Not the distant past, and not the recent one either.
They never spoke of children again. As long as they didn’t, Laura could ignore the expanding web of cracks in the foundation of their lives.
Until now.
When Laura watched the stick turn blue for the second time in her life, she was a different person. Gone was the younger woman willing to sacrifice the possibility of a child for the sake of her marriage. Gone was the seemingly perfect marriage that made that choice seem reasonable.
Her first thought, as uncharitable as it was, had been irritation. If children were such a deal breaker for David, why had he never bothered to get a vasectomy? But she knew the answer to her unvoiced question.
Because it was Laura’s responsibility to ensure David lived the life he felt he deserved. It always had been. And it was a role she was tired of playing.
Distracted by her annoyance, she hadn’t noticed the tendrils of something else creeping around her heart. Something that felt like joy. Something that felt like hope.
Laura doesn’t expect a child to fix her marriage. If anything, it will probably end it. The difference now is that the woman staring back at her from the mirror is a woman willing to take that chance.
She can hear laughter drifting from the ballroom as she repairs her makeup and fishes a breath mint from her purse.
The door opens a crack and Graye pokes her head inside.
“Are you all right?” she asks, letting the door swing closed behind her. The young woman swallows hard before she asks, “Do you need me to give the speech?”
Graye looks petrified at the prospect, but she offered. Bless her heart, Laura’s grandmother would have said.
Laura pulls in a deep breath and takes stock. “I feel a little better now, actually. I probably have a good twenty minutes before I turn green again.”
Graye holds up Laura’s notecards, though the furrow in her brow gives away her doubts. “I guess you’d better hurry then.”
The crowd is rowdy as they make their way back through the mock casino, just the way Laura likes it. She thrives on the smiles and the noise.
She flips a switch on the microphone Yolanda set up for her earlier in the day, and it lets out a shrill whine that draws the attention of the room.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Port Mary,” Laura says.
A cheer goes up, the crowd having warmed already thanks to a busy waitstaff and their trays of drinks.
“I won’t keep you long since I can tell by the way Olivia is jiggling her foot that she has a good hand.” She shakes her head. “Don’t bother trying to bluff her, boys. She’ll take you to the cleaners and leave you with the bill.”
One of the players, a portly white-haired man whose name is no stranger to bestseller lists, tosses his cards onto the green felt table.
“I fold,” he declares loudly, holding up his hands in surrender and eliciting a good-natured laugh from the crowd.
“I just want to thank you all for being here,” Laura goes on. “It’s my absolute pleasure to have the honor of working around books, and by extension their authors. It turns out you’re as lovely as the words you write and the stories you create.”
She wags her finger at a tall man near the back of the room. “Except for you, Walt. But there’s always one, I suppose.”
She winks and Walt dips into a showy bow, pulling more amusement from the group.
“I’d also like to give the warmest of welcomes to the book bloggers, the booksellers, and the super-readers among us. The tireless champions who are the nerve center of what we do.”
Glasses raise around the room, and Laura joins the group in a hearty round of applause.
“As my father likes to say, a person writes a book out of ego, reads a book out of hope, and recommends a book to another out of love.”
When the applause dies down, Laura continues.
“For the truly brave among you, I look forward to seeing you at the Bestseller Breakfast Charades in the morning, where we’ll judge what you’re really made of.”
Laura prefers to keep things short and sweet, but she has one last thought to leave them with.
“A moment more, and I’ll let you get back to it,” she says. “You all received a character card in advance for the Christie Murder Mystery dinner tomorrow night.”
Nods and whispers.
“Each included a backstory, complete with a few instructions and a clue. Our mystery will kick off tomorrow afternoon, when we’ll gather for cocktails before dinner.
“Just a piece of advice. Question everything. Mingle. Compare notes. Band together, if you like. But remember—things aren’t always what they seem. Trust no one.”
There are slow smiles across the room as the guests turn to consider one another with exaggerated suspicion.
“Anyone could be the next victim. And anyone a killer.”
As she replaces the microphone, Laura breathes a sigh of relief. She made it through the speech without running to the bathroom to puke.
She catches Graye’s eye. Ironically, Laura is feeling better. Graye, on the other hand, who seems more nervous than she is, has gone a sickly shade of pale.
Bless her heart.
23
GRAYE
Despite the lateness of the hour, as the two women make their way back to the West home, Graye can’t help but notice that Laura seems energized. Her pallor is gone, replaced with a moonlit brightness in her eyes fueled by the success of the evening and anticipation of the next day.
Graye, though, is a bundle of exposed nerves. The need to keep up the illusion of a calm facade is beginning to take a toll. Inside, Graye is battling her growing apprehension about Nick and his intentions. If there weren’t so very much at stake, she’d run as far and fast as she could manage. But she can’t do that.
Not yet.
Side by side, the women have chosen to walk along the beach rather than the road. Shoes dangle from their fingertips. Occasionally a crab scuttles past. The moon throws jeweled reflections off the sea.
At night, the shore is a world of its own, a unique and private landscape inhabited by creatures that shun the glaring sun of the day. The faraway bell of an unseen buoy rings in the darkness, answered by the low foghorn of a distant ship, and the constant gentle rush of surf. The flicker of a campfire farther down the beach is the only sign they aren’t the last two people left in the world.
It should be a pleasure. But Graye jumps at shadows, real or imagined, moving among the row of houses standing t
all and silent along the seaside.
Neither woman mentions David’s conspicuous absence that evening, which is fine with her. Graye has enough on her mind with thoughts of Nick. She’s been unable to shake the foreboding that’s settled around her.
“There’s no way I can sleep. I’m too amped up,” Laura says as they draw close to home. “And a glass of wine isn’t an option. I think I’ll read for a little while, distract my brain. That manuscript has been whispering my name since I set it down yesterday.”
Graye’s pulse jumps. There will be no sleep for her now either, knowing Laura will be just yards away, traveling the path that Graye’s words have paved.
They veer up the beach to the faded blue house.
“See you bright and early for the big day. I have a surprise or two up my sleeve for tomorrow,” Laura says as she lets herself in her kitchen door, leaving Graye to continue the few steps farther to the guesthouse.
A surprise? Graye tries not to let her disquiet show at the idea.
“And Graye?” Laura says at her retreating back.
She stops and turns.
“I don’t know if I’ve said it, but thank you for your help today. For everything, really.”
“That’s my job,” Graye says.
“It’s not part of the job to be a friend. I couldn’t have made it through tonight without you, you know.”
She’s grateful for the darkness that hides the blush rising on her cheeks.
“Good night, then,” Graye says.
“Good night.”
And Laura is gone.
But it isn’t a good night. Not for Graye. She sits alone in the dark, with only her racing thoughts for company, alternately imagining Laura enthralled by her book and Nick waiting to ruin it all. Sleep is impossible, until eventually even the dark gives up and fades into day.
Sleeplessness adds a surreal layer to the following day that’s impossible to escape. Like a child’s kaleidoscope, the view shifts suddenly, sending light and color careening at Graye while her fuzzy head struggles to keep up.
The collective mood of the group is too cheerful, conversations too loud.
Staff of the Mary Read set up tables and chairs beachside, extending the party of the night before with brunch and a mimosa bar staged on the outdoor patio. Laura’s guests have officially renounced their responsibilities at home, giving themselves over to the relaxed frivolity Laura offers with an abandon that leaves Graye both befuddled and a bit envious.
The laughter that rings out while a group of adults indulge themselves in a decidedly un-adultlike game of charades on the beach is a vague irritant, a grain of sand in her dry, tired eyes. Graye tries to concentrate, creating lists in her head of what needs to be done for the day, but thoughts of Laura’s opinion of The Orphan’s Ashes creep in.
Has she finished it? There hasn’t been an opportunity to ask, and the question sticks in Graye’s gut like a rusty fish hook she’s swallowed by accident.
Thoughts of Nick are never far away, and she surreptitiously studies the crowd, searching out the specter at the feast.
It’s going to be a very long day.
Graye stares at a patch of sky far in the distance and the barely discernable shadow that mars the otherwise wide, clear horizon.
She’s read the weather report. Her head knows it will bring nothing more than a few thunderstorms. They’ll be gone as quickly as they arrive. Nothing to worry about. But her heart is uneasy.
“Earth to Graye,” Laura says at her side. The group of guests has begun to disperse, finished with the parlor game at last.
“I’m sorry.” Graye straightens immediately, pulling her thoughts back from the edge. “Hey, did you have a chance to finish that manuscript last night?” Graye asks, reaching for a casual tone she doesn’t feel.
Real subtle, she thinks. Way to go.
“I did,” Laura says, brightening. “It was—”
“Laura,” a voice calls out. Laura breaks off and turns her head. A warm smile fills her face.
“Hugo,” she says. “This is my assistant, Graye.”
Graye dredges up a smile and shakes the man’s hand even though she’s dying inside, a little at a time.
“I was hoping to catch you in between events. Could you spare a few minutes?” he asks Laura.
“Of course,” she replies. “Just give me a second, okay?”
Laura turns to Graye. “All the guests are doing their own thing for the afternoon, but they know to be back for the big dinner by six. That means you’re off the hook, barring any emergencies. Meet you back here by five thirty and we’ll go over any last-minute issues?”
Graye nods, though she wants to howl in frustration. Instead, all she can do is watch the couple walk off together toward the hotel, their heads bent toward each other.
It mystifies Graye, the peculiar way people complicate their lives.
She’s been on dates. A few anyway. There was a guy she went out with several times during freshman year. Her roommate, Natalie, had set them up.
He was nice enough. Attractive even, she supposed.
When he kissed her after their third date, she didn’t stop him, thinking maybe it was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
Books are riddled with characters who defy logic and reason to chase that elusive thing called love.
Or, at the very least, sex.
But after fumbling through the clumsy machinations, gamely attempting to do her part, Graye realized there was a lot books never mention.
Like the feel of someone else’s sweaty back beneath your hand. Or the need in their eyes as they watch your reaction to their efforts, hoping for confirmation they’re not as bad at this as they fear.
Nor do books talk about the moment when biology takes over and they no longer care, so focused on their own grunting, panting release.
The books skip right past the uncomfortable moments after, when you know that even if he bothers to call again, you won’t answer the phone.
Graye tried it. She’s yet to cross paths with another person, man or woman, who’s tempted her to try it again.
No, thanks. Hard pass.
It was a stance Natalie found incomprehensible and more than a little funny. But Natalie’s quest for collecting all the pleasure the world had to offer slowly took over her life. Her plans to leave college and go to Los Angeles with her latest boyfriend, cooked up after a late-night drug-infused bout of mania, ended not in stardom, but her death when she overdosed on drugs provided by the same guy who’d promised to make her famous.
As different as the two girls were, Natalie and Graye were friends.
Such a needless waste of a life. And it never would have happened if Natalie hadn’t been so ready and willing to complicate her world. Men, sex, drugs. All so pointless.
It isn’t that Graye doesn’t understand what people are searching for. Belonging, acceptance, validation, a cure for loneliness, to scratch an itch.
She longs for the same, but more than that, she longs to be heard. To have a voice. The rest will flow from there.
Far in the distance, a silent flash of lightning arcs through the air, warning of what’s headed their way.
Graye clenches her jaw, determined to weather whatever the storm might bring.
24
LAURA
“Laura—”
“Hugo—”
They speak at the same time, the words bumping against one another in the awkward space between them.
Hugo smiles gently and places his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
“Ladies first,” he says.
“No, you go.”
He leans his back against the wall and crosses one foot over the other. Laura’s eyes slide past him, landing anywhere but his too-perceptive gaze.
“Have you told him?” Hugo asks.
Laura shakes her head, then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m working up to it.”
“Laura,” he says, the word drawn
out. There’s so much disappointment in those two syllables. A world of disappointment.
“I am,” she says.
“You can’t go on like this.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she replies, more sharply than she intended.
He’s silent, a silence that does nothing but allow her time to regret the way she’s spoken to him.
“Who are you angry at?” he finally asks quietly.
“Myself, mostly,” she says with a sigh.
“And there’s your mistake. He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”
Maybe, she thinks. Maybe not.
She walks toward the elevator and pushes a button on the panel to open the doors. She steps into the empty waiting space and looks again to where Hugo is standing, hands still deep in his pockets, concern etched on his face.
“You coming?” she asks.
He sighs. “Where else would I go?”
When the doors slide closed, she presses the button for the second floor, where his room is located. In the moment of privacy, he pulls her into a hug.
Laura lays her head against his chest, an echo of the way she laid her head against David’s chest just the day before. The difference is, instead of seeking some sort of truce, with Hugo, she can take comfort for herself from this man who knows her so well. He gives willingly, without hesitation.
“He doesn’t deserve to be lied to either,” she says, glancing up at Hugo, meeting his eyes at last. “No one does.”
25
GRAYE
With the afternoon free from responsibilities, Graye considers returning home for a quick nap. She dismisses the thought almost as soon as it comes to her.
It’s not that Laura would mind. She’d probably encourage her if she had any idea how long it’s been since Graye has slept.
But she doesn’t want to risk getting tangled up in dreams of Nick and Alex and the family she used to have.
Those memories stayed firmly locked away for years, but with Nick’s sudden return they’ve joined forces, breaking down her defenses. Now, she’s powerless against them.
The Shadow Writer Page 11
