"It means disinterest, like if you're kind of bored with something," Marcy explained, reaching for new tiles.
"Like this stupid game." Ben got up from his chair, dumping his tiles into the lid.
"Quitter," Katie accused.
"Mom! She's calling me names again."
Marcy glanced at her teenaged daughter. She'd been hesitant to reprimand them since she got home from the hospital, but she had realized that Phoebe would continue to act like their mother as long as Marcy didn't. "For heaven sake, you're four years older than he is. No name calling." She grabbed the sleeve of Ben's T-shirt as he went by. "And you, no whining. You know I can't abide whining."
She let go of him, and he walked into the house. "I'm going to bed to read my new book on saving the rainforest."
"Night, Ralph," Katie called after her brother. It was a nickname meant to be funny, but somehow it didn't come out that way when she used it. Ben was so preoccupied with safety and environmental concerns that Jake had started calling him Ralph Nader a few months ago... a year ago now.
Ben stuck his tongue out at his sister and disappeared into the brighter light of the family room.
"Guess we're done. You win." Katie picked up the game board.
"You and I could have kept playing." Marcy reached for the board, but it was too late. Katie spilled the tiles into the lid of the box.
Katie made a face. "Aunt Phoebe's waiting for me anyway. She's going to paint my toenails." Her face immediately brightened. "We do it all the time. She's got a whole pedicure kit with this buffing stone and mint lotion that smells really good and makes your skin tingle."
Inwardly, Marcy winced. How could she compete with her daughter against Phoebe with her pedicures, chick flick movie nights, and apparently endless credit card limit to buy Katie anything she wanted? Ben didn't seem to be nearly as taken with his aunt as his sister, but it still bothered Marcy that she seemed to have been displaced while she was in the hospital. It seemed so unfair. In her mind, it was still as if she had just been driving in the rain down that winding road a little more than a week ago.
Marcy closed up the game box. "Put it back in the closet."
"I will," Katie sang, scooping it up and leaving her mother alone on the back porch.
Marcy flipped off the light that hung over the table to deter a mosquito she heard buzzing near her ear. Thankful for a quiet moment alone, she sat back in her padded wrought-iron chair and stared out into the darkness. She could see the outline of Ben's fort that Jake had built him a couple of years ago from salt-treated timber. She could make out the shed, too, where they kept the lawn mower and bikes, just a faint outline at the edge of the property.
Marcy suddenly felt the hair rise suddenly on her bare arms. There it was again, like on the beach the other night, that feeling that she was being watched. There was no one there, of course. The neighbor's German shepherd hadn't barked. The outside light that was triggered by a motion detector hadn't come on.
She closed her eyes for a second, willing her heart to slow to a normal pace again. If she told anyone she thought someone was watching her, she would end up on that psychiatrist's couch, or worse, back in the hospital again for more tests.
Taking a deep breath, Marcy opened her eyes. Dr. Larson had warned her that she might feel strange at times, that there might be moments in her day that didn't quite make sense. It was all part of the brain's recovery he had patiently explained in that monotone voice doctors liked to use. So, a little touch of paranoia didn't seem all that strange, considering the circumstances, did it?
"Marcy?"
Jake laid his hand on her shoulder from behind, and she leaped out of the chair.
"Don't do that." She pulled away and sat down again. "You scared me half to death."
"I'm sorry."
He grabbed a chair beside her, and she looked away. This wasn't working. Him tiptoeing around her, constantly apologizing. Being so stinking nice to her. Marcy had been thinking about it since the other night on the beach. The sex had been great, she'd give Jake that. But that didn't mean she wanted to stay married to him. She just hadn't had the nerve to bring it up yet.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'll be late tomorrow night. I've got a meeting with—"
"Jake, I want you to move out," Marcy interrupted. She turned to face him, thinking she owed him at least that.
"What?"
Even in the darkness, she could see the distressed look on his face. She was glad it was dark so he couldn't see hers clearly and be reminded of how beautiful she was now. She didn't want the facts to be distorted by her face or nice boobs.
"I think you need to move out," she repeated, more sure of herself now.
"Marcy—"
"Jake, you know we were on the verge of this before the accident. I can't pretend we weren't, even if you can."
"Honey—"
He reached out for her, and she drew back. His touch did still excite her, and she didn't want that distorting the facts either. "Please, Jake?" She swallowed against her fear and the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes. "You know how it was with us. Barely talking. Always arguing over stupid stuff when we did speak. Stuff like who ate the last of the cereal, who left the toothpaste in the sink?"
"Marcy, those are just the things that married couples fight about. Everyone bickers. That doesn't mean we don't love each other."
She shook her head, pressing her lips together. "I don't want to be everyone, Jake! And I don't know if I love you anymore." She hadn't meant to shout those last words. They just came out that way.
Jake stood up, his arms loose at his sides. "I don't know what to say."
She looked away, into the dark yard again. "Don't say anything. Just find a place to go. A hotel would probably be expensive, but maybe you can find a rental for a couple of weeks."
"You want me to go tonight?"
She kept her eyes focused on the big lilac bush beside the shed. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark of the porch, she could see the yard better. There was no one there. "That would be better."
"But just until we sort this out, right?" he asked hopefully.
He sounded so sad that Marcy didn't answer, afraid she'd have second thoughts and tell him not to go. After several long moments of painful silence, he walked back into the house.
Phoebe must have been waiting inside the door because she passed Jake on her way onto the porch.
Marcy drew up her legs on the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees, still amazed she could do it. She wiped at her eyes and sniffed. "You heard that."
Phoebe sat down, opened her cigarettes that she had left on the table, and flicked her lighter. Marcy didn't allow smoking in the house; it bothered Ben's asthma. The flame glowed for a moment, illuminating her sister's face. "I heard."
Was there nothing in her life that could be hers alone? Marcy looked down at her hands. No wedding or engagement rings anymore. Someone had taken them off after the accident and given them to Jake for safekeeping. Marcy had found them in her velvet-lined jewelry box. They were too big now and would have to be sized. If she ever wore them again...."You think I'm nuts?"
Phoebe shrugged. She was wearing two pink tank tops, one cotton candy pink, the other darker, layered over each other the way teen girls wore them. No bra. "You know me—I'm not one to give advice on relationships, but you weren't getting along very well last year. At Thanksgiving you told me you were thinking of separating."
Marcy ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back over the crown of her head. She had gotten a trim, adding some layers, and she loved the way it felt now. Loved the way it brushed her cheeks when she turned her head. Phoebe had liked the way she got it cut so much that she had gone and had hers done the same way.
Marcy studied Phoebe in the darkness that served as a buffer between them. Somehow it was easier talking this way, not having to see this reflection of herself too clearly. Marcy didn't remember saying anything to her sister about want
ing a separation from Jake, but it was probably just one of those holes in her memory that Dr. Larson said might occasionally occur. "I'm not saying it's permanent."
Phoebe inhaled, and the end of her cigarette glowed brighter for a moment. "No, of course not."
"I just need some time to think."
Phoebe nodded. "This way you can have some space. And I'll be out of your hair in no time." She lifted her hand and let it fall. "I've got applications out all over the place. I got called in for an interview over at O'Hara's already. Assistant Manager. Salaried with benefits."
Marcy glanced out into the dark yard again. She could hear the frogs along the woods line croaking. Insects chirping. No one could be out there, she told herself, fighting that feeling again. She glanced sideways at her sister, then through the screen into the dark yard again. "Have... have you noticed anything strange around here the last few nights?" she asked softly.
A cloud of smoke drifted over Phoebe's head. "What do you mean?"
Marcy hesitated. The mosquito buzzed in her ear again, and she swatted it. She didn't want her sister saying anything to Jake. She didn't want anyone talking to Dr. Larson, either. This town was so small; everyone knew everyone's business, and she was tired of everyone talking about her accident. About her. "I don't know. I just keep getting this weird feeling that... that someone's watching..." She let her words trail off, not knowing how to verbalize what she was sensing.
Phoebe glanced into the yard. "Ryan says Billy Trotter's no longer a suspect in Patti's murder. Got an alibi. They're looking into some transient guy who was seen hanging around the diner the week before she was killed. Maybe he's out there" she teased, altering her voice to sound spooky. "You know, like the night stalker."
Marcy cut her eyes at her sister. "Very funny." She got up. "I'm going to bed."
"Where's Jake sleeping tonight?"
Marcy walked into the light of the family room, feeling more secure there. "Don't know, don't care," she called over her shoulder. "So long as it's not here."
* * *
The Bloodsucker stood in the shadow of the shed and watched Marcy walk off the porch, through the open French doors and into the family room. As she went, he imagined following her. Walking right in with her, like the house was his. Like Marcy was his. If it had been him there on the porch tonight and not Jake, he wouldn't have agreed to move out. If it had been him, Marcy wouldn't have asked him to move out. She would have wanted to take him by the hand and lead him upstairs where she could tuck him warm and safe into their bed. She would have kissed his cheek and told him how much she loved him. She would have said how glad she was that she hadn't died because now she could be there with him.
Watching Marcy's interactions with her family tonight had been like watching a Sunday night movie... no, better. It had all the drama, the angst of any award-winning drama ABC, NBC, or CBS had to offer. But the best part was that Marcy had been the star. She made such a wonderful heroine, so brave, strong, courageous. Unlike her sister, Phoebe.
The Bloodsucker didn't like Phoebe. And now that she had gotten her hair cut like Marcy's, it was sometimes hard to tell them apart. At least until Phoebe opened her mouth. Then all the trash spilled out. The filth. He wondered if Phoebe's blood would be as black as Patti's had been.
He shifted his weight from one foot to another, suddenly uncomfortable inside his undershorts. He didn't like that feeling. It was bad.
He swallowed, trying not to think about it. Thinking about it only made things worse....
The Bloodsucker wondered about Phoebe's blood, but it wasn't Phoebe he was interested in. It was Marcy. Marcy who had been fat and ugly and then been transformed in a miracle. Her life could have been a mini-series. He could make it one. They could do it together.
The Bloodsucker told himself that Patti had been a mistake. He swore to himself that he would not do that again. It was too dangerous. So many ways to get caught. But as the days passed... as the elation waned until it was nothing but a dull throb... he wondered why he couldn't do it again. Better this time. It would be better. The joy would last longer if he had a woman like Marcy. A woman who could truly understand him. Understand his needs. It would make him strong.
Marcy disappeared from his view inside the house, and his disappointment was so pungent that he could almost taste it in his mouth. He liked the taste of things in his mouth. Taste had always been good. Something Granny was never able to take away from him.
His gaze wandered to Phoebe, who remained on the porch. She leaned back in the chair and propped her feet on the table. He watched the end of her cigarette glow as she inhaled.
Smoking was bad. Unhealthy. And he didn't like the smell of it. Patti had smelled like smoke. But Marcy... he knew she wouldn't ever smoke cigarettes because she understood how important it was to take care of her good health.
She was even jogging now. First, she had just been taking walks, but now, she jogged through town. That made the Bloodsucker happy because he could see her more often. Watch her.
Coming here tonight had been an impulse. He had known he shouldn't have and yet... His hand found its way to his pants.
No. Bad.
He tucked his hand behind his back. Then the other hand. He had to have the strength to resist.
Patti had given him strength. Somehow he knew in his heart that Marcy could give him strength. That her strength could become his. And she was such a good person. Surely she'd be willing to share.
A dog barked next door, startling the Bloodsucker. Suddenly, his heart was racing.
"Shhh, shhh, don't bark, dog. Nice dog." He backed up behind the shed, then turned and ran through the woods.
Coming here had been so bad. Granny would have said it was very bad.
It had felt so good.
* * *
Marcy sat in the driver's seat of the green SUV, her fingers gripped tightly around the wheel. The garage door was still shut No one knew she was here. No witness to her moment of temporary psychosis. Phoebe had dropped Ben off at the pool for his swimming lesson, and Katie was down the street baby-sitting for their neighbor's twin toddlers.
She had been sitting here like this for almost an hour, trying to get up the courage to start it. She knew her fear was illogical. It wasn't raining, and there was no ice on the road. It was a sunny eighty-three degrees already, according to the radio. No chance of skidding off the road and crashing through the railing of a bridge. She wouldn't even have to cross the bridge to get to town. She had only been involved in one automobile accident in her entire life. What were the chances she'd get into another today? Her brain dwelled on the logical while her body still seemed to be clinging to this irrational fear.
But Marcy wasn't going to let it overwhelm her. Jake had moved out of the house two nights ago. Tonight he was coming to the house for some of his things and then moving into a friend's condo. When Phoebe got a job and moved out, Marcy would be here alone with the kids. She had to be able to drive to function as a mother. As a person. If she wanted independence, she had to be able to drive. Albany Beach wasn't a town big enough for public transportation.
Marcy grasped the brown leather of the steering wheel, then released it, flexing her sweaty fingers. She could feel her heart beating in her chest beneath her white T-shirt. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to reach down, grab the key, and turn over the engine. It started right up, and she grinned. As she reached up to punch the garage door opener, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror.
Coral lipstick. Hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was actually getting some sun now, out on her walks that were turning into jogs. She looked younger with a little color. She adjusted the mirror, still finding it hard to believe that that was her looking back at herself. That beautiful woman whose possibilities seemed endless.
If she could just back the car out of the driveway...
Biting down on her lower lip, Marcy shifted into reverse and eased the SUV out of the garage. So far, so go
od. Of course she'd been moving forward at the time of the accident.
Her little joke made her smile and gave her the courage to shift into drive when she reached the pavement in front of her house. She inched down the street, out onto the main road, and slowly pressed the gas pedal. Her heart was still pounding, but by the time she reached the edge of town, she was breathing normally again. She had done it. She had driven the car. And now she was going shopping.
By noon, Marcy had three shopping bags of clothes, mostly T-shirts and shorts, but a pair of running shorts and a nice sports bra, too. New socks, panties, bras, and a hooded sweatshirt for cool evenings. She was just tossing the last bag into the back of the SUV, feeling more than a little proud of herself, when she heard someone come up behind her and she whipped around. Why was she so jumpy?
"Marcy?" It was Claire Drummond in full police uniform. From the tone of her voice, she wasn't positive she had the right sister.
Marcy made a conscious effort not to look like she'd had the bejesus scared out of her. "Claire. Yup, it's me."
The police chief, who had apparently cut across the parking lot, stopped at the edge of the SUV. "Sorry, I wasn't sure."
"I know." Marcy closed the back of the car. "We look just alike now."
Claire chuckled. "Must be strange."
"Very."
"So how you doing?" The police chief reached out, touching Marcy's arm. "Feeling okay? You must be; I saw you jogging last night. I was on my way home."
"That's right. You live out my way." Marcy nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable.
Though Claire was a few years older, they'd known each other since they were kids in Sunday school together, but they'd never been friends. Claire had always been beautiful. Smart, well liked. She'd been a cheerleader in high school and the president of the senior class, too. While Claire had always been a part of the "in" crowd, Marcy had tended to hang with the other fat girls and with the guys who were just a little too odd to fit in anywhere else. She'd always gotten good grades, too, but it hadn't been enough to bridge the gap between her and a girl like Claire.
She'll Never Tell Page 7
