Panic nibbled at the edges of her mind. Two people had seen her now. The guy with the dog, and now this guy. He would remember the young woman and her baby who almost got mowed down by a speeding driver. She could only hope that he didn’t make the connection.
Sirens cut through the drone of traffic. This was it. Her chance. She hurried through the crosswalk just moments before an ambulance pulled into the bay. Pausing in the shadows of the entryway, she waited for the EMTs to unload the patient. They rushed the gurney in through the emergency room doors.
Tory smiled.
With all free hands hustling toward the trauma patient, Tory dissolved into the crowd like a ghost. She missed working in the emergency room. She liked the action. There was always so much going on and tonight, the staff at Harborview Medical Center would be too busy to notice her. If she wasn’t half-dead, she was lower priority, and that suited Tory just fine.
She drifted toward the soft drink machine in the corner and set the baby carrier down in the gap between the Coke machine and the wall. Digging around in her pocket, she pulled out some change and fed it into the coin slot. She punched the button with the side of her fist, and a bottle of Diet Coke clanged into the slot at the bottom.
Tory bent to retrieve it, crouching in front of the baby carrier. She slid a note under the baby’s leg. She peeked underneath the blanket, and took one last look at him.
“You’re going to be okay, little man.”
She hated leaving him like this, but she had no choice. She was doing the right thing. He deserved a chance.
Smoothing the baby blanket down the front of the car seat, Tory shielded the child from view. Then, when she was sure no one was watching, she headed for the doors.
Twenty feet. Ten.
She couldn’t be caught with Suzie Norwood’s baby. It wasn’t just her life at stake, it was Xander’s too. She kept walking.
Five feet.
The baby’s wail cut through the din. He was hungry. Calling for his mama. It took everything she had not to go to him. But that was impossible. He wasn’t her child. Xander would never understand. She had to get out of here before somebody found him.
The emergency room doors slid open. The cold rain fell on her cheeks, and she fought back tears.
He would be all right. Someone would find him. He would live.
Chapter 26
The cellophane grocery bag rattled. Yogurt. Apples. Even a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. All of Brooke’s favorites designed to tempt her into gaining back some of the weight she’d lost. Marissa opened the cupboard next to the window and stowed the chips inside.
Glancing out the window, she watched for Jesse’s truck to return. It was a good thing he was doing, getting Brooke out of the house.
Her phone beeped. A new email had come in from Evan. Marissa clicked on it and her stomach dropped. He was looking for the report on the donation model. She dismissed it from the screen without responding. It wasn’t finished yet. She’d made some progress, but there was still a lot she didn’t know. Tomorrow she was going to speak to the woman from the United Way again to go over their model and hopefully fill in some of the gaps in her own understanding.
Evan would have to wait. She needed more time.
Marissa finished emptying the contents of the first bag and moved on to the second. The last item gave her pause. She pulled it out and placed it on the countertop. She stared at it as if it was a bomb about to detonate.
It was a bomb of sorts.
It was a home pregnancy test.
She’d been telling herself for weeks now that it wasn’t unusual under stress to skip a period or two. She’d even wondered if it was early onset menopause, although that seemed unlikely. She was only in her mid-thirties. Both those alternatives seemed preferable when faced with a third, more obvious option.
Marissa shoved the pregnancy test in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it was that simple. Sure, denial was a lousy strategy, but she’d always hoped that if she waited long enough, her period would come. It hadn’t when she was sixteen and pregnant with Brooke. She’d waited six months that time.
She opened the drawer and looked down at it. Stalling would not change the results one iota. If she was smart, she would do it now before Brooke got home. Get it out of the way.
With a sigh, she closed the drawer.
She flipped the television onto the local news and welcomed the flood of noise. The number for the Chinese restaurant was programmed into her phone. Placing the order, she set the table.
Three places—one for her, and Brooke, and Seth.
Seth.
She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
Things had been so strained between them. He blamed the case, but that felt like an excuse. But wasn’t she doing the same thing? Making excuses.
“Hey,” he said.
“Where are you?”
“At work,” he said. “Is everything all right?”
She hated the way his question made her feel, like she needed a reason to call.
“I ordered Chinese,” she said. “Thought you might want to join me and Brooke for dinner. We haven’t talked much lately.”
Or at all.
And depending on the results of the pregnancy test, they would have a whole lot of talking to do.
Seth didn’t answer right away. In that hesitation, Marissa knew the truth. He was avoiding her. She felt it in her gut.
“I would, but I’ve got a ton of stuff to do here.”
“Don’t we all?” she snapped. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Marissa, wait . . .”
“What?”
“You’re angry.”
“No.” It was the first thing out her mouth and a total lie. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Jesus, Seth, do I have to say it again?”
Headlights swung into the driveway, and Marissa heard the roar of Jesse’s truck. Brooke was home.
“Say what?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go.”
Not waiting for Seth’s response, she hung up. The moment Brooke walked through the door, Marissa could see she’d been crying. Jesse lingered in the doorway, but Brooke didn’t invite him in. She bid him a hasty goodbye and strode to her room.
“How’d it go?” Marissa asked.
Jesse raised his palms. “I don’t know. She said some things . . .”
“Like?”
Jesse thrust his hands in his pockets and grimaced as if he was having trouble saying the words.
“She talked about the girl who died in the cabin. How she was the lucky one.”
Marissa remembered Brooke on the side of the highway with the cars rushing past. The clawing fear she’d felt about Brooke doing something desperate. Hurting herself. All those fears came rushing back in an instant.
Not knowing what to say, how to help, Jesse took his leave. Marissa turned back toward the kitchen. Three places were still set on the table. She crossed to Brooke’s room and knocked softly on the door.
“I ordered Chinese. Should be here any minute,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.” Brooke’s voice was muffled through the closed door.
“You really should eat something.”
Silence.
Marissa sighed. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t make Brooke eat. The delivery guy came and went. She ate chicken chow mien straight from the takeout box until half the portion was gone. She waited a few minutes more to see if Brooke would come join her, but Brooke’s light was out.
The takeout boxes were neatly stowed in the refrigerator when she heard a knock at the door. Marissa glanced out the window. Her gut clenched.
A few hours ago, she would have been happy, grateful even, to see Seth, but now she was beat. A hot bath and bed sounded better than an argument. Marissa trudged to the door and opened it.
“Hey,” he said, following her inside.
“You hungry?” she asked as sh
e opened the refrigerator.
“Not really.”
Marissa slammed the door shut. “You didn’t have to come over because you’re feeling guilty.”
“You’re upset?”
“Upset? Yes, I’m upset.”
“Then let’s talk.”
Seth sat down at the table and pushed the empty plate away. She felt like throwing it on the floor.
“Do you want to be with me?” she asked, drilling right to the point.
“What kind of question is that?”
Seth ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For a smart man, he sure could be dumb sometimes.
“It’s like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been working the case. Besides you’re under a lot of stress between Brooke and work.”
“So what?”
“You know the foundation is understaffed. We’re all picking up more work. Do you think I’m lying?”
Lying was a strong word. Not something she would accuse him of.
“I think you’re making excuses. I think there is something bothering you. The other day in the office when I asked you over, there was something you didn’t want to tell me. What was it?”
Seth averted his gaze. The mother of two girls, she could see that whatever it was, he still didn’t want to tell her. But he did anyway.
“My former mother-in-law invited me to a gathering.”
“A gathering?”
Seth’s jaw tightened. “It was the anniversary of Holly’s death.”
A live current of shock raced through her. She remembered the morning he told her how Holly had died—the grief and agony he had lived with every day since. The guilt he still carried around inside him like a festering wound.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Seth shrugged.
“Did you go?”
He didn’t answer.
Marissa’s heart sank with the weight of what she now knew. She was in love with someone whose heart wasn’t free. There was no way she could fight a ghost.
“You’re not ready for a relationship.”
Seth launched from his seat. The chair clattered on the kitchen floor.
“Dammit, Marissa, I don’t know what you want from me.” He thrust his hands out toward her, frustration pulsed in every word.
She wanted him to be a lover, a partner. She wanted him to share her life without hesitation. She wanted a father for her kids. She wanted to wake up every morning knowing he’d be there and not because she asked it of him, because she was second prize, but because he wanted her too.
“I want you here.”
“I am here.”
“Because you feel guilty.”
“Goddammit, Holly, stop telling me what I feel.”
Marissa’s head snapped back. The slip was emblematic of a deeper truth—he was never going to be over his wife. A deep, chilling numbness spread through her chest, freezing her heart from the inside out.
“I think we’re done,” she whispered, barely able to utter the words.
“Marissa . . .”
He looked as shocked as she felt. His face chalky white, he reached toward her, but Marissa stepped back. Nothing could erase the truth of what he’d just said. How it made her feel. She deserved someone who loved her. Wanted her. Not someone who couldn’t let go.
“Don’t.”
Seth stood there, arms hanging slack as if he didn’t know what to do. She spun on her heel, not able to look at him another minute without breaking down. Pain and sadness welled up against the dam of her resolve.
“Just go.”
There was nothing more to say. Seth slammed the door on his way out.
Chapter 27
God, Tory hated this place. The apartment building was set on the edge of a greenbelt. Surrounded by tall cedars and pines, the deep pockets of shadow cast across the parking lot creeped her out.
She hurried across the lot and skirted a pool of shattered glass. She’d learned the hard way never to leave anything of value in the car. Hers had been broken into twice. Car prowling was such a common occurrence that the police didn’t bother stopping by.
Her neighbors were stoners. She wouldn’t be the least surprised if one of their loser friends was responsible for the break-ins. She passed them in the hallways, their clothes stinking like weed.
Tory’s hands shook as she unlocked the apartment door. Loud rap music bled through the wall. She passed through the hall to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard, ran a hand across the contents. Soup, crackers, baked beans, peanut butter, jam, cookies, and crackers. She pulled a stack of saltines out and placed them on the counter. Popping the first in her mouth, the salty dry taste pulled her back.
Michael.
Like the wreck of a ship pulled from the ocean floor, the memory of him surfaced. Her eyes closed as the pain took hold.
There were moments of your life you wanted to scrub from your mind, no matter what it cost you. So excruciating the only way to carry on was to bury it. Forget it. Sever it like a mangled limb and hope that whatever survived would eventually heal.
Forgetting was impossible. Memory didn’t work that way.
Tory remembered the dingy little kitchen with the crackled linoleum floor. It always smelled like curry, at least that’s what Nicky said. She was eleven at the time. Sixth grade. Too young.
Her older sister, Nicky, counted a small handful of saltines. Pulling them out of the plastic sleeve, she hesitated and put two back.
“Come on, Nicky,” Tory whined. “I’m hungry.”
Tory’s empty stomach rolled like thunder, but Nicky shook her head. Her forehead crinkled like their mother’s did when she was mad.
“We need to keep more for the morning. Here.”
She slid the jar of peanut butter across the table, and Tory caught it. The jar was nearly empty. She scraped out what she could with her fingers and smeared it across the saltines. Michael slammed his palm on the scarred plastic tray and sent a half dozen Cheerios flying. He jiggled in the high chair and held out his hand. His chubby fingers reached for the crackers.
“Ma,” he said, and Tory knew what he meant. More.
Tory broke half a cracker into smaller bits and placed a few on his tray. Michael pinched the cracker between his thumb and forefinger and put it into his mouth. He chewed. A fresh wave of dribble ran down his chin, and he smiled.
Tory loved that smile more than anything.
She remembered how mad they had both been when Mom told them she was pregnant. She barely took care of the two of them. She had no business having another kid—at least that’s what the old lady next door said. But the baby came anyway, and from the moment Tory first saw his sweet face, she loved him.
“Ma,” Michael said and smacked the tray again. Tory broke the second half of the cracker into pieces and sprinkled it onto his tray.
“No, Tory,” Nicky said in that tone she hated—the big sister voice. She spoke like that whenever she thought Tory was doing something wrong, which was, like, all the time. “You need to eat too.”
She was right. Mom usually got paid tonight. It was Thursday after all, and if they were lucky, she’d come home with groceries. If not, hot lunch at school would be the only full meal they would eat all day. Ever since Michael started eating solid food, Tory saved part of her lunch for him, wrapped up in a couple of napkins and stowed away in her backpack.
She ate the rest of the crackers slowly, stomach rumbling the whole time, but watching Michael took her mind off her hunger. After cleaning up the kitchen, she played with him, stacking blocks on the stained golden carpet in the living room, while Nicky sat at the kitchen table, school books strewn all around her. She frowned at the math problem she was working on, like she didn’t understand, but that wasn’t it. Nicky was a good student, and refused to get anything less than a perfect score. Sometimes Mom bragged about how smart Nicky was. Tory didn’t mind; she preferred spending
her time with Michael.
By nine o’clock, Mom still hadn’t made it home. Nicky checked the clock, and Tory could tell she was worried. Tory was worried too. If their mother wasn’t home soon, it meant she was partying with her friends and might not come home at all—or worse, she’d bring the party home with her.
Propping Michael on her hip, Tory half filled the sink with warm water.
“We need a towel,” she said. Michael gave her his two-toothed grin and squawked, like he understood. She carried him back to the bathroom and pulled the pink towel off the rack. It smelled a little musty but was the softest one they had.
Michael splashed his hands in the water, and Tory washed him carefully, like the neighbor lady had shown her. After the water cooled, she dried him off and dressed him in his Pooh Bear sleepers. Michael chewed on the edge of the towel while Nicky warmed up a bottle of milk.
Tory pulled the towel out of his mouth. She leaned him back in her arms. He was getting too big to hold like this, but he loved the nightly bottle ritual as much she did. He guzzled down the milk. It disappeared all too soon. Tory knew he would drink more if they had it, but there wasn’t much left in the carton, and like Nicky had said, they needed to save some for morning, just in case Mom didn’t come home.
Michael gave a lusty burp and Tory laughed.
“Good milk?” she asked.
She was about to put him down for the night when the door banged open. Mom waltzed in, smiling, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and Tory could tell she was already drunk. She felt sick when she heard the voices in the hallway. Her mother’s party crew had come along for the ride. Digger, Mom’s boyfriend, placed two bags of groceries on the kitchen counter and flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the sink. The hot ash hissed on the wet metal.
Nicky bit her lip the way she always did when she was mad. She hated Mom’s friends, Digger most of all, but neither of them said a word. They both knew what would happen if they did.
With open arms, Mom staggered toward Tory and reached for Michael.
“There’s my baby,” she said. Tory smelled beer and cigarettes on her breath and cringed away as the baby was snatched from her arms.
Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2) Page 16
