The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  “Of course you don’t.” Steffi’s stomach tightened when thinking of the final bit of news she’d yet to share. If Claire freaked at hearing Peyton’s name, she might lose her mind when Steffi mentioned Todd. “Not that you care, but Todd left her when they got the news.”

  Claire’s head drooped as if it couldn’t bear the weight of her disappointment over who her ex had turned out to be. “He’s scum, but I sure don’t feel sorry for her about him.”

  “I’m not asking you to feel sorry. I’m not asking you to feel anything, Claire. I just thought you should know so you don’t think that I’m keeping things from you.” She leaned against the counter and stared at her friend’s profile. “I’m going to New York to meet her for lunch on Sunday.”

  Claire snapped her gaze to Steffi. “Surely you don’t expect me to come with you.”

  “Maybe I’d hoped . . .”

  “Don’t hope. And don’t you dare put guilt on me.” Claire’s blue eyes filled with tears. “A maniac with a gun stole tennis from me, but I rebuilt a life here. A quiet life, but a good one. I was happy. I fell in love. I thought I had a marriage and kids in my near future. Then Peyton took it all away. She did that to me . . .” Claire swiped her cheek. “I get that Todd was a bastard, but she was my friend. One of my best friends! I’ll never forgive what she did to me.”

  The sharp ache in Claire’s voice kept Steffi from pressing. The distinctions that Peyton didn’t know Todd was Claire’s boyfriend when she first met him at the coffee shop and that she didn’t act on her attraction to Todd until after the breakup were meaningless to Claire. They had, however, been the facts that had kept Steffi from cutting Peyton out of her life, too.

  She stroked Claire’s arm. “I worry that holding on to this anger hurts you more than it helps.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.” Claire moved away from her and the sink. Usually Claire ate her way through the kitchen when she got upset. Steffi had never seen anything kill Claire’s appetite until today. “I think I’ll take a shower and read for a while.”

  Claire often retreated into a book when she didn’t want to deal with reality. She had been doing that since childhood, which explained the overstuffed bookshelves throughout their small home. Everything from Soul Surfer to Lean In to The Duke and I was on those shelves. She loved those rogue dukes.

  Funny enough, prior to meeting Peyton, Todd hadn’t struck Steffi as a playboy. He’d been a rather quiet local newspaper editor and Scrabble fanatic. Affectionate with Claire. In fact, Steffi had no clue why Peyton had fallen so hard for him, unless it was due to his utter fascination with her.

  “Okay. I’ll fix you a plate in case you get hungry later.” Steffi sighed.

  Claire nodded and then disappeared. Steffi heard Rosie thumping its way up the stairs. Then the pipes creaked once Claire turned on the water.

  Steffi collapsed against the refrigerator and rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t hungry, either. In fact, she needed to run. Far and fast, if possible. She dug her phone out of her pocket as soon as she finished making Claire a sandwich. “Benny . . . meet you in ten minutes for seven quick miles?”

  “Sure. Come to me this time. We’ll start here.”

  “Good, actually. Let’s work Hightop Road into the route.” Might as well try to see if she could get a peek at the house that could be her next job.

  Forty minutes later, her pulse hammered to the rhythm of her feet against the pavement. Normally, long runs cleared her head, but no matter how hard she pushed tonight, she couldn’t outrun her concern for Peyton. Concern that mingled with misty flashbacks of her own weakened mother wearing colorful scarves while putting on a brave face for her kids. Steffi had boxed those up and stowed them under her bed, occasionally using one to tie a pretty bow around a vase of flowers she would leave on her mom’s grave at Christmas.

  Her legs grew heavier as her thoughts darkened. She shook her head to clear those images. When she neared the top of Hightop Road, she noticed a beautiful old shingle-style home with a “Sold” sign in its yard and stopped. The sizable home—maybe thirty-five hundred square feet or so—had a wraparound porch and widow’s walk. She couldn’t tell from the front, but from this location, she suspected there were water views from the back of the home. If they got to remodel a kitchen and bathrooms, this could be a profitable job.

  Benny caught up to her and stopped. “Jesus, you’re on a tear. What are you running from today?”

  It both irked and comforted her that he understood her that well. “Just checking out this house. Might be a new client soon.”

  Benny glanced at the house, then back at her, his head tipped to one side. “Nice, but you weren’t sprinting all this way just to get a look at this house. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, life.” She attempted a smirking kind of smile.

  He yanked her ponytail. “Don’t pull that shit with me. Spill. Is it Ryan? Has he been giving you a hard time?”

  “No. It’s Peyton.” She blinked rapidly, standing on the side of the road, fighting the tears forming. Tucking her arms at her sides, she shuffled her feet while staring at the ground. “She’s sick. Cancer.”

  “Aw, shit. Really?” He paled. Cancer brought up bad memories for him, too. She half suspected those same memories were why two of her brothers had left town and rarely came home. Lockwoods were natural-born runners, after all. A second later Benny reached out and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, sis.”

  His broad chest and strong arms comforted her, despite the sweaty shirt against her cheek. She released the fear and sorrow that crashed over her in waves, like the ocean far below, and nestled into the security of her brother’s love.

  The wordless support reminded her of earlier, when Ryan had kept her from falling. She’d wanted to cling to him then, not just because of Peyton, but because he embodied her lost innocence, lost love, and everything she wished she had back in her life. But Ryan had made his general disdain for her clear, so she’d pushed away from him even though she’d needed to be held more than she’d needed anything in a long time.

  Benny squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. “How’s she handling it?”

  “I’ll know more on Sunday.” Steffi eased away. “I’m meeting her for lunch.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Benny crossed his arms and looked off into the distance, head shaking. He’d been only a year ahead of them in school, so he’d hung out with Peyton and Claire almost as much as Steffi had. This had to hurt him a little, although Steffi knew he wouldn’t show much emotion. It just wasn’t in the Lockwood DNA. “Tell her I’m pulling for her.”

  “Of course.” Steffi pressed her hands to her face, then shook off as much of the sorrow as she could.

  “Disaster can strike anyone, anytime.” Benny frowned. “News like this makes you check your priorities, take risks . . .”

  Steffi had always thought Benny’s life was exactly as he wanted it. “Sounds like you’ve got a question mark in there somewhere. Is something up?”

  He looked away. “Nah.”

  “Now who’s hiding?” She poked his shoulder.

  He batted her hand. “I’m a guy. That’s what we do.” And then, before she could prod further and turn it into a real discussion, he said, “Race ya back to my house.”

  “Hey!” she called, now chasing him to catch up, fresh salt air pumping in and out of her lungs. With each step, she thanked God for her good health. For her family and friends. For the ability to do a job she loved. All in all, her life and priorities were pretty good, as long as she didn’t think about her nonexistent love life.

  Ryan’s surprisingly concerned expression resurfaced.

  Maybe Benny was right. Maybe she should take a risk before her time was up.

  Ryan dumped the file on his desk before collapsing onto his chair and scrubbing his hands through his head. His new job meant handling more serious cases, like this newly assigned rape case, State of Connecticut v. Owen O’Malley.

  The all
eged victim claimed that Ryan’s client, O’Malley, had raped her. After reading through the file, Ryan had his own theory.

  The victim had prior arrests for prostitution. Meanwhile, his client had an IQ of seventy. His gut told him that the victim tried to take advantage of O’Malley, and when O’Malley didn’t pay, she cried rape.

  His client’s IQ ought to be low enough to argue diminished mental capacity, which would undercut the requisite intent needed for a guilty verdict. The really hard part was that his client had become enraged when pressed for the money and hurt the victim when he pushed her aside to flee the scene.

  This wouldn’t be the first case where a prostitute filed rape charges. Prostitutes did get raped sometimes, but he didn’t believe O’Malley raped this one. Maybe the guy had hurt her in his angry retreat—he was a big, bulky man—but that wasn’t rape. The fact that his client had become so agitated when pressed for payment supported Ryan’s theory that O’Malley didn’t understand that she was a prostitute.

  He thumbed through the police report again. While he read the victim statement and took notes, the phone rang.

  “Val?” He looked at the clock. Emmy shouldn’t be home from school yet, so she couldn’t have called Val for anything. “What’s up?”

  “Are you free to come to a mediation meeting next Monday at nine a.m.?”

  He leaned back in his chair, tossing his pencil on the desk. “What’s this one for?”

  “You’re the lawyer. Don’t ask me why everything needs to be so complicated.” He heard her sigh and imagined her raking her hand through her hair like she did when she got frustrated. “I just want to settle the money stuff so we can move on.”

  The money stuff, as opposed to the custody stuff. Why she needed money was beyond him. She’d moved in with her rich lover. According to Emmy, their home was a sleek penthouse overlooking Boston Harbor and the Financial District. Probably cost a few mil.

  Ryan, on the other hand, certainly wasn’t rolling in dough working for the government. He couldn’t get his own place until he had a better grip on his finances, so he flipped through his docket calendar. “Looks like I can make it.”

  “Good. See you then. And before you complain about having to come back for these meetings, remember this can be over quickly if you’re fair.”

  Fair? In his mind, he smashed the phone against the desk while laughing maniacally. Looking back, his entire life with Val had been a string of impulsive, out-of-control events. Rebound sex, unexpected pregnancy, quickie wedding, baby blues . . . He’d love to rein in his life, sooner than later. The first step would be giving his daughter stability. “Speaking of fairness, I know you’re off having a blast and all, but could you try to remember to call Emmy every night before she goes to bed?”

  “I’ve been calling her.”

  “Not last night. And you missed a night last weekend, too.”

  “She goes to bed at eight o’clock. I’m not always available in the evening.”

  “Then call her after school, but call her every day.” Reminding himself that he had to have a decent relationship with Val for Emmy’s sake, he swallowed his pride and softened his tone. “Don’t let her think you don’t care. It’s brutal having to dry her tears to get her to sleep.”

  “Who knew you could be so empathetic? Maybe if you showed this much emotion when we were together, I wouldn’t have left.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just, please, think about Emmy.”

  “I do, Ryan. She’s my daughter. I love her, and she knows that. She’s probably playing it up to manipulate you and your mother. And speaking of your mom, make sure she isn’t poisoning Emmy against me.”

  For the love of God. Only someone manipulative herself could dream up that scenario. “She wouldn’t do that, Valerie.”

  “She never thought I was good enough for you. Until you get your own place, she’s got unsupervised access to Emmy. I don’t need her planting ideas about me in our daughter’s head. I’m still her mother.”

  “Then act like one.” He hung up without another word. He’d been so determined to succeed at love after his failed relationship with Steffi that he’d ignored all the signs that had doomed his marriage to Val.

  Steffi. Their interactions this past week had him all turned around. He hadn’t discovered any open criminal cases in which she was named as the victim. The cops mustn’t have had enough evidence to make any arrests. Why he cared, he couldn’t say.

  She hadn’t been part of his life for a decade. Well, no part of his real life. She’d always been lurking just beneath the surface of his memories, though. The ones he’d tried to bury deeper than a coffin. If he’d found an open case, seen who was handling it, maybe . . . maybe what? Nothing, actually. The damn divorce uncertainty had him reeling so badly that he’d grasp at any straw to think about something else.

  He was staring into space when a young investigator, Billy Friday, stopped at his desk. “Hey, Ryan. Here’s the report I worked up on the Haney assault case.”

  “Great.” Ryan took it from Billy, who looked to be about twenty-five—wiry frame, with a tattoo poking out of his left sleeve. His black hair was a few shades darker than his eyes. He might look a little threatening if not for the toothy grin. “How’s it going so far?”

  “Pretty good.” Billy crossed his arms and leaned his hip against a chair. “The only bad part is the shit my brother gives me. He’s a narco. Got my mom convinced I put scum back on the street.”

  Ryan whistled. “I’d like to be at one of those family dinners.”

  “Some of the stuff I’ve heard around here lately makes it harder to brush that off. There’s a shit-ton of repeat offenders and outright liars.”

  “There are also shitty cops—not your brother, of course—and lawyers out there bending the rules or outright breaking them. And rich dicks who rob the public blind but pay lawyers and bribes to get away with it. We make sure the average Joe gets a fair trial without going bankrupt.”

  “Truth.” Billy nodded. “So I’ll keep digging on that aggravated-assault case, too. See if I can find another witness to counter the prosecution’s main witness.”

  “Great.”

  “See you later.”

  Ryan waved Billy off and tossed the file on his desk. He didn’t need more work today, but he’d have to keep on top of a bunch of open cases now. If that meant taking some files home tonight, then so be it. Not like he had better plans.

  Ryan’s mother had left an earlier message telling him that she was taking his dad to the doctor and leaving Emmy at the house to do homework while Steffi worked. When he arrived at home, he noticed Steffi’s van still parked in front of the house, while his mother’s car was nowhere to be seen.

  He killed the engine and let his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes to draw a breath. Guess that trip to urgent care this afternoon wasn’t an overreaction on his dad’s part.

  He called his mother as he exited the car, then stood in the driveway. “What’s wrong with Dad?”

  “Gout!” she replied, sounding shocked. “We’re at the pharmacy waiting for a prescription. Be home soon, but dinner will be late.”

  “I can pick up fried chicken or something.”

  “Good idea. Let me get it on our way home. It’s just around the corner from here.”

  “Okay, see you soon. Tell Dad I’m sorry. I hear that’s pretty painful.”

  “I’m the one you should feel sorry for. He’s such a baby when he’s sick.” She clicked off the phone.

  He couldn’t remember a day when his mother hadn’t been a frank, no-nonsense kind of woman. She’d been the “cool” mom, thanks to her open-minded attitude about teen sex and other things that drove most parents around the bend. She’d also taught his older sister, Miranda, to be savvy and assertive, take control of her sexuality, and have a healthy no-BS meter. Miranda became a wedding planner after moving to New York Cit
y with her lover, Linda. He admired his sister, although they weren’t as close as he’d like. She was five years older than he was, and they hadn’t lived under the same roof since he was thirteen.

  His father, on the other hand, had been a bit reclusive—drinking his nightly glass of whiskey, quietly tinkering away at his hobbies, keeping largely out of view except at meals. Still, the man got a kick out of his wife’s spunky attitude and took pride in both Ryan and Miranda. His mom would be able to handle life on her own, but his dad might wither if left to his own devices. It was almost as if he needed to borrow from his wife’s energy to engage with others.

  Ryan wondered how that felt, though—to truly love one’s wife. Like most of his Boston College teammates, he’d been attracted to Val. At twenty-one, she’d looked like a starlet. They’d had sex so often he’d worried he might hurt himself. But in those first few months, he’d never taken the time to really know her. In hindsight, all that sex had been about burying the pain of Steffi’s humiliating rejection. He’d thought winning Val’s attention would somehow prove something to Steffi. Make her see what she’d missed. Make her jealous. In truth, he’d probably been trying to prove something to himself. In any case, his idiotic plan for revenge had turned serious when Val got pregnant.

  He’d gone into his marriage with good intentions, looking for things to love about her, and for a way to build a happy life. The kind of life he’d known as a kid and always assumed he’d create for his own children.

  Val had been supportive while he was in law school. Both of them worked part-time jobs to put a roof over Emmy’s head and food in their stomachs. Once he got a full-time job, Val quit to be a stay-at-home mother. For a while, he’d thought they’d found a comfortable enough kind of love so that his little family might be okay.

  Apparently, he’d seen what he wanted to see, because obviously things were never really okay. Love—deep love—never existed in their home. They’d both wanted something the other couldn’t quite provide, so Val went and found it elsewhere. He was still searching.