Ilona shut down her computer, turned out the lights, and stood at the window, looking out. Beyond the window the sky was black; below it the ocean was blacker; not even the sliver of a moon lit the swell of waves.
Dear Sarah,
Sometimes I wonder where you are. Did you find a family? Are you somewhere where they are kind? Do you give them shit? You could always dish it out for such a scrawny little thing. Remember when you first came? Are you somewhere where they won’t let you write? Where they watch your every move? Maybe it’s so you won’t embarrass them, maybe it’s worse.
Are they mean to you, Sarah? Do they hurt you? Is that why you don’t write? I write you every week, like we promised.
Do you think about me? Wonder where I am? I didn’t go far. You could probably visit me, except they don’t want me talking about before I came. They don’t understand, that’s who I am, who I’ll always be.
Well, I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I haven’t forgotten about you. Hang tough. Don’t let them get to you. One day we’ll be together.
Don’t forget, you’re my sister.
Nonie
ILONA DIDN’T SLEEP much that night and she arrived at work gritty-eyed and aching the next morning. She had several clients scheduled for the morning. Two new clients and three continuing clients were scheduled for the afternoon. Olivia Sobrato, her newsworthy and embarrassingly gay divorcée, was due at four.
She had to force herself to concentrate during the morning. Her mind kept wandering to that damn clock shop. She’d looked at photos on the Internet the night before until she could remember every little architectural detail.
The morning droned on, while Ilona forced herself to listen to her clients’ woes. It wasn’t easy, and even though every good sense gene she had was screaming Stick to your client list, she knew she could never be free to concentrate until she had seen for herself.
She buzzed Inez and told her she was going out and to reschedule all her afternoon appointments, except for Olivia’s. She’d be back by then—way before then.
Inez hesitated for a second before saying, “Yes, Ms. Cartwright.”
No wonder. Ilona never did things like that. Unplanned things, spontaneous things, not for a long, long time. The fact that she was contemplating it today was unsettling. The fact that she had a pair of flat-heeled shoes on the backseat told her she wouldn’t back down.
Still, as she slipped her heels off in the office parking lot, she gave herself one last chance to act rationally. But Ilona Cartwright was way past rational. Nonie Blanchard had raised her nearly forgotten head and wouldn’t go away. She was smothering Ilona with unhappiness, with anger, with hate. That had been the only way Nonie had known how to cope with the world, until little Sarah Hargreave had dropped into her life and she was given a reason to care.
It made the betrayal all that more devastating. And if Ilona had her way, Sarah would pay for her deceit, and where it would hurt the most.
Ilona found a parking place a block from the main street in the quaint town where Sarah lived. An auspicious start to her intentions, since it was the beginning of the summer season and already the streets were crowded with summer people and their cars. Ilona never came down this way. Too many memories, most of which she wished to forget, and some she had cherished until they’d finally been buried with the rest of the things Nonie had loved.
The stores were all small and overcrowded. Not the shopping experience Ilona enjoyed, but they must be lucrative because they were all crowded. Ilona strolled down the sidewalk, stopping to look in windows, wondering if she would actually catch sight of Sarah today.
Of course, she could walk right into her shop, but she didn’t intend to do that. She just wanted to watch, see how Sarah lived. See what kind of kid she was fostering.
Catch her doing something that would indicate that the foster child should be taken from her? Not even Ilona would stoop to entrapment. Would she?
Ilona smiled. The barracuda was out. Of course she would. She’d done more outrageous things to win a case. Nothing illegal, not even anything that wasn’t true. But truth was a tangled road, and interpretations were as varied as the interpreter.
Ilona had no scruples using those interpretations to her clients’ advantage. Or to her own.
And yet . . .
She didn’t remember when she’d finally given up hoping Sarah would write. But she had given it up and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—forgive. And that made her crazy. It had been a long time since she’d thought of Sarah or of her life in the system.
One moment of not paying attention and the past had slid into her office like the serpent it was and posed expectantly before her, as Ilona watched her world quietly unravel. But no longer. It ended here.
The shopping district consisted of two short blocks of stores housed behind quaint Victorian façades. She knew the clock shop was located on the next block, compliments of Google street view. She’d walk by, careful not to be seen.
Being raised in the social services system had taught her so many skills that she hadn’t needed in years, but she had no doubt they would come in handy now. Ilona slowed as she passed the window of the clock shop. Clocks by the Sea. How quaint. She gave the window a cursory glance. Saw someone move inside the store. Not Sarah.
She walked past the little house next door. It was all just too damn cute. Perfect for a fairy-tale life. She liked that scenario. She’d be the witch. She’d been called that before, many times, and worse. But she would enjoy being the witch—no, the evil queen—in this tale.
She stopped several houses down, then turned back toward the shopping district. She was starting to perspire. She couldn’t continue to stand out in the sun in the height of the day waiting for Sarah to appear. Maybe the coffeehouse she’d seen when she was walking through town had air conditioning and a decent café au lait; she bet she could even see the sidewalk in front of the clock shop from there.
And sure enough, she could. Ilona was contemplating ordering a second coffee when the front door of the clock shop opened and Sarah stepped out. The sight stabbed Ilona right in the gut. The reddish-blond hair, which they’d learned was called strawberry blond, caught the sun, and there was Sarah, the clueless, lost little girl. And Nonie—Ilona—felt a swell of anger and longing so powerful she forgot to take a breath. But not for long.
She threw a dollar bill on the table as a tip and headed for the door.
Sarah was coming toward her, and Ilona had to quickly look in the nearest store window, a toy store, with old-fashioned toys that grandmothers on vacation probably bought for grandchildren back home. Grandchildren who would barely look up from their Androids to receive the toy. Maybe mumble a thank-you, though Ilona doubted it, before going back to their e-world.
Sarah turned when she got to the corner, and Ilona sauntered after her. It took an amazing amount of control not to run after her, shake her until she recognized Nonie, and she’d . . . what? Beg Nonie to forgive her? Hell, she probably wouldn’t even remember her. She certainly hadn’t recognized her when they were face-to-face.
Sarah crossed the street and Ilona saw a yellow mini school bus pulling to a stop halfway down the block. Ilona smiled slowly, the smile she showed before she cinched a case. It was known in legal circles as her “predatory smile.” She was flattered by the nickname from other lawyers, but today it didn’t sit well. Still, this was an opportunity she had hoped for.
Sarah was picking up the kid, Leila, Leila Rodrigues.
In a minute the kid would be getting off the bus; there would probably be hugs and kisses, or maybe there wouldn’t be. Just because Sarah wanted to adopt the child didn’t mean she was a loving mother. She’d been trusting and loving when she’d first come to the system. But the system—hell, life in general—killed trust and love.
Ilona moved closer. They would be returning to their home; they’d pass right by her. She should cross the street, but then their meeting would be hidden by the bus. She’d ta
ke her chances. Wait and then cross to the other side where halfway down the block there was a walk-through to the next street. The perfect getaway if it came to that.
The bus driver got off, then he lifted a child down to the sidewalk. She was small for a four-year-old. But sturdy. Sarah had at least been feeding her. Sarah bent down and hugged her, a little desperately, Ilona thought.
She’s worried about losing her. And there was a good chance she would. Unless Ilona took the case. And she had absolutely no reason to do that.
Leila wriggled out of her grasp and was looking up, chattering animatedly about something. Ilona wished she was close enough to hear. The kid looked well adjusted and happy. Not that you could tell from a meeting at a bus.
Who was she kidding? Of course you could. Ilona had made a study of body language, starting with how to shoplift without being caught and running the gambit down to which witness was lying.
And she knew she was looking at one happy child and one frightened adult. Sarah still the scared little rabbit, through and through, she thought contemptuously.
They began walking her way and Ilona stayed, wanting to get a better look at the kid. She should have had Reesa send a photo over with the rest of the documents. The kid was wearing pink shorts and a T-shirt with a picture that Ilona couldn’t decipher. Even the backpack was pink. The kid had dark skin and short hair with cowlicks held by some kind of plastic clips, a round face, and stubby little legs.
At least Sarah hadn’t chosen her for her beauty. Not like some people.
They were getting closer and Ilona could hear the kid talking a mile a minute; something about the sound tightened her throat and kept her from beating a strategic retreat until it was almost too late.
Sarah looked up and Ilona turned away. Keeping her face shielded from Sarah’s view, she crossed the street. A woman on a day of shopping in no hurry. No quick movements, don’t look around. Just walk away.
But today Ilona couldn’t help herself. When she reached the other side of the street, she did look. Sarah turned at the same time. And they were staring at each other. Ilona slowly turned, walked slowly away, forcing herself not to hurry until she reached the walk-through, then she ducked around the corner of the hardware store and ran like crazy.
SARAH STARTED TO cross the street but stopped. For a split second a woman directly across from her stared back at her. It looked just like that lawyer, Ilona Cartwright. But what would she be doing here?
Leila pulled at her jeans.
“Just a minute.” Sarah looked again. As she watched, the woman turned almost in slow motion and began to walk down the sidewalk away from Sarah. There was something . . . something.
You won’t get caught if you don’t make any quick movements, just slip it beneath your jacket and walk away, no quick movements. Don’t run until you find a place to get out of sight, then run like hell.
Sarah snatched Leila off her feet, hoisted her to her hip, and ran.
Chapter 10
Sarah stood at the far end of the walk-through, panting and clutching Leila to her side while she scanned the street for any sign of the woman who she was sure had been watching them.
She didn’t find her. She knew she wouldn’t.
“Mommee, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, sweet girl. I just saw someone I thought I knew and wanted to say hi.”
She was still having trouble believing what she had just seen. Or believing that she’d actually seen anything. She must be losing her mind because of stress or something.
Because when Ilona Cartwright turned and walked away from her, Sarah saw someone else. And when without warning the woman slipped into the walk-through, out of sight, Sarah knew. She knew. Somehow . . . it didn’t make sense. And it couldn’t be true. And yet it must be.
She’d just seen a ghost. Because she’d thought, wondered, believed that Nonie was dead.
“I want to get down.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Was that a bumpy ride?”
Leila nodded. Her bottom lip was stuck out. Don’t cry, Sarah thought. She was afraid she might join her. And that wouldn’t do, not with the visitation meeting on the horizon. Tomorrow.
She wished she could talk to Karen, but this was soccer, ballet, and Brownie day. And Sarah already felt she took too much of her friend’s attention. The only thing Sarah could do to help Karen was to occasionally baby-sit when Karen and Stu needed a night away from the kids. Most of the time, help was a one-way street coming toward Sarah.
“How about we go see if Wyatt is at the store and wants to go for ice cream.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Leila bounced on her toes. She really had come a long way with Wyatt, especially in the last few weeks. Sarah just hoped that wouldn’t be undone once visits with Carmen began.
They started back down the walk-through, and now that there was no emergency, Leila wanted to be carried. Sarah gladly lugged her to her hip, even though she was already beginning to feel the unaccustomed sprint in her thighs. She needed to get more exercise. Wyatt was always telling her so, but she just never seemed to have time.
The idea of Mommy and Me classes ran through her head, and she mentally crossed her fingers. Soon, if God had ears, it would be soon.
Wyatt was in the store just wrapping up an equipment rental to four muscular men who Sarah recognized as members of the rescue team from a nearby town. They’d just beat out Wyatt’s group for first place in this year’s lifeguard competition—a trophy that Wyatt’s team had won three years in a row—and they’d been razzing him about it ever since.
“Don’t get too complacent,” Wyatt said good-naturedly. “We were working with a depleted crew. We’ll get it back next year.”
“Big talk,” said one of the guys. “We scorched you.”
“Enjoy it while you can. Now when are you bringing these tanks back?” Wyatt acknowledged Sarah and Leila with a lift of his chin and helped the men lug the tanks and apparatus out to their trucks.
“So to what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, coming back through the door. It closed behind him. He came straight over and gave Sarah a lengthy kiss.
She was acutely aware that Leila might be watching them, but when she pulled away, she saw that Leila had found the resident boogie board and was squatting on top of it pretending to ride the waves. Then Sarah was sorry she’d pulled away so soon.
“We thought you might like to go for ice cream.”
“Ice cream on a Tuesday afternoon. What’s the occasion?”
Sarah punched his arm. “I can be spontaneous.”
He gave her a look that made her pulse race. He leaned in and said, “I know you can. And I like it when you are.” He straightened up. “Of course I like you when you aren’t, too.”
She punched him again. She watched Leila battling the big waves for a few seconds then said, “There is something else.”
“Uh-oh. Hit me with it.”
“It’s going to sound crazy.”
“I can take crazy.”
“It was the weirdest thing.”
“Sarah.”
“Right. Well, when I was picking Leila up from the bus, I saw this woman watching us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“A caseworker checking up on you?”
“The lawyer who wouldn’t take my case.”
“That’s odd. Maybe it was just a coincidence. She’s out shopping and sees you and you see her. Bound to be awkward.”
“Maybe, but I got the distinct impression she was spying on me.” She hesitated. “That’s not all.”
He waited.
“We looked right at each other, then she turned and walked away. And this is the crazy part, for a split second she looked just like a girl I used to know. In group home. We were like sisters and then she got adopted and I never heard from her again.”
She waited for him to comment, but he didn’t. He was good that way.
“So I grabbed Leila and ran after her
. She was gone just like Nonie would do when we were . . . when we were shoplifting.”
He half smiled. “During your life of crime.”
“It isn’t funny. I thought she must be dead, because we promised to write and I wrote every week and she never did.” Sarah didn’t know why she felt like crying. She’d reconciled herself long ago to having lost Nonie. On top of all the other stuff she was going through, seeing her again today was just too much.
“Well, let’s see if we can find out and then we’ll have ice cream.”
At the mention of ice cream, Leila immediately lost interest in the boogie board and ran over to them.
“Just a few more minutes,” Sarah told her.
Wyatt moved behind the counter to where he kept his laptop. He keyed in Ilona Cartwright’s name. Then her website.
Sarah read over his shoulder as he scrolled down her bio page.
“Yale. Impressive.”
“It doesn’t go back further?”
“Nope, but . . .” He went back to the search page. Almost four hundred thousand links.
He looked back at Sarah. “This could take a while; can it wait until after ice cream?”
She nodded. Maybe it should wait forever.
Wyatt went to the back to tell his stock boy, Victor, to watch the store. Victor was a fiftysomething-year-old surfer with a long gray ponytail and a selection of surfer logo T-shirts that never seemed to repeat themselves.
“I bet I know what Leila wants,” Wyatt said as he swung her up to his shoulders.
“Banilla with sprinkles,” she squealed. “Banilla with sprinkles.”
ILONA DIDN’T STOP to breathe until she was in her car and blocks away. What had she been thinking? This is not how a well-respected lawyer behaved. And yet she was skulking around the streets like common . . . . street trash. When would she ever learn?
She was a fool.
She barely noticed the red light or car stopped in front of her and just managed to slam on the brakes, stopping a few inches from the car’s back bumper. Traffic was snarled into a total gridlock at the intersection, with waiting cars lined up in all directions. And she wasn’t even to the highway.
Forever Beach Page 11
