“Uh, yeah, and I wanted to see if you’d be willing to let me do something for Naomi.”
“Oh?”
He looked up at the clouds. He was dressed in khakis and a stiff dress shirt that looked brand new. He had probably dressed up just to come speak to her.
“My roommate’s a photographer,” he finally said, still staring up at the clouds. “He gave me the idea to get some of Naomi’s work and enter it into a contest.” He looked back down at her. “You know about her photography, right?”
She nodded. “We gave her a lot of money to buy her equipment, but all of those things disappeared when she did.”
He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you’d let me enter some of her work.”
“I guess that would be okay.” She held her breath as a stiff breeze blew across the deck. It was cold and smelled like salt and seaweed. It reminded her of Naomi’s constant treks down to the beach whenever a storm was approaching. She was usually dressed in a jacket with her camera bag slung across her shoulders. It surprised her that she had noticed those treks of Naomi’s so often. A lot of things she was remembering about Naomi surprised her. “Do the rules stipulate if the contestant has to be ...?” She wanted to say “alive” but the word wouldn’t slip off her tongue.
“No, my roommate said it’ll be alright if we have your permission.”
The rain broke free from the clouds, but neither of them made a move to get out of its way.
“I’m sorry about everything,” Brad said as the rain plastered his hair to his forehead. “This is what I can do to try to make a difference—even if it doesn’t make a difference, you know? At least for me it will.”
LATER THAT evening Karen sat in her home office with a glass of brandy. She stared at her computer and thought of Brad’s words. He was determined to do something. At least he had taken that step. She hadn’t done anything yet. So much time had passed, and yet it felt like only a moment.
She turned on her computer and pulled up Naomi’s Facebook page. So far she had avoided looking at it, but as time crept on with no hope of seeing her again, she couldn’t help herself. The police and her private detective had already searched through it top to bottom. They said they hadn’t found anything helpful.
She scrolled through the dozens of posts her classmates had left asking where she was, and then found the last status update Naomi had written. Going to Dad’s banquet tonight with Brad. So much corporate talk. Maybe there will be fog later to shoot in the park.
Corporate talk? That was something Karen had never heard her say before.
Brad had written in response, Love you, Baby. That dress I picked out will look smoking hot on you.
A boy named Damien had written, Good luck with that fog! Make sure you post the pics later.
Karen scrolled down farther. It didn’t look like Naomi had a lot of friends she interacted with other than Brad and a few girls from a photography class. She scrolled past some of Naomi’s photos, surprised at how good they were. Why hadn’t Naomi shown them to her? Was she afraid she wouldn’t care?
A part of her died when she asked herself that question, and she took a sip of brandy and noticed the glass was almost empty. Good. She needed to cut her edginess with something. Ever since her two-month stay at Elizabeth’s, she wasn’t the same. Work wasn’t the same. Nothing felt right, and it wasn’t only because Naomi was missing.
The sound of a car rolling up the drive snapped her from her thoughts. Jason was home. Eight-thirty. He was later than usual. Mindy probably had dinner ready an hour ago. She stood and walked to the front door to greet him, but frowned when she saw that he wasn’t alone. Reporters had followed him, which was odd. They hadn’t come by for a long time.
Jason stopped in front of the garage and got out of the car. Of course he would talk to the reporters, because he knew they would follow him around the next day if he didn’t. She took a deep breath and opened the front door to go stand with him. Lately he seemed worn out, and a part of her ached to lift him up, even though she was a wreck herself. He gave her a shaky smile as she approached him. The reporters’ faces lit up like Christmas trees when they saw she was joining him.
There were only two of them, but that was enough to put her on edge. If it wasn’t for the brandy in her system she might have ordered them to leave.
Jason slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. He smelled like his office, like ballpoint ink and paper and the green-and-white striped mints he kept in a glass dish on his desk. He was tall and thin and always shaved so close that his face didn’t get scratchy until late at night. She loved that about him—loved that feel of his scratchy cheek on hers. Right now all she wanted to do was snuggle up with him in bed and fall asleep. If Naomi’s disappearance had done anything, it had made her realize how much Jason meant to her and how much he needed her too. He was almost clinging to her for dear life. His fingers rubbed over her lower spine in little circles, and it was enough movement that her undershirt came untucked from her pants. She shifted against him. He was nervous. It was unlike him to be nervous for something as small as two reporters.
“Are the police going to aggressively pursue the case again?” Reporter number one asked.
“I-I don’t know,” Jason said with a glance at Karen. He started to fidget.
“Are you two going to push to make this a federal case?”
“That’s undecided,” Jason said in a voice that seemed to be getting weaker by the second. He opened his mouth to say more, but the reporter on the left—the pushier of the two—inched forward.
“How is this affecting your career, Jason? Your stocks skyrocketed after the merger, but we’ve heard you might hand over your position to someone else. Is this just too much for you?”
Narrowing his eyes, Jason took a deep breath. “The company is doing phenomenal. Any rumor you’ve heard about me handing over my position simply isn’t true.”
The pushy reporter turned to Karen. She almost shrank away, but stood her ground as Jason squeezed her tighter. He had told her months ago to always answer their questions and never show weakness. If Naomi saw them on television or read about them in the papers, he wanted her to know they were not falling apart—that her parents were the rock she could rely on and they had nothing to hide. She had looked at him then like he was insane because they were anything but a stable platform in Naomi’s life. They had been nonexistent while she grew up, providing her with everything but their own time—the thing Karen finally realized mattered most.
The pushy reporter leaned forward.
“Some unidentified female remains have been found in Southern California. Have you thought about what you’ll do if they match Naomi’s DNA?”
Karen balled her hands into fists and gave Jason a look that clearly asked, How did we not know about this? But his expression told her that he did know about it and had kept it from her to protect her. That was why he was holding her so tightly. He hadn’t expected her to come out here.
One more plunge into the depths of this nightmare. It was always something—the blood in the parking lot; the broken taillight; the jewelry store robbery; a girl who matched Naomi’s description rescued in Kentucky. Now this. But nothing led anywhere. Karen doubted anything ever would.
As Jason hurried to answer the question, she remembered Elizabeth’s words—You’ve spent your entire life trying to shove her out of your life ... but now it’s time to change. It doesn’t matter if she’s gone.
But it did matter if she was gone. It meant everything. Karen straightened her shoulders and looked at Jason. She remembered the day she had told him she was pregnant and how he had twirled her around the room in a waltz. She remembered putting a Band-Aid on Naomi’s knee when the nanny was away for a weekend. She remembered handing Naomi one of her favorite books in the library and how repulsed Naomi had seemed by it. There were thousands of these memories, and she was only now beginning to recall them as she faced the possibility that Naomi might be dead. Deep dow
n she doubted Naomi was an unidentified corpse in Southern California, but what did she know? Either way, it didn’t matter. Now, more than ever, was the time to make a change.
She turned to face the reporters. It was time she told them the truth.
XVII
NAOMI LIKED THE WAY IT FELT TO WEAR AN apron. She had seen Mindy in an apron for six years and had always wondered what it would feel like to wear one. Now she finally knew that it felt important. She couldn’t pinpoint why.
She was wearing an apron because she was helping Evelyn with dinner. It wasn’t that she hadn’t helped before, but this was the first time she was actually going to cook. She looked down at two bowls of what Evelyn called shiitake and crimini mushrooms and scrunched her nose. She didn’t like mushrooms, but she had tried this dish a few months ago and liked it. Evelyn told her it was because the mushrooms were cooked correctly.
“You’re probably used to chewy and rubbery,” she laughed as she filled a stock pot at the sink. “That housekeeper of yours you’ve told me about must not have any idea how to properly cook them. When they’re cooked right, they should practically melt in your mouth.”
Naomi threw a stem into an empty bowl. “No, I guess she doesn’t know how to cook them right. Most of her stuff is good except her eggs and mushrooms. I asked her once to teach me how to cook. She looked at me like I was crazy.”
“I assume your mother never cooked?”
“Of course not.”
Evelyn shut off the water. “Sorry. I shouldn’t mention her. I forgot.”
“It’s okay.” She fought the tremble in her fingers and kept working on the mushrooms until the bowl was full of stems. It was weird to talk about her mother with Evelyn. Maybe it was because Evelyn was starting to fill a huge gap in her heart—one she thought could never be filled.
Evelyn handed her a damp paper towel folded into a neat square. “Wipe out the caps, then slice them a quarter-inch thick.” She poured oil into a pan with some butter. “I’m not going to heat this up until you’re finished with the mushrooms. Don’t forget the shallots. You need to chop those up as fine as you can. I’ll do the garlic and thyme.”
“Okay.” She tried to focus on the mushrooms, but the sudden mention of her mother sent her mind into a spin. She slid the knife through the soft flesh of a mushroom cap, but paused as soon as the blade hit the cutting board. Ever since she had read The Awakening, more and more thoughts about her mother crept into her head. Eric wasn’t helping, either. A month ago he had handed her an article from her hometown’s newspaper.
Jensens Rise Above Tragedy of Missing Daughter To Succeed in Business.
She tried to lift the knife from the cutting board, but it weighed two-hundred pounds. Her father’s company was capturing global attention and growing fast. There were a few lines about her mother winning a recent case for a company wrongly accused of fraud.
“You see,” Evelyn’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You have to boil your pasta in enough water so it won’t stick together. Oh, and never add oil to the water.” She rolled her eyes and snatched a salt shaker from the counter. “Your sauce will slide right off the noodles. The amount of water is the key.”
“Okay.” Naomi watched her pour a heap of salt into her hand. “What’s that for?”
Evelyn shrugged. “To add flavor. Eric likes it, but I don’t. It ruins the dish for me.”
“So why do you put it in?”
She pushed a dark curl from her forehead. She had pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, and the spirals bounced against her neck like springs. “Because he’s Eric,” she finally answered. “If it makes him happy, I’ll do it.”
“But does he know you don’t like it? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you told him how you felt.” Then again, maybe he would just get really pissed off. That seemed likely.
“Oh, no, I would never tell him that.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Naomi couldn’t blame her. She started slicing again. “I’m almost finished with these, uh, whatever they’re called.”
“Crimini. You can call them baby portobellos if that’s easier.” She smiled. “If I’m going too fast for you, let me know. This is what you wanted, right? I don’t want you to feel like I’m making you help me. That’s not why you’re here with us. I hope you know that.”
“I know.” She pushed aside one bowl of sliced mushrooms to start on the next. “I want to learn how to cook. Really.”
“I’m glad.” Evelyn started chopping garlic. Her knife swished across the cutting board faster than Naomi could follow. The smell of the garlic was hot and spicy in the air, and Naomi breathed it in. She couldn’t get the article out of her head. Succeed in business. That was all they had ever cared about.
Evelyn stopped chopping and looked up. “You like it here now, don’t you?”
She almost dropped her knife. “Sure,” she said, getting a better grip on the knife. Part of her loved it here. They were nice to her. They paid attention to her. They were going to take her to Italy to some house that meant the world to Evelyn. But it did seem problematic. How would they get her out of the country? She didn’t have a passport. Even if they managed to forge her one with some other identity, there was no way they could let her travel in public. Was there? She stared at the crimini mushrooms. They were pure white on the inside and deep brown on the outside.
“I feel comfortable here,” she said slowly. “Is that what you mean?”
Evelyn laughed. “I guess that’s a start. I hope it’s alright if I’m up front with you. It helps me not feel so guilty.” Blushing, she started chopping the garlic again. “If that makes sense.”
“It wasn’t your idea to take me. It’s not your fault.”
The chopping stopped. Evelyn chewed on her bottom lip. “I forgot the parsley. I’d better call Jesse and Steve and tell them to pick some up on their way home.” She pulled out her cell phone and turned away.
BY THE time Steve and Jesse arrived home, Naomi had started cooking the mushrooms. They smelled so good she wanted to snitch one right out of the pan. The butter and oil were making them a dark brown. They sizzled as she pushed them around with a wooden spoon, careful to keep them evenly spaced as Evelyn had instructed.
“Here’s your parsley,” Steve said when he entered the kitchen. Jesse went straight to the fridge.
“Oh, thanks.” Evelyn was in the middle of tossing a salad when her phone buzzed. She stared at the screen and sucked in her breath.
“What is it, Evie?”
“We got the house!”
“Really?” Jesse turned around from the fridge where he had found half of a leftover sandwich. Naomi had noticed he was always eating, but he had no fat on his body to show for it. She was the opposite. Her pants were tighter than they had been a few months ago.
Evelyn was jumping up and down like a kid. “See? I told you we’d get it! Now everything’s ready. We can leave whenever—”
“We can’t just leave yet.” Steve put up a hand. “There are too many things I have to take care of first. We have to decide what to do with this house, and Eric and Jesse still need to finish the last job. It might not even be the last one depending on how much we get, and I’ve got to figure out what to do about the firm. Jesse said he might be interested.”
“Of course I am,” Jesse said through a mouthful of sandwich. He glanced at Naomi, who was surprised at the conversation swirling around her. They had never talked so openly about moving before. “I mean, if you want to sell it to me. If you think I can handle it.”
Steve laughed and started to undo his tie. “Of course you can handle it. Better than anybody else I’ll ever find. Are you kidding?”
Evelyn spun around just before the mushrooms started to burn. “Sweetheart, you need to pay attention!” She ripped the skillet from the burner and shook the pan. “They’re fine. Here, add the thyme for thirty seconds then pour it all onto the plate over there. Don’t forget to add the pasta to the water. I’ve already measu
red it out for you next to the pot.”
Naomi took the skillet from her hands and carefully placed it onto a cool burner. Jesse watched her as he finished his sandwich.
“Is Evelyn teaching you how to cook?” he asked with a smirk. He stepped closer and she inched away. It felt weird to have him so close to her when she was trying to concentrate on something else. The closer he got the more she wanted to ignore him so she didn’t miss something and screw up dinner.
“Yes,” she answered. Her heart skipped a few beats.
“Do you need me to help you?”
Tearing her gaze from his beautiful eyes, she snatched the bowl of thyme from the island before he did. “No, I can do it.” She tossed the thyme into the skillet and dumped the bowl of pasta into the boiling water. His eyes sparkled. He leaned closer. She remembered his fingers unbuttoning her shirt. Her heat beat just as fast now as it had then. He had no idea how much she was trying not to want him. It was a fine balance between pretending to want him and actually wanting him. If she really wanted him, what did that say about her? And did she even care?
“Do you like this, then?” he asked. He reached for a mushroom in the pan and she slapped his fingers.
“Don’t!”
He grabbed one anyway and popped it into his mouth. Licking his lips, he inched closer.
She cleared her throat. “Do I like what?”
“Cooking—learning new things. You’ve been reading more classics lately too. You’re opening up.”
The smell of thyme and butter rose to her face. She closed her eyes. “I like a lot of things here. I guess you could say I’m ‘opening up.’”
He raised an eyebrow and the spoon nearly slipped from her fingers.
“Especially with you,” she whispered.
He shifted his weight. That steely look came into his eyes, the one that made her want to melt and say yes to anything. She remembered reaching her hands into the cold water of a tide pool, the bumpy skin of a starfish, the resistance it gave before it let go.
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