Hush

by Nancy Bush

  “Nice try. I wish she showed some interest in my affairs rather than that rat-faced loser with the houndstooth jackets and musky aftershave she’s been dating. God, what a loser.”

  “I thought you said your mother was through with him, and it was too bad, because he at least seemed to care about her.”

  “I was wrong. They’re still together.”

  Danner reminded her, “You thought he was the one getting used, not your mom, because she was involved in some secret affair, or something?”

  “Okay, okay! You do listen. But I was wrong about that, too.” She held up her hands and half smiled. “I said as much to Mom and she got really bitchy about it.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Told me I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground—the PG version of those words, anyway—and that I should mind my own business. There wasn’t some secret affair, apparently. But her relationship with Barry is just wrong. They’re too kissy-smoochy in front of people and that’s always a bad sign. Like they’re trying to prove how happy they are when it’s all a big fat lie.”

  “His name is Barry?” Danner asked.

  “Barry,” she agreed as if the word tasted bad. She brooded for a moment, gazing out across the sand and toward the restless waves. The ocean was more a low-grade buzz than a roar; the roar was the driving rain and wind that shot in and slapped them with a gleeful snap of water and cold every few minutes. “I wish—”

  But he never got to hear what she wished for because a blast of sideways rain shot in and hit them with a swoosh, drenching their table.

  “Oh, my God!” she cried, jumping from her seat. Her gray sweater-coat was soaked and her black slacks looked wet, too.

  “Let’s go.” Danner was laughing as he followed her inside the restaurant, his own jeans wet from waist to knee, his black cotton sweater soaked across the waist, his black parka easily weathering the blast. They’d ordered coffee for her and a light beer for him, and now he paid and they hurried to her car, a late-model white BMW convertible, the top securely fastened against the elements. She was driving, so now he sank into the passenger seat again and thought of his older, black Jeep Wrangler with its plastic windows, which weren’t working as well as they once had, and was glad to be warm and dry.

  He was not, however, glad he’d agreed to this fool’s errand. He’d agreed to accompany her because he wanted to see Coby Rendell. He’d agreed because his “date” was Faith Rendell, and this birthday party had given him a golden opportunity to see the one woman who’d gotten away, so to speak.

  Opportunity. And motive.

  “As if Mom’s problems aren’t enough,” Faith was saying with zero enthusiasm, “now I get to wish my stepmother ‘Happy Birthday.’ Whoopee. Can’t wait.”

  He knew Coby and Faith’s father had married Annette Deneuve. He knew all about everything.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Danner laid the seat back, relaxed into the cushions, and closed his eyes.

  “It could be a bumpy ride,” Faith warned him.

  Yes, he thought, it definitely could.

  They drove to the party.

  The doorbell had been ringing constantly as guests arrived at the party and straggled in from the rain and blasting wind. The decibel level had been rising accordingly and Coby, on her third glass of wine, had a pretty good buzz going. She’d learned to pace herself since those early high school days at the campout; maturity was a great thing all around. And she also made certain tonight to eat the hors d’oeuvres as they were passed around.

  She decided she didn’t much like Yvette. Even though her sister had married Coby’s father, she hadn’t had much contact with her over the years, which was just as well. Coby had seen Juliet and Suzette sporadically in the time since—they were second to youngest and youngest, in that order—and she was in close contact with Nicholette, of course, since they worked together. But Yvette had been the one who’d been the most reclusive, maybe because of her teen pregnancy, maybe because she was a single mom, maybe because of all the secrets they’d told together, secrets that made them want to run away from each other, secrets that kept them from bonding. Maybe it was Lucas’s death. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

  Whatever the case, Coby did not feel warm and fuzzy toward Yvette, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

  Yvette’s eyes were on her son, who was still immersed in his video game, which was right in the center of the action. The boy wore headphones, so the elevator music Coby’s dad had put on was all she could hear, but across the TV screen ran explosion after explosion, mega-gunfire, while soldiers keeled over and bodies turned into melting flesh and bone.

  “Good God,” Coby murmured aloud.

  Yvette glanced over at her. “He’s eleven,” she said. “It’s what they do.”

  Coby didn’t comment. She sensed Yvette was spoiling for a fight and she didn’t want to be any part of it. But it was just so like Yvette to be unable to let things go; that hadn’t changed since high school. Now she moved Coby’s way.

  “Everyone talks about the teen years,” Yvette said, standing next to Coby, her gaze on the back of Benedict’s head. “How awful they are. I just didn’t think they’d start so early. It’s already a battle just to get him to talk to me, and it drives me crazy. Of course we all know I made my share of mistakes,” she added. “I was . . . thirteen when I had that affair, as you well know. Benedict’s already eleven.”

  She’d lowered her voice. Her underage affair still wasn’t for public knowledge, apparently, which was just fine with Coby. Despite Annette’s earlier rant, Coby did believe some secrets were meant to stay that way.

  “I didn’t mean to piss you off earlier,” Yvette said. “You’re right . . . I said all that about Lucas and me being together the morning after he died, and it probably wasn’t the moment.”

  “Why did you say it? It wasn’t true.”

  “Wasn’t it? We were all kind of into Lucas, weren’t we?” Her dark eyes were knowing and the small smile on her lips spoke volumes.

  “Yeah, but that day you said you and Lucas were secretly together. None of the rest of us did. We were all freaked out and upset, and you sure didn’t help.”

  Yvette pressed her lips together, then seemed to almost physically shake off the memories. “I wish a lot of things were different, but wishing doesn’t really change things. There’s a lot of water under the bridge.”

  “You say Lucas isn’t Benedict’s father.”

  “That’s right.” She eyed Coby cautiously.

  “Does Benedict know who his father is?”

  “Is that any of your business?”

  “Probably not. But you accused me of thinking it was Lucas, so whatever.” Coby shrugged. It was bizarre how fast they got back to that night, that conversation, that moment when everything changed. Maybe this was the reason she hadn’t seen much of Yvette. Both of them dreaded facing the other.

  “Benedict does not know his father,” she said shortly. Then, “Weird, huh? Your dad and my sister. Daddy Dave with an eighteen-year-old . . . that was kind of a surprise, wasn’t it? Makes my exploits at thirteen not seem so out of line.”

  “Are you kidding?” Coby couldn’t believe her ears. “At least Annette was of legal age when they met.”

  “It’s all just numbers,” Yvette murmured.

  “Numbers that matter,” Coby stated hotly. “You want Benedict in a sexual relationship in two years’ time?”

  “Jesus, you do work at a law firm, don’t you? Relax. I wasn’t trying to dis Daddy Dave for having sex with her. He stepped up and married Annette, didn’t he? Way to put his money where his mouth was, so to speak.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Coby demanded. She knew she was feeling the effects of the wine, but too bad.

  “Me? Why don’t you ask Annette? She’s the one acting all high and mighty and ready to tell everybody’s secrets. Just because she’s frustrated that she can’t get pregnant. It bugs the shit out of her
that I had Benedict and she’s having trouble conceiving.”

  Coby was taken aback. “I didn’t get that impression. She just said she wanted children, and my dad seems to be thinking it over.”

  “More like he wants out of the marriage than ever having another kid.” Yvette tossed back the rest of her wine. “You haven’t had kids yet. You don’t know what it’s like, but your dad does. I’m not saying he doesn’t love you, but it can be like jail. Stuck all the time with this responsibility and no one to share it with.”

  “That’s your experience,” Coby reminded cautiously. “Not everybody’s.”

  “Touché,” Yvette agreed.

  They’d been standing a few steps away from Annette and Juliet, who were just heading into the kitchen. Jean-Claude had seated himself next to Benedict and was trying to engage the boy with little success. Dave was talking with Donald Greer, who looked more conservative and out of touch than he had even when he was the vice principal, and McKenna’s dad, Big Bob Forrester, towered over the crowd with a large belly to match. Twelve years earlier both Donald Greer and Bob Forrester had been married, but those marriages had since fallen apart and both men had come to the party stag. In fact, the only dad from the campout who was still with his wife was Ellen’s father, Ted. Ted and Jan Marshall lived somewhere in northern California, which was where they’d moved just before Ellen’s graduation. Hank Sainer, Dana’s father, had been single then and now, and had run for local office a time or two since the beach trip. He’d been the mayor of Laurelton and the representative from the district where he lived. Rumor had it that he wanted to be governor of the state, and there was a groundswell of interested people planning to put him there. Coby didn’t know if Hank would actually be at this party; it seemed unlikely, but who knew.

  Lawrence Knapp, Genevieve’s dad, had died from a heart attack several years back, and Rhiannon’s father, Winston Gallworth, had never reconciled with Rhiannon’s alcoholic mother; he’d been virtually single throughout the years no matter what his marital status was. Though invited, he hadn’t attended the campout twelve years earlier and had seemed to let go of the friendships altogether ever since. Coby was pretty sure no one had seen him since the memorial service for his daughter.

  “Lucas feels really close tonight,” Yvette said quietly, surprising Coby with her change of mood.

  “I think about him whenever I come here,” Coby admitted.

  “I don’t like remembering that night. It was just such a bad scene all around.”

  Coby watched as she wandered over to her son, chastising him for ignoring his grandfather, then ripping the controller from his fingers and turning off his game. Benedict stomped off down the hall and Yvette looked after him with a long-suffering expression on her face.

  She didn’t want to, but Coby couldn’t help recalling how Yvette had acted the morning Lucas Moore’s body was found floating in the surf. She’d come in late; it was almost afternoon by the time Yvette appeared, claiming she’d wandered off and fallen asleep and had lost track of time. Everyone at the house, especially Jean-Claude and her sisters, had been completely nuts with worry over what had happened to her. Lucas was dead and where was Yvette?

  They were totally pissed as soon as their relief dissipated.

  But Yvette was blithely unconcerned, saying she’d simply taken a long walk and decided she was too tired to go back right away. She’d fallen asleep behind a huge driftwood wind block and lost track of time.

  No one believed her. No one. But then she was hit with the news of Lucas’s death and her face lost all color and she started screaming, “No, no, no! Not Lucas. No! It can’t be!”

  She was asked whether she’d seen him, by any chance, but she shook her head violently and then stunned them all by suddenly crying, “Lucas . . . we were in love! He was my secret lover. He can’t be dead. He can’t be!”

  She collapsed onto the sofa and into the arms of her father and started sobbing.

  “It’s not true,” Rhiannon said into the moment, as white-faced as Yvette. She was like a ghost, floating around, but not really in the room. “It’s not true. She’s lying.”

  “It’s bullshit,” Genevieve agreed, glaring daggers at Yvette.

  “It’s the truth,” Yvette wailed. “I’m sorry . . . Rhiannon. I’m sorry. He was going to tell you. He really was.”

  The guilt of kissing Lucas enveloped Coby, but not so Genevieve, apparently who was just flat-out mad. “You’re a liar!” she accused Yvette, standing with clenched fists, her face a mask of fury.

  “No . . .” Rhiannon murmured. “No.”

  Jean-Claude eyed the advancing Genevieve with caution. “Calm down,” he said.

  Yvette was crying uncontrollably. “We loved each other! We loved each other!”

  And then Rhiannon’s eyes rolled back and she fainted. Genevieve was closest to her and managed to catch her before she hit the ground, though they both went down and Rhiannon cracked her forehead on the coffee table and went limp. Jean-Claude and Dave jumped to help and Rhiannon was stretched out on the couch while Genevieve moved away, her expression dark.

  Ellen, Dana, and Wynona sat in silent shock, as if their brains had gone on stall, which maybe they had. McKenna regarded Yvette narrowly and later conferred with Genevieve, clearly of the same opinion that Yvette was making the whole thing up.

  Coby hadn’t believed Yvette, either. If Lucas was really her secret boyfriend, if he really was . . . then why had he been kissing the rest of them? It was more likely Yvette was just using his death as a means to deflect the spotlight from herself and the probing questions that had rained down on her about where she’d been all night and morning.

  Which was almost worse.

  “It’s true,” Yvette kept insisting, wailing it like a siren. “It’s true! We were lovers. It’s true. It’s all true!”

  But no amount of declaring that she and Lucas loved each other could convince the rest of them, and by mutual tacit agreement their group chose to ostracize Yvette all senior year. Yes, they were all at fault for wanting Lucas; some of them more than others for actually acting on their desires. But Yvette had taken it to another level, and it was just so wrong to lie about Lucas when he couldn’t even defend himself!

  And then . . . Yvette turned up pregnant. Everyone wanted to ask her who the father was, but no one had the guts. No one wanted to believe that Yvette might have been actually telling the truth. That she and Lucas were an item after all, that the baby was his, that they had been involved in a full-fledged love affair all the while.

  No one wanted to believe it, but it was the underlying, unspoken thought that followed them throughout their final year of high school.

  And it was still a question today, though Yvette acted like she’d answered it with a big, fat “no.”

  Now Coby’s gaze turned thoughtfully in the direction Benedict had gone. Yvette wasn’t around, having moved to the kitchen, and Coby glanced back that way as the doorbell rang again, this time to admit the delivery people from Nona Sofia’s, the Cannon Beach restaurant from which Annette had ordered the Italian-themed meal. Large foil-covered pans of food were carried to the table and Annette bustled around directing the arrival of the different pasta dishes, lovely smelling loaves of bread, plates of bruschetta, and a monster bowl of Caesar salad. While she directed, Annette snapped at both her sisters and Suzette and Juliet stepped up to help, though Yvette was noticeably absent.

  Coby arranged a stack of white china plates and silverware at one end of the long table without being asked. She recognized the silverware with its embedded “R” as the fine stuff from when she was growing up. Her mother, Leta, had, in her one irrational moment during the divorce, hauled out the huge wooden box of silverware and thrown it at her husband’s feet. She declared she was taking back her maiden name and he could have anything and everything that had an “R” on it. Then she looked up and saw Coby standing in the doorway, scared by the crash she’d heard in the kitchen, and without
a word Leta pulled herself together and pretended the scene never happened. The rest of their divorce was totally civilized. If they had deeper feelings, they weren’t visible to Faith and Coby, and Leta never actually went through with her threat to go back to her maiden name. She was still Leta Rendell, though she was now dating some guy named Barry whom Coby had yet to meet and Faith couldn’t stand.

  The doorbell rang again and Coby looked around to see who was answering, but she was the nearest. She walked forward and opened the door and found herself face-to-face with her sister, Faith.

  And Faith was with Coby’s ex, Danner Lockwood.

  Chapter 5

  Time literally seemed to stand still for Coby. She’d never really believed it could. Had thought that old saying was a fallacy. But when she saw Danner with her sister, it felt like the world stopped for a moment. She heard a rushing in her ears and everything seemed to recede and freeze.

  She stared at Danner for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a second before pulling herself together and dragging her gaze to her sister. Faith was wearing a gray sweater-coat, damp and wet as if it had been doused with water, over black slacks, and her short, light brown hair was sparkling with rain.

  “Hey, there,” Faith greeted her, moving inside and giving Coby a quick hug. “How’d you get door duty?”

  “I—just was here.” Coby felt slow and stupid.

  “Hi, Coby,” Danner said, his familiar face breaking into that slow smile that made her pulse race and her mouth go dry.

  She couldn’t decide how to react. She was shocked to her core. Of all the scenarios she’d run through for this evening, this hadn’t been one of them. She felt disembodied as she took Faith’s sweater-coat and Danner’s black parka and hung them up in the hall closet. Danner seemed to want to talk to her, but Coby found she just couldn’t. She managed a few words of greeting and then escaped to the kitchen.