She smiles, showing a row of small, perfect teeth. “Iceland.”
I smile. “How exciting! Are you in America for long?”
“One year,” she says, her accent heavier than Axel’s.
This relationship doesn’t have time to get off the ground—which is probably what Andrew’s counting on. Scoundrel. Scamp. Scallywag.
“I’ll let you two hit the road for whatever adventure you’re off to. Nice to meet you, Helga. See you tonight.”
I stop by the big house to check on Petey. Nikki Jo opens the door, jogging in place. “I just started my workout, but you go on up. He wants to see you.”
Petey shouts at me as I come up the steps. “Tess! You’re here!” His door stands open and the blinds are up, letting in buckets of sunshine. He puts down his Xbox controller. “Woah, what a weird day yesterday!”
“I’ll say. You remember any of it?”
“Kind of, in a blurry way. Hey, you have time to play Xbox?”
“You’d better believe it.” I grab a controller, relieved at the chance to focus on something else. My stomach flutters. “I think this baby wants to see Mommy win.”
51
~*~
The young man leaning on the counter at the Bistro Americain eyes me closely. “You related to Rosemary?” he asks. His manager comes out, shooing him back to the kitchen. “Could I help you, Ma’am?”
“Yes. I’m looking for Rosemary Hogan. She does work here, right? There’s a family issue—”
The manager interrupts. “I’m afraid I can’t share that information, Ma’am.”
I smile, making so much eye contact I get uncomfortable. “Would you be able to give me her phone number, then?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
I try a different approach. “I’m her mother.”
“No, ma’am. I’ve met her mother—she looks a lot different than you, and she has an Irish accent.”
“I’m her birth-mother. I don’t have long to live, and I need to discuss my will with her.” I lean heavily on the counter.
His gaze softens. “Ma’am, I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. Rosemary’s my best waitress; everyone loves her.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my daughter. But I just have to see her before my time comes.”
I’m laying it on pretty thick, but hopefully he’ll fall for it. He hesitates.
“Why don’t you give me your number, Ma’am, and I’ll have her call you.”
I don’t even have a cell phone. To keep up my façade, I reel off numbers I memorized long ago and he writes them down.
I walk out, knowing all hope is lost. It’s anyone’s guess when Rosemary will come back to work. She could be anywhere in the country, for all I know.
Another Christmas Eve alone. But this New Year’s Eve will be more than a celebration—it’ll be a victory.
~*~
Christmas Eve, and not a speck of snow on the ground. Seems unnatural. Still, it gives me an excuse to walk in the woods and calm myself down before the soirée at the law office tonight. Red velvet cupcakes need to be whipped up soon, but I’m stalling.
Last party, I casually mentioned Thomas’ UVA law degree several times, because I felt the paralegal was disrespecting him. I also rambled on and on about his GPA and his position as editor for the law journal. Thomas took me aside and kindly told me to stop making him look like the King of the Office.
Thomas bought a new dress for me, which is helpful because I haven’t had time to dry-clean the red dress Rosemary wrecked with her mud splats. I love the navy satin sheath—its tight layers fit me well, without clinging. It hugs my newly-budding tummy perfectly. Thomas has good taste. Every time I tell him, he says, “Well, I married you, didn’t I?”
My bomber jacket’s a little heavy for the weather, but the Glock’s ready to roll, snug in its familiar pocket. I walk in a wide circle around the oak tree, noting the twisted net and the size of the rocks lying beneath it. Not huge, but not pebbles. I visualize Petey, the rock falling on his red head…Petey, the little brother I’ve always wanted.
My steps are sure and quiet as I blend into the woods. I hope I don’t run into Rose or Rosemary out here. I’m sick of trespassers who don’t care who they hurt. I understand that Rosemary was trying to find out more about her mother. Likewise, Rose was trying to find out more about her daughter—maybe. Or maybe she’s always been jealous of Miranda, and she’s come back to put an end to her happiness. She’s certainly succeeded in putting an end to mine.
I want to delve into baby books. I want to pick out a name and decorate a nursery. I want to be one of those crunchy moms, who blend their own baby food and use cloth diapers and sew organic cotton baby clothes. Learning to sew is a minor obstacle, one easily rectified with a few lessons from Nikki Jo.
Red-tailed hawk families dip and soar above me as I sit on my rock pew. God seems so real and close here. Has He been watching over me this whole time? I can almost hear Axel saying, “Do not fear. All will be well,” smiling with my gun aimed at his chest. Had God sent him to tell me those words I so desperately needed to hear?
Why doesn’t God send Thomas to comfort me more often? He’s on the outskirts of my life. We’re always butting heads about important things. Maybe we’re still growing into our marriage. But we have a baby on the way—a baby girl, if Claire Hogan’s right.
Did Paul hit Rose? I still need to know if that’s true. If he did, I could better understand Rose’s retreat into her home, her tendency to throw herself at men who comforted her, and her suicide hoax to protect her baby from her husband. Maybe it doesn’t justify those things, but it explains them.
It still comes back to those three who knew Rose best: the Doctor, Paul, and Miranda. One or all of them knows why she’s back in West Virginia.
I push my hands onto the damp, cool stone. Both Bartholomew and Miranda pointed out my similarities to Rose. We both have no siblings. She was pregnant and I’m pregnant now, and supposedly I’m beautiful like she was. What good does that do us? The only thing that matters in the end is the love of family, our husbands, and our children. Rose was denied all three. Her parents died. Her husband might have beaten her. She never saw her child grow up.
I picture her—slim pants, Mona-Lisa smile, protective hand over her stomach. She wanted a child—a family. But when she became pregnant, she knew she’d have to give up the one thing she wanted most. I lay a hand on my stomach, and the baby moves in response. Tears flood my eyes and I cry alone: for Rose, for every child that doesn’t know its mother, for children whose mothers don’t know how to be mothers.
I dig in my pockets and find a used tissue. Wow, I guess there is such a thing as pregnancy hormones, because mine feel out of control.
Brushing off my cold jeans, I stand and whisper goodbye to the hawks—or maybe to God, I’m not sure which. Time to pull this old gal together and get all duded up for the party.
Two trays of red velvet cupcakes later, Thomas comes to pick me up. He has a platter of Christmas cookies from the grocery store to complete our admission requirements.
I meet him at the door, turning in a slow circle for him. He whistles. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bought that dress. You’ll undoubtedly get plenty of unwanted attention.”
“Thanks, hon. And this year, I’ll attempt to malign you, instead of singing your praises.”
He laughs, giving me a full kiss and escorting me to his car. Andrew shouts from Nikki Jo’s back yard, where he sits under the twinkling lights with Helga. “You’d better open that door for your date, bro! Otherwise she might just go home with someone else!”
“Shut it, Andrew!” To me, Thomas mutters, “If he could keep a girl longer than two weeks, he’d know better than to spout that nonsense.”
“Shh! He’ll hear you!” I swat his rear before sliding into my seat. “And close my door, Date!”
We travel in companionable silence down the twisting roads. I keep the air vents turned on
, though my arms are freezing. I get carsick if I’m not driving, and the last thing I need is to ruin yet another dress.
Thomas asks, a little too casually, “By the way, my cop friend was asking if you’ve seen that blue car again?”
Oh mercy. “The time has come, and the time is now,” as Dr. Seuss says.
I try to keep my voice calm. “Turns out, I found out who was driving that car.”
“Mm-hm? And who was it?”
“Well, it’s a crazy thing—you’ll never believe it. You remember Rose Campbell?”
“The young beauty who committed suicide? Her husband’s marrying Miranda at New Year’s? Yes.”
I grip my cupcakes. “Turns out, she’s alive. It’s her car.”
He turns, light brown lashes framing his snapping brown eyes. “When were you going to tell me? And what else are you keeping from me?”
I decide to come clean. “She has a gun. She pulled it on the woman who adopted her daughter.”
“A gun! And her daughter? I thought she killed herself because she couldn’t have kids? But wait—she didn’t kill herself anyway…I’m lost on this.”
“Me, too.”
“Did she have something to do with Petey getting hit in the head?”
If I say yes, Thomas might tell Andrew and they’ll do something stupid, landing themselves in prison at Christmas. Probably right next to my mom.
I try to be honest. “I don’t know for sure.”
My phone rings in my purse. Charlotte starts talking before I say hello.
“It’s me. I told Mom why I’ve got to stay with her awhile. She’s in shock that Rose is alive. They just gave her some medicine for her heart palpitations. Is there any way you could stop in?”
“I have Thomas with me, but there’s nothing I’d like better than to hightail it out of the office party early.”
“Just bring Thomas along, if he knows what’s going on. Mom would love to see him…and she really wants to talk with you.”
“No problem. I’ll be there.”
And that’s the bottom line—I’ll always be there for Miranda, because she was there for me.
52
~*~
Funny thing, attics. They’re too cold in winter and too hot in summer. Regardless, Paul never visits his—mine.
Thankfully, Paul hasn’t been up here in years. I found an old mattress and some blankets from my bed that he must not have been able to part with. Ironic—maybe he cares for me more, now that I’m dead to him. Wouldn’t he have a heart attack if he saw me again?
The thought has crossed my mind…sneaking down to his room in the middle of the night, dressed in a robe…or a white sheet. The ghosts break into a cacophony, excited by the idea of wreaking havoc on Paul. They seem to be getting stronger here. I’ll be okay with them, as long as I don’t see the blonde ghost who looks like my soul turned inside out. I saw her once, as I passed out from the pills, and I knew she was my own angel of death.
Bartholomew hadn’t been sure how the drug would react with me, but he’d given me a dose guaranteed to do something dramatic that New Year’s Eve. If it hadn’t knocked me unconscious, I would’ve faked it. Of course, he hadn’t realized I was pregnant—I never told him. It was a risk I had to take. Besides, he’d explained they used the drug to lessen pain in childbirth. “Twilight sleep,” he’d called it. I knew it would be perfect for my plan.
He did get me out of the house, loading my body in his car, with Paul’s awkward help. I don’t know how he did the rest, from declaring me dead to getting some kind of ashes to Paul in an urn. But he let me stay at his house until I was back to normal. Then he flew with me to Arizona.
What happened there broke my heart—what was left of it. Yet when I accepted it, I thought I’d healed.
Turns out, the Arizona sunshine lied to me. Only the shadowy Appalachian mountains tell the truth, and it’s as dark and twisted as my own heart.
~*~
In the office parking lot, I hand Thomas the tray of cupcakes and get out of the car. He eyes the plate. “You made the red velvet ones? These aren’t my favorite. I thought you were making plain chocolate with vanilla frosting.”
Flames spread up my neck. “Well, first of all, these aren’t for you anyway. And secondly, last time I made these, you said they were delicious, as I recall. And trust me, I recall.”
He pushes a wayward cupcake back toward the middle of the tray. “I did not.”
How dare he? Tape-recorder recall to the rescue.
I make my voice as deep as I can, imitating him. “You never made these before. Is this cream cheese frosting? They’re delicious!”
He stares. “You’re not remembering that right.”
This is so the last thing I need right now. He knows I can’t back down from a disagreement—or what’s more commonly known as a fight.
“Are you seriously questioning my memory? The thing you’re always depending on, since you have miserable recall?”
Thomas checks his watch. “C’mon. We’re already fifteen minutes late. And I’ve never said anything about liking red velvet cupcakes.”
That’s it.
Before I can stop myself, I grab the plate, smushing my loathsome cupcakes into his ever-loving face. “There! You like them now?”
Oh shoot. What did I just do? What now?
I rummage in the car for the roll of paper towels I stowed for our last trip. When I turn back to Thomas, he’s standing stock-still, eyes huge. I overcome the urge to lick the towels to wet them and start wiping his face with the rough paper.
Only his lips move. “You…didn’t.”
“Sorry. I’m really sorry. You just pushed the wrong button, that’s all.”
As his nose and mouth emerges, he doesn’t look angry, just shocked out of his gourd.
I keep talking, since he’s speechless. “You can’t go in like this. It’s okay. I’ll run the cookies in and say I feel lightheaded or sick or something. Then we’ll go see Miranda. You can wear your T-shirt.”
A silver car pulls into the drive. I shove Thomas toward our still-open car door, then grab the cookie tray from the back seat. By the time the first passenger emerges, I’ve wiped off stray red velvet crumbs, wielding the tray in front of me. The vaguely familiar woman turns at the sound of my voice.
“Excuse me, would you mind taking this in to the party? I’m just not feeling good tonight. Please tell them Thomas and his wife won’t be able to come.”
She looks concerned. “Oh, of course, dear! I’ll do that.”
I walk slowly to the driver’s door, not sure what I’ll find when I get in the car. Thomas sits facing me. Oh my lands. He looks composed, with his hands crossed in his lap, but his eyes are still gigantic.
I whip out another apology. “Sorry again. I don’t know what came over me.”
The small interior car light shines on his blond head, flecks of red velvet and white frosting dotting his bangs. He leans over quickly and I scoot back. He wraps his large hand around the back of my hair, pulling me close for a rough kiss.
When we finally pull apart, my lips are tingling. We haven’t kissed like that in ages. Thomas’ voice catches as he apologizes. “I deserved that and more. I was stressing about the party when I should’ve been paying attention to you. You’ve been under all sorts of pressure lately—with the pregnancy, Miranda, Petey’s accident, and now Rose.”
We kiss once more, then I turn the key. “How about we go see the Grande Dame?”
On our way over, Thomas asks, “Is there any other information you’ve failed to divulge before we visit Miranda?” The way he asks, I know he’s fishing for something specific.
I bristle. “What have you heard?”
“Well, Mom was saying something about that florist fellow. You know—the Conan-the-Barbarian guy? She said he brought something over a couple weeks ago.”
So, word did indeed trickle out.
“He brought me something and it was a mistake, that’s all.”
/>
“Hm. You sure he wasn’t dropping by just to see you? I don’t like him knowing where we live, Tess. Maybe he’s a stalker, too. Maybe he’s the one that kicked that rock on Petey’s head.”
“First off, no. To be honest, someone had sent me a bouquet of black roses. I just didn’t want to keep it. And Axel wouldn’t be up in our tree—in fact, I doubt that oak limb would hold the likes of him.”
Thomas’ jaw flexes.
The road’s getting foggy. I talk into the blackness at him. “Besides, what do you care? I can’t read you half the time. Axel’s just looking out for me, trying to help out. But when a creepy drunk dentist hits on me in public, you’re completely oblivious. What’s up with that?”
“What dentist?”
“At the reunion! Didn’t you see that dentist next to me? He was hitting on me the whole time you were chatting it up with your old teacher. He called me gorgeous. I had to leave the table!”
“Oh—that guy? He’s old as the hills. If he tried anything, you could definitely outrun him. Of course I would’ve knocked his lights out if he did.”
“Outrun him? So that’s the protocol for what warrants your husbandly protection? Well, I felt vulnerable and exposed and you didn’t help. And then you fly off the handle with Axel—”
“Axel!? That guy is definitely into you, and he’s a much bigger threat than a drunk elderly dentist. I know you liked Axel in college—don’t deny it; you’re into blonds. And he keeps showing up, leering at you—even in church. Then I find out he’s visiting our cottage while I’m gone. Of course I’m not happy about that.”
I sigh. “Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s gone back to Germany.”
“Back to join the Hitler youth?” He smirks.
I punch his arm.
“Okay, okay. Just tell me exactly which weird guys you want me to beat up and I will. I’m your loving slave.”
I wonder. Maybe before Miranda’s marriage, Thomas could give Paul a little beat-down warning. Couldn’t hurt, except it’s undoubtedly illegal.
Fatal 5 Page 48
