An older woman with kind eyes in the row behind her smiled and leaned toward her. “Is your sister in the band?” she asked.
“My daughter,” Marissa said.
“Oh.”
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and Marissa knew what came next. A swift mental calculation followed by a judgmental look. Ironically, the same people who treated her like she was a lower life-form for getting pregnant with Brooke at sixteen were often the first to picket an abortion clinic.
Marissa curved away.
Finally she spied Kelly striding toward her. Her long, smooth gait cut through the crowd, quickly closing the distance between them. Kelly had shot up over the past year. She now stood a good two inches taller than Marissa, and while she wasn’t conventionally pretty, she was striking. She had her father’s strong nose, jutting cheekbones, and flinty green eyes.
Marissa draped an arm around her daughter’s back, drawing her close for a hug. Kelly’s shoulders remained rigid. She tolerated the awkward embrace for the required two to three seconds before pulling away. Marissa bent to retrieve her coat and masked the painful twinge she felt in the pit of her stomach at the cool reception.
There had been a time when Kelly would rush into Marissa’s arms at the end of the day, her small face beaming as if there was no person in the world she would rather see. But that had been a decade ago. Three failed marriages and half a dozen jobs later, she didn’t know how to win back Kelly’s trust.
“Where’s Brooke?” Kelly asked, casting her gaze beyond Marissa toward the back of the auditorium.
“She didn’t make it.”
“Figures.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Brooke’s pretty into herself these days.”
“She said she wanted to be here.”
“But she’s not, is she?”
Marissa sighed. Truthfully, she couldn’t blame Kelly for being disappointed. She was disappointed too. Brooke was usually so responsible. It wasn’t like her to blow them off, not without a word. Whatever her own misgivings, though, Marissa brushed them aside, reluctant to criticize Brooke in front of Kelly.
“Something must have come up.”
“Why do you always defend her?”
A familiar scowl darkened Kelly’s expression, and Marissa let it go. The last thing she wanted was a fight. Not today. Not after Kelly’s first performance at her new school. Sidestepping the question, she changed the subject.
“You played very well. I’ve heard you practice the piece before, but hearing it with the orchestra really brings it to life. How did it feel to be up on stage?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Kelly avoided her mother’s gaze and strode down the aisle. Marissa hurried to catch up. They had almost reached the back when she caught sight of a familiar face. The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the sight of him.
Logan.
Kelly must have seen him too, because she picked up the pace, threading her way through the crowd on a course that led directly to him. His bright-blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and he opened his arms wide. Kelly stepped willingly into his hug.
Logan glanced over the top of Kelly’s blonde head. As he caught sight of Marissa, his smile faded.
Just looking at him hurt, like an empty ache inside her heart. She hadn’t laid eyes on him in six months, not since she’d moved out of his house. Although he wanted to remain part of the girls’ lives, she’d resisted the idea. Claimed they needed time to gel as a family. It was a poor excuse. In truth, she needed time to lick her wounds.
Anger, hurt, and betrayal rushed to the surface like the blood surging into her cheeks. Logan’s expression remained neutral, as if seeing her again didn’t make him feel anything at all. Lucky him. Then again, he was a master at hiding his feelings, while hers had a maddening tendency to bubble over.
“I hope you don’t mind I came,” he said.
What could she say? He was already here. Vowing not to pick an argument, Marissa shrugged.
“It’s Kelly’s day. She’s free to invite whomever she pleases.”
Skepticism clouded Logan’s blue eyes and he looked away. For a moment Marissa studied his perfect profile. She’d been blinded by his sophistication, his beauty—doomed to see what she wanted to see instead of what was actually there.
“You were great, Kel,” he said.
Logan reached down and plucked a bouquet of flowers from the empty seat beside him. Marissa’s lips twisted into a pained smile. White daisies, yellow roses, and purple delphinium—all of Kelly’s favorites were tied together with an airy silver bow.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” Kelly sank her nose into the flower petals and sniffed.
“You deserve them.”
His eyes met Marissa’s again.
“I won’t keep you. I’m on my way to the airport.”
“You’re flying out?”
Marissa cringed at the disappointment she heard in Kelly’s voice. As a pilot for Alaska Airlines, Logan spent two weeks of each month traveling. She’d realized too late that the long absences from home allowed him to keep the two parts of his life separate.
Kelly blamed Marissa for the breakup. And why not? Logan had been her third husband, and she’d struck out again. That she was shielding Kelly from the ugly truth behind the split provided little solace. She supposed her daughter’s anger was the price she paid for her silence.
“I enjoyed seeing you play. You’re very talented, Kelly. Keep it up.”
Kelly clutched the flowers close to her chest, her cheeks glowing from his praise.
“I’m glad you came.”
Marissa felt a stab of guilt as she watched the pair hug one last time. There was nothing stiff or awkward about their embrace, and she wondered what good she was doing by keeping them apart. Whom was she protecting, anyway—Kelly or herself?
Logan grabbed his coat and followed the crowd toward the exit. Pausing with his hand on the door, he glanced back at Marissa. A blast of cold, damp wind blew into the auditorium, and Marissa shuddered.
“Where’s Brooke?” Logan asked.
Marissa frowned and glanced behind her. That seemed to be the million-dollar question.
Chapter 4
Dull light filtered through the dirty windows of the commuter train. Marissa pressed her fingers against her ears, blunting the noise around her. Beyond the window the Seattle skyline emerged like a ghost ship from the pale mist as Brooke’s recorded voice blasted cheerfully through the cell phone’s speaker. Marissa’s heart sank as she listened to the message for the twentieth time.
The beep sounded, and Marissa matched Brooke’s upbeat tone.
“Hi, honey, it’s Mom again. I know I must sound like a crazy helicopter parent, but I missed you at Kelly’s recital. Give me a call back just to let me know everything’s okay. Thanks.”
The train jerked to a halt, and Marissa stowed the phone back in her purse. She followed the throng of Monday morning commuter zombies up the two flights of concrete stairs into the cold morning drizzle. Trudging down Second Avenue, Marissa looked up. The peaked pyramid of the Smith Tower had disappeared, swallowed by a thick layer of low-hanging clouds.
Marissa had always loved this building. It had history. Character. Built by New York tycoon L. C. Smith, the Smith Tower was the first skyscraper to grace the Seattle skyline, and for many years had been the tallest building in North America west of the Mississippi.
A century later the white, neoclassic building stood out against the other hulking monoliths like a white rose in a garden filled with dandelions. On a typical morning, walking into the marble-and-bronze lobby made her feel special, like someone who had done something with her life.
But this morning nothing was typical.
Worry buzzed like a swarm of bees inside her head. She strode through the lobby, ignoring everyone and everything around her. Stepping off the elevator onto the sixth floor, she found the law offices of Holt, Regis, and Grant
deserted.
Marissa settled into her chair behind the reception desk and placed her cell phone beside her keyboard, willing it to ring.
Oblivious to her need, it remained stubbornly silent. She snatched it up and thumbed the small silver button to power up the display. No voice mails. No texts. No messages of any kind since the last time she’d checked. Twenty minutes ago.
Damned phone.
She rubbed her temples.
Why wasn’t Brooke pinging back? There were at least a half dozen reasonable excuses for not responding, she knew. Right now, though, short on sleep, she couldn’t think of many.
Would she be this worried if Brooke weren’t diabetic? Certainly she didn’t hover over Kelly in the same way. But it wasn’t a fair comparison.
When Brooke had been diagnosed with diabetes at age thirteen, Marissa remembered how overwhelmed she’d felt by the complexity of managing her condition—learning how diet, exercise, and insulin all worked together to strike the complex balance necessary to keep Brooke healthy, while trying to forget the nightmare of things that could happen if her sugars went off the rails.
So she hovered. What parent wouldn’t? Brooke hadn’t seemed to mind. Until now. Did her daughter’s silence signal a change in attitude? Was it time for her to back off and let Brooke live her life?
Maybe.
But Marissa couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not until she knew Brooke was all right.
Her eyes burned with fatigue as she glanced past the flat-screen monitor toward the frosted-glass doors. Surfing the web was against company policy, she knew, but this early, who would notice? She’d be quick—on and off before any clients entered the lobby. No one would be the wiser.
So she launched a web browser and logged into Facebook. A few clicks later, she reached Brooke’s wall. The cover photo was a pretty picture of Brooke hugging the huge purple W outside the gates of the University of Washington. Like most girls her age, Brooke posted frequent updates to her Facebook site for her four-hundred-plus friends to see.
Struck out in search of adventure. Need to get out of the rain for a while. Peace, Brooke.
Marissa read the post twice. Her gut twisted like a rusty turbine in the wind, and she knew something wasn’t right. Brooke studied her ass off, earning grades that had assured her a place at UW. She wouldn’t just take off. She wouldn’t jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for. It didn’t make sense.
Hoping to find out more, Marissa clicked on the recently uploaded photos. There was one posted from inside Brooke’s dorm room on Saturday night. Brooke and Tess stood with their cheeks pressed together, smiling wide for the camera.
There was another photo, uploaded last night. The young man in the picture was not smiling. Beneath an unruly forelock of wavy hair, he looked angry.
The hair stood up on Marissa’s arms. Anxiety cranked another notch tighter in her gut.
Who was he and why had Brooke posted his picture? Was she trying to send a message? Was he the reason she wasn’t calling back?
Desperate for answers, she clicked on Tess’s profile. If the girls had gone out together, maybe Tess had posted something more, but Sunday morning’s status update was all about Tess’s epic hangover.
Friends had offered a litany of hangover remedies ranging from the ridiculous to the downright disgusting. Hair of the dog. Canned fish. Pickles. Sex.
Sex? What ever happened to Gatorade, vitamin C, and a catnap?
The heavy glass doors swung open, and with a quick click of her mouse button, Marissa minimized the Facebook window. Just in time too. A slim, well-dressed woman in her late thirties entered.
Paige Benoit was Marissa’s direct supervisor. With a sharp face and an even sharper tongue, she squawked orders with a drill sergeant’s charm. If she caught Marissa online, there would be hell to pay.
Instinctively Marissa straightened in her chair as Benoit neared the desk. She glanced back at the monitor, ensuring Facebook was minimized and her calendar was showing.
“Marissa, Elizabeth Holt will be arriving at ten sharp for a meeting with Regis,” Benoit said, all business.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s on my calendar.”
Benoit’s nod was curt. Her sleek dark hair brushed the collar of her starched white shirt. Arced lines bracketed her thin lips, giving her a sour look.
“She’ll want tea sent in. Earl Grey with milk, not cream. Don’t forget.”
What kind of idiot would put cream in tea? Based on her boss’s dragon breath and coffee-stained teeth, she figured Benoit might not appreciate the difference.
“I’ll have it ready,” Marissa said.
Benoit’s lips stretched into a chilly smile. Marissa made a note about the ten o’clock tea, knowing full well Benoit would shit a chicken if she forgot.
Elizabeth Holt was a founding member of the law firm and, by all accounts, a formidable woman. In the year Marissa had worked here, she had seen Holt only a handful of times. Rumor had it the old woman was sick, so whatever the ten o’clock meeting was about, it was important enough to warrant a rare visit.
As soon as Benoit closed her office door, Marissa maximized her browser window. She skimmed Tess’s wall to see if she could figure out where the girls might have gone on Saturday night. Nothing. One by one she clicked through the candid snapshots of Tess’s fresh-faced college friends, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man posted on Brooke’s page. No luck.
Marissa’s fingers stalled as a black-and-white image filled the screen. Tess stood half-naked; her tiny hands barely covered her small breasts.
“Oh, Tess,” Marissa groaned under her breath.
No doubt Tess considered the picture artistic, but Marissa thought about all the people who would see this image. From personal experience, she knew Tess would find no shortage of men ready to objectify her. She didn’t need to help them along.
Staring intently at the screen, Marissa didn’t hear John Ervine approach. He was a short, round man with glasses and a waxy smile. The way he looked at her gave her the willies. This morning was no exception. His small black eyes shifted from the monitor to her face.
Caught red-handed, Marissa clicked the red X, and the browser window closed.
“Good morning, Marissa,” he said in a high, nasal voice. “Was that your daughter?”
Marissa’s cheeks reddened.
“Sorry, Mr. Ervine. I shouldn’t have been looking at a personal site during business hours.”
“She’s pretty, like her mother.”
His smile made her skin crawl, and his gaze dropped from her face to the opening of her shirt. Her outfit wasn’t revealing. A crisp white blouse, a straight black skirt, and business-sensible pumps—there was nothing provocative about her attire. But the way he looked at her still made her feel like a bimbo.
Marissa angled her chair away to block his view down her blouse. She forced a civil smile and handed him his mail.
“I don’t typically look at my daughter’s Facebook site at work, but . . .”
Ervine waved a dismissive hand, his grin widening. “I get it. You want to keep an eye on what your kid posts. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul what I saw. It’ll be our secret.”
He winked at her and slithered down the hallway. Marissa cringed.
Great. She’d been caught violating company policy. Benoit didn’t like her and would seize any opportunity to get rid of her. And now Ervine thought she owed him a favor. She could only imagine the types of payback he had in mind—maybe a lap dance in his office or a quickie in the copier room. She was no intern, though. One wrong move from Ervine and she’d go straight to Mr. Regis. He wouldn’t want the firm’s reputation sullied by a sexual harassment suit.
It was still early, before eight o’clock, but most of the attorneys were in the office. Clients would arrive soon. Marissa scratched the patch on her left arm and glared at the silent cell phone on her desk.
The nicotine patch was supposed to curb her craving for cigarettes. Maybe if she ripped th
e damned thing off and smoked it, she’d feel better. Of course, that could get her into trouble too. She’d picked a hell of a time to give up her best vice. Her oldest friend, she amended.
Ring, damn it. Ring. Please. Please, Brooke, just call.
But if there was a God up there in the sky, he wasn’t listening to her, and Marissa relaunched Facebook. She didn’t want to be caught online again, but she didn’t know how else to get a message to Tess. Hoping for good news, she started to type.
The door opened and a stately gray-haired man in a long black coat entered. Marissa’s fingers froze. She forced a smile and clicked on her calendar to hide the Facebook window.
“Good morning, Marissa. How are you?”
Mr. Regis was looking at her eyes and not at her chest. It was a refreshing change, and she handed him a short stack of mail.
“Fine, Mr. Regis. You have a few messages this morning.”
“Thank you.”
With a kind smile, he turned down the hall toward his spacious corner office. Marissa dismissed her calendar and finished the message.
Tess, I’m looking for Brooke. Have you seen her?
The glass doors swung open again. Marissa pressed send and closed the browser window, hoping Tess would respond soon.
Chapter 5
Perched precariously on the tips of her toes, Marissa wrenched the teapot down from the cupboard’s top shelf. She lifted the top off and peered inside. It looked clean enough, but just in case, she rinsed the pot with warm water. God help her if Ms. Holt tasted dust in her tea.
She’d freed the first Earl Grey tea bag from the plastic wrapping when her cell phone rang. The tea bag slipped from Marissa’s grasp as she lunged for the phone. Her stomach sank. It wasn’t Brooke. She didn’t recognize the number. Bending to pick the tea bag up off the floor, she answered the call.
“Ms. Rooney?”
The voice sounded young. Nervous. Familiar. Marissa’s heart took off at a gallop.
“Tess?”
In the Dark Page 3
