He’s silent for a moment, busy steering into a spot in front of her building. Then he says, “Okay, baby, no problem.”
Her momentary relief that he didn’t argue is followed quickly by regret that he didn’t argue.
If he did, she would relent.
Because, looking up at the dark windows of her condo—she didn’t leave lights on; why didn’t she leave lights on?—she doesn’t want to venture inside alone.
Just in case she finds that she isn’t. Alone, that is.
“Do you want me to walk you in?” Alec asks, but he doesn’t shift the car into PARK.
He thinks I’m going to say no. He probably senses that I just need some solitude.
Her fiancé likes to brag that he’s getting pretty good at reading her moods. “By the time we walk down the aisle, I’ll be able to read your mind,” he often says lately.
But he isn’t reading it right now.
If he was, he’d come inside with her, and he’d turn on all the lights and look under the bed and inside all the closets.
Well, I don’t need him for that. I can take care of myself.
“No, you can go,” Cassie tells him. “Thanks for dinner.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Friday,” he says, as if that’s all the answer she had in mind.
Oh. Right. He said “see you tomorrow” not because it’s any special occasion, but because they see each other every day now.
That’s what people do when they’re getting married. And after they’re married.
They see each other every day for the rest of their lives.
Till death do us part, Cassandra thinks, and suppresses an involuntary shudder as she plants a light kiss on her fiancé’s cheek and walks slowly up the path toward her darkened condo.
And so it’s begun.
I only wish I could be in four places at once tonight.
Yes, it would be a pleasure to personally witness their reactions to the day’s mail—to see the looks on their faces now that they know the secret isn’t theirs alone.
Listening to them is the next best thing.
The bugs have been in place for a long time now, in anticipation of today.
At first it was titillating to eavesdrop on even the most inane conversations: Fiona barking orders, Brynn reading to her children, Cassandra unenthusiastically planning her wedding, and Tildy…
Ah, Tildy’s private life yielded the most interesting gem of all.
Still, even that became tiresome after awhile.
It was all just mind-numbing chatter.
But not anymore.
“Fiona Fitzgerald Public Relations.”
Brynn is momentarily caught off guard by the unfamiliar voice. She was expecting Fee’s longtime office manager. Then she remembers that Sharon moved away last week—thus “abandoning” Fiona, as Fee so dramatically put it.
“Is…Is Fiona there?” she manages to get out to whoever just answered the phone.
“May I ask who’s calling, please?”
She clears her throat, but her voice still comes out sounding strangled. “Tell her it’s Brynn.”
“Brenda?”
“Brynn!”
“One moment.”
She flashes a reassuring smile at her sons, both of whom have stopped eating and are watching her worriedly.
“It’s okay, guys…Mommy just has to make a quick call, that’s all. I’ll be right with you.”
“Ketchup!” Jeremy bangs the table with his fists.
She is hurriedly squirting another dollop on his already oozing-red macaroni when the voice comes back on the line. “Ms. Fitzgerald said to take a message and she’ll call you back.”
“The message is pick up the Godda—the gosh-darned phone right now!” Brynn says through clenched teeth.
There’s a pause.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, tell her it’s an extreme emergency and I need to speak to her immediately.”
“All right, I’ll tell her. Can I have a number where she can reach you?”
“No, you can’t, because I’m not hanging up! Please tell her to pick up right now.”
The girl hesitates.
Realizing Fiona has already put the fear of God in her new employee, Brynn softens her tone to say, “Listen, I will take full blame for this. Just tell her I need to talk to her. Please.”
“Hang on.”
Pacing the kitchen, Brynn absently glances from the sink full of dirty dishes to the steaks thawing on the white laminate countertop to the cheery blue welcome mat askew on the hardwood floor beside the door leading out to the deck.
The orange prescription bottles on the windowsill momentarily trigger her consciousness. Both she and Caleb are due for another dose of antibiotics. She’d better not forget.
Then there’s a click on the line, and Fiona asks crisply, “What’s going on, Brynn? I’m in the middle of—”
“Whatever it is, this is more important,” she cuts in, furtively taking the phone into the dining room.
“I doubt that. I’ve got a really important new client on the other line, so make it snappy.”
“Mommy!” Jeremy protests from the kitchen.
“I’ll be right back, boys. Caleb, sing to him!”
Ever obedient, her older son obliges with a singsong, “A-B-C-D-E-F-G…”
“What’s this about, Brynn? Emily said it was a life-or-death emergency. I hear the kids in the background so I’m assuming you’re not calling me to dash over and save one of them.”
Yeah, right. Fiona is the last person she’d call in that situation.
“Listen,” she says in a whisper, “it’s about Rachel.”
Silence.
Brynn can hear Caleb singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in the kitchen.
Then…
“Did you say Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel Lorent?” Fiona’s voice is as hushed as Brynn’s.
“Right.”
“I know, today’s her birthday. I was thinking about her earlier, actually, and—”
“Fee, I just got a card. In the mail. From Rachel, supposedly.”
No response.
“Fee?”
“Hang on a second.”
Brynn pokes her head into the kitchen, to make sure the boys are okay.
Caleb has progressed to “Mary Had A Little Lamb,” obviously moving right along through his musical repertoire. Jeremy is wearing most of his macaroni and cheese, the rest scattered on the hardwood floor beside the overturned bowl.
Fiona curses softly in Brynn’s ear.
“What?”
“Me, too. I got one, too.”
“Got what?”
“A card. In the mail. As soon as you said it, I remembered there was an envelope—I was too busy to open it earlier, but…My God, Brynn, what’s going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Played by who?”
Fiona takes a moment to answer. “Tildy? Or Cassie?” she asks, and exhales audibly, the way she does when she’s puffing on a cigarette. Which she probably is. Sitting right beneath the NO SMOKING sign above her desk.
“You honestly believe that either of them would think this is the least bit funny?”
“No. Of course not. Anyway, it was postmarked in Cedar Crest, so…”
“I know. Fee, I have to ask you…Did you ever tell anyone?”
“Are you kidding me? No. Did you?”
Brynn’s “No!” is as decisive as Fiona’s, but her friend asks, “Are you sure? Not even Garth?”
“I didn’t tell Garth. What about Pat?” she returns.
“Do you honestly think I would violate a sorority oath for him?” Fiona’s tone is laced with disdain.
“One of the others must have, then.”
“Right, Tildy or Cassie must have told someone, and whoever it was probably thought it would be funny to play this sick trick on us.”
“Rachel’s dead, Brynn. It can’t be real.”
“No, I know, but…If it was somebody else, somebody Tildy or Cassie told, then how would that person know about the Xs and Os?”
“I don’t know…Lucky guess? Rachel sent a message from beyond the grave? I mean, what do you want me to say here, Brynn?”
I want you to say you did it yourself…that you sent me the card, thinking it would be funny, and now that you know I’m all freaked out about it, you can’t figure out how to get out of it.
But Fiona doesn’t say any of that.
She asks, “When was the last time you talked to Tildy or Cassie?”
“Tildy, not in over a year. I spoke to Cassie when she got engaged last spring. How about you?”
“Me? I don’t keep in touch with anyone lately. If you didn’t live here in town I’d probably have lost you, too.” She is more matter-of-fact than apologetic.
“I think we need to see them as soon as possible, Fee.”
“See them? How are we going to do that? I’m too busy to go anywhere, and Tildy’s in Boston and Cassie’s in Rhode Island.”
“Connecticut. Listen, we’ll have to meet somewhere in between and discuss this. All four of us, together.”
She can hear Fiona tapping keys.
“Just so you know, my schedule is crammed full for the next week,” she informs Brynn, obviously having brought up her electronic calendar.
“Make room.” Brynn’s voice is hoarse, and not from the strep throat. “This is bad, Fee. Really bad.”
“It’s probably just a joke.”
No, it’s not.
Brynn can feel it.
The past has caught up to them at last, just as she always feared it would.
The Zeta Delta Kappa house is brightly lit on this September night. Several windows are cracked open and music spills through the screens to mingle with the spirited chatter from the group of girls hanging out on the front steps.
They’re talking about courses they’re taking and guys they’re dating and the upcoming rush. Every trite word they’ve said for the past hour and a half has been clearly audible from this shadowy bench in the deserted park across the street.
The Zeta sisters have no idea that someone is eavesdropping tonight.
Watching.
Remembering.
Really, all that has changed in ten years are the names, the faces, and the voices.
Flash back ten years and a day, and Rachel could easily have been among the girls on the steps, gossiping, laughing.
Flash back just ten years, though—ten years ago this night and…
No more Rachel.
Across the street, the screen door creaks open.
“Come on, girls, let’s call it a night.”
That’s the housemother’s voice. Sara “Puffy” Trovato, still sounding exactly the same after all this time.
Still bantering, the girls gradually disperse into the house. Finally, the door closes behind the last pair. The porch lamps are turned off.
All is still.
It’s easy to picture the girls retreating to their rooms now to finish course assignments, read magazines, watch TV, or check e-mail. Eventually, one by one, they’ll change into their pajamas, turn out the lights, climb into bed.
Chances are, they’ve all heard of Rachel Lorent. They might be aware that this is the tenth anniversary of her disappearance.
Maybe, as they lie in the dark, the current Zeta sisters are even secretly worried that something will happen to one of them.
Maybe they should be.
CHAPTER 3
“Whoa!” Garth, dressed in khakis and a cream-colored T-shirt under a lightweight brown blazer, stops short in the doorway. “Brynn, I didn’t know we were having company at breakfast this morning!”
Startled, she looks up from the pancake she’s about to flip on the hot skillet.
Oh. Her husband is just teasing, of course. The only other occupants of the kitchen are their two sons.
Brynn manages a faint smile as Garth feigns confusion, asking, “Who is that big schoolboy at the table? And where’s Caleb?”
“Daddy! It’s me!” Caleb, dressed in a button-down and khakis, his hair neatly slicked to one side, pipes up proudly. “I’m the big schoolboy!”
Wide-eyed, Garth says, “No, you can’t possibly be Caleb. He’s just a little guy, like this.” He ruffles Jeremy’s hair.
“It is me, Daddy. Really!” Caleb shoots a glance at Brynn, one that says, Poor Daddy is clueless!
Normally she gets a kick out of playing along with Garth’s antics, but today, she simply doesn’t have the energy or inclination for anything beyond the basic requirements. It was all she could do to get the boys dressed and hurriedly go through the motions of taking a shower herself, not even bothering to blow-dry her hair. She’ll regret it later when she tries to get a comb through the still-damp waves hanging loosely around her face.
She was about to dole out cold cereal when Caleb reminded her that last night she promised them pancakes this morning. Right. That was before she opened her mail and her world turned upside down.
But mommy guilt set in and here she is, dishing up a hot breakfast when all she wants to do is crawl back into bed and hide.
“No way,” Garth is persisting as he takes down a mug and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You can’t be Caleb.”
“Yes way! I go to school now, remember?” Caleb asks earnestly.
Brynn flips another pancake and sees that the bottom is scorched. She turns down the burner, then looks over her shoulder and sighs in dismay.
In his booster seat, Jeremy is finger painting the table with maple syrup.
Oblivious to the mess, Garth scratches his head, studying his older son. “Hmm…can it be?”
“Mommy! Tell him!”
“It really is Caleb, Daddy,” Brynn obliges as she grabs a sponge from the sink and descends on Jeremy’s sticky masterpiece. “He’s in kindergarten now, remember? He rides the bus and everything.”
Yes, and thanks to his mom, he’s got exactly five minutes to finish his breakfast before he has to be down at the bus stop.
Brynn, who wakes with the sun daily and never bothers to set an alarm, overslept. She’s been scrambling to catch up for the last forty-five minutes.
What a way to start the second day of school…
And Caleb’s imminent departure is the least of her worries today.
“Did you want pancakes?” she asks Garth, realizing she’s scorched three of the four on the skillet.
“Do you have pancakes?”
“I was making these for you, but…” She shrugs and indicates the smoking pan. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just stick with coffee. I’ve got to take off a few pounds anyway.”
No, he doesn’t.
Tall and lean, with hair and eyes the warm shade of a well-loved baseball mitt, Garth Saddler looks the same as he did the first time Brynn laid eyes on him.
Not that she recalls much about their first official connection. It wasn’t love at first sight, or even remote interest at first sight. She walked into the lecture hall on the first day of her final semester at Stonebridge, and there he was, standing quite unremarkably down in front, passing out copies of the syllabus.
He had a professorial beard back then, obscuring enough of his handsome face that it took awhile for Brynn to notice him. Really notice him.
It was Tildy who pointed out his masculine appeal one brisk day as they were crossing the campus and spotted him jogging past. “Look, there’s Dr. Saddler. Wow, how hot is he?”
Brynn checked him out and saw that her sorority sister had a point. He looked a lot different with his muscular legs bared in running shorts, his sweat-dampened hair standing on end, than he did buttoned-up and intellectual in front of the class.
“I have him
for that morbid Soc course I’m taking,” she told Tildy.
“‘Death and Dying’? I took it last semester. It was awesome. And so is he.”
It wasn’t long afterward that Brynn realized Garth Saddler was, indeed, pretty awesome. She even got the feeling the attraction was mutual.
But he didn’t ask her out until the semester was over and she had her diploma in hand.
That, he told her, would have violated the rules.
“College rules?” she asked.
“No, mine.”
She didn’t expect to fall in love with him that first night. Nor did she plan to stay on in Cedar Crest that summer instead of returning home to the Cape.
But she did stay.
Not just for the summer. For…
Ever.
Things just fell into place for them, and she never looked back.
She worked nights as a desk clerk at the Amble On Inn nearby. So much for her newly minted bachelor’s degree in English. And so much for returning home to the Cape.
Any potential postgraduation plans she had in mind—and she didn’t have many—evaporated the moment Garth told her he loved her and wanted her to stay. By the time the fall semester began, she had moved into his apartment just off campus.
“Do you think things are happening too fast between us?” she asked him, more than once. Just to be sure this was all as much his idea as it was hers.
“No,” he said, but she wondered if he meant it.
Sometimes, he seemed taken aback at the way their lives had melded so swiftly and completely. But she never doubted that he loved her, or that she loved him. They belonged together.
They were married in July, a little over a year into their relationship.
When the Amble On Inn abruptly shut down that fall, Garth found her a secretarial job in the registrar’s office.
She quit that when Caleb came along eighteen months later, followed by Jeremy.
And the years have flown by, and here I am.
Here we are.
Living happily ever after…
Until now.
No, don’t start thinking that way, she warns herself, watching Garth stir Splenda into his coffee, and Caleb munching his pancakes, and Jeremy licking maple syrup from his fingers. Everything is going to be fine.
Don't Scream Page 4
