One Perfect Summer

by Brenda Novak

  “Serenity Alston Investigates.”

  “Good idea to use your name—for branding purposes.”

  “I’m glad an advertising expert approves.” Serenity was tempted to close her laptop. She wanted to give up and go to bed. Her blinking cursor mocked her feeble efforts. But she refused to let that blank screen win. She had to get back on top of her writing and the business side that went along with it. “Any word from Edison & Curry on your resignation?”

  “Haven’t checked. I’m too afraid to see how Gary will react.”

  “Is it possible he’ll demand you return and give him two weeks’ notice?”

  “No. Once you’re fired or you quit at Edison & Curry, they have you clear out immediately. It’s almost as if they suddenly can’t stand the sight of you. First thing tomorrow, they’ll probably dump the contents of my office in boxes and shove them in the storage room.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Don’t you think you should check your email, just in case?”

  Reagan’s water bottle made a popping sound as she opened and closed it again and again. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. Otherwise, I might be too upset to sleep.”

  “Makes sense. Any calls or texts from Drew?”

  “No. My phone’s been quiet since I turned in my resignation.”

  Serenity tried to read Reagan’s expression, but it was difficult in the mostly dark room. The only light came from the kitchen and the glow of her computer screen. “That’s good, right?”

  “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “You said you didn’t want to talk to Drew.”

  “I do and I don’t. It was weirdly reassuring that he wanted to talk to me. Now that he’s gone silent, I feel... I don’t know...worse. But for different reasons, of course.” She seemed to manufacture a shrug. “I knew giving him up wouldn’t be easy.”

  Serenity felt bad for her. It was painful to fall in love with the wrong person. There were times when she still missed Sean—things he did or said, even the way he touched her. And that only made her feel more cheated and duped, which angered her all over again. Her mother expected her to relegate it to the past, pick herself up and get married again, but she’d honestly loved her husband.

  She still did, in many ways. That was probably the saddest part of all. “Will you ever speak to him again?”

  “I’d like to say goodbye, gain some type of closure. But I’ll wait to see how everyone reacts to my resignation first.” She perched on the arm of the love seat that was at a ninety-degree angle to the couch. “Anyway, enough about me. We were talking about your blog. Do you sell advertising on it?”

  Of course Reagan would be interested in that aspect. “No. I have about fifteen thousand followers, and they’re quite active, but I haven’t pursued any advertisers.”

  “Why not? You could make some extra money.”

  “I’m more concerned with staying in touch with my readers so they’ll buy my next book. If I don’t sell enough copies, I won’t get another contract.”

  Reagan set her bottle aside. “And? Are you seeing the carryover you were hoping to see?”

  “I think so. My books bring me more followers for my blog and my blog brings me more buyers for my books. The only problem is the constant need for content—and the fact that I haven’t been able to write much lately.”

  Concern entered Reagan’s voice. “How long has it been since your last post?”

  “Three weeks,” she replied but didn’t mention that she hadn’t been making much progress on her book, either.

  “I hope it isn’t because of me and Lorelei.”

  “No, definitely not.” Serenity shifted to get more comfortable. “I’ve struggled ever since I found that garbage on Sean’s computer.”

  “But you found those files eighteen months ago. The writing’s not getting any easier after this much time?”

  The ticking clock in Serenity’s head seemed to grow louder. Knowing that she should be back at work, that it had been long enough, only made the frustration worse. “No. If anything, it’s getting harder.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s as if Sean blew a huge hole through me. I’ve lost part of myself. My innocence. My security. My trust in others. Something. And I can’t seem to get it back. A year and a half may sound like a long time, but it went by so fast.” She let her head fall back on the couch. “When you were a kid, did you ever go on The Rotor at an amusement park?”

  “Is that a ride?”

  “Yeah. It spins faster and faster until the floor drops out and the centrifugal force pins you to the wall.”

  “Oh. I did try that ride once or twice. I think it’s still around.”

  “If it is, they probably call it something else now. Anyway, what I’ve been through reminds me of that ride. When I realized my husband was such a monster, my life started spinning in circles, going so fast I was pinned to the wall, couldn’t even move. Sean was so vocal about the people who perpetrated the crimes I’ve written about, calling them scum and other names. The sheer disconnect it would require to say what he said while doing what he was doing...” She shook her head; she’d all but given up trying to understand Sean’s actions.

  “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like.”

  “It was hell. And after the initial shock, I got caught up in the fight to make sure Sean didn’t get away with what he’d done or get off with a slap on the wrist. Every waking moment was consumed with his trial—preparing for it, participating in it, watching it. I couldn’t think about anything else. It was as though it became my personal mission to segregate him from the rest of society.”

  “Was that a form of revenge for hurting you, or was it fear for the children he was victimizing?”

  “Both,” she admitted. “At that point, the ride was spinning faster than ever and the floor had dropped out. I wanted to climb off, but was pinned to the wall. And then, when he was finally found guilty, it was over so suddenly. The ride had stopped but the bottom hadn’t come back up to save me from the fall. I didn’t want to leave my house, didn’t want to see my neighbors, didn’t want to talk to my friends. It didn’t help he only received a five-year sentence. He’ll probably be out before I quit wondering how I could miss the fact that my husband was not only a danger to society but never really loved me.”

  “He wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t love you.”

  “I provided someone to come home to, a social network, a degree of status because of my job and easy access to sex—although it makes my skin crawl to think that when I was feeling closest to him he was probably imagining me as a prepubescent child.” Squeezing her eyes closed, she once again willed away the images she’d found on his computer. “He might have liked my company. But he didn’t love me. How could a man who victimizes children care about anyone but himself?”

  “Okay, I concede that point. But you can’t let what you’ve been through—what he put you through—ruin your career.”

  Serenity’s gaze moved back to her screen. After an hour of sitting on the couch, she should’ve finished this week’s blog. “I’m trying to fight for it.”

  “How can I help?” Reagan asked. “Maybe Lorelei and I shouldn’t stay for the summer. Won’t that be too distracting for you?”

  “No. I like having you both here. It does distract me, but in a good way. It makes me stop obsessing, at least for brief periods of time, about the fact that I can’t seem to pull my life back together.”

  “Then we’ll stay, as long as you can get going on your writing again.” Reagan gestured at her computer. “What’s your latest blog about?”

  “Sean.”

  “No wonder you’re struggling,” Reagan said with a grimace. “Why would you write about him?”

  “Because I’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room, and I can’t keep running and hiding, can�
��t shy away from this case just because it happened to me instead of someone else. That actually gives me greater insight—something deeper I should share.”

  “I don’t agree,” Reagan said. “Why should you share it?”

  “I have to take ownership of it at some point, don’t I?”

  “No! It wasn’t your fault. Why not let it go?”

  “Because I’m afraid there are people out there who think I must’ve known what he was up to and didn’t report him right away—or that I could’ve caught him sooner if I’d been paying attention.”

  “No one thinks that.”

  Serenity wasn’t nearly so confident. “You’d be surprised. I watched a show about BTK recently. You know, that serial killer?”

  “The nickname sounds familiar, but I can’t really remember him or his crimes.”

  “His name was Dennis Rader. Lived in Kansas and killed ten people in the seventies and eighties. BTK was a name he gave himself—stands for Bind, Torture, Kill.”

  Reagan made a face. “How gruesome.”

  “And would you believe he was a devoted husband and father? It’s a crazy story. Anyway, he kept his kill kit in a duffel bag right in his closet.”

  “Is that how he was eventually caught?”

  “No. That’s the thing. You’d think that’s how he would’ve been caught, but it wasn’t. He liked to interact with the police, kept taunting them and the media, and finally gave himself away by sending in a floppy disk from which the police were able to extract the name of his church, where he’d been using the computer.”

  “He was religious?”

  “He was the president of his Lutheran church, if I remember right.”

  “Now there’s some irony for you.”

  “He still talks about being forgiven. Anyway, in this documentary, one of the commentators scoffed at the fact that his wife claimed she didn’t know he was harming people. ‘What wife doesn’t go through her husband’s closet?’ the woman cried.” Serenity shook her head. “But the answer is me! I was that kind of wife. I trusted him, and I was too busy with my own life and keeping track of my deadlines and responsibilities. I never snooped in Sean’s closet, his drawers, his car or his phone. Even his computer—especially his computer.”

  “So you’re blaming yourself?”

  “I’m just saying that if I’d been more aware, maybe I would’ve caught him sooner.”

  “Hindsight is always 20/20, as they say. What was he doing with the pornography, anyway? Was he using it for his own personal gratification or was he—”

  “He claims he wasn’t using it for that.” Serenity cut her off before her words could conjure up the images Serenity tried so hard to keep out of her brain. “He said he didn’t even know those pictures were there. That his computer must’ve gotten a virus or something when he went onto the dark web to see what it was like. But the police proved that he was buying and selling them on the dark web, not that they were somehow accidental.”

  “What tipped you off?”

  “It was actually a fluke. One night, when he wasn’t home, my computer was out of battery, and I couldn’t find my cord. So I got his laptop out of his briefcase. He has a PC and I have a Mac. We don’t normally use each other’s computers—I find it too frustrating that everything is so different. But I just needed to download some notes my editor had sent me via email and print them out.”

  “His laptop wasn’t password protected? I’d be damn sure mine was, especially if I was hiding creepy things like that.”

  “It was, but he was so used to me minding my own business—and being prejudiced about using a PC—that he’d grown a bit lax. I knew what passwords he used for his ATM cards and bank accounts and was able to break it quite easily. That’s when I found the files he’d downloaded, because when I downloaded what I needed to print out, they came up in the same folder.”

  At first, Reagan seemed speechless. Then she rallied and said, “That must’ve been the worst moment of your life.”

  Even after eighteen months, Serenity could feel the revulsion that had welled up then as strongly as if it had just happened. “It was, especially because we were planning to start a family.”

  “No kidding? I’m sorry. You’re lucky you found that crap when you did. But you can’t blog about that. Even if most people will sympathize with what you went through, there’ll always be those internet trolls and agitators who try to cause problems—or think like that commentator who said what she did about BTK’s wife—and, at the very least, make you feel like shit.”

  “But I write about criminal cases involving other people. How can I be such a coward as to skip myself?”

  “Easily. You come up with another topic, and you keep posting about other topics until you’re whole and healthy again and what Sean did has been forgotten. Trust me. I’m in advertising.” She frowned as she corrected herself. “Or I was. Advertising isn’t quite public relations, but it’s close, and I’m telling you, it would be a mistake to give others a forum in which to criticize you.”

  Serenity thought about how thin-skinned she’d become, how sensitive. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am. You’d be so busy trying to deal with the blowback you wouldn’t be able to write for months.”

  The idea of scrapping such a daunting blog post—of giving herself permission to do that—brought relief. She deleted the title to make it official. “Okay. So what should I write about?”

  “Write about discovering two sisters you never knew you had. Most people will find that interesting.”

  “I can’t. My other siblings follow my blog.”

  “Then write about BTK.”

  “BTK is old news.”

  “What about the dark web? I can’t be the only one who doesn’t understand much about it.”

  “If I do, someone will bring up how Sean used it—and who knows where the conversation will go from there.”

  “True.” She paced to the windows and back. “What’s your next book about? That guy who killed his wife and kids, right? Isn’t that what you told me on Facebook?”

  “That’s what it’s supposed to be about.”

  “What do you mean? Are you changing cases?”

  “No, I’ve done a lot of the research, gathered a ton of information and made notes. But...”

  “But?”

  “I haven’t actually started the book.”

  Reagan stopped walking. “When is it due?”

  The panic Serenity had been trying to hold at bay rose a little higher, as though she was marching steadily into the deep end of a pool and the water was now nearly over her head. “It was due last month.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. If I don’t get started soon, you might not be the only one who’s unemployed.” And since Sean had used all their reserves on attorneys, she didn’t have the financial depth she needed to last very long, not without going to her folks for help—which was something she didn’t want to do at thirty-five.

  “Then you’re going to get started,” Reagan said firmly. “You’re not only going to get started, you’re going to finish that book and turn it in by the end of the summer. Can you write it that fast?”

  “If I was the old me. But I’m not, Reagan. I can’t seem to find that capable person.”

  “You still have the skills. That hasn’t changed. Just forget about blogging or doing anything else besides writing the book.”

  “I can’t drop my blog. I’ll lose all the momentum I’ve gained there.”

  “Then I’ll write it while you focus on your book. I’ll pick subjects that relate to your work—like why parents sometimes kill their children. There’s a name for that, isn’t there? What’s it called?”

  “Filicide.”

  “Fine, filicide. Most people will never have heard that term, even if they’ve read stories
in the media about parents murdering their children. It’s such an unnatural act, so horrifying that they’ll be curious about the reasons. You can edit what I write, or simply name me as a guest blogger while you’re on deadline.”

  Serenity couldn’t believe Reagan would volunteer to help that much. “But...why would you do this?”

  “Because you need it, and I don’t mind. I don’t have a job right now. This will be new, it’ll be interesting and it’ll free you up to put your energy and creativity where it needs to be. You’ll write for four hours every morning when you first wake up and you’re fresh. After you take a break to hang out with us and Finn and his brothers, you’ll read what you’ve written to Lorelei and me once Lucy goes to bed at night. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get rolling, and we’ll march steadily forward through the summer.”

  Dumbfounded, Serenity stared at her. “You’re planning to hold my hand all summer?”

  “You’re damn right I am. You’re too good a writer to fall into an abyss of doubt and shock. We’re here to pull you out.” She took Serenity’s laptop and closed it before handing it back. “So we’d better get some sleep, because we start early in the morning.”

  15

  lorelei

  LORELEI WOKE UP thinking about Finn. She’d gone to sleep thinking about him, too. She’d found him attractive from the start, but now she knew he was much more than a handsome face. He was kind and funny and warmhearted. And Lucy seemed to love him.

  Yesterday when they were sledding, he took Lucy down the hill with him dozens of times. After he’d coaxed her into trying one run, she’d become absolutely enamored of him and had stuck by his side for the rest of the day.

  “Mommy, it’s time to get up. It’s morning.”

  Lorelei stretched and lifted her head to see her daughter standing inside the doorway. “Come give Mommy a kiss,” she said and threw back the covers.

  Lucy was usually too eager to start playing to lie in bed, but they occasionally snuggled together in the mornings, after Mark left for work.

  Today, she hurried over and climbed in, letting Lorelei pull her close.