by Brenda Novak
“I do.”
“Like you love the latest hit song, or a certain flavor of ice cream or sushi at Blue Fin.”
“What are you talking about?”
Feeling slightly dizzy, Reagan put her head between her knees so she wouldn’t pass out. “Loving something and being devoted to it are two different things,” she said dully.
“Devoted to it? Come on, Reagan. Lighten up. You’re a realist. I know you are. How much devotion does one fuck deserve? Granted, it was a good fuck. A great fuck. But still.”
And if she was pregnant?
Sitting back up, she closed her eyes and told herself to breathe.
“Hello?” he said when she didn’t respond.
She was tempted to educate him on what love was all about. How loyalty and compassion and sacrifice were integral. But what was the point? If he was married with three kids and didn’t get that by now, he probably never would.
How had she been so blind? How had she missed seeing what a shallow, selfish man he was? He came off so good-natured, so smart, so driven—until he felt he could drop that mask.
“I’m still here,” she said.
“What are you thinking?”
“I feel sorry for Sally.”
“What?”
“She deserves better. We both do,” she added and pressed the End button.
16
serenity
SERENITY BENT HER head to peer through the French doors leading into the cabin, trying to see if Lorelei and Lucy were back from the store. Reagan, who sat across from her, had dried the dew off the metal table and two of the chairs and persuaded Serenity to set up her computer on the deck. After that brief, unexpected storm when they first arrived, the weather was now a glorious sixty-five degrees, which was why Reagan had insisted they work outside. She’d said it would be good for them both to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, that they might find the view inspiring.
Since the overhang on the cabin blocked the glare of the sun on their computer screens, Serenity had decided to give it a try. And she was glad she had. She’d written the first five pages of her new book.
Once she was no longer typing, or frowning in concentration, Reagan looked up. “How’re you doing?”
“Better.”
“How much better?”
She offered Reagan a hopeful smile. “I’ve gotten a start.”
“That’s wonderful! See? We’ll take it day by day. Eventually, you’ll get there.”
A light breeze ruffled Serenity’s hair as she slid back in her chair and crossed her legs. Reagan seemed so quiet today. Serenity worried that something was wrong, but Reagan insisted it wasn’t. “I can only hope my publisher will be patient. I’ve asked them to give me to the end of the summer.”
“Think they’ll go for it?”
Now that she was finally writing, finally feeling as though she might have a chance of regaining her earlier momentum, she was afraid her publisher had already given up hope. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to check.”
“Why not?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You made me turn off my WiFi, remember?”
The first grin Serenity had seen all morning appeared on Reagan’s face. “I remember. We’re not letting anything distract us. So, let’s hear it.”
“Hear what? That you were right? That I needed to sit my butt in a chair, forget everything else and simply write?”
Reagan folded her arms. “No, I want to hear what you’ve written.”
Not only had Reagan made Serenity turn off her WiFi, she’d taken away her cell phone, so that it couldn’t be a distraction, told Lorelei to make sure Serenity wasn’t interrupted until lunch was ready and started working on her social media pages, introducing herself as “a member of Serenity’s team”—as if Serenity had a team—who’d be interacting with them while Serenity dedicated herself to meeting her deadline.
Her real deadline was past, of course, but she and Reagan had decided on a new one—and that was what she’d taken to her publisher. Serenity hoped she’d adequately communicated her renewed commitment to the project in the email she’d sent her editor. Her professional future rested on her publisher’s perception of her ability to deliver.
“I need to finish the first chapter and then I’ll edit it several times before I read it to anyone,” she told Reagan.
“Why not let me see how you’ve started it? Just the first couple of sentences.”
Reagan was being so supportive that Serenity was reluctant to refuse. With a shrug, she complied. “‘It was a hot and humid morning in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when Linda Maynard rolled out of bed on August 2, 1997,’” she read. “‘She was looking forward to the end of what had felt like a long summer—a hard summer, considering the setbacks her husband had experienced at work—and planned to spend this Friday shopping for school clothes with her three children.’”
She looked up to find a pained expression on Reagan’s face. “What? It’s no good?”
“The writing’s great. It’s just that... I mean... Is this the day he killed them?”
Relieved to learn Reagan was reacting to the sadness of the subject matter and not the way Serenity had begun the book, she nodded.
“And no one saw it coming? What kind of man was he?”
“Most people say he was quiet, contemplative, private. Seemed harmless.”
“That’s terrifying!”
“It is. But that’s how he’s been characterized by his work associates, neighbors and siblings. So that’s how I’m going to portray him.”
Lorelei peered out, saw them talking instead of working and opened the door. “Are you two getting hungry?”
Reagan glanced at her watch. “I am. Should we eat outside?”
They agreed that would be ideal. Lorelei said she’d have Lucy help set the table and disappeared back inside.
“Now can I have my phone?” Serenity was teasing Reagan, acting as though Reagan had been a grueling taskmaster this morning, but she was grateful that her new sister was helping her focus and move forward.
As soon as Reagan handed it over, Serenity turned on the ringer and checked her email.
“Anything?” Reagan asked.
“Not yet.” No answer meant her editor was probably taking the situation to upper management, and they were trying to come to a consensus on how best to proceed—whether they needed to move her book in the production schedule to accommodate the new deadline.
Serenity hated that she was causing other people extra work. But she hoped the credibility she’d established over her previous books would carry her through.
Reagan slid her laptop toward Serenity. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”
“I thought you were interacting with the people on my Facebook page.”
“I was, for a while. But I also wrote my first post for Serenity Alston Investigates.”
“You’re done? Jeez, if it was that easy, maybe you should be the writer.”
Reagan chuckled—although not as freely as she normally did—and moved her chair out of the shade so she could turn her face up to the sun. “It only took an hour to go over the various filicide studies and other things I found online. I’m used to scanning for facts and then coming up with something on the spot. Pitching ads trains you to do that. But since I’m used to writing advertising copy, this might be too short for a blog.”
“If it’s interesting and covers the topic, short is fine. There are no set rules.”
“Good, because it’s only about three hundred words. I thought I’d finish with a few details about the book you’re writing—a teaser of sorts. So let me know if your editor gives you a new release date. Do you have a title yet?”
“I have the one I submitted. My editor seemed to like it, but once marketing weighs in, we might have to change i
t.”
“What’s your suggestion?”
“All Gone. It works for the people he murdered and the fact that he disappeared for twenty years before being caught.”
“That’s positively haunting.”
“Yeah. This whole case is haunting. I think that’s part of the reason I’m struggling to write about it. It’s too dark for me right now, since it involves kids and what Sean did involved kids, too. God, what’s wrong with people?”
“Damned if I know.” Reagan’s expression was troubled enough as she stood that Serenity wondered if she was only referring to Mr. Maynard, or if there was something else bothering her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
Her smile looked forced. “Fine.”
“What’s happened? Have you heard from Drew?”
Her shrug didn’t come off nearly as careless as she no doubt intended it to. “I spoke to him for a few minutes.”
Serenity was surprised she hadn’t said anything about the call. “When?”
“This morning.”
“And?”
“He was an ass. But none of that matters.”
“Of course it matters—”
“No, it doesn’t,” she broke in. “It doesn’t change anything—nothing that makes a difference, anyway. I knew before I let myself call him that I had to cut off all contact. It’s hard, though, to have my image of him ruined, too.”
“It was that bad?”
“Let’s just say I was even a bigger idiot to get involved with him than I thought.”
Serenity bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t change anything.” That same forced smile returned. “I’m going to wash my hands for lunch while you check over my post. If it’s not what you’re looking for, let me know, and I’ll revise. Or you can edit it however you like. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. After working in a New York City advertising firm for ten years, I’m used to constructive criticism—and every other kind of criticism, too,” she joked.
“Thanks.” Serenity was watching her go, wishing she could do something to make things better, when her phone buzzed.
She looked down at her lap, expecting a text from her mother or someone else in her family. Ever since she’d found those files on Sean’s computer, she’d isolated herself from almost everyone else.
But it wasn’t anyone in her family. It was Sean’s mother—someone she’d hoped never to hear from again.
Several of Sean’s scrapbooks, from when he was a little boy, are missing. Do you have them?
Why would she have kept those—kept anything? She didn’t want to be reminded of him, their marriage or how it had ended.
No.
She prayed this interaction would be that short, that simple.
But her ex-mother-in-law wrote back: In the last letter he sent, he told me he put them under the house. Your house. Have you searched there?
Serenity lived in a Bushrod Victorian built in the 1920s in the Berkeley Hills. She’d gone down the narrow, rickety steps leading into the basement and grabbed everything she could find that belonged to Sean. But she hadn’t been willing to search through all the boxes that weren’t labeled or were buried in the far back. She was uneasy in that dank, dark space—if only because of the spiders that had to be living down there. She’d figured if she still had anything of his, she’d get it to his family when she moved or cleared out the basement completely, whichever came first. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to do anything with his belongings until he got out of prison, anyway.
If I run across anything, I’ll make sure you get it, she wrote back.
When? That’s the question. I’m trying to create a slideshow for our family reunion. Those pictures are important to us and can’t be replaced. Will you check? Please?
I’m not at home, Nina.
When will you be?
She knew Nina would freak out if she said September. She’d assume Serenity was just being difficult. When do you need them? she asked instead.
Next weekend.
“Damn it.” She didn’t want to return to Berkeley so soon, especially for that reason. But she also hated to give Sean’s family any more excuses to contact her. If Nina didn’t get what she was after, Sean’s father, brothers or even sisters-in-law could intervene.
If this was the last thread tying her to them, she was all for cutting it as soon as possible.
I’ll text you if I can find them.
You’ll check? Really?
Her doubt irritated Serenity. Have I ever lied to you?
You lied plenty of times in court.
Serenity almost wrote back, It was your son who did all the lying. But getting into a text war wouldn’t do anyone any good. Sean’s family steadfastly believed that he’d opened those files on his computer by accident, that he’d had no idea what they contained and just hadn’t had the chance to report them to the police before she found them—in spite of the fact that other members of the same pornography ring were busted, too.
Can we look ourselves? Nina asked when Serenity didn’t respond. Make sure we have all his stuff?
“Don’t you dare show up on my doorstep,” she muttered. Once the trial ended, she’d considered changing her phone number, so they couldn’t contact her anymore. Sean’s brothers had gotten so nasty with her she’d had to get a restraining order against the oldest, who’d left her several threatening voice mail messages and kept driving past her house in an attempt to intimidate her.
But she’d decided it was probably futile to give up her number. She’d had it for years, preferred to keep it if she could. Sean’s family knew where she lived, anyway.
No. I’ll see if Sawyer will come and help with some of the heavier boxes next weekend.
She couldn’t reach the ones Sean had put on the highest shelf and wasn’t strong enough to lift them down, even if she bought a ladder.
Sawyer? What’s going on between you two? Don’t tell me you’re together...
No, of course not! He’s just the only member of your family I’ll allow over. Anyway, if he’ll help me, and we find anything that belongs to Sean, I’ll see if he’ll drop it by your place. If not, you’ll have to wait for it to come through the mail.
I don’t trust Sawyer any more than I do you, came her response.
Serenity felt bad that Sawyer hadn’t been able to make up with the people who’d finished raising him. Maybe he had acted to protect her, to a point, and was still paying the price.
I’ll Facetime you the moment we open the basement door so I can show you everything that’s left. Will you be happy then? What reason would I have to still keep pictures of someone who let me down in the worst possible way?
You’re the one who destroyed my son’s life! I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done.
Serenity jumped to her feet. Nina’s accusations were so unfounded. She hadn’t destroyed Sean; she’d only caught him. What did they expect? For her to turn a blind eye, like they did? Don’t start or I’ll never answer another text from you, she wrote back.
She waited but didn’t receive a response.
She wished she could flip them all off—figuratively, since she didn’t plan to see any of them ever again—and be done with the whole family. But if she had pictures of Sean when he was little, she figured she might as well let his mother have them. She didn’t want any reminders of him.
Now all she had to do was convince Sawyer to act as intermediary. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but she had a feeling he’d do it. After the trial, her mother, Sean’s mother and who knew how many other members of both families probably assumed he had a thing for her. It was his support that had carried her through.
But he was the type who would stand behind her on principle.
Or...could they be right? Was there somethin
g more to it?
* * *
reagan
While she was in the bathroom and no one else could see her, Reagan checked her phone for missed calls, messages and emails. She didn’t want to hear from Drew or anyone else at work. And yet she did. The lack of a reaction, the total silence, made her feel so unappreciated.
Surely Drew cared about her more than it had seemed on the phone—or there were moments she was tempted to deceive herself by believing that. It would be easier than facing the truth.
And at least one, if not more, of the managing partners at Edison & Curry had to feel the company was worse off for having lost her. She’d been a rising star, a hard worker who’d produced much more than everyone else. It didn’t seem fair that she could care so intensely about Drew and her work, and yet, when she walked away, he and everyone else at the agency simply shrugged and moved on.
Tears welled up when she found that all she’d received were emails expressing shock and sadness from various work associates who had no power at Edison & Curry. What bothered her even more was that she suspected at least two of those people were secretly happy to have her gone. An opening in the hierarchy above them provided opportunities for advancement.
No doubt they were already eyeing her office.
“Finn’s coming over for lunch.”
She heard, through the door, Lorelei tell Serenity that and blinked away her tears. At least she felt needed here. Serenity had started her book, and Reagan had a small hand in helping her make that happen. She’d enjoyed writing the blog for Serenity Alston Investigates, too. It felt good to forget about her own goals and desires and concentrate on something else for a while.
But that “while” would come to an end, and then she’d have to cope with the wreckage she’d left behind.
Reminded of what she’d face when she returned to New York, she decided to call her mother and break the news about her job. At some point, she had to let Rosalind know she’d quit.
Slipping out of the bathroom, she moved as quietly as possible to her bedroom, where she shut the door behind her so no one could overhear her conversation.
