CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11

Brooke arrived just as the final bell rang and students began streaming out of Allsworth High School. Cars started, kids laughed and pushed, some in tight clusters, others alone, striding away from the grounds. Cheerleaders in uniforms hurried out in a cluster, matching ponytails swinging behind them, and football players in letterman's jackets were also visible in a crowd of kids in hoodies, jeans, and backpacks.

Despite the fact that it was a brilliant October afternoon on a Friday with a home football game later in the evening, there was tension beneath the exuberant shouts and laughter of dispersing teens.

Students were being watched.

More teachers and aides were posted outside on the campus grounds. A police car idled across the street and there were more cars in the pickup lane than usual as anxious parents came for their kids rather than letting them walk or bike home. Despite the air of Americana and excitement for the weekend, almost everyone was on edge.

Because of the missing girls.

Brooke's cell phone rang and she jumped, checked the number, and froze because the digits meant nothing to her. Nor were they attached to any name in her contact list.

Gideon, she thought, remembering the mad driver on the motorcycle.

He had a new number.

Her insides twisted, yet she hit the Answer button, ready to tell him to go straight to hell. "Hello?" she said, her eyes still scanning the crowd of students milling between the school and the line of vehicles.

"Brooke?" a woman's voice inquired. Was it familiar? Maybe slightly?

"Yes."

"Oh good. I'd lost your number, but I got this one from Andrea . . . Andrea Davis; you know, Zuri's mom."

"I know her. And you are?"

"Oh, silly me. You don't recognize my voice. Of course you don't. It's been a few years. It's just that I'm so on edge," the woman said nervously as Brooke's heart rate returned to normal. "It's Joanna Nelson. Kinsey's mother."

"Oh, right. Hi, Joanna," Brooke said, leaning back against the seat as she recalled the tall, thin woman with short brown hair, oversize glasses, and a penchant for nervously picking at her collar or watch or whatever. Marilee and Kinsey were in a few classes together in middle school and Joanna was a PTA president or something. More personally involved than Brooke.

"I just wondered if Marilee said anything to you about what happened. I mean about Allison. Kinsey is freaked out and so am I. They were great friends in sixth grade. And Elyse; I can't imagine what she's going through. She and Tony—that's her ex, you know—have buried the hatchet, at least for now, until they find Allison . . . I mean if . . . I mean when they do. When they do. They will. They will find her. They have to. The police are on it and there are search parties being amassed and dogs and . . . they'll find her," Joanna rambled on, obviously trying to convince herself.

"Yes, I hope so," Brooke said, watching kids hurrying into waiting cars and buses, searching for Marilee.

"We all do. Of course. But Kinsey refused to go to school today and I don't blame her. She says everything's ‘too weird,' and she seems to be coming down with a cold, so I let her stay home, but I haven't heard a word. So I'm calling around, seeing if anyone's heard anything. Dear God, I hope they find her. I can't imagine . . ." Her voice finally trailed off.

"Neither can I and I don't know anything. I'm just picking up Marilee now."

"Oh! Right! Of course. What was I thinking?" she said breathlessly, then added, "If you learn anything, anything at all after you talk to Marilee or from someone else, will you call me?"

"Sure. At this number?"

"Yes! Please. Thanks. This is such a nightmare!" And then she disconnected, probably to call some other person associated with the school or Allison Carelli. Like Joanna, Brooke couldn't imagine the anxiety and pain Elyse and Tony were going through. The loss of a child—could anything be worse?

"No," she said aloud and again scanned the area around the school, this time with renewed anxiety. Where was her daughter?

At last she spotted Marilee and her latest best friend, Tamara Paszek, walking out a side door.

Tammi was a petite girl with curly brown hair and dark eyes accentuated with thick eyeliner and mascara.

"Thank God," she whispered.

Before the two girls reached the front of the building, they paused near a cluster of birch trees shivering in the wind. At the sound of a door banging shut, they turned in unison to look backward, toward the tennis courts. Within seconds a tall boy with curly black hair and even features loped up to them.

It was Nick Paszek, Tammi's brother, in a maroon hoodie and black pants, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

An easy smile showed off white teeth against his olive skin, where a beard shadow was visible. At over six feet tall, he seemed more man than adolescent. Without a second's hesitation, he grabbed Marilee by the shoulders, pulling her tight against him.

Inside her Explorer, Brooke froze, her gaze fastened to her daughter, who didn't resist and didn't seem surprised by his actions. As if it happened all the time. Not a big deal, Brooke told herself, but wondered what the two of them would do if alone, not in the middle of a flood of kids in the schoolyard in broad daylight.

Tammi was chatting away, then caught sight of another knot of girls and, waving, peeled away to join the cluster of friends, some of whom Brooke recognized but couldn't name. That left Nick and Marilee alone as the tide of students flowed into cars, vans, buses, and trucks, the vehicles driving off, the noise of chattering voices quieting so that Brooke heard the clank of the chain against the flagpole as Old Glory rippled in the wind.

Brooke was about to honk but bit her lip as Nick bent down and gathered Marilee even closer to kiss her. Marilee tipped up her head, and as their lips met, kissed him back passionately. Yellowed leaves from the aspen swirled and pirouetted around them.

Oh no!

For a second Brooke was stunned.

Really? What did you expect? She's not a little girl anymore. Dear God, she can wear your shoes. Do you remember what you were like at that age? All hormones and curiosity, excitement and urgency? Didn't you tell your mother not to make you choose between her and Keith Turnquist when you were just a year or so older than your daughter is now? And that was around the time of your mom's cancer diagnosis.

Thinking of her own high school years and of Keith, a lanky kid with sleepy eyes, a fast car and even faster hands, her stomach knotted.

That had turned out badly.

So badly.

But it could have been much worse.

Absently, she rubbed the scar on the side of her throat, a war wound compliments of Keith and his temper.

Theirs had been a short-lived, highly charged relationship.

She felt a wave of heat climb up the back of her neck when she thought of the physical abuse and the resulting assault charges, and how lucky she'd been to get out of the relationship.

Passion was hard to rein in.

Didn't she know that?

In an instant she remembered a more distinct, recent scene, when she and Gideon were alone on the island, the wind swirling around them, the roar of the surf in their ears, the smell of the ocean salty and thick. They'd kissed on the beach and she'd felt the weight of his body as they tumbled into the sand in the dunes, so caught up in each other that they didn't know another couple was walking through the beach grass until a big, black, loppy-eared dog ran past.

She recoiled at the awkward memory, hitting the horn by accident.

Across the school lawn Nick broke off the embrace. He looked up and spied Brooke's car parked near the pickup lane. He said something and Marilee turned, her face red, her lips swollen, her eyes rounding. She said something more to Nick, then ran across the lawn toward Brooke's SUV. Flinging open the door, she said, "God, Mom, why did you do that?"

"Do what? You knew I was picking you up."

"You didn't need to honk. It's so . . . mortifying." Clicking on her seat belt, she slithered low into her seat.

"But making out in the schoolyard isn't?"

"Making out? We weren't—"

"Whatever you call it these days," she said.

Marilee buried herself in her phone and started texting like crazy.

"I'm serious, Marilee."

No response.

Brooke maneuvered the SUV around an idling minivan where three girls were climbing inside, then pulled off the school property. Calming a little, she realized she'd handled the situation all wrong. She shouldn't have come unglued, shouldn't have challenged her daughter at that moment. It would have been much better, much more sane to start an open-ended conversation about dating, about boys, and about sex, no matter how much she wanted to throttle Nick. Of course they'd had the basic biological discussion a few years back when Marilee had started to develop, and then again a year and a half ago when she'd started having periods, but this . . . this was different.

"Hey," she said. "I'm sorry." She kept her eyes on the road as she drove through the tree-lined streets, passing familiar landmarks and the back side of the park.

No response. Still more furious texting.

"I–I was surprised, that's all. I didn't mean to overreact."

Nothing.

"Marilee, this is new territory for me too," she admitted, stopping at the red light before turning the corner.

"Territory for you? Seriously? This is my life! Not yours." Her eyes flashed in anger, then she turned back to her phone.

Brooke turned onto their street, where their retired neighbor, Artemis Galanis, cigar clamped between his teeth, was raking leaves. Overhead a squirrel scolded loudly and raced along the branches of the maple tree.

"Maybe we should talk about this," Brooke suggested.

"About what? Nick?" Marilee said, then, under her breath, "Jesus."

"What did you say?"

"Geez," Marilee said more loudly. "You treat me like I'm a baby."

"I don't."

"Okay, then like I'm ten!"

Did she? Nah. But maybe she was being a little tougher than usual, frightened by everything that was going on. "You know Dad and I—well, all the parents—we're all on edge because of Allison Carelli." Brooke gave a quick wave to Artemis, then pulled into the driveway.

Marilee let out a puff of disgusted air. "Other parents still let their kids go in cars!"

"Other parents aren't Dad and me and that argument won't wash. I tried it too back in the day and Grandma didn't buy it either."

"Great," Marilee muttered, throwing her mother a look that could cut through steel.

Brooke stood her ground. "So, for tonight. You meet Nick at the dance. We'll pick you up. Then, later, we can have another conversation and maybe—"

"Oh yeah right!" Marilee was still seething. Still embarrassed. Still playing the victim. Brooke tried to compose her thoughts as she pulled into the garage, to keep calm. But as soon as she shifted the SUV into Park, Marilee was out the door. Without a word she raced up the steps.

"Your aunt is here!" Brooke called after her just as the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut.

"Fabulous," she said sarcastically, and Brooke felt a headache coming on. "Just effing fabulous."

This bratty behavior had to stop.

When Brooke made it into the house Marilee was nowhere to be seen, but Shep greeted her with his usual enthusiasm, cutting circles in the nook, toenails clicking frantically as she stepped into the kitchen. "I love you too," she told the dog and stroked his head. His dark eyes held hers and his tongue lolled to one side.

Leah, now composed, had changed into a thick gray sweater and navy leggings. She was seated at the table, her iPad open in front of her. Her hair was pulled away from her face by a navy band and her makeup had been restored.

"Hey," Brooke said, pulling up a chair. "How're ya doin'?"

"Better." Leah glanced up, taking her eyes off the screen for a second. "But what's with Mari? She barely said hi to me."

"It's a long story and she's mad at me, not you. Or maybe she's mad at the world."

"Why?"

"Basically, I called her out for kissing a boy in the front of the school."

"Oh. Wow. Like that's nothing you would've done?" She was typing, painted nails clicking, her gaze once again on whatever she was composing.

"At fourteen? No way."

Leah sent her a knowing look over the screen.

"You want a glass of wine?"

"Nah. Gave it up."

"You . . . don't drink?"

"No. Not much. I know I suggested one earlier, but that was just a joke. Maybe a bad one." Leah managed a thin smile. "Alcohol didn't help when Sean and I fought. So I cut back."

"You won't fight. Sean's not here," Brooke pointed out and found a bottle of red in the wine refrigerator Neal had installed just last year.

"But you are."

"Ooh. Ouch." Brooke scrounged in the drawer, found a corkscrew, and opened the bottle. "Someone's claws are out."

Leah sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." She put down her iPad as Shep settled into his dog bed near the window.

"Me too. I've been tense lately." Brooke let the wine breathe while she checked on the lasagna thawing on the kitchen counter. It was still cold, frozen in places, but it would work for dinner.

"You're tense?"

"Mm. A lot going on."

"The job hunt?"

That, fortunately, was the least of Brooke's worries, but she told her sister about the missing girls and her struggles with Marilee as she poured a glass of wine and sipped it while putting together a salad of spinach, red onions, and tomatoes.

Leah sighed, watching Brooke with an envious eye. "You've still got Neal and Marilee will come around. And hopefully they can find the girls. Maybe they just ran away. Doesn't that happen all the time? You know how emotional teenage girls are."

"I hope you're right and they come back."

Standing, Leah stretched her neck, then eyed the wine bottle. "Okay. I changed my mind. I'll join you."

"Good. You know what they say? That it's never good to drink alone."

"That had to be made up by an extrovert," Leah said as Brooke poured another glass, then handed it to her. "But maybe you should chill a little."

She took a swallow from her own glass and eyed her sister. "What does that mean?"

"Don't be so hard on Marilee." Leah clicked the rim of her glass to Brooke's. "She's just a kid trying to figure it all out, where she fits in in the world. You know, like you did once." She took a sip. "It's not easy being a kid these days."

"And it's easy being an adult?"

"Well, no. Of course not," Leah admitted. "Point taken."

"So, what happened with Sean?" Brooke asked, suddenly feeling a thread of connection to her sister.

"Oh God." Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Leah sighed and shook her head, as if replaying an argument in her mind. "It's complicated."

"Is it?" To relieve some pressure in her ankle, Brooke leaned a hip against the counter while Leah returned to her chair, scooting it so she could look outside to the backyard and the view beyond.

"Maybe not so much," Leah confided and took a long swallow from her glass. "Out of the blue last week it all came to a head. Well, maybe not completely out of the blue. We'd been fighting for weeks. Over money."

Brooke remembered Sean's love affair with gambling.

"And then there was my insecurities—you know I have them—and I also want kids and he doesn't. His new job is a lot of pressure and, well, we fought about everything, I guess . . ." Her voice trailed off. Absently, she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, then cleared her throat. "Anyway, we got into it again. I found out he hadn't been paying the property taxes on the house, and worse than that, he didn't pay the IRS." She frowned, her eyebrows pinching as she glanced at her sister and confided, "They didn't like that much."

"No, they don't."

"I didn't know it, of course, I'd signed a return that he was supposed to file, but . . ." she shrugged, ". . . I guess I suspected. It's not like this was the first time. And he'd invested in some company on the advice of his ‘friend.'" She made half-hearted air quotes. "Sean handles all the finances, but I'm not an idiot, I saw the past-due notices so, as I said, we got into it and he stormed out and I did some digging. Guess what?" She looked up at Brooke, tears forming in her big eyes. "He has a girlfriend." She sniffed. "A friend of mine—at least I thought she was a friend—and they've had this affair going on right under my nose for about six or eight months as near as I can tell." Her face collapsed in on itself and she let out a sob.

Guilt, hot and razor-sharp, cut through Brooke. She swallowed hard. "Oh Leah, I—I don't know what to say, except that I'm so, so sorry, but it sounds like you're better off without him."

"The worst of it was that he never loved me," she squeaked out, her voice an octave higher than usual as she reached under the nearby cupboard to the paper towel holder. Sniffing, she ripped off a towel and swiped at her nose.

Automatically, Brooke said, "No, no, no. That's not true."

"No? How would you know?" she demanded. "There's just something about me that men find attractive and then . . . and then don't." She was blinking, her face red. "This isn't the first time, Brooke. You more than most people should be aware of that, but I'm sick and tired of it!"

So there it was. The same old, awful point.

Leah took in a deep, shuddering breath. "My money's gone," she finally admitted.

"No." Brooke didn't want to believe it, but hadn't she suspected as much? Hadn't she expected some sort of dramatic revelation? Some reason her sister had insisted on visiting now? "You still have assets," Brooke ventured.

"Uh-uh. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"But—"

"Everything I inherited from Nana?" Leah cut in, anticipating the argument. She looked at her sister and snapped her fingers. "Gone."

Brooke couldn't believe it. Didn't want to. She and Leah had each inherited a good sum from their grandmother. "But—but I thought you invested it."

"As I said, Sean took over. Handled everything." She looked away, embarrassed. Her neck and cheeks had flushed a darker hue. "Yeah, yeah, I know I was . . . stupid, but I loved him. I trusted him and . . ." Fresh tears rolled down her face.

Brooke was stunned. She'd seen Leah through a lot of tough times and some financial struggles. She and Neal had helped Leah out in the past, but over the years, no matter how bad things had gotten, Leah had assured her that her inheritance was safe, tucked away in some kind of government-insured bonds that couldn't be cashed in without big penalties, so she'd never touch them.

Leah angled her face upward while she played with the stem of her glass, twirling it between her fingers. "So now he wants a divorce and I don't even know if I can afford one." Her jaw hardened. "You know what they say about luck, that if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any." Her lips pursed, and Brooke felt the unspoken blame. Because nothing had changed with Leah over the years. She believed all of her problems, all of the sadness in her life and the bad choices she had made, were Brooke's fault.

And maybe Leah was right.

At that moment they heard the garage door roll upward.

Shep scrambled to his feet and his toenails clicked frantically as he raced to the top of the stairs to wait and whine for Neal.

Leah, calmer now, turned accusing eyes at her sister. "Guess who's home?" she said, as if she knew all of Brooke's secrets. "Daddy dearest." Her expression remained neutral as Neal's footsteps could be heard on the steps. "Tell me, sister," she asked softly, "is he still the love of your life?"