CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Later and for once, Brooke managed to pick up Marilee on time. She saw her daughter in front of the school beneath the branches of a sapling planted near the front door, branches nearly bare, dry leaves strewn over the lawn, a fine drizzle falling from the sky. A security officer was posted near the door, a police car parked in the lot not far from the line of buses idling in the pickup lane, where dozens of cars waited, more than usual, as anxious parents waited for their children to appear.

Marilee was with a group of kids but broke away from the pack the second she noticed her mother driving into the pickup lane.

She slipped into the passenger seat.

"Hi—sorry I'm—"

"Can we just go?" Marilee said, buckling her seat belt but slumping down.

"Sure." Brooke drove to the street, waited for several buses to pass, then melded into traffic.

"What happened to you?"

"What?" Brooke glanced over at her daughter.

"Your face. It's all messed up." Marilee's expression was a mixture of worry and revulsion.

"Oh." Brooke caught a glimpse of her visage in the mirror. Saw the cut on her chin and the raspberry on her cheek that makeup failed to completely hide. "I fell down."

"You fell down?" Marilee repeated and turned on the radio, already set to her favorite station.

"Yeah, I was running and didn't see a curb, tripped, and down I went."

"Really?" Marilee asked skeptically as she turned up the volume. Taylor Swift's most recent hit was playing.

"Really."

"You have to be careful."

"I know."

Marilee's eyebrows drew together. "So—are you okay?"

"You mean other than my pride being wounded?" She flashed a smile she didn't feel as she turned on the windshield wipers. "I'll live."

"Geez, Mom, maybe you're too old to be jogging."

"Seriously? I'm thirty-four. Prime of my life!"

"Yeah, but didn't Grandma die at like thirty?"

"Thirty-eight." Brooke hated to think about it, how the cancer had come quickly, barely diagnosed and then Carole Fletcher was gone. Brooke had been a little younger than Marilee when she lost her mother. Even now, her heart twisted with that particular pain reserved for the loss of a parent. And despite her bravado, it wasn't lost on her that she would soon reach the age when her mother had passed.

"And her mom?"

"No, no." Brooke shook her head. "Nana made it to fifty-eight." Cancer too had taken Mary O'Hara quickly because she relied on faith, didn't believe in "popping pills for everything that ails you," and had ignored the symptoms. By the time she'd been diagnosed, it was too late to save her.

"So she was really old."

Brooke slid her daughter a glance. "I suppose at fourteen you'd think anyone in their fifties was ancient, but no, it's not all that old."

"So she didn't get sick when she was younger? I mean like you?"

"No."

Brooke had been lucky. Last year's lumpectomy had been a success and she was seemingly cancer-free.

So far.

She had the urge to cross her fingers but didn't.

"So, if you're not too old to jog, you need to be more careful," Marilee repeated, and some of her ever-present petulance seemed to have dissipated. When she turned to Brooke her eyes showed genuine concern.

"I'll try to remember that." Brooke turned the wheel and steered the Explorer onto the tree-lined street they called home. Their house came into view. Eyeing the Victorian situated across the street from a park, she remembered those happier days and tried not to think what their lives had become. What was it Nana had said? "For every problem there's a solution. You just have to look for it and pray. God will show you the way."

She hoped so.

Dear Lord, she hoped so.

"So, is there any news about Allison?"

"Don't know." But Marilee was shaking her head. "I—I haven't heard anything. Just weird rumors."

"What kind of rumors?" A commercial was playing, so Brooke turned off the radio.

"I don't know. Some people thought her dad came and got her and he, like, wasn't supposed to, I guess. Her parents are divorced, or separated or something, and involved in this custody fight."

"But," Brooke said, reading her daughter's expression, "you don't think that's true?" She pulled into the driveway.

"No, pretty sure not. That's what everyone thought at first. But it can't be right. Marty Unger, he's a junior in my algebra class and lives down the street from Alli? Anyway, he says Alli's dad is back at the house, and he and the mom have been knocking door-to-door, looking for her. So I guess the dad taking her was just a rumor." She threw a glance at her mother. "You know how that goes."

"Yeah." Brooke nodded. Gossip traveled faster than wildfire and, in high school, even more quickly, as if gasoline was poured onto the flames. "So what else did you hear?"

Marilee lifted a shoulder. "Just stupid stuff, like she hitchhiked out of town and joined a cult or something. Other people, though, they think worse."

"Worse?"

"Like maybe she was kidnapped or murdered."

Brooke's blood turned to ice as she eased the Explorer into the garage. "But there's no evidence of that."

"How would I know?" Marilee asked. "But the cops were at the school. Questioning everybody. Especially Mrs. Cooper, the school counselor. I guess Alli was checking in with her a lot."

"About what?"

"God, Mom, I don't know," Marilee snapped, suddenly angry. "Isn't that, like, confidential or something?" She was already reaching for the door handle. "It's just what I heard. Rumors. Why do you think I would know anything?"

"I'm just asking."

"Well, you can quit asking," Marilee said, climbing out of the car. "I already told you everything I know, so stop with the interrogation!" She let out an angry breath. "God, I shouldn't have said anything!" She flung open the door and was out of the Ford in an instant.

Once again, just like that, she and her teenage daughter were at odds.

"Wow. That's got to hurt," Neal said. He was examining the cut on Brooke's chin. "Maybe you need a stitch or two?"

"I'm fine," she said. She was seated on the bathroom counter, back to the mirror, her husband frowning, his eyebrows pulled together as he surveyed the damage. He'd gotten home late, after Marilee and she had eaten a quick, silent dinner of salad and tuna melts. "And you got this jogging?"

"Stupid, I know. Just took a misstep on the curb, my ankle twisted, and I went down." The lie came easily. Too easily. "It happens."

"Never to you."

"Marilee accused me of being too old to run. She practically called me ‘elderly' or ‘ancient' or something."

He laughed. "I bet you loved that."

"Mm." But Neal was right. Brooke was sure-footed and so far had been lucky, always able to catch herself or escape injury. "It happens to everyone. Now move."

As he took a step away from the counter, she hopped down, felt a sharp pain in her ankle, and winced slightly as she turned toward the mirror. "I might have to take a day or two off from the exercise routine."

"I'm thinking weeks, but that's up to you." They'd already discussed her ankle, and the fact that she didn't think she needed to seek medical attention. Neal rubbed his chin as he watched her. "Just be careful."

"I will," she said, meeting his eyes in the reflection before peeling the backing off a Band-Aid and applying it to her chin. The wound had stopped bleeding, but this was insurance, at least for the night, that she wouldn't reopen it. The scrape on her cheek was minor, just a graze on the surface, and she didn't have a lump on the back of her skull. She'd already probed it with her fingers, moving around her hair, a red-blond tangle, and using a hand mirror angled at the mirror over the sink to survey the damage.

Even her ankle wasn't too bad, definitely not broken, and if it was sprained, not all that bad. Nothing a little ice wouldn't help cure.

She'd lucked out.

This time.

But she'd had to lie to her daughter and her husband to keep her secret.

Despite her bravado with Gideon during the attack, she wanted to keep the truth from them. So far, so good, she thought as she walked into the bedroom she shared with Neal and plopped down at the end of the bed. "I'm glad you're okay." He eyed the scrape on her cheek and, to her surprise, leaned down and kissed it.

"Oh! Ick!" Marilee said.

They hadn't heard her, but there she was, just on the other side of the open bedroom door. In pajamas, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, she physically recoiled. "Are you like a vampire?" she asked her father.

Neal laughed. "It was just a little kiss."

"But . . . gross!" Her face was a mask of revulsion.

Even Brooke chuckled at her exaggerated response. Neal's phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, then back at his wife. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Fine," Brooke assured him, though again, she was hiding the truth. She was anything but fine.

"Okay." He took the call. "Neal Harmon." Passing Marilee still lingering in the doorway, he headed downstairs.

"A vampire?" Brooke teased, pushing herself up to rest against the headboard. "Really?"

Marilee lifted a shoulder and hesitated.

"What's up?" Brooke asked.

For once Marilee seemed nervous. She bit at her lower lip, played with the end of her ponytail.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

"Then out with it." Brooke patted the edge of the mattress, indicating her daughter should join her on the bed.

Marilee didn't budge. "Uh—I was asked to go to the dance this weekend," she said in a rush and a blush crawled up the back of her neck to tinge her cheeks. "Tomorrow night."

Marilee was embarrassed?

Unusual.

Marilee was alternately combative, arrogant, determined, or a combination of all three. Sometimes she could be pensive but rarely abashed.

"So, of course you can go. Who asked you?"

"Nick."

"Nick Paszek? As in Tammi's older brother?" Brooke asked. Tamara Paszek was one of Marilee's friends, a girl she'd known from junior high, and Brooke wasn't familiar with any other kid named Nick.

"Yeah."

"Isn't he . . . what, nineteen?"

Marilee let out a disgusted breath. "He's a senior."

"Who is old for his class." Brooke remembered the kid, who had dropped Tammi off when the girls had a school project together. Tall. Good-looking. Almost a man. "And you're not quite fifteen. Young for your class."

"So?" Marilee's lips tightened defiantly. "Are you saying no?'"

"I thought we agreed that you couldn't officially date until you were fifteen."

"Ooh, Mom, that's like forever. And you always say that I'm wiser than my years."

"Do I?" Brooke couldn't remember using that phrase in front of Marilee, though she had said something about her being an old soul in a young body just the other day when she was on the phone to Andrea. Her daughter was now throwing Brooke's words back at her.

Finally, Marilee stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed next to Brooke.

"Come on, Mom," she wheedled.

Brooke said, "Wait a sec. When did you and Nick start seeing each other?"

"We haven't yet. That's why this is so important!" Marilee flung herself back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. "I can go, right?"

"Of course you can go to the dance. You can meet him there, sure."

"He's going to pick me up."

"So it's a real date? Marilee, I don't think it's a great idea—"

"Why not? Geez, Mom, it's not like it's nineteen eighty!"

"I know, but—"

"What do you think's going to happen?" Marilee demanded, turning her head on the duvet so she could stare at her mother. "Don't you trust me?"

Here we go. The age-old argument.

"Of course I trust you."

"Then you don't trust Nick, or that . . . that I can't handle myself around him."

That was it precisely, but Brooke didn't know how to say it. "It's not that," she said. "But since Allison has gone missing—"

"So?" She sat up and pinned her mother in her glare. "You think Nick had something to do with that?"

"No, of course not."

"Hey—what's going on?" Neal's footsteps were loud as he turned the corner and saw the ongoing battle. "Uh-oh. Girl talk."

Marilee gave a little puff of disgust. "Mom won't let me go to the dance with Nick. She thinks he's, like, some serial killer or something."

"What?" Neal looked confused.

Brooke clarified. "Nick Paszek. And I don't think he's a serial killer."

"Tammi's brother?" Neal was catching up as he walked into the room and took a seat on the edge of a chair near the closet.

Brooke nodded. "Yes."

"Isn't he in college?" Neal asked.

Brooke said, "Not yet."

"He's a senior!" Marilee cut in. "He goes to my school!"

"He wants to drive her," Brooke explained. "That's the issue here. Not the going-to-the-dance part. Of course she can go to the dance."

Neal said, "I thought we settled this, about dating, I mean."

"I'm almost fifteen," Marilee countered.

"In what? Three months?" Neal was amused.

"That's, like, nothing!" Marilee said.

"A few minutes ago you said it was ‘forever,'" Brooke pointed out. She was rewarded with an angry scowl from her daughter.

Neal wasn't deterred. Standing, he cracked his back, then walked to the bureau and leaned against it. "Look, why don't you meet him there?"

"Ooh! That's what Mom said! Like I'm still in junior high. All of my friends get to date! Their parents trust them."

"It's not a matter of—" Neal started, then caught the tiny warning shake of Brooke's head.

"You"—Marilee swept her gaze from one parent to the other—"you just don't understand!" With that, she stomped through the door, down the short hallway toward her room.

Neal warned, "Don't slam the—"

Too late. The door to her room closed with a timber-rattling thud.

"—door."

Brooke let out the breath she'd been holding. "Was it my imagination or did the whole house shake?"

He smiled. "I think our whole lives just shook. She's growing up."

"I know, but she just sprang this on me today, a few minutes ago, and the dance is tomorrow night!"

"Maybe he just asked her today."

"Maybe," she admitted, frowning, a headache threatening. "I don't know."

"Fun times," Neal pointed out. "Teenage rebellion."

"I know. And we—the parents—we're so clueless."

"Trying to make her life a living hell," he remarked, scratching at his chin and grinning.

Brooke nodded as she got to her feet. "As if we haven't been there ourselves."

"Oh God, yes. Sally Matthews." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "She was the one I would have killed for when I was what—?" His eyes narrowed as he calculated. "Maybe seventeen. Thereabouts." He wiggled his hand, as if it didn't matter how old he was. "All I could think about was getting her alone and into her pants. That seemed to be my primary goal in life."

"That and basketball."

"Well, yeah." He smiled and shook his head. "But man, was I horny."

"I know." Brooke shared a conspiring look with her husband. "I remember." Theirs had been a fiery, hot, guilt-ridden romance, though Neal was twenty-six and she barely eighteen at the time. Neal had been her first boyfriend since Keith Turnquist, and Neal was off-limits. Taboo. Which had made her want him all the more, caused her to find him incredibly hot. Now, remembering it, she felt cold inside. Their mercurial relationship, fueled by raw sex and teen angst and deception, had been an emotional roller coaster that had cost them both. And yet they were still together despite the obvious holes in their relationship. Deep abysses, in reality.

Brooke only hoped she could help Marilee avoid the same pitfalls.

Neal slid her a glance. "How long has this—this thing with Nick been going on?"

"She says it's not a thing, not yet anyway. But she's interested." Brooke thought for a second. "You know, she's been hanging out with Tammi more, going over to their house for about three months, maybe four. She and Tammi have gotten tighter recently."

"Maybe because of Nick?"

"What do you think?"

"Right." He nodded. "I'll talk to her . . . in a few minutes. Give her time to calm down."

"And—?"

"I think we should stick to our guns. She can meet him at the dance or ride with him and Tammi or some other kids."

"More teenagers in a car is better?" she asked.

"Probably not. But I'll negotiate with her." He grinned. "That's what I do all day long, right? Negotiate settlements for my clients."

"Somehow I think this one might be a little rougher."

"O, ye of little faith."

"Restore it," she suggested. "Restore my faith in your abilities."

She caught a glimpse of light dance in his blue eyes. If nothing else, Neal loved a challenge.

She remembered that too.

Well, he'd certainly get one in Marilee.

"And remind her that we have to be doubly cautious with Allison Carelli gone missing." The headache she was hoping to keep at bay pressed forward. She was still hoping it was really over with Gideon, though that last horrible fight, the vestiges of it obvious, still lingered. Thoughts of him only ramped up her other concerns. She was worried sick about the missing girls, her stomach in knots. "God, I hope Alli's okay," she said fervently. "And Penny Williams too, wherever she is." Brooke's voice had lowered to a whisper, an added thought because it had been so long since Penelope had vanished and hope was fading.

"Me too," he said grimly. "I checked the news. So far, nothing."

"I know."

"And Jennifer is still working on it, but . . . it's up to the police really." As if to change the subject, Neal said, "I'll talk to Marilee about the dance." He was already walking out of the room. "No time like the present."

"You're a brave man, Neal Harmon."

He laughed and she adjusted the ice pack, then picked up the remote for the television and found a local news channel, hoping to hear something about Allison. Instead, she got the weather—a storm rolling in—and politics about an upcoming mayoral race.

Just as she was about to turn off the TV, her phone buzzed.

Gideon!

Her heart leaped to her throat.

But no. The person on the other end of the call was Leah, her recently added name and number showing on the small screen. Brooke considered not answering, gave herself a quick mental lashing, and clicked on. "Hey," she said, walking out of the room and downstairs. "I was about to call you."

"Liar," Leah charged.

"No, really."

"Fine." Obviously, Leah didn't have time to argue. "Look, I heard you fell down while running today, so I thought maybe I'd fly up to Seattle to, you know, take care of you."

"You heard? That I tripped?" Brooke said. "How?"

"Well, you know, I follow Marilee on Instagram and, well, whatever." She said it as if Brooke were thick.

"She posted something there?"

"It wasn't really about you," Leah said, quickly backpedaling. "More like old people shouldn't jog or something."

"Great."

"She didn't use your name."

"It wouldn't take a genius to figure that out." Brooke was irritated at her daughter but tried to keep her mind on the conversation. "It's not that bad. A few scrapes, a twisted ankle, and a bruised ego," she lied. The last thing she needed to deal with right then was Leah and her drama.

"Whatever. It's a good time for me to come up anyway," she said.

"A good time . . . for you?" For the life of her, Brooke couldn't imagine why the middle of October was anything special.

"I just think it's time we got together. I haven't seen you in ages and when I see pictures of Marilee online I hardly recognize her. She is my only niece."

That much was true, but with everything else going on, Brooke wasn't ready to entertain her sister. "Well, yeah. How about Christmas, then?" Brooke suggested, still wary. Right now she didn't need Leah nosing around, not until she was certain Gideon was completely eradicated from her life. She had only to touch her chin or look in the mirror to remember how determined he'd been not to let her go.

Maybe he'd gotten the message.

But Brooke wasn't depending on it.

Not yet.

"Christmas is what? Eight? Oh no, more like ten weeks away," Leah said, her voice shrouded in disappointment.

"But time flies at this time of year," Brooke insisted, trying to find some enthusiasm. "It'll be fun. Maybe we can even go down to the island. Like we used to." The second the words passed her lips she regretted them. Her last quick trip to Piper Island had been with Gideon just a few months earlier. They'd driven down in her SUV, the windows down, the sunroof open. Her heart was pounding with the thrill of it all as they tore down the twisting coast highway, cliffs on one side of the road, the ever-restless Pacific Ocean on the other. Her gut tightened. She didn't need any reminders of her time with him. Not the good and certainly not the bad.

"Huh," Leah said. "The island? I haven't been out there since . . . oh, good Lord, maybe just after college? I can't even remember. Oh. Wait. Now I do. Because I had Ryan with me. It was just after we were married. . . ."

Her voice trailed off, and Brooke didn't want to traipse down that particular, dark memory lane with her sister. Leah's first husband, Ryan Connolly, was a narcissistic prick, in Brooke's estimation. That marriage was doomed before it started, fizzling out after a couple of years. The same was true of Leah's second marriage. That union had been to a stuffy older man named Harrison Bell, and Leah had run herself ragged trying to make him happy. It hadn't worked. Another mistake.

Then, of course, there was the guy who had left her days before they planned to marry. What was his name? Robert Something-or-other? Currently, Leah was certain the man she was married to for several years, Sean Moore, a flashy thirty-five-year-old who liked fast cars and had a penchant for online gambling, was "the one." That was the way it was with Leah. When she fell she fell hard, and always with blinders securely fastened.

She never anticipated the down side of a relationship.

And hadn't that been the reason that Leah's first serious relationship failed? Well, there was more to it than that, Brooke thought guiltily. A lot. But still . . .

From the other end of the connection her sister sighed, and Brooke remembered Leah as she had once been, a gawky preteen, all long legs and wild imagination, her pale hair sleek from her love affair with a flat iron that had tamed her natural, wild curls.

Now Brooke imagined her sister blowing her bangs from her eyes as she had then, before their relationship developed a schism that seemed impossible to bridge.

But to her credit, Leah was trying.

Once more.

It was Brooke who had to step up. Ignore her reservations and give her little sister another chance.

"I think it would be good if I come now," Leah was saying. "I'm kinda between jobs and I know you are too."

"I'm looking, but how did you know that . . . don't tell me. TikTok."

"X, I think. Doesn't matter."

But it did matter. Brooke didn't like her daughter sharing anything personal on social media.

"Anyway, don't argue," Leah insisted. "I'm coming to visit. I'll be there Friday!"

"This Friday?" Brooke was dumbfounded.

"Yeah. I already have my ticket and you don't have to worry about picking me up. I can Uber or Lyft or whatever."

"So . . . wait. You already planned this?"

"Yeah," she admitted, then added a little more soberly, "I really need to see you."

And that was the end of any argument.

"Okay, look, I'll pick you up," Brooke said, accepting the fact that she needed to deal with Leah again. "Don't bother with an Uber."

"If you're sure . . ."

"I am. Text me your flight information."

"Okay."

And that was that.

With everything else going on, the last thing Brooke needed now was Leah, with all of her drama and problems, but, for the meantime, she was stuck with her younger sister.

What had Nana called her two granddaughters? Irish twins? Because they'd been born about a year apart?

"You girls should be close," Nana had scolded when they'd been fighting over licking the beaters covered in cookie dough. She'd scraped off the thick, sugary paste that smelled of vanilla and cinnamon and handed each girl a beater, then took off her smudged glasses and wiped the lenses on the hem of her apron. "It wouldn't kill you two to get along, you know," she reprimanded softly as she settled the glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and looked pointedly at Brooke. "You only have one sister."