by Judy Duarte
Most of the photographs appeared to be thirty years old or more. Weren’t there any more recent than that? Didn’t Mrs. Rucker have any great-grandchildren?
The Rossi house was loaded with pictures and portraits of both Susan and Amy when they were young, and now Callie’s photographs had a prominent place on tabletops and walls.
Deciding to leave the living room intact for now, Amy headed for the kitchen, then paused beside the lamp table, where the dirty china cup and saucer sat. She glanced at the Bible she’d noticed during her first visit to the house, its worn and cracked leather embossed with the name Eleanor Rucker in gold letters. It rested next to a television guide, the kind that came with the local newspaper. The date, she noted, was a little more than two months ago.
Was that the week when Eleanor Rucker had been frightened by imaginary hippies?
Was that how long the house had been empty?
Suspecting she might never get the answers to any of her questions, Amy carried the dirty dishes to the sink, turned on the spigot, and waited for the water to heat. After placing the stopper in the drain, she reached for a plastic bottle of lemon-scented dish soap that sat on the counter and squirted a stream under the faucet spray.
She lifted the dirty cup, but before placing it in the soapy water, she took time to study the pattern—tiny pink roses with a delicate gold trim.
She tried to imagine a special occasion, the dining room table draped with freshly starched white linen, the dishes set out with sparkling crystal goblets and polished silver.
In the middle of the table, she could easily see newly clipped rosebuds—pink to match the china pattern—carefully arranged in a vase and flanked by two long, tapered candles, the flames flickering in the evening light.
She could almost hear the hum of happy voices, of faceless family and friends.
Perhaps “Betty Grable” sat at the head of the table with her husband standing at her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, a smile on his face as he welcomed the guests with a Jimmy Stewart drawl.
The doorbell sounded, drawing Amy from her crazy thoughts, and she frowned. No one knew she was here. Maybe it was the real estate agent coming to remove the lockbox and the sign. Or maybe it was a door-to-door salesman.
Either way, she shut off the water and strode to the entry. When she opened the front door, she found a petite, thirty-something Latina on the porch, holding a plate of brownies covered with plastic wrap.
The woman, who wore her long, dark hair straight, smiled warmly and introduced herself as Maria Rodriguez. She nodded to the left. “I live next door and thought I’d come over and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Amy hadn’t counted on any visitors, nor had she intended to stretch the truth any more than she already had. Still, she took the plate of chocolate goodies and managed to introduce herself and return the woman’s smile. “These look delicious. Thank you.”
“One of the women in the neighborhood brought a lemon cake to me when I moved in. So when my son told me he’d seen our new neighbor, it seemed like the right thing to do.”
The conversation lulled. If Amy had truly been a new neighbor moving in, she might have known what to say. As it was, she felt like a fraud. So she thanked the woman again.
“I heard you have a daughter,” Maria said.
Amy nodded, thinking that the web she’d begun to weave was expanding without any effort on her part, and she wasn’t sure how to stop it from growing any further.
By sticking to the truth whenever she could, she supposed. “Her name is Callie. And she’s five.”
Maria flicked a long strand of hair over her shoulder and smiled. “I have a five-year-old, too. Her name’s Sara. It’ll be nice for her to have someone new to play with. There aren’t too many girls living on the street.”
Amy hadn’t planned on bringing Callie to Sugar Plum Lane, but again she nodded. “That would be nice.”
“Is she here?” Maria asked.
“No, not today. She’s with a sitter.”
A slow grin stretched across Maria’s face, as though she understood how difficult it would be to have a child underfoot.
“I thought I’d pack up Mrs. Rucker’s belongings first,” Amy added.
Maria’s smile faded. “I would have offered to pack up things for the Davilas. I didn’t realize they were going to hire someone to do it.”
Had Maria found that a little unusual, too? Either way, Amy decided to let it go. There were probably a lot of things she didn’t understand, so she thought it best to change the subject. “I heard Mr. Davila had a heart attack. Is he doing all right?”
“There were some complications, but I think he’s going to be fine. From what I understand, it’s going to take some time.”
“I’m sure his illness took the family by surprise,” Amy added.
“Yes, it was completely unexpected. He was pretty active and appeared to be healthy. In fact, Ellie was supposed to move in with him and his wife, but that didn’t pan out.”
“Did she move in with one of her children instead?” Amy asked.
“She only had one child. A daughter. But they weren’t very close.”
Which meant what? That her daughter, who had to be Barbara Davila, wouldn’t take the old woman into her home to live with her? Or that she couldn’t for some reason?
Amy hated to ask too many questions, especially up front. Yet that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? To find the answers her mother had been seeking?
“Have you lived on Sugar Plum Lane very long?” she asked Maria.
“I moved in with my tía, or rather, my aunt, when my mother died. I spent my teenage years with her and left when I got married. But after I filed for divorce, I brought the kids and came home.”
Apparently the women had several things in common. They’d both lost their mothers, and they’d wanted out of bad marriages, which left them raising their children alone.
“So you live with your tía,” Amy assumed, realizing Maria’s aunt probably knew more about the Ruckers—or, more specifically, about Barbara Davila.
“No, not anymore. Sofia passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And for more reasons than one. Maria’s aunt might have held the key to Amy’s search.
“Well, I’d better let you get back to work,” Maria said.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” The question rolled right off Amy’s tongue without any forethought, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
Just to be hospitable?
Curiosity about the Ruckers?
The commonality she shared with the woman she’d just met?
“Actually,” Maria said, “I’d love a cup of tea. Ellie would often brew a pot whenever I stopped by. But I need to get back home. I left my son in charge, and he’s…” She sighed almost wearily. “Well, he hasn’t been getting along with his sister lately.”
“Before you go, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I’m curious about Mrs. Rucker—Eleanor.”
Maria smiled. “If she were standing here with us now, she’d insist that you call her Ellie. Everyone did.”
“Then Ellie it is.” Amy returned the woman’s smile.
“What about her?”
“I…uh…spotted some old photographs and was curious about something. Hold on a minute.” Amy turned and hurried to the mantel, snagged the picture of the soldier and the girl, and returned to the open doorway. “Do you know who these people are?”
Maria took the frame, glanced at the images, and nodded. “That’s Ellie and her husband, Harold. I never met him. He died during World War Two, but he was the love of her life. That photo has been on her mantel ever since I can remember. There’s another one like it near her bed.”
“Didn’t she ever remarry?” Amy asked, unsure why it seemed to matter.
“Yes, but only briefly. From what I understand, the marriage was a big mistake. She never talked to me about hi
m, but I remember my aunt saying that he wasn’t good to her.”
“That’s too bad.”
“You mean that her second husband was a jerk?” Maria asked, handing back the frame.
“Oh, no.” Amy straightened. “That she lost the love of her life in the war, that she never met anyone else who could take his place.”
Maria smiled. “You sound like a romantic.”
“I always used to be.”
“So did I, but my ex-husband took care of dimming my rose-colored glasses.”
Amy’s ex had done the same thing, but she hoped to find someone new someday, someone who valued his wife and child.
“Well,” Maria said. “I really need to get home. Let me know when Callie gets here. I’ll bring Sara by to meet her.”
Amy nodded, although she couldn’t do that.
How could she ask a child to help perpetuate the lie her mother had created?
Chapter 3
As Maria walked down the cracked, leaf-riddled sidewalk that led from Ellie’s porch to the street, a sense of sadness slowed her steps. There was a part of her that hated to leave the house in the hands of a stranger, yet she had to admit that Amy seemed nice enough.
As she reached the picket fence that surrounded Ellie’s yard, she passed through the gate that had completely broken off its hinges, turned to her right at the street, and continued home.
Before she reached the property line that separated her house from Ellie’s, a white pickup pulled up and parked along the curb. The bed of the truck, she noted, was filled with a lawnmower and other gardening tools. And a green logo on the passenger door read GONZALES LANDSCAPING.
Maria didn’t give the vehicle’s arrival much thought until the driver, a dark-haired man in his twenties, climbed from the cab, leaving a brown, shaggy dog in the front seat. The dog barked, but it wasn’t the animal that piqued her interest; it was the handsome driver with an olive complexion, a square-cut jaw, and a rugged build.
Normally, she kept her eyes averted from men, particularly those who were young and attractive. It was easier that way.
Her marriage hadn’t been happy, and she was unwilling to put herself in the position of repeating the same mistake. But she couldn’t help risking a second glance at the brawny man who stood about six foot two.
When he tossed her a grin, her brains turned to mush—her bones and joints, too. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t return the friendly gesture.
Or maybe she inadvertently had, since he continued toward her.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you live here?”
Yes. No.
It was a simple question with a simpler answer, but for some reason, her words failed to form.
As their gazes met and locked, a swarm of butterflies rose up in her stomach. You’d think she’d never come face-to-face with an attractive man before, although she had to admit, this was the first time she’d ever been attracted to anyone other than her ex-husband. Ray’s lies and betrayal had scarred her for good—at least, that’s what she’d told herself.
The gardener nodded toward Ellie’s house, and Maria’s brain finally rallied.
“No, I live in the blue house.” She pointed to hers just as the front door swung open.
“Mom!” Danny shouted from the porch.
She turned to her son, glad for the distraction, even if it meant trouble inside.
“Ellie’s out in the backyard again,” the unsmiling boy announced, “and she’s calling for some guy named Harold.”
“I…uh.” Maria glanced at the landscaper. “I have to go.”
“I can see that.” His smile broadened, revealing a single dimple that could only mean bad news to any woman who found it charming.
What was with her inability to break eye contact, to move on?
“Our company is going to be doing some landscaping on the street,” he added. “So if you’re interested in getting a bid for your yard”—he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a business card—“we’ll give you or any of the other neighbors a ten-percent discount.”
She couldn’t afford a landscaper, no matter what kind of deal he gave her, yet she took his card anyway, fingered the embossed lettering.
“Mom!” Danny yelled again, this time louder and more insistent.
“I’m coming.” Her words gave the proper response, but her feet seemed to be uncooperative.
“Keep us in mind,” he said.
She nodded, afraid she’d be keeping the landscaper in mind longer than she ought to, and forced herself to head back to the house.
Shake it off, she told herself as she reached her front porch.
Danny stepped aside to allow her in.
Still, for some crazy reason, just as she started past the threshold, she stole one last peek over her shoulder, only to see that the landscaper hadn’t moved either, that his eyes were still on her.
Amy had no more than returned the photograph of Ellie and Harold back to the mantel and started back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
Had Maria had a change of heart about the tea?
Oddly enough, Amy hoped so. She returned to the living room and answered the door only to find a tall, dark-haired man on the stoop. He appeared to be Latino, with soft brown eyes and a shy smile.
“Mrs. Masterson?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’m Eddie with Gonzales Landscaping. I was asked to come by and look at the yard so that we can give the owner an estimate for cleaning things up around here.”
“Oh, good.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It definitely needs some work.”
“Do you have any dogs I should be aware of?”
“No, I don’t.” At least, not at this house.
“Is there anything specific in the yard that needs to be trimmed? Anything you’re especially concerned about?”
“Actually, I’ve only done a cursory walk-through of the yard, so I can’t really say. I know there’s a rose garden in back, and it’s in bad shape. Other than that, the lawn needs to be mowed and edged, the trees and bushes need to be trimmed.”
“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Masterson, I’ll take a look around.”
“No, not at all. But call me Amy.”
“All right.” As he stepped off the porch, she closed the door and returned to the kitchen, where she opened the pantry, threw out all the open containers of food, and boxed up the rest. She found an unopened bag of Kitty Delight, although she hadn’t seen any other sign of a cat. Rather than pack it up with the food items, she left it on a shelf to deal with later.
After washing down the shelves, she started on the drawers, then scoured the counters.
Near the telephone, which no longer had a dial tone, she found a pink steno pad with several notations written in pencil:
Soup kitchen Friday. Vera will pick me up.
Tell Joey the washing machine is broken again.
760-555-1493–Daniel Delacourt–tomorrow afternoon here.
Dr. Ryley–new medication not working.
Odd, she thought. It wasn’t the typical list, like the items she needed from the grocery store. It appeared that Ellie was keeping notes for herself, jotting down things she didn’t want to forget.
Had she known her mind was failing?
Again, the doorbell rang. Amy wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Fifteen or twenty minutes, she supposed.
Assuming the landscaper had finished checking out the yard and wanted to tell her he was leaving, she made her way back to the entry and swung open the door only to find her ex-husband and her daughter on the stoop.
“Brandon,” was all she could say.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
She could be asking him the same question. And while she was tempted to level with him, as had been her habit in the past, she wasn’t sure what kind of an explanation she owed him now that they were separated.
Yet with Callie standing i
n the midst of them, her bright-eyed smile proclaiming that she was certain the surprise visit had pleased them all, Amy found herself scrambling for a response.
“We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese’s,” Callie announced.
Now, that was unexpected. Amy and Callie had always been at the bottom of Brandon’s priority list. So why the change of heart?
When she shot him a quizzical glance, he shrugged. “I had some free time and thought I’d spend it with Callie.”
Apparently the separation was having a positive effect on their almost nonexistent father/daughter relationship. But if he’d called ahead of time, Amy wouldn’t have had to get a sitter.
Last night, she’d asked Stephanie Goldstein to watch Callie again, since they often helped each other by trading child care. But it hadn’t worked out this time, and Amy had hired Sylvia Griswold to sit with her instead.
“It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Brandon added.
Apparently.
But it still didn’t quite ring true.
“When I found Callie with Sylvia,” he said, “I tried your cell, but you didn’t answer.”
She hadn’t heard the phone ring. Had she forgotten to charge the battery?
“I asked Sylvia where you were, and she said you’d gone to Fairbrook. She mentioned Sugar Plum Lane, and so I drove by and spotted your car.” Brandon scanned the porch and yard of the neglected house, his brow furrowed as though trying to connect the dots.
“Do you want to come with us to Chuck E. Cheese’s?” Callie asked. “It’ll be fun, Mommy.”
“I’d like to, honey, but I’ve got some work to do here.” Amy looked at her ex-husband and added, “I’m helping out a friend.”
Brandon furrowed a brow, clearly perplexed, and she could understand why. When they’d been together, she’d stuck pretty close to home and always kept him in the loop, even if he hadn’t seemed too interested in play dates, dance lessons, or mommy-and-me gym classes.