The drive west to Leesburg, Virginia from his DC home flew by. At this early hour, most of the rush-hour traffic was moving east toward the city. He kept checking the clock on the dash. He’d be there early and didn’t want to intrude before the appointed meeting time. He found a coffee shop and tried to distract himself reading the Wall Street Journal.
Finally, the clock read nine. He left the coffee shop and arrived in five minutes at the stone Cape Cod. It was as gorgeous as he remembered, though small compared to the new McMansions which had sprouted up all around the county. Every detail of the house exuded charm. Only the For Sale sign in the yard intruded upon the storybook-cottage vision.
He turned the car off and wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis more than necessary. He wanted so badly to be in the house, but what he’d find there terrified him. Before he could get up the nerve to get out of the car, a petite woman in Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt came around the back of the house and waved to him.
She tapped on his window. He rolled it down.
With a warm smile he could never forget, she said, “Brandon, what are you doing in your car? Get yourself out and come on it. Jim just finished the weeding, so he’s cleaning up, but he’ll be right along.”
A knot formed in the back of his throat. Brandon had forgotten how much Brynn had looked and acted like her mother. Although years had passed since his last visit, Janine Rouvalis acted as familiar as when he’d come up monthly in college with Brynn. He followed her around the back of the house through the screened porch into the spotless white country kitchen.
“Do you want some coffee or iced tea?”
“Just water, please.” Brandon needed something to wet his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here, other than he knew there was something unfinished between him and Brynn’s parents.
They sat at the kitchen table, and Janine asked him about his job and then commented about how crowded Leesburg had gotten in the last ten years. He sensed that she too was nervous and eager to get beyond the social chitchat, but neither seemed able to talk about the elephant in the room.
Jim Rouvalis entered the room. The career navy man hadn’t lost his stature. Brandon stood. Shakiness in his legs compounded the knot in his throat.
He shook Brandon’s hand as firmly as he always had. “So, what brings you out to Leesburg?” Jim had never feared cutting through the shit. Brandon remembered the first time he had met Brynn’s parents and Jim gave him “the interrogation,” as Brynn called it.
“Jim, Janine, I don’t know exactly why I had to see you, but I have to say I’m sorry.”
Janine took his hand in hers. “You’ve said you’re sorry so many times before. We know you’re sorry. We don’t blame you for what happened.”
Brandon looked between them. “But I blame myself. If I had never loved Brynn, she would still be here. She would have found someone better than me, someone who could have protected her.”
Janine shot a nervous glance at Jim, who gave her the slightest nod. She got up and retrieved a box from the kitchen counter and placed it in front of Brandon. “It was really odd that you called this morning. We’ve been thinking of you this last week. Brynn was our baby. Losing her was the most painful thing we’ve had to live through. For so long, I didn’t know how I would survive with my baby girl gone.” Janine started to tear up, and Jim reached across the table to hold her hand.
Jim picked up where she left off. “Were we angry? Hell yeah. Were we angry with you? That’s a hell yeah, too. But, son, that’s faded. We’re ready to move on with our lives, and have decided that it’s time to let go of this house because of its memories. Going through Brynn’s room was very difficult. We put it off for years. When we went through the box of stuff that we packed up from her room in Charlottesville, we found this memory box. Did you know she kept a journal?”
“A diary? I had no idea.” How could he have missed that? He spent almost every hour with her for months. This glaring omission in his perceived level of intimacy maddened him. If he had been that mistaken about how well he knew Brynn, what the hell was he doing assuming he knew Jackie North? A wave of panic spread through him.
Janine wiped her eyes and pulled the lid off the box and removed a flowered fabric-covered book. “This was her journal from the time period right before she died. We’d like for you to have it. She loved you, Brandon. She wanted to spend her life with you.”
The words “I love you” had come easily to both him and Brynn as love-struck college kids, but they’d never discussed the future. Brandon’s eyes burned. He fought back the tears, but they came against his will. Jim’s strong hand rested reassuringly on his shoulder.
Jim said, “Son, the love you shared with Brynn brought her more happiness than any of us would have imagined. Even though you two were just kids, you were connected. She was more herself around you than anyone I’d ever seen. The way you could get her to laugh and swim in a lake in her clothes—for all I know, without clothes.” He squeezed Brandon’s shoulder and gave a little laugh. “Don’t tell me any details. My point is that I don’t want you to ever regret having loved her.”
Brandon took in a lungful of air and blew it out. “Easier said than done.”
“This is really difficult for me to say, but Brynn had a secret that she never shared with her mother or me, and I’m not sure if you knew either. Robert Ashe raped her. She was pregnant with his child when she died.”
The air was knocked out of Brandon’s lungs. “What? Are you sure?”
Janine nodded. “The details are all in her journal. I’m not sure why she never went to the police. It seems like she thought she could fix it all on her own. I don’t think Ashe was very cooperative. I can’t help but wonder if he had something to do with the accident.”
Janine wept into her hands. Jim got up and cradled her in his arms. “Shhh, honey. It’ll be okay.”
After letting Janine compose herself, Brandon asked, “Have you gone to the police?”
Jim frowned. “I called a friend in the force down in Charlottesville. He took the information, but with no physical evidence and just a girl’s diary entry, he wasn’t optimistic.”
Part of Brandon wanted everything to be Ashe’s fault, but deep down he knew his irresponsibility had cost Brynn her life. He’d never forgive Ashe for what he’d done, but would he ever forgive himself?
He spent the rest of the morning with the Rouvalises going through Brynn’s room and her things. Dredging up the old memories was both painful and cathartic. He realized he’d never said good-bye to her and this was his way. He might finally be free of her ghost, but could he risk loving like that?
Could he survive the pain a loss would bring?
He said his good-byes after lunch, promising to keep in touch. Jim gave him a hug, something he’d never done before. “Son, for the sake of Brynn’s memory, promise me you will not shut yourself off from the world. I am sure she would want you to be happy.”
He swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, I’ll try.”
* * * *
Jackie snuggled deep into the lightweight down comforter tucked around her, seeking its protection. Every muscle screamed at the slightest movement.
A slit of brilliant sunlight broke through the floor-length chintz draperies, sending a thin line of sun into the darkened room. Another scorcher? The artificially cool air of the room kept that concern at bay.
By the time they’d gotten to Marilyn’s house, it had been well past midnight, and the pain pills had worked their magic. She vaguely remembered red brick and white columns but had no recollection of getting into this gigantic canopied bed. She peeked under the covers. She also didn’t remember getting into the white cotton nightgown covered with tiny pink rosebuds. It was the nightgown of her childhood dreams. The gown she’d never had. The gown she would never be caught dead in now.
Scanning the room, she caught sight of a clock on the mantel. It was past nine o’clock already. The case! She had to get to work.
> She flipped the covers off and sat up. Pain bolted through her head. “Ow!” She closed her eyes and took in some deep breaths.
Once she subdued the waves of nausea mingled with the pounding in her head, she eased off the bed. Her feet sank into a sumptuous, cream-colored carpet that covered the entire room. “Welcome to Tara.”
Shaky, Jackie steadied herself next to the bed’s post. She turned in a circle, taking in the huge room. The ceiling reached maybe thirteen feet with an ornate crystal chandelier. The king-size, four-poster, canopy bed dominated the space, but oddly didn’t overwhelm it as everything else in the room was supersize too—the fireplace, chairs, and even the dresser. The opposite wall had a door open to another room, presumably a bathroom by the look of the white marble tile.
Jackie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser as she padded slowly to the bathroom. Hopefully, Marilyn kept a professional makeup artist on staff, because she needed it. Her eyes were puffy with black circles, the kind boxers got after suffering a knockout.
In the bathroom, Jackie slipped out of the nightgown and turned on the shower. She got a good look at the damage that gray sedan had done to her. Big angry scrapes covered her left arm, elbow, and shoulder. A blue-and-green lump bulged from her shoulder. A light poke to the spot evoked a loud “ouch” from her. Other than the eyes, her face was passable. Her head was another story. Her brain felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed too tight with cotton balls.
She avoided the road rash while showering but luxuriated in the scent of the rosemary mint when shampooing with her uninjured arm. After a pat down to dry, she put on the thick, white cotton robe hanging on the door. At what point was she going to wake up back in her cozy loft where the A/C struggled all summer long and the heat limped through winter?
A soft knock came from the bedroom door.
She wandered out into the bedroom. “Yes?”
The door opened slowly, and Marilyn, with her perfectly coifed hairdo, came into view. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Good morning to you. This place is amazing. Obviously, I’m paying you way too much.”
“Dearest, you don’t pay me, remember?” Marilyn smiled.
“Well, let’s just keep up the illusion that I do, and we’ll tack an overpayment to that fantasy, just to boost my spirits.” Her spirits were higher than she’d expected them to be considering that she’d been run down by a car hours after uncovering the smoking gun to her ticket to financial freedom and professional success.
The smoking gun—
Her messenger bag—
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? So much had happened so quickly in the emergency room, and then the pain pills knocked her out.
“Marilyn,” her voice was tight and panicky, “where’s my messenger bag?”
Marilyn brought her knuckles to her lips in thought. “The hospital gave me everything you came in with. It’s in that white plastic bag there. There was no messenger bag, honey. Are you sure you had it?”
“This cannot be happening to me.” Jackie pounded the air with her fists, then clutched her head. “Ow!”
“When was the last time you saw it?” Marilyn asked.
“It had the report in it. I took the report to Boggs’s office and reviewed it with him. I had it when I left, when the car hit me. Oh shit. I remember now, someone from the car pulled the bag off my arm. That’s when I passed out. Please tell me you made a copy of the report.”
“Of course I did. Now’s not the time for business, though. Let’s get some food in you first. I have breakfast ready downstairs.” Marilyn reached a hand out to Jackie.
“Food first. Sounds like a solid plan. I’m starving. What do you have?” Jackie followed Marilyn out of the bedroom and along a hallway covered in carpet equally plush as that in the bedroom.
“Nice place,” Jackie said with her eyes wide in amazement at the luxury of Marilyn’s home. The woman had been single her whole life. She was a legal secretary. Legal secretaries did not own mansions.
“Where are we? I thought you lived in a bungalow in Westgate.”
With a dismissive wave of the hand, Marilyn said, “Oh well, you know, I like to maintain my privacy, so I provide the Westgate address when necessary. My cousin Jimmy’s son lives there. Nice boy. This is my main house. We’re in Homeland. Here we go. Breakfast.”
Homeland. Just the swankiest address in Baltimore. Before Jackie could get her head around Marilyn’s alter ego, the breakfast table came into view.
Was she in heaven?
All of Jackie’s favorite foods were there, except in fancy versions. Beautiful pastries lay on a silver tray. Red filling peeped out from folds of golden dough dusted with coconut.
“Wow, high-end Zingers. Are you for real?” Jackie’s stomach rumbled, and the saliva was practically running out of her mouth.
“I certain hope so.” Marilyn giggled. “Dig in. Your coffee is on the table.”
The pastries, bacon, eggs, and more formed a mountain on Jackie’s china plate.
“Eat; then we’ll talk business,” Marilyn ordered.
“Mmmm, I’m good with that,” Jackie said between chews.
With the feast over, Marilyn ushered her into a room off the main entry hall. The wood-paneled room looked like a cross between an English manor house’s library and NASA’s mission control.
“So, what’s the deal with the big-screen TV and the computers and stuff?” Jackie touched a mouse to wake up a computer with a sleek, twenty-one-inch LCD monitor.
“I like to stay up to date, so I can surf the Net and watch TV in comfort.” A wink and a twinkle from Marilyn made Jackie wonder what else was up Marilyn’s sleeve.
“Timeout.” Jackie made a “T” with her hands. “This is like the freaking Bat Cave. Am I dead or just hallucinating?” Jackie narrowed her eyes. “Before we go any further, you owe me an explanation.”
“My dear, what is it you’d like to know?” Marilyn sat in the sleek black leather chair in front of one of the computers and gestured for Jackie to have a seat in the other.
“If you had all of this,” she said with a wave of her good arm around the room, “why would you work as a legal secretary for fifty years?”
“It is true that some of my fortune, or at least the more interesting possessions, like the art and silver, were inherited. But much of what you see has come from my own work.”
“As a legal secretary?” Jackie’s eyes were wide in disbelief.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, no.” Marilyn laughed heartily and waved her hands dismissively. “When I graduated from high school, women could not become professionals. I took the job with Mr. Fenton because he was somebody in this town, and I knew that being connected with somebody would be the only way I could get into the career I really wanted.”
Jackie leaned forward in her seat. “Which was…?”
“Real estate. With Mr. Fenton’s help, I bought my first house, then expanded to some rental properties, then some office buildings. The real excitement came when I got into strip malls in the early 1970s.” Marilyn leaned back in her chair and daintily crossed her legs.
“You’re a strip-mall developer? And legal secretary on the side? Come on.”
“Truly. I’m no longer focused on real estate, but for years, it was my passion. So much so that there was little room for anything else.”
Marilyn stared wistfully in the direction of one of the bookshelves. There was a photo of a couple, but Jackie couldn’t make out the details from where she was sitting.
“Working at Fenton & Stone provided me with knowledge and contacts. The work at the firm was never that challenging, to be honest, so I was able to moonlight a bit during the day with my own stuff. And I like the young people, like you.” Marilyn tilted her head, smiled warmly, and rested her hand on Jackie’s knee with a soft pat.
Jackie shook her head in stunned disbelief.
“It’s really not that complicated. Most of us humans aren’t. Maybe if
you let go of that misperception, things would go a little easier for you.”
The hair on Jackie’s nape bristled. Did Marilyn think she was inept at relationships? Was she? She mumbled, “I’ll take that under advisement.”
Marilyn uncrossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. “You asked for an explanation from me; now it’s your turn. If I’m to help you, and I mean help you, not just provide secretarial support services, I need to know exactly what your relationship is with Brandon Marshfield.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jackie crossed her good arm over her chest and hugged herself tight. With a push from her feet, she rolled back her chair to put some distance between herself and Marilyn.
“Bullshit.”
That threw her off balance. It was uncharacteristic of Marilyn to swear. Jackie stuttered some kind of lame denial about “nothing between us” and “just professional.”
Marilyn’s pursed lips said she wasn’t buying it.
“My dear, trust is essential for any relationship to succeed. When are you going to trust me? First, I’m not blind—I was in the hospital room when he kissed you. Second, I’m not stupid—that was not a random first kiss. There’s history between you two. And, if I’m not mistaken, enough fire to roast an entire buffalo in less than an hour.”
Jackie sighed, set her jaw firm, and looked away. A precise description of her relationship with Brandon eluded her. How the hell was she supposed to tell Marilyn about her relationship with Brandon when she didn’t know herself?
Marilyn continued, “I am here to support you, and if you’ll let me, to help you. You need to decide, though. I’m going for a walk in the garden if you need me. It’s actually a pleasant morning. The humidity broke. There are clothes for you in your bedroom.”
On her way to the terrace, Marilyn laid her hand on Jackie’s head and stroked down the side of her head to cup her face like a mother might do to a cherished child.
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