by Lisa Jackson
“What?” he asked, drawing her out of her reverie, his expression faintly amused. Almost as if he knew where her thoughts had gone.
Through a partially open window she heard the sound of a car’s engine, and within seconds the nose of a battered red Dodge came into view.
Ross’s gaze centered on the window. “Looks like the prodigal daughter hath returned.”
“Good. Let me handle this.”
“No way…my turn, remember?”
Kristen really wanted to square off with Lissa. After all, she was the one who had set the rules and the punishment, but maybe it was time for Lissa’s father to step up. “Okay, Super Dad, you’re on.”
Chapter 2
They watched as Lissa leaned across the seat and kissed Zeke with enough open-mouthed fervor to make Kristen’s gut clench. Though rain was falling steadily, the drops weren’t enough of a curtain to shield the passion in the kiss.
“She’s giving him tongue, right here? In front of us in the middle of the day?” Ross sounded incredulous.
“Welcome to my world.”
Lissa slid from the SUV’s interior and headed toward the house. “If they kiss like that out in the open, what do they do when they’re alone?”
“We’ve had ‘the talk.’”
“‘The talk’? You mean about sex?”
“Yes, about sex. You know kids today don’t think oral sex is any big deal.”
“I think it’s a very big deal.” He looked shaken.
Where had he been for the past decade? Kristen wondered. Had he been hiding his head in the sand and believing the parents’ age-old foolish notion of “My daughter would never?” If so, it was about time he woke up.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, but his serious tone indicated he recognized the truth when it was served up to him on a platter.
“Wish I were.”
“Has anyone had ‘the talk’ with Zeke?”
“I didn’t take that one on.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Yeah?”
“You know, scare the shit out of the punk.”
“And risk losing your daughter’s respect?”
He snorted. “That’s already shot to shreds anyway. A little tête-à-tête with Zeke sounds imminent.”
Kristen agreed, but said, “You won’t gain any points.”
“Who cares?”
Exactly. “Then maybe you want to reinforce my position that oral sex at sixteen is not okay.”
“Jesus.”
Lissa’s steps slowed as she finally spotted her father’s car. She sent a guilty look toward the kitchen before her shoulders straightened, her chin jutted forward in rebellion, and she strode into the house, her attitude reeking of battle.
She dropped her backpack near the hooks by the door to the garage. Water dripped from her coat and she smelled of rainwater and something else—cigarette smoke? Or worse?
Mascara-rimmed eyes glared up at her father. Her near-black hair, cut short and tipped in shades of pink and gold, was curling and damp. “What’re you doing here?”
“Waitin’ for you. My night.”
“Your night?” she said, barely holding in a sneer. “Since when?”
“Since I got back into town and your mom and I worked out a deal.”
Kristen was about to speak up. There was no deal, but she caught a warning glance from Ross and held her tongue.
“A deal?” Lissa repeated skeptically as she walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. “About me?”
“Yep.”
“Without my consent?” She snagged a Diet Pepsi. “Shouldn’t I have been consulted?”
“Informed,” he corrected as she closed the fridge with a shoulder. “Which I’m doing right now. Come on, we’re going to dinner, then over to my place.”
“What? Why?” she demanded, clearly blindsided.
“Just to hang.”
“You and me?” She turned big eyes toward her mother as she opened her can of soda. “This is okay with you?”
“It was her idea,” Ross said as he reached for his jacket.
“No way!”
Ross moved toward the door. “Come on, grab your stuff. You must have homework.”
“Wait a minute. I can’t leave. Zeke’s coming back and we’re watching television together tonight.”
“Aren’t you grounded?” he asked.
“I’m not supposed to go anywhere, but he’s coming here,” she explained, as if her thinking were entirely logical. “Besides, the whole grounding thing is lame.”
“Then you have notes from your teachers for me?” Kristen asked. “Because nothing came through on my e-mail.”
“Not exactly. They’re working it out.”
“Great. When they do, then we’ll see.”
“God, Mom, this is just so unfair!”
Kristen nodded. “Probably so. Get used to it. And watch your mouth.”
“I’ll handle this,” Ross said, and Kristen decided to let him go for it. Let him deal firsthand with a stubborn, rebellious teenager.
“Good. I’ll let you two work it out.”
As he shepherded a recalcitrant Lissa out the door, Kristen took the time to lift Marmalade from the ground and pet the cat’s soft fur as she walked to the bedroom. She was rewarded with some deep purrs and a wet nose pressed to the inside of her neck. “Yeah, you’re a love,” Kristen said before the orange tabby started struggling and Kristen dropped her onto the edge of the bed…the king-sized bed she’d shared with Ross.
“Don’t go there,” she warned and wouldn’t even guess what Ross was sleeping on now. Maybe just the recliner he’d been so fond of before he’d moved out. “Not your problem.”
But she couldn’t help smiling when she remembered going bed shopping years earlier and how Ross had flopped onto the expensive mattress, crossed his legs, and patted the pillow top next to him. “Should we try it out first? You know, see if it can stand up to us?” he’d whispered.
Kristen had blushed to the roots of her sun-streaked hair before muttering, “In your dreams, Delmonico.”
“All the time,” he’d agreed and as she’d dropped onto the mattress, she’d imagined making love to him on that downy soft bed.
He’d read her mind and told the clerk, “Sold. When can you deliver?”
“Next Thursday,” the bald salesman had said, checking his delivery chart.
Ross had winked at Kristen. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to have your way with me, wife.”
Now Kristen touched the edge of a pillow and sighed. “A long time ago,” she reminded herself and shut her mind to those dangerous thoughts. There had been a time when Ross had meant everything to her. But that was before he’d started his own construction company and worked increasingly long hours. It had gotten so bad that some nights he wouldn’t come home, staying on the job in other cities, making excuses…or so it had seemed. She’d wondered if he was having an affair, had asked him about it and he’d scoffed at her. But there was something in his eyes that had belied his quick denial.
She’d never caught him in a lie.
Never picked up a call from another woman.
Never found a receipt he couldn’t explain.
And yet…
The worst-case scenario was he was a liar and a cheat.
The best case, disinterested in his family.
And what about you? What about his charges that you’d never really gotten over Jake Marcott? Just how much truth is there that his ghost still haunts you, as Ross charged?
She closed her eyes. How much of the failure of their marriage was her fault?
Half?
A quarter?
Did it matter?
In the past few years, Ross had slowly slipped away from her.
Or did you push him?
The headache she’d been fighting flared again, burning behind her eyes. The bottom line was that Ross had nearly disappeared from her life.
But he was here
today, wasn’t he? And he’s with Lissa tonight.
“Too little, too late.” She wouldn’t forget that deep down Ross lived and breathed for Delmonico Construction. His wife and young daughter had become less and less important until Kristen had felt virtually invisible.
In the past two years, nothing she said or did seemed to sink into the man.
So it was a good thing he was dealing with Lissa. A very good thing.
She walked into the bathroom and stopped short when the closed blinds rattled slightly.
How odd, Kristen thought. The window was never open. Never. And yet…She pulled the blinds up and sure enough, there was a space between the sill and the bottom pane. Just wide enough to stick fingers beneath and push open. Water had collected on the window track, indicating that the window had been open for some time.
She frowned at the opening, pushed the window shut, and tried to latch it, but the damned lock, which had always been loose, didn’t click shut.
So who had opened it?
Lissa?
But she never used this bathroom.
Ross?
Nah…he was never here.
But he still has keys.
Why would he come into the bathroom…her bathroom?
It used to be his, too.
Oh, hell, she couldn’t think about this now. She snapped the window shut, forced the latch closed, and decided to ask Ross and Lissa about it later.
She only took the time to brush her teeth, pile her hair onto her head in an untidy knot, and strip out of her work clothes in favor of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and battered running shoes. A dash of lip gloss, then she grabbed her laptop, portable printer, purse, and keys and was out the door.
As she drove to the committee meeting, she grimaced. Her job had lost its luster, she was soon to divorce her husband, her only child acted as if she hated her, and to top things off, it was a rainy night and she was headed to about the last place she wanted to go.
Could her life be any more pathetic?
So it’s finally going to happen.
Twenty long years had passed, twenty years of questions, twenty years of heartbreak, twenty years of fear.
Jake Marcott’s killer smiled inwardly. She had waited a long time for this, been patient, knowing that eventually the Fates would work with, rather than against, her and she’d get her chance to finally settle the score.
After Jake’s death there had been a time of fear and panic. She’d vowed to herself that she had done all that was necessary, but of course, she’d been wrong. She knew about the reunion meeting and itched to be there, a mouse in the corner, listening and planning, knowing that at last it was time to strike again, to right the very old and bitter wrongs.
Get ready, she thought, tucking her hair into a hat and glancing at the overcast skies. She thought back to that night, to seeing Jake’s eyes find her in the moonlight. His teeth had been a slash of amused white, his cocky expression changing as she’d lifted the already-armed crossbow, leveled the heavy weapon at his chest, and let the arrow fly.
Thwack!
Jake Marcott had taken one in the heart.
Right where he deserved it.
She smiled at that memory. Not once in the past twenty years had she regretted Jake’s demise.
Better yet, she’d gotten away with it. She’d left the damning weapon at the scene of the crime, but the stolen crossbow could never be connected to anyone at the dance that night.
No one knew.
She smiled as she looked into the mirror.
Jake Marcott’s murder had never been solved.
And the class of 1986 had never been the same.
There had been no five-year reunion, or ten. No one had said a word when fifteen years had passed, but now, on the eve of the closure of St. Elizabeth’s, the class of ’86 was going to meet one more time.
For some, it would be the last.
Chapter 3
Ricardo’s Restaurant was a bad trip down memory lane. Located only half a mile from St. Elizabeth’s campus, the little eatery was a place where all Kristen’s friends had hung out. Though twenty years had passed and the oncered plastic booths had been recovered in a green faux leather, not much else had changed. The walls were still covered with pictures of softball, basketball, and Little League teams Ricardo’s had sponsored over the years, and the aromas of baking bread, tangy marinara sauce, and garlic still emanated from a kitchen hidden behind the main counter.
She saw the cluster of tables pushed together in one corner near the fireplace. Several women were already seated, and Kris felt a tightening in her gut as she recognized Haylie Swanson and Mandy Kim. Mandy’s dark hair was shorter and her face had rounded, but Haylie looked as if she hadn’t aged or changed one bit since high school. A trim black woman sat near Aurora, probably DeLynn Vaughn, and the other two women…Geez, they looked familiar, but who…oh, God, the heavyset one was Martina Perez and the other woman looked a lot like April Wright, whose mouse-brown hair had become sun streaked, her glasses long gone, her crooked teeth now capped and white.
Strewn over the tabletops were yearbooks, binders, a legal pad, yellowed copies of the school newspaper, class lists and the like. The women were talking, laughing and sipping either beer, wine, or Diet Coke.
Aurora looked up as Kristen wended her way to the tables. “Kris!” Aurora smiled widely and waved her over. “About time.”
“Sorry I’m late. Issues at home.”
“Tell me about it,” DeLynn Vaughn said, rolling her large brown eyes. “I’ve got seven-year-old twins…One might have to be held back, while his sister will be moved on to second grade. I get it, I really do. I’m a teacher, for God’s sake! But that doesn’t make it any easier. Oh, I don’t want to think about it right now.” She flashed a friendly smile. “How have you been, Kris? You’re a big-time reporter for the Clarion, right?”
“Editor,” Aurora corrected.
Kristen shook her head and slid into the empty chair between DeLynn and Aurora. “Associate editor. Not so big-time. You work there long enough, they figure they have to give you a title of some kind.”
“Sure, that’s how it works. They pass out promotions with no thought to talent,” DeLynn said dryly and Kristen smiled despite herself, only to glance up and find Haylie, sober as a judge, staring at her.
Great, Kristen thought. Some things never change. “Hi, Haylie,” she greeted her, deciding to break the ice. “Geez, I haven’t seen you since graduation.”
“You find that odd?” Haylie asked, fingering the stem of an untouched wineglass.
“A little.”
“I guess we’re all just too busy,” Martina said with a shrug. “Jobs, husbands or boyfriends, kids—”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Haylie muttered with a trace of bitterness.
“So…” Kristen dragged out her laptop and switched it on. “Let’s get to it. Thankfully, Aurora’s done a lot of the preliminary work, but I couldn’t bribe her into taking on the job.”
Several of the women chuckled. But not Haylie.
“You earned it,” Aurora said.
“Don’t remind me. Now, let’s see what we’ve got.”
What they had was plenty. Aurora and Martina had already started searching the Internet, using Web sites like Classmates.com to collect as many e-mail and regular mail addresses as they could, all of which were merged into a database. Mandy had elected to put together a booklet of bios of the classmates and DeLynn had contacted the current principal of the school to come up with possible dates for the reunion. They had agreed to make Friday night of the reunion weekend “classmates only” and decided to use Ricardo’s as the venue. Husbands and significant others would be invited to a dinner/dance on Saturday night at the school.
So much like the Valentine’s Day dance twenty years ago, Kristen thought, but held back any objections as everyone else seemed excited about the idea.
“You know, I don’t know why we haven’t had a reunion before,
” Mandy chirped.
“Yeah, we should have done this after ten years…or maybe even five,” April agreed.
“That’s such a load of crap.” Haylie’s voice was a dash of cold water. The skin on her cheekbones tightened as she slid her gaze over all the women. “And we all know why.”
Everyone grew silent; even the piped-in music and ambient surrounding conversations seemed to fade.
“It’s because of Jake Marcott,” Haylie stated. “I told myself that if I came to this, I was going to say exactly what I thought, and I figured that we’d all pretend that what happened to Jake and to Ian was all forgotten. Well, it’s not.”
Kristen said, “I don’t think this is the time to discuss Jake.”
“Yeah, of course not. It never is. Why don’t we pretend it didn’t happen? We’ll all be as fake as we were the last year of high school.”
“Haylie, not now,” Kristen said, uncomfortable in her newfound role as the leader of this group.
“Then when, Kris? When?” she asked. “Ian and Jake have been dead twenty years! Longer than they were alive! Don’t you think we should at least acknowledge them?”
“At the reunion?”
“Here! Now!” She was visibly shaking, her wine slopping over the rim of her glass.
“Later.”
“It is later!”
“Oh, no!” April glanced up as another woman headed their way. Kristen’s heart dropped as she recognized Bella Marcott, Jake’s sister.
“Cool it, Haylie,” Aurora said, but Haylie, already incensed and fueled by a couple of glasses of Merlot, turned angry eyes on Bella.
“Something wrong?” Bella asked, then made a sound of acknowledgment. “You were talking about Jake, right?” Before anyone could answer, she skewered Haylie with a look. “And you’re upset because you still believe he killed your boyfriend.”
“His name was Ian. He wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was someone’s brother and someone’s son. And he was a person. Ian Powers.” Red-faced, tears sheening in her eyes, Haylie stood abruptly, knocking over her wine in the process. The crimson liquid ran like blood. She barely noticed as April and Martina started mopping up the oozing stain with their napkins. “He would have been thirty-nine right now, like some of us. But he never had the chance to go to college or hold a job or get married or have kids, and the damned shame of it is no one but his family remembers him.”