by Kelly Utt
“Maybe you could enlighten me. Over dinner tonight?” Jim asked. He knew they hadn’t been seen in public together, but he was hopeful.
“I don’t know,” Marcheline said. “I have a lot left to do here. I went to lunch with my daughter, and now this. I’m behind on some things, including an afternoon staff meeting I need to lead. It’s harvest season, you know.”
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Jim replied.
“Thank you for understanding.”
“How about this?” he tried. “I’ll eat something now so I won’t be hungry early this evening. I’ll wait on you in case we can steal away for a late bite.”
“I…”
“Right,” Jim added. “No stealing away because that means going out in public. I get it.”
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Marcheline clarified. “I’m just… Well, I’m not really available. I’m sort of married to my business. I know that sounds bad to say, but it’s just how it is.”
“I get it.”
“So, if we are to keep seeing each other…”
“We have to do it in private and around your work schedule.”
Marcheline felt guilty for not being more available. Jim was a genuinely decent guy. So what if he was young enough to be her son? He liked her, and she liked him.
“Listen,” Jim began in a soothing voice. He stepped close to Marcheline and brushed a few wild strands of hair from her eyes, tucking them gently behind one ear. “I want to see you. I’ll be patient. And I’ll do it the way you want. I’ll check with you later this evening. If you get finished here at a reasonable hour, I’ll stop by your house. I can bring takeout. It’ll be fun. Netflix and chill?”
Marcheline was hesitant. She didn’t know what time she’d be finished, and she didn’t want to lead Jim on. Perhaps it would have been better for them both if she let him down easy and cut things off. At least that way, he could find someone who would return his affection fully. Marcheline knew Jim wanted a wife and kids someday. Even if by some remote chance she decided to marry, she was nearing fifty and wouldn’t be bearing any more children. She didn’t want to hold Jim back from the natural order of things. It wouldn’t be fair. He would, no doubt, make a great dad. Marcheline had heard him talk often about the high school kids in his classes. She could tell he had an ease around kids that not everyone does. It seemed almost imperative that he raise a few of his own. But Marcheline’s body craved more of Jim’s touch. He had such a youthful lust for her. His sexual attention made her feel good. It made her feel wanted in a context other than business. Just thinking about a repeat of their afternoon encounter piqued her interest and sent blood rushing to all the right places.
“Okay, fine. Netflix and chill,” she confirmed. “I’ll text you when I’m leaving here. Probably around seven. I’ll wrap up as soon as I can.”
“Yes!” Jim exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. “It’s a date.” Marcheline opened her mouth to correct him, but he corrected himself before she could. “I mean… See you tonight.”
6
There was a knock on Marcheline’s office door just minutes after Jim left. She assumed it was him. Maybe he had forgotten something. “Come in,” she called from a seated position at her desk. She felt warmed by their lovemaking and wouldn’t have minded seeing Jim for a few more minutes. She’d tell him how she had to hurry and get back to work, but secretly, she would enjoy an excuse to spend more time with him.
“It’s me, Ma’am,” Rande called back.
“Oh,'' she said. “Only you, huh?”
“Oh, only me,” Rande teased. “Happy to see you, too.”
“Get in here,” Marcheline replied as Rande stepped through the door.
“Did you enjoy your… Um, what should we call it? Meeting… With young Mr. Bennett?” he asked. “That boy looked all hot and bothered when he left here. What is he, twenty now? Soon you’ll be able to drink together.”
“Is that all you came here to say, old man?” Marcheline asked her friend with a laugh. “Because I really need to get back to work. This place won’t run itself.”
“Yep. Pretty much,” Rande replied as they both chuckled. “But you have a phone call. The guy has been holding for quite some time. Stacy referred it back to me since she knew you were… Shall we say, otherwise occupied.”
“Couldn’t she have taken a message?” Marcheline asked. “Isn’t that why we have a receptionist, anyway?”
“She could have, but I see where she’s coming from. This sounded important. It’s a guy named Bill Henderson, calling from Chicago.”
“Chicago?” Marcheline’s breathing suddenly became shallow as she tried not to panic. There were any number of reasons that a man from Chicago could have been calling related to the business. But that didn’t stop her from fearing the worst.
“Did he say what he wants? To place an order? Or arrange for event space?”
“No. I got on the line and told him he might hold a while, but he said he wanted to wait. I asked him what this was in regard to.”
“And?”
“He wouldn’t tell me a thing,” Rande explained. “He insisted on speaking only to you.”
7
“Hello. Marcheline Fay here,” she said, putting the receiver in one hand and gripping the arm of her office chair tightly with the other.
“Yes, hi there,” a deep male voice replied. “You said it’s Marcheline Fay speaking?”
“That’s right. What can I do for you?”
“Perfect. My name is Bill Henderson. I’m a private investigator based in Chicago and I’m working on a case. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Acting on instinct, Marcheline jumped in her chair as if she’d been struck by lightning. She slammed the receiver down, disconnecting the call. She was in shock. She wrung her hands in her lap, unsure whether her legs would hold her if she tried to stand. It had been a lifetime ago since she had spoken to anyone in Chicago. She had purposely avoided the city and its inhabitants, for good reason. She couldn’t risk anyone finding out who she really was.
Her phone rang again, causing a second jolt. She shifted her gaze to it, mixed emotions moving through her body. By the third ring, anger had won out and taken over.
“Hello?” she said forcefully.
“Ms. Fay, it’s Bill Henderson. From Chicago. I think we got disconnected a few minutes ago.”
“We weren’t disconnected,” Marcheline said. “I hung up the phone.”
“You did?”
“I don’t know anything about Chicago and I don’t much like being bothered at work,” Marcheline explained. “You have two minutes, so make it quick. What do you want?”
“Okay, wow. I wasn’t expecting…”
“Wasting time.”
“Right. I was hired by the family of a man named Chester Loor. He’s serving time in federal prison for a crime they don’t think he committed. I’m trying to help clear his name.”
Marcheline was speechless. She tried desperately to hold on to her anger even though its strength threatened to leave her. She again gripped the arm of her chair tightly. She focused all of her energy on that grip, hoping it might steady her.
“Are you still there?” Bill asked.
“You have one minute left,” she managed.
“I'm calling you because Chester’s father, Norman Loor, received a letter addressed to Chester at his house. It’s signed by you. Or someone posing as you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcheline snapped, even though she knew exactly what he was talking about.
Sabine. My God, what have you done, Sabine? And Norman. The old coot. He never could leave well enough alone.
“If you would allow me… Um, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Bill continued, talking as fast as he could.
“No.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. Ms. Fay, if you won’t answer my questions, I’ll have no choice but to turn the letter over to the authorities.�
��
Marcheline’s face grew hot like fire and she felt as if the room was closing in on her. But she was determined not to crumble. She hadn’t worked this long and hard for the life she had to let herself fall apart in the face of adversity.
“You do what you want. I didn’t send the letter. And this doesn’t concern me,” she said boldly. Then she hung up the phone with a bang.
8
“Rande, I’m going out,” Marcheline said as she blew by his office on her way out the front door, fishing through her bag for car keys as she walked. She didn’t slow down enough to even hear her friend’s response. “Hold my calls,” she said to Stacy. “And don’t give out my mobile phone number.”
“I wouldn’t…” Stacy began, the alarm evident in her voice. She didn’t finish her sentence.
Stacy Shepard was a blonde, thirty-something sorority-girl type. She looked like she was made from the same mold as Jim Bennett. The two of them could pass for siblings. She was a nice lady and did good work for Maison du Vin, but she wasn’t someone Marcheline wanted to confide in. She certainly wasn’t a friend like Rande.
“But… The staff meeting…” she tried.
“If there’s an emergency, Rande will handle it,” Marcheline called as she made her way out the door. “I won’t be back today.”
With keys in hand, Marcheline sifted through her handbag, this time to find her smartphone. She felt clumsy, as if there was suddenly a disconnect between her hands and her brain. She remembered this feeling. It had been a long time, but it wasn’t a feeling one could easily forget.
It took longer than it should have to locate the phone and get it unlocked. Marcheline found Sabine’s number and initiated a call as she got into the driver’s seat of her Land Rover.
No answer.
She fumbled with the phone some more as she put the car into gear and backed out of her parking space. She tried her daughter again.
Still, no answer.
This time she left a voicemail. “Sabine, it’s Mom. I need to speak to you immediately. I’m coming to you. On my way.”
Hot tears welled up in her eyes as she pushed the button to end the call. She wondered how her daughter could have been so foolish. Marcheline didn’t have to guess how Bill Henderson had gotten his hands on her letter or what he now knew after reading its contents. Sabine had been the only other person with access to that letter. Not to mention, she had been the only person with reason to mail it.
Marcheline scolded herself for ever having written the letter in the first place. She had done so when Sabine was a baby. It had happened during her college years when she was a young, single mom trying hard to get her mind right. Marcheline had watched an Oprah Winfrey Show episode where a life coach suggested that getting your feelings out and onto paper would help heal emotional wounds. Marcheline could still see the woman’s face, looking wise and confident as she told Oprah and her worldwide viewing audience how much writing such a letter would help. She had sounded so sure. The woman had emphasized how the healing effect would happen by writing a letter to the person who had hurt you, even if you never gave the letter to that person. She said it was part of the forgiveness process to tell the person who had wronged you exactly how their actions made you feel.
Chester and Marcheline had hurt each other. She needed to both air her hurts and apologize for the ones she’d caused him.
Seeking relief and endeavoring to better herself, Marcheline had followed the woman’s advice and written a letter to Chester. She had never intended to mail it. She’d sealed the envelope and written the address on the front, but hadn’t been sure why she’d gone to the extra trouble. Maybe it had felt more real that way. Or maybe a part of her thought the letter would be found and mailed some day in the distant future when Marcheline was dead and gone. That might have been okay, depending on Sabine’s circumstances.
As she sped down the road toward Sabine and Ryan’s house, Marcheline’s phone rang, it’s familiar chime bringing her back to the present moment. She looked at the display, relieved to see Sabine’s name and smiling face.
“Sabine!” Marcheline said as the car connected to the vehicle's audio system.
“Mom is everything okay? You sound weird. I’m not mad about lunch. We can talk about it some more.”
“No,” Marcheline replied. “Well, yes. I mean, no one is hurt or anything. Yet…”
“Yet?” Sabine asked, puzzled. “Mom?”
“Yes, yes. I’m here. I’ll explain when I see you. I’m on my way to your house. Are you home?”
“I am. Me and Amelie. Ryan is at work. But you’re kind of scaring me. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I will when I get there,” Marcheline reiterated. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
As soon as she ended the call with her daughter, another call came in. This time, it was Leonard. Seeing his name and smiling face on the display was usually a pleasant experience, but not today. Marcheline had little time or patience this afternoon for anything other than her conversation with Sabine. She needed to think things through and come up with a plan. But Leonard was perceptive. If Marcheline avoided him, he’d get the idea that something was wrong and come looking for her. She decided she might as well answer to avoid it becoming an issue.
“Leonard, my darling,” Marcheline said, trying to sound as normal as possible. “How is your afternoon going?”
“It’s going quite well, thank you,” he replied. Marcheline thought his voice sounded like it belonged to a banker, although she couldn’t say exactly what that meant. “I’m calling to check in. I wanted to see how your day has been so far.”
“You’re so good to me,” she said. For a moment, the thought of Leonard’s loving care made her smile and forget about everything else that was happening. She was skilled at pushing things out of her mind. It was a proficiency she had honed after a lot of practice.
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re my best girl.”
“Such a doll you are,” Marcheline said. “Things are fine. Pretty much a typical day at the office. I stepped out to have lunch with Sabine. Ended up bringing sandwiches back for me and Rande.” She hated to lie.
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Yeah, nothing too out of the ordinary,” Marcheline explained. “Maybe a little attitude from my only child. It happens. I’ll tell you about it next time we see each other.”
“I hope that will be soon.”
“Me, too,” she replied. “I always enjoy your company.”
“Are you working late tonight?”
“I’m not sure yet. As you know, it’s harvest season. There’s a lot to do.”
“Take it easy there. It’s important to pace yourself so you don’t get burned out. I speak from experience,” Leonard explained.
Marcheline liked how wise Leonard was, but she sometimes resented his advice. She didn’t want to need a man, preferring instead to be self-reliant in every way.
“I know it,” she replied. “I hear you. I’ve been down that road before myself and it isn’t pretty. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care.”
“Good then. We’ll speak again soon.”
Marcheline and Leonard said their goodbyes and ended their phone call just as Marcheline turned into Sabine’s neighborhood. She glanced in the rearview mirror and straightened her earring that had gotten twisted as she coasted across the final, familiar stretch of road to Sabine’s red bungalow.
A white picket fence stood proudly out front at 16 Songbird Way, a tidy boundary to mark the edge of the property. Elaborate landscaping covered the entire front yard, including flowers in front of the fence and native grasses and shrubs close to the porch. Three stone stairs lead to the covered porch, and a wooden front door was adorned with a round autumn wreath to welcome guests. To complete the look and the homey vibe, a porch swing hung from a linked chain while soft pillows bearing pumpkin and acorn prints waited on each side of its wide, wooden slat seat. The house was a cozy an
d beautiful place to live.
Marcheline had purchased the home as a wedding gift for her daughter and new son-in-law when they married a few years prior. She had let Sabine pick it out with the help of a local realtor and then had taken care of the cash purchase and the paperwork to get the property in Sabine and Ryan’s names. Marcheline was gratified having been able to do it, one of the best rewards for all the hard work she’d put in over the years. It was the kind of luxury that made her sacrices all worthwhile.
As Marcheline pulled into the driveway, she placed her hand on the lever to open the door before she even had the vehicle in park. She was doing her best to remain calm, but she didn’t want to waste any time. She left her handbag in the car. She didn’t plan to be there for long. She took her keys and phone with her as she knocked on the door and stepped inside.
“Sabine, my darling, I’m here!” she announced.
Marcheline didn’t wait for her daughter to appear. She went directly back to Amelie’s room, then pulled a bag out of her closet and began packing it with clothes and blankets. She went methodically over a list of necessities in her mind as she filled the bag, adding diapers, toys, and Amelie’s little pillow. She wasn’t sure when they’d be back. She wasn’t sure if they’d be back.
“Mom!” Sabine exclaimed as she arrived in the doorway and saw what Marcheline was doing.
“Now you’re really scaring me. Are you packing an overnight bag?”
“Yes,” Marcheline confirmed. “We have to go right away. Pack a bag for yourself and meet me in the car.”
“Are you insane?”
“I wish I were,” Marcheline replied. “This is very real and I’m very serious. Pack a bag for yourself. We have to leave.”
Sabine looked baffled as she worked to process the scene unfolding in front of her. “This is my home, Mom. I have a husband and a baby. This is my life. I will not leave it.”
Marcheline walked over to her daughter and placed her hands firmly on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “We’re in danger. We must go. Right now.”