“Who says serial killers aren’t escapist? I’ve never met one. I don’t think.” I nodded toward the empty spot next to me. “You can sit down, if you want. I’m honestly not a psycho.”
He glanced toward the front of the store, which was still dead quiet. “I should probably do inventory.”
“Inventory will still be there later.” I patted the couch. “Sit.”
He sat. “Are you always this persistent?”
“Yes,” I said, turning sideways on the couch toward him, my left leg bent between us. “I’m not in the same league as your mother or anything, but…”
He laughed. “She’s in a league of her own, for sure.”
“I like her. There aren’t many people in the world who would take a perfect stranger under their wing like she did for me.”
“She’s like that.” He leaned back, stretching out his legs. “Mason is completely attached to her. I’m just glad he has a female influence around that he can count on.”
Huh. An opening? Could I ask questions without disrupting the invisible boundary that seemed to be surrounding the mysterious ex-wife? No, probably not. Too soon.
I rested my head on the back of the couch, my gaze still fixed on him. The store was cozy and warm, and I felt like I could close my eyes and sleep for days right where I sat. Ryan yawned, like the sleepy vibe had infected him too. For a moment, I wondered what would happen if we dozed off here, together, on this soft couch, our bodies mere inches apart—
The door opened then, jolting me out of my stupor. Ryan got up and headed out front while I stayed put. Moments later I heard him talking to a deep-voiced man, something about a book the man had ordered that wasn’t in yet. When he left, Ryan came back to sit beside me again, seeming more comfortable now.
“Do you run this place all by yourself or are there other employees?” I asked, sliding the elastic out of my hair and re-doing my ponytail.
“There’s a girl who works the cash when I’m not here. Ariella. And Nicole helps out when she feels like it. She likes you, by the way. My sister.” He tossed me a smile. “In a platonic way, I mean.”
I laughed. “I like her in a platonic way too. She’s great. Your whole family’s great.”
“I guess that means you’re coming to dinner again tomorrow? I think it’s Japanese night. Mom cooks all these dishes that Kenji’s grandmother used to make for him when he was a kid.”
“Mmm, I love Japanese food.” My appetite stirred, and I realized how little I’d eaten today. I suppose I could’ve left now, gotten something to eat, gone back to the Brogans’ house for a nap, but this couch was too damn comfortable and I liked having company. “Has your family always been like that?” I asked after a pause.
“Like what?”
“Sunday dinners, backyard baseball, everyone in each other’s business…” I shrugged. “You all seem so close.”
“Yeah,” he said, like a happy, functional family wasn’t unusual. Maybe it wasn’t. “Why? What was your childhood like?”
I snorted and flung my ponytail over my shoulder. “Nothing like yours. It was always just me and my mother, and we mostly stayed out of each other’s way. She pretty much let me run wild and raise myself.”
“Is that why you think rules don’t apply to you? Because you never had any growing up?”
I glanced up to see if he was joking around, and he was. The way his mouth twitched, working to suppress a smile, gave him away every time. “I don’t think rules don’t—” I stopped, feeling flustered. “Look, you’re the one who has a contraband bottle of water by the cash register.”
“I also have a couple of Snickers bars,” he said.
“Hypocrite.” My mouth watered at the thought of chocolate and peanuts. “I should probably go now, or else I might start gnawing on this upholstery.”
He told me hang on for a second and got up, disappearing into the stacks. When he came back a few moments later, he had the Ann Rule paperback in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other. He sat down and slid both items across the couch cushion toward me. I looked up at him, surprised.
“Turns out I am a sucker for a pretty face,” he said.
Chapter 11
The McMansion in Redwood Hills was even more museum-like than usual when I let myself in on Thursday evening after work. I pocketed my house key and crept down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Breaking and entering?”
I jumped several inches in the air and smashed my elbow off the wall. “Jesus Christ¸” I yelped, backtracking to the threshold of the formal living room. My stepfather was in there, removing paintings from the walls. He must’ve been in the corner, hidden from view, when I walked by. “What the hell are you doing?”
He carefully placed the frame against the fireplace along with several others. “The house sold. I’m just getting things ready for packing.”
I stood in the doorway, rubbing my sore elbow. “It sold already? It’s only been on the market for two weeks.” I wasn’t really surprised, though. Redwood Hills was a sought-after neighborhood and people didn’t often move out of it.
“Closing date is June twentieth,” Alan said, brushing off his hands. He wore jeans and a Polo shirt, his customary casual wear. He must’ve been on one of his rare vacations from work.
“That’s less than a month away.” I swung a hand out, indicating the paintings and furniture. “Where’s all this going?”
He crossed the room to take down a framed picture of Drake and Lila as babies, sitting together on a patch of grass. “Most of it will go into storage,” he said, turning to stack the picture with the others.
“I want that,” I said quickly, jolting forward. “The picture.”
He handed it to me, brows raised. I gazed down at my baby brother and sister, drank in the little faces I missed so much. “Have you talked to them lately?”
“The twins?”
Suddenly, I was too upset to even come up with a sarcastic retort. All I could do was nod.
“Yesterday. They’re doing fine.” He glanced at me, standing there with the picture pressed to my chest. “Have you spoken to them at all?”
“Your parents won’t let me,” I said, my tone bitter enough to make him cringe and turn away.
“Well,” he said, pretending to sift through the stack of wall art so he could avoid my fiery glare. “They’ve adjusted just fine. My sister helps out a lot too, you know. She sees them often.”
The knots in my stomach uncoiled a little bit, hearing this. Alan’s sister, Tamara, was a single, childless woman in her forties who lived in the same town as her parents. I’d met her twice and found her shockingly nice and normal. The twins loved her.
“Are you here for any particular reason?” Alan asked when I continued to stand there, glowering and mute. “Clearly you’ve moved out—without so much as a good-bye, I might add—so you can’t just use your key to come and go as you please.”
“I’m missing an expensive pair of earrings and I wanted to see if they were in my room,” I said, then forced myself to loosen my grip on the picture frame before it shattered across the hardwood. “And why would I want to say good-bye to you?”
I turned to go, only making it a couple of steps before he tossed out the words he’d probably been savoring since he saw me.
“I know where your mother is.”
I paused in the doorway and swiveled around. He stood there by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel and a half-smirk resting on his face. God, he was irritating. Instead of begging for scraps of info like he obviously wanted me to do, I just looked at him and waited.
“She called again a couple of days ago,” he said when he realized I wasn’t going to bite. “She’s in Florida, shacked up with some local business owner she’s been secretly fucking for months. He has a vacation house in Pompano Beach. Apparently, she’d been plotting her escape for a while.”
Deep down I’d known this, that her leaving wasn’t a spontaneous thing, but it still
felt like a blow to the gut. She hadn’t just lost it one day and decided to run away. No, the idea had rooted itself into her head and then she’d nurtured it until it grew into a full-blown plan. Ditching her life and home and children had been a selfish, premeditated act, and for some reason this made me hate her even more.
“If she ever does come back,” Alan went on, “she’ll be coming back to nothing. No house, no husband, no kids…Serves the bitch right.”
Like he was any better—screwing around, rarely home, married to his job. Even when he was here, he was never truly present. I felt a rush of sadness for Drake and Lila, having been born into a family like this, to parents like these.
“Go fuck yourself, Alan,” I said. No longer concerned about the earrings, I walked out the front door for what was surely the last time. I wouldn’t miss the place. Without the twins here to make it feel like home, it was just a big, ugly house.
* * *
I woke up the following morning to Taylor hovering over the bed. “Wha?” I mumbled, blinking up at her. Was she levitating? No…she was just leaning over me, yanking at the blankets.
“It’s my day off at the restaurant and your day off at the gym, and that means we’re going to hang out,” she said.
“What time is it?” My head ached, but not from a vodka hangover. This time, the pain was the result of rage and muffled crying. I wondered if Taylor’s father or stepmother had called her last night, concerned because I’d fled directly to my room the moment I got in. I hadn’t meant to worry them; I just didn’t feel up to company after dealing with Alan. I still didn’t. But apparently I wasn’t allowed to hole up in here and feel sorry for myself today.
“Nine-thirty,” Taylor replied, jiggling my pillow. “Dad’s golfing, Lynn’s at work, Jamie’s at school, and there’s coffee brewing downstairs as we speak. Organic Sumatra.”
Suddenly revived, I sat up and swung my legs off the bed. “You are too good to me, Tay.”
“I know.”
Five minutes later, we were seated at the kitchen table with steaming cups of coffee and buttered toast in front of us. As we ate, I told her the latest news on my mother.
“Florida,” Taylor said, holding a triangle of toast halfway between the table and her mouth. “She’s been there this whole time?”
I nodded. “At least she’s not stuffed in some nutcase’s freezer, I guess.” God, I really did read too many psycho murderer stories.
“Yeah, but I can’t even fathom it…abandoning your small children so you can go relax on the beach? Can you imagine doing that to your kids?”
“No,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Because she’s the main reason I’m not having kids. Whatever’s damaged in her might be genetic.”
She bit into her toast. “Oh, come on. You’re amazing with Lila and Drake. Your nurturing instinct is far from damaged.”
“Maybe giving birth changes a person, though. All those hormones. Why risk it?”
Taylor shook her head and then thankfully changed the subject. “So how are things going? Is staying here working out okay for you?”
“Great,” I said. “I really appreciate your dad and Lynn doing this for me.”
She sipped her coffee and grinned. “Dad mentioned that Jamie’s developed quite the crush on you.”
“If bolting out of the room whenever he sees me counts as a crush, then I guess he has.”
“He’s probably bragging about you to his friends at school right now,” she said, reaching down to pet Leo, the family’s old golden retriever, who was positioned by the table hoping for toast crusts. When he didn’t receive any, he let out a dog-sigh and ambled over to the glass door leading to the deck. “I should probably walk him,” Taylor said, draining her mug. “His bladder control isn’t what it used to be.”
“I’ll go with you.”
I threw on some clothes, twisted my hair into a bun, and met her on the back deck. Leo spun in a circle when he saw me, thrilled with the extra company.
“What’s Michael doing today?” I asked as we started down the sidewalk. My head felt clearer already. The weather was perfect—sunny with a light, refreshing breeze.
“Working.” She twined Leo’s leash around her wrist and let out a sigh. “I’ve barely seen him this week. We’ve been on opposite shifts since Saturday. Seems like the only time we’re in the same room together is when we’re sleeping.”
“That must be frustrating.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “In more ways than one.”
She laughed. “Tell me about it. We rarely go as long as a week.”
“Ha,” I said, swerving around a gouge in the pavement. “Try going a year.”
We paused to let Leo water a shrub and Taylor turned to gawk at me. “Seriously? You haven’t had sex in a year? Since Spencer?”
I nodded. Spencer was a guy I’d dated for a couple of months last spring. Nice guy, but also needy and insecure, not to mention a total bore. In bed and out. I was surprised we’d lasted as long as we did.
“Wow,” she mumbled. “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot less deprived.”
“It’s just a dry spell,” I said, only half-paying attention now as we passed by the bungalow I used to live in with my mother. The new owners had repainted the trim and planted some flowers, but it still looked old and run-down. I tore my gaze away from it and focused again on Taylor. “Maybe I just need to find some guy to take my frustrations out on, no-strings-attached.”
She nudged me with her free arm. “How about the DILF?”
Heat crept up my cheeks as the image of me straddling a naked, prone Ryan filled my head. Jesus. How did I go from innocent activities like sharing a Snickers bar with him at the bookstore and eating Japanese food at his parents’ house to fantasizing about that? I shook away this vivid mental picture and said, “I told you already, guys with kids and ex-wives are off limits. Too complicated.”
“Uh huh.” She studied my obviously flushed face, her smile teasing. “Seems to me like Jamie isn’t the only one with a little crush.”
I ignored this and took the leash from her. Leo, distracted with sniffing every tree and pole that he came across, didn’t even notice. “There’s this guy I met last weekend…at the gym,” I said, purposely avoiding the word “club.” I hated lying to her, even about little things, but I hated seeing her disappointed/concerned face even more. “His name is Cody. He’s really hot. Maybe I’ll seduce him.”
After I said this, I wondered why I’d even brought it up. Guys like Cody—bad boys who drank and did drugs and who knows what else—were just as off limits as guys like Ryan. Or at least they were supposed to be. These days, I wasn’t exactly honoring all the promises I’d made to myself.
We walked to the end of the long street, which was as far as Leo could go nowadays, and then doubled back. Again, as we passed the old house, my gaze was drawn there almost involuntarily. “Think they’d let me go in and look around?”
Taylor’s forehead creased as she followed my gaze. “Look around your old house? Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “For nostalgia’s sake?”
She gave me a funny look, then motioned toward the bungalow. “Go ahead. Want me to go with you?”
“Nah.” I handed her the leash. “Take Leo back to your dad’s and I’ll meet you there.”
She nodded, shrugged, and then continued down the sidewalk with Leo. When they were a few yards away, I headed up the driveway I’d treaded on a thousand times before and rang the bell. The door swung open a minute later, revealing a plump, thirty-something woman with curly black hair.
“Yes?” she asked in that cautious what-are-you-selling tone people used when they discovered a stranger at their door.
“Hi,” I said, smiling widely at her. She returned it, tentative. “I used to live here a few years ago and I was wondering if I could come in and look around for a few minutes. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh,” she said, her stance relaxing somewhat. She looked me over fo
r a few moments, silently assessing. Luckily, I was one of those people whose looks and demeanor gave off a very non-threatening vibe. With my big, long-lashed eyes, cute little nose, and slender frame, I didn’t exactly personify your typical homicidal maniac.
Finally, the woman decided I wasn’t about to bludgeon her to death and invited me inside. But I could still feel her watching me carefully as I stepped into the small entryway and looked around. The first thing I noticed was that the living room walls had been painted a bright, sunny yellow.
“How long did you live here?” asked the woman, who’d introduced herself as Kathleen.
“Six years. We moved out about four years ago.” I turned the corner into the kitchen, which was also transformed. The scratched, faded counter top had been replaced with a shiny dark one, the vinyl floor ripped up and laid with ceramic tile. The ancient, derelict appliances were gone too, swapped with simple-but-new ones. It looked like another kitchen altogether. Another house.
“My husband and I did a lot of renovations,” Kathleen said, glancing around with a small, pleased smile, like she was still proud of what they’d accomplished. And no wonder. The decaying dump I’d lived in with my mother was now a cute little starter home. “We’re not finished yet,” she added, smoothing a hand over her stomach, which I’d just noticed was bulging beneath her loose-fitting shirt. Ah. She wasn’t plump, she was pregnant. “Still have some landscaping to do, and more painting. The painting never ends, it seems.”
I nodded like I could relate and motioned toward the hallway. “Can I…?
“Sure.”
She stepped in front of me and led the way. As I walked through the house, more vivid images flashed through my mind, these ones much less pleasant than the naughty one from before. Me at eleven, all alone, eating Pop Tarts for dinner and watching TV on the old-fashioned second-hand set that never showed a clear picture. Me at fourteen, smoking cigarettes in the tiny bathroom and listening to the incessant drip of the faucets. Me at sixteen, bringing a boy home to an empty house and hoping he wouldn’t notice the subtle odor of mildew that never went away. Me, banging out the front door, smiling as the wind hit my face because it meant that soon I’d be somewhere that wasn’t here.
Until Now Page 9