by Gail Cleare
“Good morning,” she said in a cheery voice. “I saw a beautiful sunrise this morning.”
Mom’s eyes smiled.
“Winston is spending the day with Adam.” Nell reached into her bag to unpack the magazines and books she’d brought.
Mom’s brow furrowed, and her eyes looked curious.
“Oh yes, I’ve met him too. Very nice and extremely handsome. Tall, like his father. But a lot friendlier.”
Her mother’s eyes smiled again.
“I love the cottage, Mom. It’s a magical place. The lake is gorgeous, and so is your yard.”
Mom tried to nod, but the ventilator was in the way.
“I can certainly see why you are so attracted to this place. It has a relaxing atmosphere.” She looked her mother straight in the eye and couldn’t resist adding, “I can almost understand why you kept it a secret from us… for all this time.”
Mom’s eyes began to tear up. She motioned toward the pad and pen on the bedside table. Nell held it for her while she wrote, “SORRY,” and then in a shakier hand, “LOVE.”
“I love you too, Mom. Don’t worry. It’s okay. I just wish I knew what was going on.” She leaned over and gently stroked her mother’s forehead. She started to hug her, but all the tubes and wires kept them apart.
Mom lay mute, her eyes stricken. She struggled with the pencil uselessly, her hand shaking.
“Don’t worry, just rest now. We can talk about it later.”
Nell took out the novel she’d brought and read aloud for an hour or so. Mom lay peacefully and listened. Eventually, the nurse came to beckon Nell out to the hallway.
“She’s due for her medication now,” Jennifer said. “That should make her sleep for a few hours. Why don’t you take a walk, get some lunch? You can bring it back in here if you like.”
Nell got directions to the library, which was at the other end of the town green next to the church. Between the hospital and the library was a strip of commercial buildings with a little market and café. Park benches and picnic tables edged the perimeter of the rectangular, grassy park. A cluster of playground equipment was arranged on the far end, where she was headed. Nell walked down the sidewalk, swinging her bag and feeling a bit giddy in the crisp green Vermont air.
The library was a beautifully restored antique building with a modern addition on the back. Landscaped with bright flowerbeds, brick walkways, and wrought-iron light fixtures, it invited exploration. She entered through the front door of the older section and walked down the center hallway toward the addition, where a modern kiosk housed the librarians.
Nell recognized one of them immediately as the pink lady from the hospital. She wore a gray skirt and blue sweater and little reading glasses balanced on the end of her nose. Her name tag said, Doris Barton, Assistant Librarian.
“Well, hi there, honey,” Doris said in a soft voice as Nell approached. “How’s your mother doing?”
Her assistant, who looked like a high-school girl, was stacking books onto a trolley. She smiled at Nell and wheeled it away. A mother with two youngsters waved at Doris and went out the swinging doors to the parking lot.
“She’s better, thanks.” Nell took Mom’s novel out of her bag and put it on the counter, saw the sign that said QUIET PLEASE, and lowered her voice. “I’ve been reading to her. She really enjoys it. This needs to be renewed. Can you help?”
“Sure,” Doris said, flipping the back cover open to stamp the reminder card. Then her fingers flew over the computer keyboard for a moment. “All set. Two more weeks.” She flipped the book cover closed. “So,” she said quietly and pulled down her glasses to peer at Nell over them. “Did you get settled in down by the lake?”
“Yes, I love the cottage.”
“How about the neighbors?” Doris raised her eyebrows.
“Um, well, they’re fine, I mean… oh. You mean Jake, don’t you?” Nell interpreted the look the woman was sending her. “Jake Bascomb?”
Doris nodded. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”
Nell remembered the figure in the backyard the previous night. She shivered, still spooked. “Why would he be bothering me?”
“There’s a lot of people around here who are put off by that man,” Doris said, her voice nearly a whisper. “Especially after what happened to his wife.”
Nell whispered back. “What did happen to her? He started to say something about it, but we were interrupted.”
“She was found dead, drowned in the lake. He was taken in for questioning, but they let him go. Lots of people thought the police should have done more to find out what really happened.” Doris reached over to pat Nell’s hand. “You watch out, honey. I heard he had your mother out in his sailboat a few days ago, and she went overboard. The water’s cold even this time of year. She was probably in shock when she got so sick.”
“Oh my God.” Nell’s mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide with shock. Her intuitions about Jake seemed to be right on target. “I can’t believe he would endanger her.” Nell’s voice got louder and heated. “No wonder he acted so uncomfortable with me. He must have known I’d be furious when I found out.”
Doris nodded. “Just don’t you be alone with that man. They say he has quite a temper.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Nell. “He drinks sometimes. More than he should.”
Nell put the book back into her bag, said good-bye to Doris, and went outside to walk down the sidewalk in a daze. She stopped at the little café and ordered a sandwich to go, sitting at a table outside with a cup of coffee while she waited. Contemplating what she’d learned, she took out her cell phone and called Bridget.
Her sister answered on the second ring. “Hi, Nell, how’s Mom?”
Nell filled her in on the situation, answering questions about the medications and prognosis.
“What did Maplewood say?” she asked Bridget.
“You won’t believe it. They actually made up some cock-and-bull story about Mom being picked up by our cousin.”
“Our what?”
“They say Mom was picked up, and not for the first time, by a man who she told them is her nephew. Some guy named Adam. They said he was very polite, and Mom seemed totally comfortable leaving with him. Do you think she was kidnapped?”
“I just met someone here named Adam.”
“A big tall guy, forties? Brown hair? That was their description,” Bridget said.
Nell frowned. “Yes, it must be him.”
Adam Bascomb was the explanation for how Mary had gotten back and forth from Maplewood to Vermont since she’d surrendered her driver’s license. He’d been giving her rides.
Inside the café, a woman called out Nell’s name. Her sandwich was ready.
“Let me call you back. I need to investigate this,” she said to Bridget. “We have a lot to talk about. Don’t do anything until you hear from me, okay?”
“I’m catching a plane to Vermont in a few hours. We can talk in person then.”
“That’s great news. I’ll text you the address.”
The picture was starting to fill in, Nell thought as she picked up her lunch and walked back to the hospital. Mom was even more deeply involved with these two men than Nell had originally guessed. Resolved to uncover the whole story, she pulled Adam’s business card out of her pocket and read the address more carefully.
Chapter 12
Bridget ~ 2014
Bridget stepped out of the shower and inspected her body in the full-length mirror as she toweled off. Everything still seemed to be holding up reasonably well, thank goodness. She slipped into a robe, sat down at the makeup table, and towel dried her hair. Shaping it with a round brush, she blew it dry and clipped it back from her face to work on her makeup. There it was, the little bruise on her jaw. She frowned and reached for the conceal
er stick to blot it out.
Eric had grabbed her by the chin again. He had gone too far this time. A little bit rough was okay, but his attitude was out of line. There was a sneer in his voice lately. Her eyes hardened as she gazed at herself, the usual insecurities erased by anger.
Bridget hated it when people underestimated her intelligence because she was a fluffy, beautiful blonde and her favorite color was pink. She’d been feeling for quite a while that Eric thought she was stupid.
Well, she wasn’t. And if he didn’t know that by now, then Eric was the one with a problem in the IQ department. Bridget knew more than Eric realized about lots of things, their financial situation being one of them. When money first started to disappear from their joint accounts, she’d gone on alert like a cat who heard a rustle in the bushes. They had bought the house together with cash, but now there was a mortgage bill being sent to Eric’s office. Bridget had spotted it in a pile of mail when she met him there one day. He must have forged her signature on the papers.
Bridget patted powder over the makeup on her jaw, hiding the bruise. She frowned at her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and the mascara was a tiny bit smeared, so she reached for a tissue and carefully fixed it.
There she was, ideally cast to be the beautiful princess in the fairy-tale castle, longing for love and happiness and ending up with the goblin instead of the prince—over and over again. When would she fall in love with the hero for a change?
She sighed and straightened her shoulders. There was really no question at all about what to do next. Bridget carried a lot of guilt around, but she was a survivor. She could move out of the house and leave Eric with his secret mortgage, have her own life, maybe even be single for a while.
After this trouble is all over, maybe I’ll try to find my daughter one more time. Check the online adoption directories, see if any new listings have turned up.
Several times, Bridget had typed in her baby’s birthplace and date and hit the search button, waiting with her breath held while the arrow symbol on the screen twisted round and round. Time and again, the results had come up empty.
Maybe she should speak to the adoption-agency people in person. Be persuasive. Bridget was good at being persuasive. She could read her audience and give them what they wanted. Yes, even manipulate them. Not appreciating that was Eric’s biggest mistake. He believed she was weak, but she was really just expressing her genius for adaptation, her chameleon nature. He felt satisfied and victorious while she subtly steered things her way.
Soon, all of their secrets would be out in the open. His and hers.
Bridget’s secret was personal, a secret of the heart that she’d be happy to reveal to the world if she ever had the chance. Her intuition told her that Eric’s secrets were another kind entirely.
It was time to get dressed and go to Georgetown, where she owned an adorable townhouse. That property was in her own name, thank goodness. Downstairs were her interior-design offices, and upstairs was the small but elegant apartment into which she had been gradually moving her most essential personal belongings. Bridget had learned something from her previous divorces. She was ready for whatever might happen.
Bridget chose a deep-eggplant silk dress and jacket with matching soft leather pumps. Her long strand of perfect, creamy pearls and dangling pearl-and-diamond earrings completed the polished look. She had packed a wide assortment of comfortable, casual clothes for her trip, figuring she wouldn’t need much else up in the woods. Her good jewelry went into a soft padded fabric envelope that fit into the bottom of her purse.
She probably wouldn’t be coming back to this house for quite some time, if ever, so she filled garment bags with formal evening wear and coats to bring over to the townhouse in Georgetown. Making several trips up and down the stairs, she filled up her Mercedes until there was barely enough room to see out the back.
Lulubelle sat on her favorite window seat in the kitchen and watched this activity with growing concern. She knew what suitcases meant.
“Want to come with Mama, baby?” Bridget crooned, and Lulu raised her front legs like a dancer, begging to be picked up. Bridget snapped on a leash, zipped the dog into her pet carrier, and looked around the house one last time. She went out the door to the garage and pulled it shut behind her.
As she drove through the immaculate streets toward the security gate, Bridget thought about the years she had spent in this community. She realized with surprise that she had never met most of her neighbors. She’d seen their names on the mailboxes, but she didn’t know where they worked, how the couples had met, or what their hobbies were.
When she and Eric had first moved in, they were invited to a holiday party across the street, but he needed to work that night. The rare times Bridget went outside, she usually stayed within the tall redwood fence that surrounded their backyard pool.
It all looked so perfect, so cozy. So desirable. The great American dream. But what secrets lurked inside those fabulous homes? Maybe they were just as dark and miserable as the ones in Eric and Bridget’s house.
Bridget’s left eye began to twitch. She put on her sunglasses and smiled at the handsome guard who waved her through the gate. Accelerating toward the entrance to the Beltway, she left her old life behind in the swirling dust.
Bridget worked at her desk for most of the day, wrapping up as much paperwork as she could before her trip. Her office was littered with bright paint swatches, tile and carpet samples, and display boards with samples of moldings and brass hardware. The space had a busy, creative atmosphere.
The sunny room felt successful, designed to impress clients when they came in for a private meeting. The furniture was antique, in perfect condition and upholstered in beautiful pale colors. Triple-swagged window curtains in rose and gold, with embroidered tapestry tiebacks, adorned the tall windows. A pink floral eighteenth-century Aubusson carpet covered the floor. Comfortable chairs flanked a tufted pale-peach silk-covered sofa that featured an ornate hand-carved frame with a pierced-grape motif. Soft brocade pillows were arranged artfully in its corners.
Lulubelle waited patiently in a gilded wicker dog bed on a pink velvet pillow, posed as though for a magazine spread. She lifted her head every time someone came in or went out, on the alert for Bridget’s next move.
Bridget met with each of her assistants and doled out assignments so that things would run smoothly in her absence. Her employees were all dedicated and talented. Anyhow, she would be in touch by phone and laptop. There was nothing to worry about.
Nothing to do with work, anyway. One thing was nagging her, though. It was odd, considering how shallow and unpleasant their relationship had always been, but Bridget found herself worrying about Eric’s daughter, Heather.
They had never gotten along. But there it was, annoyingly persistent: maternal concern.
Bridget looked at her watch and made a decision. The exclusive private school that Heather attended would soon be getting out for the day. There was just enough time for her to stop by before everyone went home. She could go straight to the airport from there. Putting Lulu’s pet carrier in the backseat with her luggage, Bridget drove to the dignified mansion that housed the school and parked in front of the entrance.
When the bell rang and a horde of uniform-clad teenagers began to pour out of the building, Bridget was leaning against the elaborate wrought-iron fence that edged the sidewalk. A Hermes scarf and big Jackie-O sunglasses covered most of her face and hair. She hoped not to be recognized by any of the other mothers at the moment. That might complicate things. There was just enough time for a quick chat, then she would go.
Heather came bouncing down the steps with her two best friends, all of them chattering at the same time. When she first saw Bridget, she looked right past, not recognizing her. Then her eyes turned back, and she focused, a suspicious frown on
her face. After saying a few words to her friends, who moved on to wait in the parking lot, she approached her stepmother warily.
“What do you want?” Heather spoke in a hostile voice, her face screwed up in disgust.
Bridget wondered for a second why she had come but told herself it was something she wanted to do for herself, not for anybody else. “We need to talk for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Come over to the car with me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Can’t we talk at home? I’m busy,” the girl whined, looking back at her friends, who giggled and beckoned.
“No. Now.”
“Am I… in trouble?” Heather seemed to be afraid Bridget might have discovered one of her escapades.
“Just come on. It won’t take long.” Bridget took the girl’s arm and led her across to the Mercedes.
Heather followed, apparently hesitant to resist when she might need her stepmother’s good will to get out of whatever punishment was about to be leveled on her. They got into the car, and Bridget took off her sunglasses. She looked at the teenager’s smooth, unblemished face, so sweet and pretty. So different from the ugly viper that dwelled within. What a waste, she thought, deciding what to say.
Bridget reached out to brush a strand of hair away from Heather’s eyes. The girl flinched, pulling back. Bridget smiled gently, feeling melancholy.
“What is wrong with you?” Heather demanded, pouting. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going away, Heather. I came to say good-bye.”
“You mean, on a trip? Somewhere cool? No fair. I never get to go anywhere.”
“No.”