Marcy’s phone jingles with an incoming text, cutting her off. “Oh, it’s Jill!” She swipes the blue bar and reads the message.
Jill: I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. Mark said he told you about the accident. I just wanted to let you know we are okay.
Marcy: I’m so glad to hear it. We’ve been worried.
Jill: Sorry to worry you. I’m just now checking my phone.
Marcy: Don’t apologize! My God, you’re in the hospital. Are you recovering well?
Jill: I’m okay. We both are. I got banged up a little, but Cheyenne is fine.
Marcy: Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need me to keep her so Mark can focus on helping you?
Jill: Sabrina took her to my mother’s house for a few days.
Marcy: Oh. Good idea. Well is there anything at all we can do to help? I can pick up your mail, get the dry cleaning, give the house a quick sprucing up before you come home.
Jill: I appreciate that so much, but I think they’re going to discharge me today.
“Damn it,” Marcy mutters as she reads. John appears at her side, leaning in to look over her shoulder.
“There goes that plan.”
“Yeah. Probably not smart to sneak in during the day.”
John shrugs. “We’ll just have to figure out something else.”
Marcy’s lips turn up at the corners. “I think I have just the opportunity.” She starts to type a response on her phone.
Marcy: That’s great news! Don’t you two worry about dinner tonight. I’ll make something and bring it over. Breakfast, too. It’s the least I can do.
“Nice,” John praises into her left ear.
Marcy hits enter and continues typing.
Marcy: I feel so helpless. Before you say no, please know that this will make me feel better.
She adds a winking face and waits. Marcy hears John’s soft laugh behind her and she turns to look at him. “What?”
“It’s possible you’re the devil.”
Marcy bats her lashes. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
“Not sure that was a compliment.”
Marcy grins. “Sure it was.”
After a few seconds thought, John agrees with her. “Yeah, you’re right. It was.”
“Not many men can appreciate a devious mind. Just another reason we’re perfect for each other.”
“You can never die and leave me.”
“Why is that?”
“How would that profile look on a dating site? ‘Single white male seeking devious devil woman’. Can you imagine the responses I’d get?”
Marcy laughs, even though it bothers her that he’s thinking about dating apps. “Probably a knock on the door from the local law enforcement.”
“Exactly. And then they’d throw me in jail and take Caroline to the nearest facility. We’d never see each other again and I’d live the rest of my life afraid of dropping the soap. See? You can’t ever leave me. Everything would go to shit in less than a week.”
Marcy smiles up at her husband. “I love the sentiment, but why are you thinking about dating apps?”
John rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I was sitting around thinking about them. It was just something funny that popped into my head.” Marcy nods, but her eyes remain a soft, turbulent gray. John reaches up to take her chin between his fingers. “I promise. After all we’ve been through, you should know where my loyalty lies. You’re the love of my life. You’re it for me. If something were to happen, God forbid, there would be no dating apps and no profiles and no other women. It would just be Caroline and me. Forever.”
Marcy’s rising anger rapidly disintegrates into a bone-deep sadness she can’t explain. “Promise?”
“I promise. I shouldn’t have even joked about something like that.”
Marcy wants to agree with him. Part of her wants to snap, No, you asshole! You shouldn’t have. But she doesn’t. She tucks the hurtful conversation into that corner of her heart where she keeps slights and snubs and insults and wrong doings. Even as a child, she was never able to let go of those kinds of things. The best she can hope for is to hide them. But they never leave her. Not the memory of the words or actions, nor the hurt they cause. They just crouch there, in that dark corner, growing and festering.
Tossing her phone aside without even checking it, Marcy steps away from her husband. “I’m going up to check on Caroline. Why don’t you make us some lunch?”
Marcy knows John was supposed to go into the office this afternoon, but she’s silently daring him to leave her. No way. Not after that conversation.
Always sensitive to her moods as they shift like the tides of the moon, John smiles. “Sure. I can be a little late today.”
Damn right you can be late.
Marcy keeps that to herself, too, as she mounts the stairs. As has become her habit since becoming a mother, she seeks comfort and solace in the company of her child.
Even though that child hardly speaks to her anymore.
Marcy raided her cupboards for ingredients to a cowboy casserole, and was thankful when she found all she needed. After John left, she browned a pound of hamburger, diced some veggies, mixed it all in with the sauce, and then set it to bake.
After spending some time on Caroline’s bed, watching her play in the sanctuary of her room, Marcy went back downstairs and saw Jill’s kind reply, saying she would be grateful for the dinner and breakfast. Marcy smiled. She’d tried to word it in such a way that she couldn’t refuse without seeming like a clod, and she must’ve been successful.
Now, the casserole only has ten more minutes until it’s done and she can take it next door. Jill and Mark arrived back home over an hour ago, so Marcy knows they’ll be there to receive it. Not that the dinner is the more important. She’s much more enthusiastic about the breakfast casserole. She’s hoping Mark will be asleep again, giving her time to chat with Jill alone. In her mind, she’s been running through all sorts of casual segues that will hopefully lead Jill into conversation about what has been happening to them. If she doesn’t take the bait, Marcy has already decided to take the direct approach and just flat-out ask her. Anyone with a brain can see that something is going on around their house. Nasty texts, gas leaks, dead cats, burned swings, and now faulty brakes—that reeked of foul play. If Jill couldn’t see that, she was blind. And not as smart as Marcy has given her credit for.
The timer dings and Marcy’s stomach flutters with excitement. She gets up and goes into the kitchen to remove the casserole from the oven, placing the dish into its insulated carrier. Her lips stay curved in a placid smile. If she didn’t have Caroline, she could see herself being a spy, or maybe an assassin. Investigating people, digging up their dirt, exposing their deepest, darkest secrets. Making men like Mark pay for their sins. She thinks she’d be quite good at something like that, and she’s certain she’d enjoy it. Although part of this makes her uneasy—the part about Mark possibly being a violent criminal who could hurt her child—the feral part of Marcy enjoys the hunt, the thrill of it. She imagines that most people would respond the same way—with exhilaration. It’s natural. Human. Acceptable. At least this part of it—the looking for secrets portion.
Humming a tune that’s been stuck in her head for a couple of days, Marcy takes the dish carrier and heads for the front door. She stops at the foot of the steps to call up to Caroline.
“Caroline, I’ll be right back. I’m going next door for a few minutes. Stay in your room please.” No response, which only brings a sigh to Marcy’s lips. Then she has an idea. “If you hear me and understand, stomp on the floor.” She waits, head cocked to one side. A few seconds later, she hears a muffled thump.
A win!
It’s a small win, but for some reason it feels like a major victory.
Marcy walks out the front door aglow and smiling broadly. Her daughter is still in there. Somewhere. Deep down. Marcy just has to keep working to bring her out.
Now she has two goals for the comi
ng days.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I took a deep breath. Let the water run down over my face. I held the air in my lungs until they burned. Held it until I couldn’t hold it one second longer. Only then did I let it go. Turned my head, sucked in a gulp of steamy shower air.
Every surface of my skin was stinging from the temperature of the water. I didn’t dial it back. I wanted the sting. I couldn’t seem to scrub away the remnants of what happened, or what was happening, so I stood under a nearly scalding stream and waited for it to scorch away the evidence.
By the time I turned off the spray, my skin was bright red. I was clean.
At least externally.
I stepped out of the shower to dry off. The fibers of our fluffy bathroom rug tickled my feet in a familiar way. Took me back in time. Reminded me of the day Gabe and I had bought it. Several years ago at a bizarre we’d visited while looking for baby furniture. I loved the way it felt. Gabe loved that I loved it. That was enough for both of us.
I squirted a gob of lotion into my palm. Proceeded to smear it onto my skin. I did it more out of habit than any real desire to nourish or protect my skin. I was trying so hard to slip back into normal. Into routine. Maybe I was trying too hard. Or maybe I was simply fighting a losing battle. Maybe normal wasn’t an option for me anymore.
Everything that should’ve felt comfortable, should’ve felt like home felt strange and detached instead. Like I was experiencing the routines of someone I’d read about or seen in a movie. Nothing felt like mine. But I kept at it. Cradled the hope that one of these trite moments would be the domino that caused them all to fall back into place. I just hadn’t found it yet.
I dressed and walked out into an empty bedroom. “Gabe?”
No answer.
I went in search of him. Poked my head into the closet as I passed. Ducked into his office as I walked by. After that, I didn’t wonder where he was. My next stop was Dalton’s room. I knew that’s where I’d find him. And I did.
Gabe was standing over our son’s bed, staring down at it with an inscrutable expression on his face. A thousand different things could’ve been going through his mind. I could only guess at which ones actually were. Worry. Hopelessness. Fear. Guilt. Rage. Thoughts of harm. Bodily harm. Not his, not mine. Someone else’s. The man who had taken our child.
I padded up beside him. Stopped near the foot of the bed. I let my eyes wander along the racecar trundle bed. Stared at the blue comforter with different kinds of balls on it—basketballs and baseballs and soccer balls and footballs. Gabe was already introducing Dalton to sports, and Dalton loved them all. Well, as much as a toddler could. He was definitely advanced for his age, but I think he loved the time spent with his father more than anything else. And I just enjoyed watching them together.
I closed my eyes. Let my mind pull up the most recent memory. We’d taken Dalton to the park to watch the dogs. At three and a half, he was already an animal lover. I took full credit for that. Gabe was the intelligent sports guy. I was the creative animal girl. For that reason alone, I knew our kid would grow up to be well rounded.
I remembered sitting cross-legged on the oversized blanket I’d taken for our picnic lunch. Gabe and Dalton were in the grass, in a wide shaft of sunlight, kicking a soccer ball between them. Dalton would giggle every time he got the ball back to Gabe, and Gabe would cheer and clap. Dalton loved it, but I doubted it was possible he loved it as much as me. Even then, something in me knew that those days were golden. Irreplaceable. Priceless. I thought because of his age. Obviously, I couldn’t have known our lives would take a turn for this kind of “worse.” No one anticipates a kidnapping. No one plans for horrific events. We spend life doing our damnedest to avoid them. To prevent the ugly from entering the pristine bubble of their existence.
But ugliness had found its way into ours.
We were living a nightmare.
“What are we going to do, Gabe?”
My words were only whispers, but in the sanctity of our child’s room, they were as loud and harsh and unwelcomed as gunshots.
“I don’t know. I’ve thought of little else since he…he didn’t come home.”
“He told you not to go to the police, but what about me? I could go. Maybe he wouldn’t even know.”
Gabe swung his hurting blue eyes over to me. “You killed Lauren, Shannon. And they have the murder weapon. You’ll go to prison for the rest of your life.”
I felt my chin tremble. It betrayed the bravado I was trying to project. “But if we could get Dalton back, it would be worth it.”
Gabe turned. Reached out. Cupped the balls of my shoulders. “Maybe, but he said Dalton would be safe as long as we didn’t involve the police. We can’t risk him finding out and doing something to Dalton.”
“But what if I—”
“Yeah, what if? What if you did something, what if we tried something? What if, what if? And what if he found out? What if he knew, somehow, and it got our son killed?”
“But how could he? He isn’t here, and—”
“But what if? I mean, look what he’s already done. How did he manage to grab you? How did he manage to grab Dalton? How did he manage to find out so much about our lives, our habits, that he just waltzed right in and took my wife and child?” His voice was growing louder. Angrier. He was furious. With himself. Just as I knew eventually I would be furious with myself, too. Self-blame would be part of it. I could see that coming already. It wouldn’t be part of the healing process; people didn’t heal from something like this. But it would be part of some kind of process. A painful one.
“But—”
“We can’t risk what we can’t be absolutely certain of. You know that, Shan.”
I sighed.
“I know.” My words sounded as strained as they felt coming out of my narrow throat. “I just…”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
And I knew he did. He was as helpless as I was. We could probably talk it to death every day for a year and never find a way out of this for our family. But I knew that didn’t mean we wouldn’t try. It was beyond me not to. And I suspected my husband felt the same way.
I let my head drop down between us. Gabe pulled me against his chest. Wrapped his arms around me as far as they would go. That used to make me feel like nothing in the world could hurt me, like his arms were made of magical steel that could protect me from everything as long as they were locked around me. Even after Dalton came along, I’d hold him in my arms and Gabe would wrap his around both of us, giving me that same sense of security. Like our family was invincible as long as we were wrapped in each other.
As it turned out, no one was invincible.
And no one was safe.
“Maybe if I hadn’t left…”
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Maybe if I’d quit my job to stay home with Dalton full time…”
Gabe leaned away. Peered down into my face. “You can’t think stuff like that. Women work and have a family all the time. That choice doesn’t mean bad things are going to happen to their loved ones. This was… I don’t even know what this was. This whole thing is the crazy shit no one can expect. No one can anticipate it. Or plan for it. No one even really thinks about. Most people go through their lives, day by day, in their familiar routine, completely oblivious to the atrocities that are going on around them. Hell, I did for years. I never—” His words cut off sharply. I could see him struggling to hold it together. It broke my heart. Crushed the already tiny pieces into dust. “I never thought something like this could happen to us. We…we’re good people. We aren’t criminals. We don’t dabble in anything illegal. We’re kind and generous. I don’t understand how someone could…could…”
I stretched up onto my toes. Pressed my lips to the indentation in his chin. Pulled his head down to my shoulder. I wrapped around him. He wrapped back. It didn’t feel quite the same. I knew it never would. As it turned out, our bubble was made of glass. And one man s
hattered.
Together, not for the first time and not for the last, we cried. I didn’t know it at the time, but that would become our new normal. Every day for weeks, we would stand over our son’s empty bed and we would wonder. And we would cry. And we would hold each other in our helplessness. And it would never bring our son back.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Marcy walks the short distance to the neighbor’s house with a spring in her step. She reminds herself not to seem too happy and joyful. This isn’t a good situation for Jill Halpern. But it’s made Marcy’s life pretty damn interesting.
Pressing the doorbell, Marcy takes a step back and waits. The door opens much more quickly than she assumed it would, and by the one person she assumed would not be greeting her.
Jill Halpern stands in the opening, trying to smile. Her right eye is bruised around the orbit, and she has a scratch across her cheek, but it’s her eyes that draw Marcy’s attention the most. They’re red and puffy. Glassy.
She’s been crying.
“I know you’ve just been in an accident and this is probably the silliest question, but are you okay?”
Jill starts to cry, shaking her head even as she bows it. After a few seconds, she moves back and mumbles for Marcy to come in.
Stepping into the foyer, Marcy glances around as Jill closes the door. “Where’s Mark? I figured he’d be waiting on you while you rested.”
“He left.”
Her words are flat, matter of fact, only slightly tinged with anger.
“Left? Did he have errands to run for you? I’d have been happy to pick up any prescriptions that you—”
“He’s not picking up prescriptions. He left to go out of town.”
Jill shuffles past Marcy, heading for the kitchen, wiping her eyes as she goes. Marcy follows.
At the island, Jill turns and takes the casserole carrier from Marcy. Sets it down. With chin trembling, she unzips it and then lifts the lid on the dish. She inhales the scent of tomato sauce, peppers, and onions. “It smells wonderful. Thank you so much for bringing this. You don’t…you don’t know what a lifesaver you’ve been.”
Right Next Door Page 20