Live to Tell (22 page)

“Sure, Sadie.” Lauren pushes stray strands of hair back from her daughter’s worried face. “We’ll go home and make some signs, okay?”

Sadie shrugs grudgingly. “You don’t believe me.”

Lauren glances at Dr. Prentiss, who nods slightly.

“I believe you, Sadie,” Lauren tells her daughter.

“You do?”

She nods.
Who knows? Maybe I do.

Elsa’s cell phone rings just as she passes the Rhode Island border into Connecticut, creeping along at about ten miles an hour.

That’s got to be Brett, looking for her. Thanks to rush hour traffic, the reverse trip is taking twice as long as this morning’s drive to Boston.

She grabs the phone from the passenger’s seat and glances at the caller ID window. Sure enough, her husband is at home. He’s wondering why she’s not.

Should she answer the call?

No. She’ll be there soon enough. Let him worry for another fifteen minutes. That’ll give her a chance to figure out what she’s going to tell him.

It isn’t as if she hasn’t had a few hours to come up with something. But she’s spent the time going over every detail of the meeting with Mike, analyzing everything they said, trying to figure out whether…

It seems crazy, but…

Was he hiding something when he told her there’s been nothing new?

It doesn’t make sense that he’d lie, yet something didn’t ring true.

Maybe it wasn’t about Jeremy—not directly, anyway. What if he has, as Elsa requested, broken past the barrier of sealed records? What if he’s picked up the trail of the shadowy woman who wanted to put the past behind her?

By the time she reaches her driveway, Elsa is no closer to knowing what to tell Brett. She takes her time getting out of the car, and pauses in front of the flowerbeds to check on the impatiens. Today, the plants are standing straight and tall, with bright red blossoms.

Again, Elsa wonders if that’s a sign.

But how many times over the past fourteen years has she looked for signs—and found them?

A cardinal sitting in a branch outside the window for days on end, a phone ringing with no one on the other end of the line, a chance meeting with someone also named Jeremy…

With fleeting hope, she’s interpreted all those incidents, and countless others, to mean her son is still alive.

This is no different, she tells herself. As she told Mike, she needs closure. And that’s all she can expect.

Reluctantly, Elsa goes inside to face her husband.

“Lauren! Long time no see!”

She turns to see Janet Wasserman pushing a grocery cart around the aisle, and her heart sinks.

“Hi, Janet.” She should have known better than to shop at the A & P, convenient or not. But after what happened in the doctor’s office, she was in no hurry to go back to the empty—hopefully empty, anyway—house, and deal, too, with Nick’s disappearance. She just needed to prolong it all a little longer. To lose herself in something mundane.

“And Sadie, Sadie, little lady…look at what a big girl you’ve turned into!” Janet leans over to give her a hug.

Sadie stiffens and takes a step closer to Lauren.

“She’s shy,” Lauren feels obligated to explain. Shy, and still a little traumatized from her appointment with Dr. Prentiss.

“Well, I don’t blame her. It’s been ages since she’s seen me. She probably doesn’t even know who I am. I’m Ian’s mommy, sweetheart. He’s your brother Ryan’s friend.”

No response from Sadie.

“Oh, thanks for having Ryan stay for dinner the other night,” Lauren tells Janet.

“Anytime—he’s never any trouble, and he was so appreciative. You should have seen him gobble down the steak and shrimp.”

“I can just imagine,” Lauren murmurs.

“We enjoy having him around. You know how much I love to cook, and I’m always glad to help out.”

Maybe it’s just me
, Lauren thinks. But something about Janet’s tone—and her words—is rubbing Lauren the wrong way.

It’s as if she assumes she’s providing Ryan with something his own mother can’t give him: an expensive, home-cooked, sit-down family dinner.

I can do that for him, too
, Lauren wants to tell her.

But the truth is, she can’t. She just checked out the prices on steaks and seafood, and wound up throwing chicken into the cart instead. Which she’ll be lucky to get onto the grill before it goes bad since she, unlike Janet Wasserman, doesn’t particularly love to cook. And there’s no getting around the fact that there’s an empty chair at family dinners in the Walsh home these days.

So…you win, Janet
.

“I hear you dropped off a carload for the tag sale yesterday.”

“Oh—Ryan told you?”

“No, Alana Fleming did. I’m on the committee.”

Of course you are
.

“Well…” Lauren checks her watch. “I’ve got to get moving. I need to pick up Ryan and Lucy at the pool before it rains and get home to make dinner.”

“Why don’t you all come over to our house for dinner? We can catch up…would you like that, Sadie? We have our very own swimming pool. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Sadie shakes her head no.

“That’s really nice of you, Janet,” Lauren says quickly, “but not tonight. It’s supposed to rain, and it’s been a long day so…maybe some other time.”

“Definitely. I’ll give you a call. And again, if there’s anything I can do to help out with Ryan—or the other children—you know I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. And you know I’m always here for you, too,” Lauren can’t resist adding.

“Er—of course.”

Mercifully, Janet makes small talk for only another minute or two, then pushes her cart on past.

As much as she’d suddenly love to get out of here, Lauren lingers on the aisle, not wanting to catch up to her again.

“You know what, Sadie? I think you’re a big enough girl to try some new foods, don’t you?”

“I don’t like them.”

“What don’t you like?”

“New foods.”

Lauren sighs inwardly. She can’t help but remember the time she and Nick had discovered a stash of rancid meat and spoiled dairy in the hidden compartment in Sadie’s closet. She should probably check it again, just to make sure.

“You know, Ryan and Lucy like to try new foods. Don’t you want to be a big girl like they are?”

“Ryan isn’t a big girl.”

Despite everything, Lauren can’t help but laugh. And it feels good. So good—so normal—that she wonders, for a moment, if everything is okay after all.

“Oooh, SpongeBob!” Sadie picks up a box of fruit snacks and points to the cartoon character. “Can we get them?”

“No”—Lauren takes them out of her hands and puts them back on the shelf—“but we can get these.” She picks up the store brand.

“I don’t want those.”

“They have seven fruit juices,” Lauren informs her—wondering if that’s even true.

Once he got on his health kick, Nick wasn’t a big fan of these gummy fruity treats, telling Lauren they’re probably full of chemicals.

“Or,” she tells Sadie, “how about if we get some water-melon and peaches on the produce aisle instead?”

“I want SpongeBob.”

About to remind her daughter that it’s silly to pay a dollar extra for a cartoon image—which is what she said in the previous aisle, where Sadie begged for Shrek toothpaste—Lauren thinks better of it. Whose fault is it that Sadie’s watched too much television this summer?

Poor kid—she has enough problems. Why not indulge her in SpongeBob, just this once?

Too bad you already said no.

Changing a no to a yes is something that Lauren and Nick vowed never to do as parents.

Then again, Nick’s not even here. And why is he the only one who gets to break vows?

Everything must be okay
, Lauren tells herself,
because I’m back to feeling annoyed with Nick, instead of worried about him.

Somehow, that thought seems rational enough to hold on to for the time being.

“Okay,” she decides, “we’ll get SpongeBob.”

“Thank you, Mommy!” Sadie rushes back to grab the box.

“You’re quite the pushover, aren’t you, Mommy?”

Hearing the male voice behind her, Lauren turns to see Sam Henning.

“Oh…hi!” She wants to ask him what he’s doing there, but that’s a silly question, considering that he’s holding a plastic shopping basket.

“How are you?” she asks instead—which also sounds like a silly question, considering she just saw him at the pool.

“I’m great. How are you?” Somehow, the question is less silly coming from him.

“I’m…you know. Wondering why I ended up with a cartful of groceries when I just came in to get a couple of things.”

“And I’m wondering,” he says in return, “what it means that we keep running into each other.”

“It means there’s only one supermarket and one public pool in town. Unless you’re following me around?”

Oh Lord, why did I have to say such a stupid thing? Does he know I was just kidding? Please let him know I was just kidding.

Lauren is relieved when he grins.

“Who knows? Maybe I am following you around. I can think of worse ways to spend a summer day.”

“Mommy, can I get these, too?” Sadie pops up again, carrying a bag of Chips Ahoy! “They’re irresistibly delicious.”

“You have quite the vocabulary there, Miss Sadie,” Sam comments.

“I’m pretty sure she’s quoting the commercial,” Lauren tells him. “Not that she isn’t brilliant, of course.”

“Of course. My son is also brilliant, mind you. Although he’s not quoting commercials yet. But he did find his feet.”

“Ah, the first sign of extraordinary intelligence.”

“So they say. Oops, there’s my cell.” Sam pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket and looks at it. “Excuse me for a second.”

“Sure.” Lauren fights the urge to smooth her hair as he steps away. Chlorine-stiff and air-dried after her swim, it hasn’t seen a brush in a few hours. She wishes she was wearing something other than a pair of shorts and T-shirt that have seen better days.

“Mommy, can we go?” Sadie asks impatiently.

“In a minute.”

Lauren sneaks a peek at Sam’s basket. It holds a loaf of white bread, a six-pack of beer, a box of Entenmann’s donuts. Bachelor food.

She hears him say, “I’m in a store, can I call you back?…Yeah, give me two minutes.”

He hangs up and covers the short distance back to her. “Sorry—that was work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a consultant. I’ll tell you more next time I see you. Gotta take off now.”

“Sure. Take care.”

“You too. Hey, why don’t you give me your number so I can call you sometime?”

“Sure.” Her stomach flutters. “Um, do you have something to write with?”

“No. Do you?”

She searches through her bag, conscious that her hands are shaking. She can’t help it. It’s been years since a man asked her for her phone number.

That Sam Henning even requested it is an unexpected pleasure. That she finds herself wanting him to have it—and use it—is shocking.

“Sorry—I don’t have a pen,” she tells him.

“No worries. Just call me.”

“I… I don’t have your number.”

He grins. “No, I mean my cell. Right now. I’ll tell you the number and you dial it, and then you’ll have it in your phone and I’ll have yours in mine.”

“Mommy, can we buy these?” Sadie again, with a box of Cheez-Its.

“Hang on a second, sweetie. Okay, what’s the number?”

Lauren dials it in as Sam tells her, then hits send. His phone rings promptly.

He answers it—standing two feet away from her and smiling into her eyes. “Hello?”

“Hi, is Sam there, please?”

“Speaking.”

“Sam, it’s Lauren Walsh.”

“Lauren! It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been wondering how you are.”

“Pretty good, Sam, pretty good. And you?”

“Mommy! He’s right there!”

Lauren looks down at Sadie, sees the exasperated expression on her daughter’s face. Clearly, she’s not thrilled by the flirtation.

The spell is broken.

“Bye, Sam,” Lauren says abruptly into the phone.

“Bye, Lauren.”

They hang up.

“Mommy, can I have these?”

“Hmm?” Lauren gives a little wave at Sam. He waves back and walks away.

“Mommy!”

Lauren turns to Sadie and the box of crackers, but out of the corner of her eye, she watches Sam until he disappears around the end of the aisle.

“Elsa! There you are.” Brett puts aside his newspaper and rises from his leather recliner. He’s changed out of his suit into a pink polo shirt, madras shorts, and loafers. A martini glass sits on the table beside him.

Ordinarily, Elsa mixes his drink for him, and pours a glass of wine for herself—an evening tradition begun long before Jeremy came along.

For a few years after their son went missing, Elsa didn’t drink at all—and Brett drank too much. At some point, though, they settled back into the civilized nightly routine.

“I tried to call you,” Brett tells her, crossing the room to place a perfunctory kiss on her cheek.

“I’m sorry… I heard it ring but I couldn’t get to it in time.” And so the lies begin.

Hadn’t she just been thinking of telling him the truth?

But it’s so much harder, now that they’re face-to-face.

Brett Cavalon is an imposing man—tall, handsome, distinguished, accomplished, brilliant. At twenty-one, she met him in New York and fell in love with him at first sight. Miraculously, he was equally smitten, and Elsa began to fantasize about something she’d never imagined for herself: marriage and children in a world far from the glamorous runways, showrooms, and avenues of Manhattan’s fashion industry.

She’d never dreamed about a domestic happily-ever-after because she’d never seen it, thus never believed in it. Raised by a single mother who’d been an industry icon in her own right, Elsa had inherited her mother’s incredible beauty—and, until she met Brett, her single-minded ambition.

“It’ll never last,” her mother warned her when she got engaged.

“How can you say that?”

“Because nothing worthwhile ever does.”

At the time, Elsa hated her mother for that, certain she was wrong.