Need You Now (20 page)

Darlene kept her voice soft. “I know about Marissa, Layla. And I'm sorry.”

“Leave it to Dave.” Layla crossed her legs beneath the green gown.

Darlene glanced around the room, realizing that there weren't any pictures of Marissa. Or of anyone else. She set her glass on a nearby table and folded her hands in her lap, unsure what to say.

“Marissa loved the flute,” Layla said. “She was an aspiring musician and played beautifully by the time she was fourteen. I loved listening to her.” She paused, her eyes glassy. “When I was home.”

“I'm sorry, Layla.” Darlene felt like a failure in her efforts to say something that could make any difference, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes from drifting to the clock on the mantel.

“Go home, Darlene.” Layla pulled a clip from her hair and let the wavy tresses cascade past her shoulders. She still looked like a movie star. “Go home to your family.”

As Layla chugged the last of her wine, Darlene felt nervous about leaving. She stood.
How should I help her, Lord?
“Layla . . .”

Layla lifted a finely shaped eyebrow.

“Come to church with us tomorrow.” Darlene cringed when Layla's nostrils flared. Darlene held up a hand. “Okay, skip church. Why don't you come for brunch afterward? I make pancakes after church, every Sunday. It's our thing. Come have brunch with us.”

Layla grinned. “I'm not your charity case, Darlene. As a matter of fact, we're not even really friends.”

Ouch
. Darlene shook her head. “Fine, Layla. Thank you again for inviting me to the gala. I had a great time.” She turned to leave, and she'd walked a few steps when something deep inside her caused her to spin around. “You know what, Layla?” She put her hands on her hips. “I'm making pancakes. And I make the best pancakes in the world. I also make peppered bacon and slice up some fresh fruit. So I will just plan to see you at my house tomorrow at noon.” She stared at Layla and raised her chin as her eyes began to water.

Layla just stared back at her with an expression Darlene couldn't read. She waited for her to say something, anything. When she didn't, Darlene walked out, wondering if she'd ever hear from Layla again.

Brad sat on the edge of his bed and peered at the clock again, his emotions vacillating between worry and anger. Why hadn't Darlene called when she knew she'd be so late? She insisted everyone else in the house do it. It was after midnight. He'd called her cell phone twice but no answer. As tired as he was, he wouldn't be able to sleep until Darlene was home. Sighing, he stood up, paced for a few moments, then decided to look in on the kids. He could hear faint music coming from Chad's room, their only child who didn't own an iPod. Chad said he couldn't stand the buds pushed into his ears.

“Sorry. Is it too loud?” Chad lifted his head from the pillow when Brad walked in. His son pointed a remote toward the stereo.

“No, not really. Just checking on everyone.” Brad grimaced as he glanced around the dimly lit room. “Really, Chad. How can you live like this?” Dirty clothes and shoes were thrown all over the place, and Brad counted five soda cans on the dresser. “It stinks in here.”

“Not once you get used to it.” Chad grinned as he folded his hands behind his head and relaxed on his pillow again.

Brad shook his head, left the room, and shuffled down the hallway to Ansley's room. He eased the door open and peeked inside. Both his daughters were sleeping soundly in Ansley's bed, which meant Ansley must've had a nightmare. Grace was good about going to Ansley's room when that happened, although he wasn't sure how Grace endured the chaos in there. Light from the hallway filtered into the room, and although it wasn't as smelly as Chad's, it was just as cluttered. Brad tiptoed to the side of the bed where Grace's iPod lay on the floor. He picked it up, then stepped softly out.

When he pushed open Grace's door, he clicked the light on and smiled. Everything was in place and a floral scent filled the room.
That's my Gracie
. Brad walked to the nightstand, pulled the top drawer open, and dropped in her iPod. He took two steps toward the door but then turned around and walked back to the nightstand. He wasn't one to snoop in his kids' stuff, but something had caught his eye. He eased open the drawer again and eyed the razor blades lying in an open box and the straws beside it.

Brad froze. He knew exactly why kids used razor blades and straws. He recalled his college years and Aaron Turner. The blade cut the drug, and the straws were used to snort it. He and Darlene had never done any drugs when they were young, but plenty of their friends had. Brad suspected Chad might have experimented, but he would have never—in a million years—pegged Grace to be doing drugs.

He sat down on Grace's bed, took several deep breaths, and tried to calm his rapid heartbeat.

Chapter Ten

Darlene eased the bedroom door open and tiptoed in. Brad's eyes were closed and he was sprawled out on the bed, atop the covers, with the TV still going and the light on. She slipped out of her shoes and gently set her purse on the dresser. Holding her breath, she hiked her dress up and moved quietly toward the bathroom.

“Did you forget how to use a phone?”

She spun around. Brad was sitting up, his dark hair tousled as he rubbed his forehead. “I'm sorry,” she said as she kept going toward the bathroom. “I had the sound turned off, then I forgot to turn it back on after the gala was over. And there were problems with Layla, but I'll explain in the morning.”

After she changed into her nightgown and washed her face, she pulled the pins from her hair and brushed it out. She walked back into the bedroom, hoping Brad would be asleep. She was too tired to go into everything now.

“Dar, it's after one in the morning. I left you two messages.” He fluffed his pillows, leaned against them, and pulled the covers to his chest. “You'd be seriously grounded if you were one of the kids.”

She hurried to his side. “I know. And I didn't mean to be this late. I have so much to tell you, but can I tell you in the morning? Church is going to come early.” She nestled up against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Brad rubbed his hand over his jaw, sighed, then reached over to his nightstand. “I found these in Grace's drawer in her room.” He showed her the two razor blades and straws.

Darlene sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears. She stared at the items for several moments. “No way Grace is doing drugs if that's what you're thinking.”

“I would have never thought so.”

Darlene shook her head. “Nope. Not Grace.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?” Darlene twisted to face him. “What, Brad?”

“Skylar. Maybe she's getting Grace into something that . . .” He shrugged. “I don't know, Darlene. I mean, Skylar is kind of different.”

“She dresses differently, but I don't think Skylar is a druggie. You can't judge her by the way she dresses. And remember how sweet she was to give Grace that angel ring for her birthday?”

“Well then. Explain this.” He pushed the blades and straws toward her. “We've known plenty of parents who've dealt with their kids' drug problems. And I think Chad played around with them for a while.”

Darlene didn't like to think about Chad doing drugs, and he'd never admitted it, but both she and Brad had suspected it when they were in Houston. “Chad is with Cindy now, and she's a good girl. He's not into any of that.”

“I know. I'm just saying that he might have been at one time.”

“Maybe. But not Grace. She would never do that. I know my daughter, Brad.”

“Well, you haven't been around much the past couple of weeks. Maybe it's something new.”

Darlene's mouth fell open. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I'm just saying that you haven't been home much. Maybe Grace is starting to spend time with the wrong crowd.”

Darlene eased away from him, turned out her light, and rolled onto her side. “I will talk to her tomorrow, but I know that's not it.” She was quiet for a few moments. “And it hurts my feelings that you would blame it on me.”

“Baby, no.” He turned out his light and snuggled close to her. “I'm not blaming anything on you. I'm just worried about Grace.”

“I will talk to her,” she said again. There was another explanation, and she'd find out tomorrow afternoon, after church and brunch.

They said good night, and Darlene rushed through her prayers, fearful she'd fall asleep before she finished, and she wanted to be sure to get in some extra prayers for Layla.

And Grace. Just in case.

Layla woke up Sunday morning with a rotten hangover, still dressed in her formal gown—and with her past life laid out all around her. She'd done this a hundred times before, dumping all the pictures out and crying until she couldn't cry anymore. Pictures of Marissa, Tom, and the three of them together. Reminders of her past that she only faced when she'd had enough wine to temper the pain. Her retreat into a world of beautiful memories would always leave her feeling even more shattered and lost than before. And yet Darlene had wanted to talk to her about
God
?

She picked up a picture of Marissa, the one of her in her pink and white dress, her hair in a ponytail. They'd just gone to a friend's wedding shower, and Marissa was glowing. “I can't wait until I get married,” she'd said on the way home.

Layla swiped at a tear, wondering how there could possibly be any tears left.

She and Tom had managed to stay together for several months after Marissa's death, but eventually they turned their grief into anger at one another. They'd been a threesome for so long that being with Tom was a constant reminder of what they'd lost, and she knew he felt the same way. He'd left on a Saturday. They'd spoken a few times, but each conversation ended in tears for both of them. Not only had she lost Marissa, she'd lost the only man she'd ever loved. He'd told her that he couldn't help her until he could heal himself.

If there was a God, He had clearly looked down on her and decided that she'd been given too much. A great career. A wonderful husband. And a beautiful daughter. Maybe God wanted her to pay more attention to the many people around the world who were suffering in worse ways than she was. Or maybe He thought Layla wasn't a good enough mother, wasn't home enough, or put too much emphasis on her career. She'd turned it over in her mind a thousand times. And each time, her conclusion was the same. God was punishing her for something. She just wasn't sure what.

She recalled all the times she'd knelt with Marissa beside her bed to say prayers. Marissa'd had a strong faith. Stronger than Layla's. Why would God take her away at such a young age, such a beautiful person? If the expansion of The Evans School could help one teenager, bipolar or with other challenges, then Layla would keep donating her time and money.

Layla shivered as she recalled the day she found Marissa in her room next to a bottle of pills from Layla's medicine cabinet.

She put Marissa's picture down, got out of her gown, then crawled back into bed. She couldn't bear to have the pictures out in the open, so she kept everything boxed up but nearby, for when she needed to feel Marissa close to her, to remember, no matter how painful.