Only Ever You (7 page)

“And tell them what?” Tania scoffed. “That our cabinet was messed up? Is anything even missing?”

Jill scanned the shelves again. “I’m not sure; I don’t think so.” All the equipment seemed to be there, but she couldn’t swear to it.

“Then let’s just forget about it.” Tania waved two pieces of paper at Kyle. “I need you to send this invoice—the address is in the system—and I need you to call
these
clients and tell them their proofs are ready.”

Jill followed him out to the front of the studio. “How long were Tania and Leo here before I finished with the client?” she asked in a low voice.

Kyle looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes?”

Plenty of time to have gone through the production and equipment room in search of easy money. Fortunately, they kept that in the register at the front of the studio and at night she put that day’s money away in a locked cashbox, which she stored at the back of a locked desk drawer until she could deposit it in the bank at the end of the week. On impulse Jill went to check the drawer, but it looked undisturbed, and so did the box, the money still there, along with a few checks written by clients.

She walked back down the hall to the production room. Tania had a Nikon slung around her neck like a piece of funky jewelry and was busy shoving another camera and some memory cards into her woven bag. “I’ve got to get to that shoot for the yoga school in Regent Square. Don’t want to get any bad karma.” She brought her hands together in a prayerful pose, laughing, and Jill mustered a small smile. She locked the cabinet, making sure it was secure before taking the key back to hide it in the top drawer of the desk.

The drawer was also in disarray. Jill stood there, staring at it. She hadn’t noticed when she went to grab the key. She pulled opened the rest of the drawers, one after the other, and every one was just like the first.

“What is it?” Tania paused in the doorway.

“The desk has been ransacked, too.” Jill said. “Was Leo in here alone?”

Tania’s smile faded. “Of course not.” She crossed to the desk and reached past Jill to check the drawers herself. “So some things have been moved—”

“Not some things,
everything
.”

“Maybe, but maybe you or I moved them. We had a busy week last week, remember?”

“Not that busy.”

“Nothing’s missing, right? So no harm done.”

“Listen, I don’t think we should allow strangers into the office.”

“If you mean Leo, he isn’t a stranger and anyway he didn’t go through the drawers.”

“So what was he doing back here?”

Tania’s gaze met hers, then skittered away. Her cheeks flushed. “He wanted a private good-bye.”

“You were having
sex
? You had sex with your boyfriend in this room?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Isn’t any place off-limits to you? What if someone had walked in?”

“I’m not an idiot—we locked the door.”

“He shouldn’t have been back here at all. Don’t bring anyone back here again.”

“It was just for a few minutes—”

Jill held up her hand. “Just don’t. Okay?”

“Fine.” Tania spat the word.

They stared at each other for a long minute. Tania broke the gaze, turning toward the door. She gave a little laugh, but it had an edge. “Jesus, Jill, you’re becoming paranoid.”

chapter seven

JOURNAL—APRIL 2009

You must have seen me coming a mile away. I thought I was so sophisticated, with my law school degree and two new suits. I didn’t understand how young I really was or how naive.

“You’re so tense,”
you said to me that first time.
“Let me help you relax.”
We were alone in the firm’s law library and I’d taken off my jacket. I froze as your hands came to knead my shoulders, but I didn’t move away.

I can’t claim to be innocent in this; I know that. Months later you threw that at me. You said,
“You could have said no at any time.”
But you were the senior member of the firm, you were the lawyer I was working for on that case, I was still in my probationary period. There are so many reasons I couldn’t say no, the least of which was feeling flattered that you were attracted to me.

When you let your hand slip into the open neckline of my blouse, I remember flinching and you laughed a little, said
“whoops,”
and pulled back. Then you leaned in again, sniffing the air.
“God, you smell sweet. Is that your shampoo?”
And you lowered your head to my hair and I stayed still this time, embarrassed and unsure of how to respond. Your head dipped farther down and I could feel your breath hot against my neck.
“Or is it perfume?”
Then you pressed a kiss, just a little one, on my neck right below my ear.

I have wondered sometimes what might have happened if I’d reported what you did to the head of the firm. Would he have fired you, do you think? No one wants to get pinned with a sexual harassment suit, but wouldn’t the senior partners be more likely to think they could contain it by sending you to sensitivity training? Whistle-blowers and complainers rarely make it far in any business. I was naive, but not stupid. The best course of action would be to forget it ever happened and stay quiet.

Only you couldn’t forget.

chapter eight

OCTOBER 2013—TWO WEEKS

Cosmo balanced on his hind legs on the passenger seat, front paws resting against the window of her old Ford Taurus while Bea slowly circled the cul-de-sac pretending to look for a house number. He enjoyed riding in the car, little ears perched at soft right angles, a quizzical look on his furry face. He was a rescue dog; Bea had driven to four different shelters to find him. There were plenty of other, bigger dogs available, lots of lonely-looking pit bulls, but she hadn’t needed a dog for protection, she needed one that wouldn’t frighten people. Something soft, small, and friendly; no barkers or biters or nervous dogs that peed on the rug.

There were no cars parked on the driveway of the Lassiter house; by Bea’s calculations nobody should be home. She left their block and wove slowly through the rest of the neighborhood until she reached another cul-de-sac roughly parallel to the first, the two streets separated by hilly woodland. There were more lots for sale on this street, leaning realty signs and an overgrowth of dry, yellow weeds indicative of the recession. One house had its frame up, but construction had apparently stopped some time ago, given the frayed plastic sheeting wrapped around warping two-by-fours.

She parked out front, attaching Cosmo’s leash to his collar and checking that her dark blonde wig was in place before exiting the car. If anyone asked, Bea was a would-be buyer of a new house, just taking a look at what this street had to offer. She zipped up her jacket and took one of the spec sheets from the plastic tube attached to the realty sign, pretending to study it. “Four bedrooms, three-and-a-half baths; unparalleled luxury only twenty minutes from Downtown Pittsburgh. Pick your own finishes!” Cosmo lifted a small hind leg and peed against the wooden signpost.

She urged him to explore the property, picking her way carefully over the lumpy ground until they were behind the half-built house and out of sight of the neighbors. From there it was approximately fifty feet across a barren field that would eventually be some family’s backyard, and into the woods. Luckily, Cosmo didn’t balk. He loved the woods, loved exploring anything new, the cheerful little mutt, and he pulled eagerly against his collar, straining the leash in her hand as he explored the cold ground with his nose.

Bea moved more slowly at first, blinking against the change in light. She kept her free hand outstretched to ward off low-hanging branches and tried to find a clear path through the dense foliage. She didn’t mind the dark, she’d never been afraid of it, unlike her daughter, who hadn’t been able to sleep without a night-light and had woken Bea often with nightmares or fears of something lurking in the shadows.

Bea had been so tired on those nights, wanting sleep so desperately and worried that these night terrors would last, but in retrospect that time had been easy. She paused to catch her breath, thinking of how much harder things had gotten later on, how difficult it was to see your child suffering and not be able to make it all better with a hug. If she’d known it then, when her daughter was small, she’d have held on tight and never let go.

The hillside dropped steeply and she had to support her descent by grabbing the thin trunks of saplings. She disturbed small creatures as she plunged downward, a tiny vole scurrying out from some leaves and squirrels chittering complaints nearby. It was fairly quiet otherwise. Between her own labored breaths she could hear the far-off drone of an airplane. At the bottom of the ravine she paused along the edge of the shallow creek bed that ran its length and looked up the other side, trying to figure out where to go. It was too steep to see anything but more hillside, so she waded quickly across before trudging up the opposite hill, jerking the leash as Cosmo paused to lap at the dirty water.

Freezing water squelched from her sneakers with every step, and despite the cold she felt sweat trickling uncomfortably between her breasts and at the base of her spine. Her hands were damp and she had to pause several times to rewrap the leash and urge Cosmo up the hill. He wasn’t so eager now, lolling behind her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. She had water for him in the car, but it hadn’t occurred to her to bring it. He moved slower and slower the closer they got to the top until finally she scooped him up in her arms. He snuggled against her shoulder like a furry baby, licking her cheek frantically, as if she were a melting ice cream cone, with a tongue that felt like wet sandpaper.

“No! Stop it.” She pushed his little muzzle away until he got the hint, and she kept climbing. They were within sight of the top and she moved faster, stirred on by adrenaline to crest the hill.

They were still in the woods but on flat land again, and she could see the backs of the massive houses on Wakefield Drive. Things would look very different at night, of course, but she had to take the route at least once in the daylight to get the lay of the land. While she stood there, trying to figure out which house was theirs, she heard a faint clicking sound and a door opened onto the raised stone patio of the house to her left. A familiar towheaded little girl rushed out, followed more slowly by a dark-haired woman. Bea stopped, clamping a hand over Cosmo’s muzzle to stop him from barking. They weren’t supposed to be home; they must have pulled in right after she’d left their street.

The little girl was talking, Bea could hear a faint, high-pitched singsong, but she was too far away to make out what she was saying. Bea moved slowly left, making sure to stay behind several yards of trees, hoping that this and the afternoon sunlight would be enough to stop them from spotting her.

The mother looked nothing like the child—dark where the child was light, thin even bundled up in a jacket, with bony angles and high cheekbones, where the child was dimpled and rounded. Jill Lassiter’s dark hair was loose today, worn down around her shoulders in a shiny wave. She took a seat at one of the chairs in a patio set and opened a folder that held something; photos, Bea realized, when the woman held them up to the light. Jill smiled at Sophia’s pleas to come and play and said she’d be with her in a minute. And then the child ran down the stone steps and across the lawn straight toward Bea.

She froze, panic shooting through her, while Cosmo writhed in her arms. It was chilly out, but the child didn’t seem to notice. She came closer, running on fast little legs, close enough that Bea could see the white furry lining in her pink wool coat. Close enough that she could hear her humming. Sophia seemed to stare directly at her and Bea, mesmerized, stared right back and then, just as suddenly, she realized that the child wasn’t heading toward her but a playhouse at the back of the yard.

Bea had been so busy looking at the child that she hadn’t noticed the little white house and she sagged in relief against the trunk of an oak tree. She could hear Sophia carrying on a one-sided conversation in the playhouse. “You want some tea? No, you’re too little, bunny, but you can have a cookie.” Things clattered and Bea moved left again, trying to see into the playhouse window, but the angle wasn’t right. She could only make out shadows and hear the clear little voice directing her toys.

Over at the table the mother examined another photo before turning it facedown, rubbing her hands together to warm them, but clearly absorbed. If Bea stepped out of the woods she probably wouldn’t even notice. The playhouse stood only a few feet away. She could see the child, could smell her. Bea inched forward.

The door of the playhouse slammed open and the child stepped out carrying an armload of stuffed animals. “Time to go for our walk,” she said, mimicking an adult’s voice.

At that moment an excited Cosmo pulled his muzzle free and barked twice, tail wagging. The little girl halted, head turning toward the noise, then dropped her toys and took off for the lines of trees yelling, “Doggie!”

Jill stood up from the table. “No, Sophia! Come back!”

Bea ducked behind a wide tree trunk, Cosmo thrashing in her arms. The little girl plunged into the woods; Bea could hear her small feet crunching through old leaves and pine needles. “Doggie! Doggie, where are you?” Her voice high-pitched and excited.

Jill Lassiter pelted after her, coming across the lawn faster than the child had before her. “Sophia! Come back here right now!” Angry and afraid.

Bea moved equally fast, slipping back through the trees the way she’d come, down the hill so hurriedly that she slipped and slammed her left hip hard against the ground. She scrambled up and behind another tree trunk, peering around in time to see Jill slipping sideways down the hillside, arm outstretched to catch her daughter before she toppled down the steep embankment.

“Sophia, wait!” Her voice shrill. The child slipped against loose acorns, they scattered ahead of her down the hillside, a light, rushing sound, and then Jill had Sophia in her grip, the child squirming just like the dog.