Silence

CHAPTER 7

I PREPPED FOR DINNER WITH HANK AND MY MOM by changing into flats and a billowy bohemian dress that fell above the knee.

It was nicer than Hank deserved, but I had an ulterior motive. Tonight’s goal was twofold. First, make my mom and Hank wish they’d never invited me. Second, make my stance on their relationship crystal clear. I was already mentally rehearsing my discourse, which I’d deliver on my feet at top volume, and it would end when I doused Hank with his own glass of wine. I intended to usurp Marcie’s Diva Queen throne tonight, my own propriety be damned.

But first things first. I had to lull Mom and Hank into believing I was in the right frame of mind to be taken into public. If I exited my bedroom foaming at the mouth and dressed in a black LOVE SUCKS tee, my plan would never get off the ground.

I’d spent thirty minutes in the shower, hot water beating every inch of my body, and after vigorously scrubbing and shaving, I’d pampered my skin with baby oil. The tiny cuts crisscrossing my arms and legs were healing fast, as were the bruises, but both shed a crack of unwanted light on what life had been like during my abduction. Combined with the filthy skin I’d arrived at the hospital with, my best guess was that I’d been held deep in the woods. Somewhere so remote, it would have been impossible for a passerby to stumble across me. Somewhere so godforsaken that my chances of escaping and surviving would be to next to nothing.

But I must have escaped. How else could I explain making it back home? Adding to this speculation, I envisioned the dense forests spanning northern Maine and Canada. Though I had no evidence to prove I had been held there, it was my best guess. I’d escaped, and against all odds, I’d survived. It was my only working theory.

On my way out of my bedroom, I hesitated in front of the mirror long enough to scrunch my hair. It was longer now, falling halfway down my spine, with natural caramel highlights, thanks to summer’s sun. I’d definitely been someplace outdoors. My skin held a kiss of bronze, and something told me I hadn’t been hiding out in a tanning salon all those weeks. I had the aimless thought to buy new makeup, then scratched it. I didn’t want new makeup to match the new me. I just wanted the old me back.

Downstairs, I met Hank and my mom in the foyer. I vaguely noted that Hank looked like a life-size Ken doll with icy blue eyes, a golden skin tone, and an impeccable side part. The only discrepancy was Hank’s lithe build. In a brawl, Ken would have won, hands down.

“Ready?” Mom asked. She was all dressed up too, in lightweight wool pants, a blouse, and a silk wrap. But I was more aware of what she wasn’t wearing. For the first time, her wedding band was missing, leaving a pale stripe around her ring finger.

“I’ll drive separately,” I said brusquely.

Hank squeezed my shoulder playfully. Before I could squirm away, he said, “Marcie is the same way. Now that she has her license, she wants to drive everywhere.” He raised his hands as if offering no argument. “Your mother and I will meet you there.”

I debated telling Hank that my wanting to drive separately had nothing to do with a piece of plastic in my wallet. And a lot more to do with the way being around him made my stomach roll.

I swiveled to face my mom. “Can I have money for gas? Tank’s low.”

“Actually,” Mom said, aiming a help me with this look at Hank, “I was really hoping to use this time for the three of us to talk. Why don’t you drive with us, and I’ll give you money to fill up the car tomorrow?” Her tone was polite, but there was no mistaking. She wasn’t offering me a choice.

“Be a good girl and listen to your mother,” Hank told me, flashing a perfectly straight, perfectly white smile.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk at dinner. I don’t see the big deal in driving by myself,” I said.

“True, but you’re still going to have to ride with us,” Mom said. “Turns out I’m all out of cash. The new cell phone I bought you today wasn’t cheap.”

“I can’t pay for gas with your credit card?” But I already knew her answer. Unlike Vee’s mom, my mom never loaned me her credit card, and I didn’t have the moral flexibility to “borrow” it. I supposed I could have used my own money, but I’d taken a stand and I wasn’t backing down now. Before she could shoot me down, I added, “Or what about Hank? I’m sure he’ll spot me twenty dollars. Right, Hank?”

Hank tipped his head back and laughed, but I didn’t miss the lines of irritation forming around his eyes. “You’ve got quite the negotiator on your hands, Blythe. Instinct tells me she didn’t inherit your sweet, unassuming nature.”

Mom said, “Don’t be rude, Nora. Now you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Carpooling for one night isn’t going to kill you.”

I looked at Hank, hoping he could read my mind. Don’t be so sure.

“We’d better get going,” Mom said. “We have reservations for eight and don’t want to lose our table.”

Before I could roll out another argument, Hank opened the front door and motioned my mom and me out. “Ah, so that’s your car, Nora? The Volkswagen?” he asked, looking across the driveway. “Next time you’re in the market, stop by my dealership. I could have hooked you up with a convertible Celica for the same price.”

“It was a gift from a friend,” Mom explained.

Hank let out a low whistle. “That’s some friend you’ve got.”

“His name is Scott Parnell,” Mom said. “Old friend of the family.”

“Scott Parnell,” Hank mused, dragging a hand over his mouth. “The name rings a bell. Do I know his parents?”

“His mom, Lynn, lives over on Deacon Road, but Scott left town over the summer.”

“Interesting,” Hank murmured. “Any idea where he ended up?”

“Somewhere in New Hampshire. Do you know Scott?”

Hank dismissed her inquiry with a shake of his head. “New Hampshire is God’s country,” he murmured appreciatively. His voice was so smooth, it instantly grated.

Equally as irritating was the fact that he could have passed as Mom’s younger brother. Really and truly. He had facial hair, a fine scruff that covered most of his face, but where I could see, he had excellent skin tone and very few wrinkles. I’d considered the possibility that my mom would eventually start dating again, and maybe even remarry, but I wanted her husband to look distinguished. Hank Millar came off as a frat boy hiding under a shark-gray suit.

At Coopersmith’s, Hank parked in the rear lot. As we climbed out, my new cell phone chirped. I’d texted Vee my new number before leaving, and it appeared she’d received it.

BABE! I’M @ UR HOUSE. WHERE R U?

“I’ll meet you inside,” I told Mom and Hank. “Text,” I explained, jiggling my cell.

Mom sent me a black look that said, Make it fast, then took Hank’s arm and let him escort her toward the restaurant doors.

I keyed in a response to Vee.

GUESS WHERE IAM.

CLUE? she texted back.

SWEAR U WON’T TELL A SOUL?

U HAVE 2 ASK?

I reluctantly texted, @ DINNER W. MARCIE’S DAD.

#?@#$?!&

MY MOM IS DATING HIM.

TRAITOR! IF THEY GET MARRIED, U & MARCIE …

COULD USE A LITTLE CONSOLATION HERE!

DOES HE KNOW UR TEXTING ME? Vee asked.

NO. THEY R INSIDE. I’M IN THE PARKING LOT — COOPERSMITH’S.

THE PIMP. 2 GOOD 4 APPLEBEE’S, I SEE.

I’M GOING 2 ORDER THE MOST EXPENSIVE THING ON THE MENU. IF ALL GOES WELL, I’M GOING TO THROW HANK’S DRINK IN HIS FACE 2.

HA! DON’T BOTHER. I’LL COME PICK U UP. WE NEED 2 HANG OUT. BEEN 2 LONG. DYING 2 SEE U!

THIS SUCKS SO BAD! I texted back. I HAVE 2 STAY. MOM IS ON THE WARPATH.

TURNING ME DOWN?!

PAYING FAMILY DUES. CUT ME SOME SLACK.

DID I MENTION I’M DYING 2 SEE U?

ME 2. UR THE BEST, U KNOW THAT, RIGHT?

WORD.

MEET @ ENZO’S TOMORROW 4 LUNCH? NOON?

DEAL.

Hanging up, I crossed the gravel parking lot and let myself inside. The lights were dim, the decor masculine and rustic with brick walls, red leather booths, and antler chandeliers. The smell of sizzling meat overwhelmed the air, and the TVs over the bar blared the day’s sports highlights.

“My party just came in a minute ago,” I told the hostess. “The reservation is under the name Hank Millar.”

She beamed. “Yes, Hank just came in. My dad used to golf with him, so I know him really well. He’s like a second father to me. I’m sure the divorce has just devastated him, so it’s really nice to see him dating again.”

I recalled Marcie’s earlier comment that her mom had friends everywhere. I prayed Coopersmith’s wasn’t on her radar, fearing how fast news of this date might travel. “I guess it depends on who you ask,” I mumbled.

The hostess’s smile turned flustered. “Oh! How thoughtless of me. You’re right. I’m sure his ex-wife would disagree. I shouldn’t have said anything. Right this way, please.”

She’d missed my point, but I left it alone. I followed her past the bar, down a short flight of steps, and into the sunken dining area. Black-and-white photos of famous mobsters hung on both brick walls. The tabletops were constructed from old ship hatch covers. Rumor had it the slate floor had been imported from a ruined castle in France and dated back to the sixteenth century. I made a mental note that Hank was fond of old things.

Hank rose from his chair when he saw me approach. Ever the gentleman. If only he knew what I had in store for him.

“Was that Vee texting you?” Mom asked.

I dropped into a chair and propped up the menu to obstruct my view of Hank. “Yes.”

“How is she?”

“Fine.”

“Same old Vee?” she teased.

I made a consenting noise.

“The two of you should get together this weekend,” she suggested.

“Already covered.”

After a moment, my mom picked up her own menu. “Well! Everything looks wonderful. It’s going to be hard to decide. What do you think you’ll have, Nora?”

I scanned the price column, looking for the most exorbitant figure.

Suddenly Hank coughed and loosened his tie, as though he’d swallowed water down the wrong tube. His eyes went a little wide in disbelief. I followed his gaze and saw Marcie Millar stroll into the restaurant with her mom. Susanna Millar hung her cardigan on the antique coatrack just inside the front doors, then both she and Marcie followed the hostess to a table four down from ours.

Susanna Millar took a chair with her back to us, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t noticed. Marcie, on the other hand, who was seated opposite her mom, did a double take in the middle of picking up her ice water. She paused with the glass inches from her mouth. Her eyes mimicked her dad’s, growing wide with shock. They traveled from Hank, to my mom, finally stopping at me.

Marcie leaned across the table and whispered a few words to her mom. Susanna’s posture stiffened.

A tight feeling of impending disaster slid through my stomach and didn’t stop until it settled in my toes.

Marcie pushed out of her chair abruptly. Her mom grabbed for her arm, but Marcie was faster. She marched over.

“So,” she said, stopping at the edge of our table. “Y’all having a nice little dinner out?”

Hank cleared his throat. He glanced at my mom once, shutting his eyes briefly in silent apology.

“Can I give an outsider’s opinion?” Marcie continued in a bizarrely cheerful voice.

“Marcie,” Hank said, warning creeping into his tone.

“Now that you’re eligible, Dad, you’re going to want to be careful who you date.” For all her bravado, I noticed that Marcie’s arms had adopted a fine tremble. Maybe out of anger, but oddly, it looked more like fear to me.

With his lips barely moving, Hank murmured, “I’m asking you politely to go back to your mother and enjoy your meal. We can talk about this later.”

Not about to be deterred, Marcie continued, “This is going to sound harsh, but it will save you a lot of pain in the end. Some women are gold diggers. They only want you for your money.” Her gaze locked solidly on my mom.

I stared at Marcie, and even I could feel my eyes flashing with hostility. Her dad sold cars! Maybe in Coldwater that amounted to an impressive career choice, but she was acting like her family had a pedigree and so many trust funds they were tripping on them! If my mom was a gold digger, she could do much—much—better than a sleazy car salesman named Hank.

“And Coopersmith’s, of all places,” Marcie went on, a note of disgust overshadowing her cheery tone. “Low blow. This is our restaurant. We’ve had birthdays here, work parties, anniversaries. Could you be any tackier?”

Hank squeezed between his eyes.

Mom said quietly, “I picked the restaurant, Marcie. I didn’t realize it had special meaning to your family.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Marcie snapped. “This is between me and my dad. Don’t act like you get any say in this.”

“Okay!” I said, pushing up from my chair. “I’m going to the restroom.” I sent my mom a quick look, hinting for her to join me. This wasn’t our problem. If Marcie and her dad wanted to go at it, and in public, fine. But I wasn’t going to sit here and make a spectacle of myself.

“I’ll join you,” Marcie said, catching me off guard.

Before I could figure out my next move, Marcie looped her arm through mine and propelled me toward the front of the restaurant.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” I asked when we were out of earshot. I shifted my eyes between our linked arms.

“A truce,” Marcie stated pointedly.

Things were getting more interesting by the minute.

“Oh? And how long is it going to last?” I asked.

“Just until my dad breaks up with your mom.”

“Good luck with that one,” I said with a snort.

She let go of my arm so we could pass single file into the ladies’ room. When the door fell shut at our backs, she did a quick check under the stalls to make sure we were alone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care,” she said. “I saw you sitting with them. You looked like you were going to vomit out your eyes.”

“Your point?”

“My point being we have something in common.”

I laughed, but my laugh was of the dry, humorless variety.

“Scared of taking sides with me?” she asked.

“More like wary. I’m not particularly fond of getting stabbed in the back.”

“I wouldn’t stab you in the back.” She flicked her wrist impatiently. “Not on something this serious.”

“Note to self: Marcie is only a backstabber on trivial things.”

Marcie boosted herself onto the sink’s ledge. She was now half a head taller, looking down on me. “Is it true you can’t remember anything? Like, your amnesia is real?”

Stay cool. “Did you drag me in here to talk about our parents, or are you really that interested in me?”

Lines of concentration formed on her forehead. “If something happened between us … you wouldn’t remember, right? It would be like it didn’t happen. In your mind, anyway.” She watched me closely, clearly intent on my answer.

I rolled my eyes. I was growing more irritated by the minute. “Just spit it out. What happened between us?”

“I’m being completely hypothetical here.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. Marcie had probably humiliated me in some grand way before I’d vanished, but now that she needed my cooperation, she hoped I’d forgotten. Whatever she’d done, I was almost glad I couldn’t remember. I had a lot more on my mind than worrying about Marcie’s latest offensive strike.

“It’s true then,” Marcie said, not exactly smiling, but not frowning either. “You really can’t remember.”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a comeback. Lying, and getting caught in the act, would say a lot more about my insecurities than just being up-front.

“My dad said you can’t remember anything from the last five months. Why does the amnesia stretch back that far? Why not just from when you were kidnapped?”

My tolerance had reached its limit. If I was going to discuss this with anyone, Marcie wasn’t first on the list. She wasn’t on the list, period. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going back to the table.”

“I’m just trying to get information.”

“Ever consider it’s none of your business?” I said, my parting shot.

“Are you telling me you don’t remember Patch?” she blurted.

Patch.

As soon as his name fell from Marcie’s lips, the same haunting shade of black eclipsed my vision. It vanished as quickly as it came, but left an impression. Hot, unaccountable emotion. Like an unexpected slap to the face. I momentarily lost the ability to draw breath. The sting radiated all the way to the bone. I knew the name. There was something about him….

“What did you say?” I asked slowly, turning back.

“You heard me.” Her eyes studied mine. “Patch.”

I tried but failed to keep a blush of bewilderment and uncertainty from trickling into my expression.

“Well, well,” Marcie said, not looking as pleased as I would have expected for catching me stripped and defenseless.

I knew I should walk out, but that elusive flare of recognition caused me to hold my place. Maybe, if I kept talking to Marcie, it would return. Maybe this time it would hang around long enough for me to make something of it. “Are you going to stand there and ‘well, well’ me, or are you going to give me a hint?”

“Patch gave you something earlier in the summer,” she said without preamble. “Something that belongs to me.”

“Who’s Patch?” I managed at last. The question seemed redundant, but I wasn’t about to let Marcie race on ahead until I was caught up — at least as much as I could be. Five months was a lot of ground to cover in a quick trip to the bathroom.

“A guy I dated. A summer fling.”

Another potent stirring within that felt eerily close to jealousy, but I shoved the impression away. Marcie and I would never be interested in the same guy. Attributes she valued, such as shallow, unintelligent, and egotistical, didn’t pique my interest.

“What did he give me?” I knew I was missing a lot, but it was a really far stretch to think Marcie’s boyfriend would have given me anything. Marcie and I shared none of the same friends. We weren’t involved in any of the same clubs. None of our extracurricular activities overlapped. In short, we had nothing in common.

“A necklace.”

Savoring the fact that for once I didn’t have to play defense, I gave her a gold-medal smirk. “Why, Marcie, I could have sworn giving another girl jewelry is a sign that your boyfriend is a cheat.”

She tilted her head back and laughed so convincingly, I felt that same uneasiness settle back into my gut. “I can’t decide if it’s sad that you’re so completely in the dark, or funny.”

I folded my arms across my chest, aiming for a subtle show of annoyance and impatience, but the truth was, I was cold on the inside. A cold that didn’t have to do with temperature. I was never going to escape this. I had a quick and terrible feeling that my run-in with Marcie was only the beginning, a subtle foreshadowing of what lay ahead. “I don’t have the necklace.”

“You think you don’t have it, because you can’t remember it. But you have it. It’s probably sitting inside your jewelry box right now. You promised Patch you’d pass it along to me.” She held out a scrap of paper for me to take. “My number. Call me when you find the necklace.”

I took the paper, but I wasn’t going to be bought that easily. “Why didn’t he just give you the necklace himself?”

“We were both friends with Patch.” At my look of deep skepticism, she added, “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

“I don’t have the necklace,” I repeated with finality.

“You have it, and I want it back.”

Could she be any more persistent? “This weekend, when I have some free time, I’ll look around for it.”

“Sooner rather than later would be nice.”

“My offer, take it or leave it.”

She flapped her arms. “Why do you have a stick up your derriere?”

I kept my smile pleasant, my way of giving her the finger. “I might not be able to remember the last five months, but the sixteen years before that are crystal clear. Including the eleven we’ve known each other.”

“So this is about a grudge. Very mature.”

“This is a matter of principle. I don’t trust you, because you’ve never given me a reason to. If you want me to believe you, you’re going to have to show me why I should.”

“You’re such an idiot. Try to remember. If there was one good thing Patch did, it was bring us together. Did you know you came to my summer party? Ask around. You were there. As my friend. Patch made me see a different side of you.”

“I came to one of your parties?” I was instantly skeptical. But why would she lie? She was right — I could ask around. It seemed foolish to make such a claim when the truth was so easy to prove.

Apparently reading my thoughts, she said, “Don’t take my word for it. Really. Call around and see for yourself.” Then she pushed the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder and sashayed out.

I hung behind a few moments, gathering my cool. I had one equally bewildering and aggravating idea bouncing around in my head. Was there any possible way Marcie was telling the truth? Had her boyfriend — Patch? — cracked years’ worth of accumulated ice between us and brought us together? The idea was almost laughable. The phrase I’d have to see it to believe it danced in my head. More than ever, I resented my faulty memory, if for no other reason than it placed me at a disadvantage with Marcie.

And if Patch was both her summer fling and our mutual friend, where was he now?

Leaving the restroom, I noticed Marcie and her mother were nowhere in sight. I assumed they’d asked to be reseated, or made a statement to Hank by leaving altogether. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

As our table came into view, my stride slowed. Hank and my mom were holding hands across the table and gazing into each other’s eyes in a deeply private way. He reached out to tuck a runaway strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed with pleasure.

I backed away without realizing it. I was going to be sick. The biggest cliché, but painfully accurate. So much for dousing Hank with his wine. So much for morphing into a diva of epic proportions.

Changing course, I ran for the front doors. I asked the hostess to relay the message to my mom that I’d called Vee for a ride, then hurried into the night.

I swallowed several deep breaths. My blood pressure stabilized, and I stopped seeing double. A few stars glinted overhead, even though the western horizon still glowed from the recent sunset. It was just cool enough to make me wish I was wearing an extra layer, but in my rush to leave, I’d left my jean jacket hanging on the back of my chair. I wasn’t going back for it now. I was more tempted to go back for my cell, but if I’d survived the past three months without one, I was pretty sure I could handle one more night.

There was a 7-Eleven a handful of blocks away, and while I considered the possibility that it wasn’t wise to be out alone at night, I also knew that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life cowering in fear. If shark attack victims could get back in the ocean again, surely I could walk a few blocks by myself. I was in a very safe, well-lit part of town. If I wanted to force myself to break through my fear, I couldn’t have selected a better location.

Six blocks later I entered the 7-Eleven, the door chiming as I did. I was so caught up in my own thoughts, it took me a few beats to figure out that something was wrong. The store was eerily quiet. But I knew I wasn’t alone; I’d seen heads through the plate-glass window as I’d crossed the parking lot. Four guys, from what I’d been able to tell. But they’d all vanished, and fast. Even the front counter was left unattended. I couldn’t remember ever walking into a convenience store to find the front counter neglected. It was asking to be robbed. Especially after dark.

“Hello?” I called out. I walked along the front of the store, glancing down the aisles, which stocked everything from Fig Newtons to Dramamine. “Is anyone here? I need to make change for the pay phone.”

A muffled sound came from the hallway at the rear. It was unlit, presumably leading to the restrooms. I strained to hear the sound again. Given all the false alarms lately, I was afraid this was the beginning of another hallucination.

Then I heard a second sound. The faint squeak of a door closing. I was pretty sure this sound was real, which meant someone could be hiding back there, just out of sight. Anxiety pinched my stomach, and I hustled outside.

Rounding the building, I located the pay phone and punched in 9-1-1. I heard only one ring before a hand reached over my shoulder, clicked the receiver, and ended the call.