Silence

Page 11

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 wall et. 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 Mill ar 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.
#[email protected]#$?!&
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 Mill ar.”
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 Mill ar stroll into the restaurant with her mom. Susanna Mill ar 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 Mill ar 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.