Wendy corsi staub, p.34
Wendy Corsi Staub, page 34
So he’s kept it, for ten years, just in case. Just so she’ll know where to find him.
Where else would she go, if she came back?
Her mother’s now-vacated former brownstone on West Eighty-Third Street, or her late father’s old co-op on Central Park South; perhaps even to Isaac’s father’s floor-through in the East Village, or her sorority house in Cedar Crest…
There were a lot of places Rachel might consider home.
Or maybe she considered none of them home.
Maybe that’s why she never came back.
Or maybe she really is dead.
Now, watching her old friend Brynn heading his way, knowing that she’s married with two children and a real home, Isaac feels a flicker of resentment.
Rachel should have what Brynn has.
Rachel should be here, hurrying toward him in the autumn sunshine.
It isn’t fair.
“Isaac? I’m Brynn.” She comes to a stop a few feet away.
He nods. “I remember.”
“I—you—are—can—” Brynn stops helplessly and shrugs. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
He’s silent, watching her, remembering the last time they spoke. It was right after she graduated; he stopped by the sorority house to see Puffy.
“What are you doing in town?”the housemother still used to ask whenever she saw him back then.
She gave that up a long time ago. Now, she just sighs and hugs him when he turns up on the doorstep of the ZDK house, well aware that he’s looking for Rachel.
Even now, after ten years. Always looking for Rachel, haunted by what she had told him in her last phone call, on her birthday.
He had already graduated from West Virginia University and was working in Manhattan. He had driven up to Cedar Crest to spend that long Memorial Day weekend retracing his lost stepsister’s regular routines again, hoping to stumble across some clue he’d missed before.
The sorority house was nearly vacant that day, only a few stragglers left clearing out their belongings or waiting for their summer jobs to kick in. The upstairs was usually off-limits to outsiders, but he convinced Puffy to let him take a last look at Rachel’s old room. Her things had been removed long before that, and her roommate had already moved out. The room was empty. He stood there in the hallway for a long time, looking at the bare mattress, remembering…
Then he heard footsteps behind him in the hall, and there was Brynn, carrying a bulging black garbage bag.
She hugged him when she saw him; asked him if there was any news.
Of course there wasn’t.
They chatted awkwardly for a few minutes, then said an even more awkward good-bye.
Isaac hasn’t spoken to her since.
But he knows all about her life now: the details are posted on the sorority’s website, on the alumni page. He’s all but committed her updated bio to memory, just as he has Rachel’s other sisters. Brynn Costello Saddler: married, a stay-at-home mom to two children, lives in Cedar Crest…
And he’s even seen her on a few occasions. He’s driven to her house, wanting to stop and talk to her about Rachel, just in case there’s some tiny detail they’ve all overlooked, something that might help him trace her.
But he’s never found the nerve. Maybe he’s just afraid he might slip and reveal what Rachel told him that night…
And he can’t do that.
He swore to her that he wouldn’t.
So he never stopped and talked to Brynn; not even when he saw her out in the yard pushing her kids on the swing, or sitting on the porch steps with her husband, Rachel’s former Soc professor.
“I’m sorry, Isaac,” Brynn says now, shaking her head. “I have so many questions for you, I think we need to go someplace to talk.”
Questions.
What he needs are answers.
“Do you want to get a cup of coffee somewhere?”
He looks at his watch, shakes his head. “I can’t. I have to catch the shuttle back to New York.”
New York, and Kylah, and her cousin’s wedding. He promised.
And he never breaks a promise.
No, you just lie, and sneak around, and—
“I really need to talk to you, Isaac,” Brynn says. “It’s important. It’s about Rachel.”
Rachel.
Of course. What else would it possibly be about?
Isaac hesitates, jabbing the toe of his polished black dress shoe against the low concrete parking barrier.
Kylah.
Rachel.
He looks up at Brynn. “Okay.”
Meg and her mom, Cynthia, are waiting for Ashley and her dad in front of the movie theater. Like Ashley, Meg is wearing her jeans with the pink embroidered butterflies, just as they planned on the phone this morning.
“Ashley, I hear your dad had a surprise for you,” Meg’s mom says with a smile. She’s usually kind of drab-looking, but Ashley notices that she’s wearing mascara and lipstick today, and her brown shoulder-length hair is kind of puffy, like she curled it.
“You told them about my room, Daddy?” Ashley asks him in surprise.
“He didn’t tell me,” Meg protests. “What are you talking about?”
“My dad built me a bedroom in his apartment!”
“Cool. Can I sleep over sometime with you?”
Both Daddy and Meg’s mom laugh.
“Sure,” Daddy says. “Anytime.”
Jittery with excitement at the thought of it, Ashley can’t help but compare Daddy to Mom, who won’t let her have a sleepover at home. She says it’s too distracting for her to have kids in the house making noise overnight when she has to get up so early for work every day.
If I lived with Daddy, I could have sleepovers anytime I want.
This morning, Daddy told her to think very seriously about coming to live with him. He said that if she did, he would be able to get a bigger place, and she could go to the same school, and have visitation with Mom, just like she does with him.
Ashley realized that if she did that, she might actually end up seeing a lot more of her mom than she does now, because Mom would have to spend that time with her, and not working. She wouldn’t be able to leave Ashley with a babysitter during her visitation…would she?
“Isn’t the movie starting?” Meg asks, bouncing a little. “I want to make sure we have time to get popcorn and Milk Duds.”
“And strawberry Twizzlers,” Ashley puts in.
Daddy smiles, checks his watch and says, “I’ll go get the tickets.”
“Let me treat, Pat,” Meg’s mom says, opening her purse.
“No, Cyn, that’s okay, I’ve got it.”
Cyn?
Ashley looks at Meg, who raises her eyebrows.
Hmm. Maybe Daddy is interested in Meg’s mom after all. She does look kind of pretty today. Nowhere near as pretty as Mom, though, Ashley thinks loyally. Or Brynn.
If Daddy got married again—to Meg’s mom—Ashley would want to live with him for sure. Then it would be like having a real family.
What about Mom, though? She’d be all alone.
But maybe, Ashley can’t help thinking, that’s how she wants it.
Cassie turns right. Right again, attempting to retrace her way back to the highway, negotiating leafy side streets lined with American Dream houses.
Her cell phone rings.
Dammit. She turned it off for the church service, and absently turned it on again when she saw Fiona do the same thing earlier.
Why did I do it? I don’t want to hear from anyone.
She flips the phone open to check caller ID and recognizes the number.
She hesitates, then realizes she can’t avoid him forever.
“Hi, Alec.”
“Where are you?”
“Just leaving Boston.”
“So you’ll be back in, what? A couple of hours?”
She shakes her head mutely.
“Cassandra?”
“Alec, I’m not coming right back,” she blurts. “I’m going away for a few days.”
Silence.
Then, “What do you mean?”
“I just need to get away. To think.”
“About what?”
“About what I want.”
After a pause, he says grimly, “I take it you’re not talking about what you want for your birthday tomorrow.”
“No.”
“You’re talking about us, aren’t you? Marrying me.”
“That, and other things. I just need time to think.”
“So you’re going away?” he asks flatly.
“Just for a couple of days,” she says, feeling her way. “Or maybe a week…I don’t really know.”
“But where—”
“Alec, please don’t push me right now.”
“Push you? You’re telling me you’re about to take off for God knows how long, to God knows where, a month before our wedding. Don’t you think I have a right to ask some questions, here?”
“You have a right. And I have a right not to answer them. Good-bye, Alec.”
She closes the phone with a snap and tosses it onto the seat beside her. Her heart races as she tries to focus her attention on the unfamiliar stretch of road ahead through the windshield.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Now what am I supposed to do?
You can’t do anything but drive. And breathe.
She gulps the welcome, almost balmy fresh air.
Where is she?
She must have missed a turn somewhere, because this area is looking unfamiliar: a series of McMansion developments rise on either side of the road, some still in various stages of construction and landscaping. The lots are dotted with signs that display the builder’s contact information.
All this can be yours,they seem to scream.
Yes, if you want it.
And I don’t want it.
As if to punctuate Cassie’s thought, her cell phone begins to ring again.
That’s it.
She’s had enough.
Without pausing to see who it is—without pausing to think at all—she snatches the phone up and hurtles it with all her might out the open car window.
It disappears into a thicket of dense undergrowth alongside the road, where it can ring on indefinitely.
I should eat something,Brynn thinks as the waitress sets two menus and two glasses of ice water on the table between her and Isaac.
They’re in a small café a few blocks from the church. She followed him over from there, and this is the first restaurant they came to. Rough-hewn floors, exposed brick, hanging plants, stacks of freebie papers, and a community bulletin board. It’s crowded with students, yoga moms, soccer dads. Several groups are waiting to be seated, but there was a small table for two in the back, near the kitchen.
The air is heavy with the scent of raw garlic. This could be a problem. Garlic makes Brynn sick when she’s pregnant. The taste, the smell, the thought…
Salivating profusely—from nausea, not hunger pains—Brynn scans the menu, looking in vain for something palatable. Predictably, she finds plenty of tofu, spelt, and sprouts.
If I eat any of this, I’ll throw up.
Then again, if I don’t, I’m going to throw up anyway.
She orders decaf tea and white toast.
“We only have whole grain,” the waitress informs her.
Of course you do.
“And would you prefer organic juniper berry or Jamaican sarsaparilla tea?”
“Do you have plain old decaf?”
“No. But these are detox teas. They’re very good for you.”
I’m sure they are, unless you happen to be pregnant.Brynn asks for bottled water instead.
“And you, sir?” She turns to Isaac.
“Just coffee.”
“Decaf?”
“Hell, no.” He grins charmingly.
His good looks aren’t lost on the waitress, who flashes him a return smile before walking away.
The grin evaporates instantly. Isaac checks his watch and goes back to being silent and brooding.
This isn’t how Brynn remembers him. He had visited the sorority house only a few times, but Rachel spoke of him often. Their parents were married from the time she was in seventh grade until she left for college, and she was closer to him than to any of her other siblings—whole, half, or step.
Brynn had the impression that Isaac and Rachel were kindred free spirits who shared a passion for music, art, and food.
“Realfood,” as Rachel used to say. She was a meat-and-potatoes girl, much to Puffy’s delight. The sorority housemother frequently complained that the other girls wanted to eat only salad and vegetables.
Brynn can still picture tiny, skinny Rachel sitting in the dining room at the sorority house, contentedly tucking into a double cheeseburger with the works.
Struck by an unexpected pang of grief, Brynn attempts to reconcile her fond memory with the image of a vengeful murderess. She just can’t do it.
Then again…A traumatic experience and ten years will transform anyone, she reminds herself. If Rachel is still alive, she isn’t the person she once was.
Isaac’s coffee and her water arrive.
They sip in silence, and glance at each other.
Uncomfortable, Brynn tries to think of something to say as an opener. Realizing he isn’t going to bail her out, Brynn settles on, “Rachel would have hated this place.”
“You got that right. She’ll take Arby’s any day over health food like this.”
Noting his use of the present tense, Brynn comments, “Personally, so will I.”
They fall silent again.
Brynn takes another cautious sip of her water and wrinkles her nose. There seems to be a metallic aftertaste.
“Are you okay?” Isaac asks, watching her. “You look a little green.”
“I’m just queasy from…”A pregnancy hormone surge . “From this morning. That was rough, at the church. Tildy.”
He nods.
“I’m kind of surprised you came,” she tells him.
