Silence (10 page)

“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.”