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“You hid them in my underwear drawer. Who does that kind of thing? What kind of freakoid are you?”
Lucy asked, “You did it with him?”
“Did it? Oh, like had sex?”
“Yes. With him.”
She hesitated, then shook her head again, but Lucy suspected she was lying. Marilyn always lied. In the two years they’d been at St. Cecilia’s, the nuns hadn’t been able to change her older sister or make Marilyn more holy, or whatever it was they were supposed to do.
Lucy charged, “You like getting into trouble.”
Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Maybe. I guess I’m just a ‘rebel’ or a ‘naughty girl.’” Her eyes danced as she’d made the air quotes. And then she threw her brush into her bag. “Just keep your hands off my stuff, okay? If you get out of this prison and we see each other again, like in another lifetime? Remember: hands off!” With that she stuffed all her clothes into her suitcase just as Aunt Beth appeared, the scents of perfume and cigarettes accompanying her.
“Ready?” she asked Marilyn.
“Oh yeah.” Marilyn zipped the last bag closed, then cast Lucy a too-bad-for-you look and stepped into the hallway, her footsteps quick and retreating on the wood floors, the smaller bag rolling loudly behind her.
“I have to go now, honey,” Aunt Beth said, taking the time to give Lucy a hug. “It’s been so good to see you.” Aunt Beth had been in Salzburg for the three days during Marilyn’s graduation ceremonies. “I’m settling Marilyn into an apartment in Paris. Can you imagine? What eighteen-year-old girl doesn’t dream of that?”
Lucy had answered, “I want to go home.”
“I know.”
“I want to see Mama.”
“And she wants to see you, too. But she’s still not well, Lucy, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea, you know? She’s trying to get her career going again, too, and . . .” She didn’t finish because they both knew it was all a lie. Mama wrote letters. Mama called on the phone. Lucy went home for vacations. But for some reason Mama didn’t want her living with her. Aunt Beth probably knew why, but she just wouldn’t say. Marilyn had told her it wasn’t just because of Mama’s life-threatening injuries.
“Nah,” she’d explained when Lucy had brought it up after vespers. She’d caught Marilyn heading back to her dorm and asked about it. “Mama was hurt, yeah, but she got better. We’ll both see her soon. She didn’t just send us clear over here for our protection, you know. That wasn’t it.”
“Then what was it?” Lucy had asked as Marilyn headed for the wide staircase.
“She was jealous, silly! Why do you think?”
And then she’d dashed up the stairs, ignoring the sisters’ dark looks and shushing noises. That was the trouble with Marilyn. She always broke the rules.
“It’s okay,” Lucy lied to Aunt Beth, and though she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes, she wouldn’t let them fall.
“Oh, baby.” Aunt Beth hugged her tight. “I love you.”
And then, dabbing at her eyes, she’d left, dragging the larger roller suitcase, her footsteps echoing hollowly from the corridor until there was nothing but the sound of the church bells tolling loudly, as if counting off the hours of Lucy’s life.
She turned to stare out the window, to the grounds and the long drive that encircled a fountain at the front entrance of the school. She waited until the bells stopped ringing and she’d spied Aunt Beth hustling Marilyn in her yellow dress off into a waiting car. Marilyn didn’t even look up.
As the car drove away, past the fountain and down the lane to the main gate, Lucy removed the treasure from her pocket, eyed the blood-red stone, and slipped the ring easily onto her finger.
Central Oregon
Now
Ian pushed the speed limit.
Despite the snow flurries and icy patches on the road.
He’d driven steadily north along I-5 until his GPS directed him inland through mountainous Central Oregon, where snow was falling steadily, still hours from the Mount Hood forest and his destination. He only hoped Lucy and Renee were there.
You should get the police involved.
And tell them what? That my ex-wife, who has a history of paranoia, is missing, even though she called me and told me she was fine, even though I spoke to my daughter just last night, even though, by all accounts, Ray Watkins, the ex-con whom she feared, is tucked inside his sister’s home in Fresno, probably leading a prayer meeting or something. Even though this isn’t the first time my wife has gone missing and each time returned unscathed. She’s my ex. Remember? That’s what she wanted. Because she thought I was having a damned affair. That was my fault, too, idiot. So I didn’t end up sleeping with Jenna, I was tempted, wasn’t I? A friend of a friend who showed interest in me when my wife was distracted. What’s that called? Emotional infidelity.
