Lies That Bind (18 page)

Oh, but did we mention the severed finger that they found in the Parker Avenue resident’s place of business?

She watched the girls open their presents. Rebecca was delighted with the new down vest that she had wanted as well as the earrings that Jo had picked out at one of the girls’ favorite sites and told Maeve to buy. Heather was her usual quiet self, opening each present as if it were the last one she would ever receive, gasping when she saw that her sister had bought her a beautiful chunky necklace, the kind that were all the rage.

After she sold her last pie at the store—a gorgeous apple crumb, if she did say so herself—she and Jo exchanged gifts. Jo was so excited, clapping her hands together gleefully, as Maeve stripped off the shiny Christmas paper from a long, rectangular box.

“A shovel?” she said. She couldn’t help it. It was the last thing she expected to open.

“Yes!” Jo said. “I couldn’t believe when I found it in T.J. Maxx. It is lightweight and has a pink handle, so it’s perfect for you.”

Maeve turned the box over in her hands. “A shovel,” she said, more definitively this time. “We haven’t had any snow yet, but when we do, I’ll use it.”

“Remember that time you got stuck in the snow out back and you had to call Cal to dig you out?” Jo said, so pleased with herself that her cheeks had flushed a deep red. “And you were complaining that you couldn’t do it yourself? And your Triple A membership had lapsed? You were mad,” she said, grimacing at the memory.

It was one time, Maeve thought, and there were a million other things that would have been more helpful to her at that exact moment: a new piping bag, a cast-iron skillet, other sundry baking items. That new stove that she coveted, but couldn’t afford. She looked at the box in her hands. “I love it, Jo. Thank you. Never again will I need a man’s help to get me out of the snow.”

Jo gave her a hug. “Next year will be better,” she said.

Maeve wasn’t sure if she meant it in terms of gift giving or in general. Next year had to be better because any gift was better than a shovel and she was running low on people left to lose.

“It will go nicely with the headlamp you gave me last year,” Maeve said.

“Oh, the headlamp! That was the best gift ever,” Jo said, proud of herself. “Hakuna matata. See you soon.”

Maeve went into the kitchen to box up the items she was going to bring to Cal’s, surprised and happy to see Chris Larsson looking through the window of the back door, tapping lightly to get her attention. She was still holding the shovel when she let him in.

“Doing some bulb planting?” he asked, pointing at the shovel. “You’re lucky it’s been so warm.”

“Christmas present. From Jo,” she said.

He took it from her, turning it over in his hands. “And the reason?”

Maeve shrugged. “She thinks I need a shovel.” She pointed to the counter, strewn with an assortment of items that would end up in the trash if he didn’t take them. “Everything except the pecan pie, lemon bars, and a few cupcakes are yours for the taking.”

“If I take them, does that mean I have to sleep with you?” he asked. “I’m not that easy, Maeve. I’m not that kind of guy.”

She put a pie in a box, followed by some cookies and a cranberry tart, tying all of the boxes together and handing them to him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, leaning over and giving her a kiss.

“We’ll see about that,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him. “Merry Christmas, Chris. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” She sounded stilted. She didn’t know how to do this. Jo was right; she had said it many times in the past few days and it was becoming clear to Maeve that she was out of practice.

“I’ll call you,” he said, looping his fingers through the red and white string that held the boxes together.

She stood by the back door and watched him go, wondering if she would ever get any “game,” as Jo called it, if she would ever find out just exactly how this was supposed to go.

An hour later, she pulled up in front of Cal and Gabriela’s, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. It would have to do. She used to think about what to wear in front of the flawless Gabriela, but that had stopped a long time ago. She was old enough now that she knew what looked good on her and that her uniform of black turtleneck and jeans covered most social engagements. She wasn’t surprised to find Gabriela in a tight wrap dress that accentuated the one curve she had, the one that started at her hips and ended at her perfectly round ass. On her feet were impossibly high heels, and around her waist an apron that said
Kiss the cook!
on it. Maeve obliged.

“I’m so glad you could come, Maeve,” Gabriela said. Clearly, she was on her meds this day.

Maeve handed over her down coat, the one with the ripped sleeve, quickly swiping at the flour that ringed the collar. “Thanks for having me,” she said.

Devon toddled toward her on the slate floor and Maeve held her breath until he reached her safely. That floor, in addition to most of the design choices in the old stone Tudor, was a hazard to the baby and Maeve wondered how he had escaped injury thus far.

After the girls and Gabriela left the foyer, Maeve grabbed Cal’s arm. “The check? It was cashed. Or someone gave me the money. The entire amount, all three grand, was on my nightstand.” She looked up at him, illuminated by the large chandelier hanging over his head. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that at this angle, it was clear that his hairline was receding. He would be crushed to learn that if he didn’t already know. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Well, case closed, then?” he said, looking as happy as if he had solved the mystery of the missing check all by himself.

“Not really, Cal,” she said. “Someone was in my bedroom, took something that belonged to me, and while they did return it, the whole thing just seems odd.” She stripped off her sweater; with the fireplace ablaze and the oven going in the nearby kitchen, the house seemed as if it were a thousand degrees.

“But you got the money back, right?”

“Do you hear me? Someone took the check, cashed it, and then replaced the money.” She looked at him, studying his face for recognition of how odd that was. “Do you get it now?”

He pursed his lips. “I get it now. But you got the money back, right?”

She ignored that; that wasn’t the point. “I’ve got to ask you: Do you think Heather took it?” It was a thought that had floated through her mind a few times over the past few days. Yes, there was the Tommy Brantley angle, but the only other person who had ready access to her bedroom, and who was in the house a lot, was her second-born. The unflappable, inscrutable, sometime liar.

Cal and Heather had a special bond that Maeve didn’t understand and which she thought clouded her ex’s judgment. He wasn’t quite as lenient when it came to Rebecca, even though that girl hadn’t given him cause for even one drop of sweat crossing his brow. “God, Maeve, you are so hard on that kid. Why on earth would she steal something from you? We give her everything she wants. You’re probably right. It was Tommy. We don’t know why, but you’ve got the money back. Let’s put an end to all of this.” He sighed, tired of her suspicions, her thoughts always going to the dark side. “You got the money back,” he repeated. “Are you really going to take this further, possibly ruin that kid’s life?”

“I thought you hated him,” Maeve said, recalling their earlier conversation.

“I was angry,” he said. “It’s over. You’ve got your money.”

Gabriela called out for them, putting an end to the conversation and stopping what would have turned into a full-blown argument.

Cocktails were being served in the great room behind the kitchen. Maeve noted, with interest, that Rebecca, her college freshman, was nursing a glass of white wine. And here we are again, letting the inmates run the asylum, or at the very least, letting the underage members of the family drink. In her mind, Rebecca should still be drinking apple juice from a sippy cup. To Cal, she was old enough to partake with the adults. Rebecca avoided her eye as she took a sip from her crystal goblet. When Maeve accepted the glass of wine that Cal brought her, she made Rebecca’s glass her first clink of “cheers.”

Gabriela took time out of cooking what smelled like a delicious dinner to sit on the arm of Cal’s leather recliner and join them for a drink. Cal was right: it was awkward, at least at the beginning, all of them unaccustomed to being together in the same room, pretending that the joining together of a divorced set of parents, his new wife and baby, and the two daughters from the original union was a completely normal occurrence. Maeve focused her attention on the baby, hoping against hope that today wouldn’t mark his first trip to the hospital. In his hands, he held a box of fireplace matches, the head of one making its way toward his wet mouth. Maeve snatched the box away just as Gabriela turned her attention to her husband’s ex-wife.

“So, Maeve, Cal tells me that you have a sister,” she said, swinging one long leg, the heel of her shoe dangling from one dainty ankle. “Tell me everything. The whole story.”

Cal looked away. For some reason, this topic made him more uncomfortable than Maeve had ever seen him look; he hadn’t been this unnerved the day he moved out of the house. On that day, even, he had asked for help with one of his boxes. That takes some nerve.

The sun streaming through the almost floor-to-ceiling windows made her feel hot, but suddenly, Maeve was happy to tell the story again. Telling it again, saying the words, made it more real and gave her the strength she needed to continue her search. She caught Gabriela up on the story. “So, she was apparently at this horrible place. I’m not sure why. I can’t imagine my father doing that unless he had a good reason.”

“He had a good reason,” Gabriela said. “He loved her but he didn’t think he could take care of her.”

In that short retelling, Gabriela had hit on the answer to that one, major loose end that was keeping Maeve up at night. It was the one thing that no one had articulated so succinctly, and although this was what Maeve hoped was the reason for her sister’s departure, she didn’t know.

“Your father was a very good man, Maeve,” Gabriela said, wiping her hands on her silly apron. “There wasn’t a bad bone in that man’s body. He wanted to take care of her. Make sure she was safe.” She paused and looked out the window. “Maybe he got her out of there before it was too late.”

Maeve sat in stunned silence. Here she had spent all of this time—the time since Cal had left—thinking that this woman was her enemy, even though they were once friends. Hearing Gabriela speak those words reminded Maeve that she had once liked her, had trusted her opinion on matters large and small. “Then why didn’t he tell me?”

Gabriela shrugged. “Things were different then, Maeve. People like your sister went away to places we would never dream of sending our children to now,” she said.

And this from a woman who Maeve had never seen hold her own child.

“It was different then, Maeve.” She got up. “Remember that. He was a good man.”

Maeve watched her as she ascended the few steps to the kitchen. Maybe she had misjudged Gabriela. Maybe she was more astute than Maeve had given her credit for being. Could it be that she was the only one who really understood what Jack had been thinking all those years ago?

In the kitchen, Maeve heard something large and metal clang to the floor and the sound of the baby crying. She held her breath until the baby appeared, unharmed but supremely pissed off, Gabriela holding him at arms’ length toward Cal. “Here. He keeps getting into trouble.” She went back to the kitchen. “And his diaper stinks!”

Maeve hadn’t misjudged her that much. Gabriela did not enjoy being the mother of a toddler, or being a mother at all. But her words, “remember, he was a good man,” rang in Maeve’s ears, and in her heart, she forgave her former friend just a little bit for upending the life that Maeve had so carefully constructed.

CHAPTER 32

It was dark and she would be back before the girls even knew she was gone so the plan was perfect. Years of owning her own business, of running on little sleep, had prepared her for this not-quite-daybreak visit to Rhineview the day after Christmas and back to the house that she felt certain held the answer to the questions she had. As she pulled on her clothes in her dark, drafty bedroom, feeling cold air seep through the old window jambs, she resisted the urge to shiver. The voice of the woman who had answered the phone that day she had called stayed with her. In it were years of knowing and not telling, of smoking in solitude, of crafting lies.

Maeve wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did.

In her dreams the night before, her sleep fitful and troubled, Jack had met her at the gazebo near the river and instead of saying what she hoped he would say—“your sister is here”—or something to that effect, he handed her a loaf of bread, a challah. And told her that her donuts stunk.

Thanks, Jack.

Back to the challah dreams. In this one, the bread was a day-old challah from a Kosher bakery near her childhood home and she remembered its sweet goodness melting in her mouth as she walked home from school on Fridays, a warm loaf wrapped in paper and in her small hands, half of it gone by the time she entered the house. They weren’t Jewish, but she and Jack did buy a challah every Friday if only to have warm French toast the next morning.

When the bread was day-old.

In her dream, Jack handed her the bread and she thanked him. “It’s rye, not challah,” he said portentously.

She wasn’t sure what difference it made. Looked like a challah to her.

Maybe her subconscious was trying to tell her something. She wasn’t sure what, but it was leading her back to a time that maybe wasn’t so great in reality but for which she had one or two fond memories. Whenever she thought of her father, the memories were good. The smell of butter melting into a pan, the sound of bread drenched in beaten egg and cinnamon hitting the heat, the taste of toasted goodness hitting her tongue. Jack’s smile while she ate, refilling her cup of milk as many times as she wanted.