“It was love at first-” Robyn paused. “How would you put it? Click!” She laughed again, a laugh Jane was relieved she didn’t have to hear every day. “We clicked, right? We clicked, get it?” she said again.
Robyn made a joke, and apparently had to repeat it.
“So funny.” Jane stabbed at her swordfish. It was no doubt delectable, but her mind was elsewhere and her appetite had vanished. She’d never met Lewis Wilhoite, but she pictured a henpecked schlub. Which probably was uncharitable. He’d been fired, apparently, for some reason, and was now unemployed. Jane could relate to that, at least. She almost laughed, which made her realize how long it had been since she laughed. Robyn was still talking.
“And we got married almost immediately, you know? He went to Wharton School of Business-you know Wharton, right, Jane? Soon he’ll find a new job, I’m sure of it. So no hard feelings, right, Melissa? And you and Danny are happy now, right?”
“Yes.” Melissa’s first comment in fifteen minutes.
This dinner was one for the advice columns. Dear Miss Manners, Jane mentally composed the letter. My sister and her fiancé invited me to dinner with his ex and her new husband and their daughter, and to meet my boyfriend, but then…
“And Daniel is wonderful, of course.” Robyn pointed to Melissa with her fork. “For you.”
“Of course.” Melissa’s voice was colder than Jane’s fish.
By the time dinner was over, with Robyn insisting on banana cream pie and espresso, there had still been no word from Lewis and Gracie.
“If she’s not worried, I guess I’m not worried,” Jane whispered to Melissa as they walked to the parking lot, Robyn trotting ahead.
“Nutcase,” Melissa said. “Can you believe she called her husband an idiot? I can’t believe Daniel was married to her.”
Jane held her tongue. He obviously can pick ’em, she had started to say, then thought better of it.
“Did Gracie ever mention-anything bad about him? To you?”
“Never,” Melissa said. “She told me she ‘adores’ him. She calls him Daddy, that’s a good sign. I met him once, he seemed, I don’t know, fine. I’m just-”
“You’ll get Gracie tomorrow,” Jane said. “You’ll shop, Daniel will arrive, you’ll go from there. All good.”
“I’ll call you.” Melissa gave her sister a peck on the cheek.
Robyn had opened the car door, and was waving at Melissa to hurry.
“Whack,” Melissa said, shaking her head. “Poor Gracie. A ditz of a mother and a dolt for a stepdad. Gracie may adore Lewis, but she’ll be much better off when she’s with us.”
“I’m calling your father. Right this minute.” Catherine Siskel sat on the floor of Lanna’s bedroom-it would always be Lanna’s bedroom-surrounded by a multicolored flood of her dead daughter’s clothing.
Tenley, her chest heaving and her eyes rimming red, stood over her, dangling the battered Teddy by one plush paw, the silly bear blue-eyed and oblivious, as if a full-blown mother-daughter combat was not under way.
I’m calling your father. How often had she said that, to both girls, back when things were right? Greg had been the arbiter of all battles, the negotiator, the fixer, the Band-Aid, the confessor and absolver. It was one reason she-she did-loved him. When had he ceded the role of peacemaker? Given up on his family?
“Oh, right.” Tenley’s voice went up and down the scale, drawing out the word in a sneer. “Like he’s gonna care about me.”
“Of course he cares, you-” What word could she use to describe her own daughter? They were all hurting, still hurting, and they’d all gone to therapy, but Catherine was not sure if any of it was doing any good. Tenley seemed to become angrier and more rebellious, and Greg, well, Greg had become more and more distant. He avoided Tenley, even Catherine could see that, although whenever she could, just to keep the peace, she’d pretend everything was fine. She’d turned to her job at City Hall for solace. At least when things went wrong there, she could analyze them and fix them. It didn’t always work at home. Lately, it never worked.
“Of course he cares.” Catherine started again. “That’s exactly why I’m calling him. If you don’t want to listen to me, okay, but you are not moving out. That’s-”
“He’s not in charge of me. I’m eighteen and I can do what I want.”
Catherine tried to stand, maybe hug her daughter and make this all better, but her heel caught in a swirl of knit-Lanna’s long-sleeved black sweater-and she tripped, tumbling back to the carpeted floor.
By that time, Tenley had stormed out. Catherine heard the bedroom door slam.
She got to her knees, reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out her cell phone. Dialed.
Greg’s phone rang once, twice, where was he? She waited two more rings, only to hear the computer voice of the phone system: “The customer you have called is not available.”
Catherine stared at the cell phone in her hand. It was pushing ten at night. Where was Greg? And why was his phone off? Even if he were with some-other woman, her brain said the words she’d been dreading before she could stop it-he’d still get voice messages, wouldn’t he?
She tried to untangle her emotions, like her doctor suggested. Anger, definitely. Tenley was behaving like a child. Frustration, yes. She didn’t seem able to handle the situation.
But also, also, also. Worry. Catherine was worried.
25
“Anything in his pockets?” Jake stood at the opening of Bobby Land’s curtained emergency room cubicle. The kid’s face was a pale moon above the thin blue blanket. Jake had spent more than his share of this day at Mass General, and it looked like he’d be staying into tomorrow. DeLuca had gone for coffee. It was just 9:47. They’d need a lot of it.
The two patients they needed to question were still unconscious, D had told him, doped up and sedated while doctors waited for test results. At least John Doe No. 2 and Bobby Land were both alive, which was one good thing. Young Officer Verrio was still with John Doe 2. He’d check soon for the update on that tattoo.
Bobby Land was now under the watchful eye of a frowning and fretful Detective Angie Bartoneri. She’d been sprung from HQ after the truncated Hewlitt questioning only to be reassigned here as babysitter. Apparently she’d taken her sweet time getting here. Jake recognized her current expression from countless quarrels and ridiculous spats. She was feeling “pissed and dismissed,” as she always put it.
“Did I find anything in his pockets?” Angie didn’t even rise from her folding chair as she repeated Jake’s question. She’d propped her not-exactly-regulation black boots on the metal tubing lining one side of Land’s portable bed. Swung the boots down as Jake entered, not quite in time to hide the attitude. She crossed her legs, tossed her hair. “Like what?”
“Like whatever is in his pockets,” Jake said. When Angie was annoyed, it was like talking to a five-year-old. The more they realized they’d gotten under your skin, the more manipulative they’d be. Now was she also trying to be… sexy? Jake had to stay professional.
Angie didn’t answer. Screw it. He’d treated her like an adult. She’d have to get over it.
“That his stuff?” Jake pointed to a pair of Levi’s folded over the back of a chair in the corner, the Red Sux T-shirt folded on the chair. The kid’s stupid camo hat was nowhere to be seen. “This looks like what he was wearing when I last saw him. Did he have a wallet in his jeans?”