Page 13 of Our Little Secret
Her heart twisted for her daughter.
The divorce was on hold, or maybe even the back burner.
Neal had moved back home, they’d started marriage counseling, and had promised each other to make it work until Marilee was off to college or at least had graduated from high school.
But she hadn’t tried to end it with Gideon earlier and today’s effort, over the phone, hadn’t seemed to work. She crossed her fingers that she was wrong, that he’d gotten the message, but she couldn’t stop the queasy feeling in her stomach. She unlatched the top of the birdhouse and reached her fingers inside, scrabbling for her lighter, then shut it quickly when she heard Neal returning to the kitchen, his footsteps growing louder until the French doors opened. Both he and the dog stepped into the night. As Neal came up to stand by her, Shep hurried down the deck’s steps to the lower patio.
“Pizza will be a while. They’re backed up, I guess.” Then, “What’re you doing out here?” he asked, glancing around the deck to the dark yard and the fence beyond. The lawn sloped downward sharply, and over the slats of the fence and hedgerow of arborvitae, the lights of Seattle were visible, winking through wisps of fog starting to settle over the city.
“Thinking.” She hadn’t yet told him about her fender bender but figured this was as good a time as any. She mentioned being in a hurry to pick up Marilee, being distracted slightly, and rear-ending the guy in front of her. She left out the part about Gideon of course. Fingers crossed her husband would never find out about the man with whom she had her fling. After all, it was over. “. . . so you’ll be hearing from Gustafson or his lawyer,” she added, then finished her wine in a quick swallow.
“Shit happens,” he said and placed an arm around her.
Oh, I know. It happens all the time.“And there’s something more worrisome than the car, a lot more,” she said and repeated her conversation with Andrea about Allison Carelli being missing, then told him about their daughter’s reaction.
“Scary stuff.”
“Amen.”
“Isn’t there someone in your firm who deals with criminal law? Maybe he could find out what the police are thinking.”
“She,” he corrected. “Jennifer deals with the cops. She used to work for the department as an assistant DA.”
Brooke felt her insides wither at the mention of Jennifer Adkins.
“I’ll see what she knows, but I doubt if it’s anything.” He brushed away a strand of hair that had blown across Brooke’s cheeks. “Are you worried?”
“I’m always worried,” she admitted as Shep, from the yard below, gave out a sharp, single “Woof.”
“Well, don’t be. Maybe this girl—Allison—will show up. It’s only been a couple of days.” But he was worried, the lines etching his forehead giving away his concern.
“We can hope,” Brooke said, but it was just a platitude.
“I’ll see what Jennifer can dig up.”
He gave her shoulder a pat as Shep scrambled up the steps. “Let’s go survey the damage.” Neal was already walking into the house and down the short hallway to the stairwell leading to the garage.
She followed him, sickened by the sight of her SUV, complete with dented bumper, creased hood, and cracked window.
“Ooh.” He sucked in his breath. “And the other guy was driving a Porsche?”
“I think he called it a ‘fuckin’ 911.’ Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Carrera?” Neal let out a low whistle.
“I guess.”
“Well. I see. I take it he wasn’t too pleased?”
“That’s putting it mildly. He was . . . what’s the phrase?” She pretended to think for a second, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, I’ve got it: beyond pissed. Waaaay beyond. The car’s new.”
“And it looks worse than this?” Neal asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked around her Explorer.
“Yeah.” She nodded, remembering. “A lot worse.”
“Hmm. Well, at least no one was hurt. Right?”
“Far as I know. As mad as he was, he probably got whiplash from doing a pretty damned good impression of a Tasmanian devil.”
