Page 25 of Our Little Secret
“So, is there any news about Allison?”
“Don’t know.” But Marilee was shaking her head. “I—I haven’t heard anything. Just weird rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?” A commercial was playing, so Brooke turned off the radio.
“I don’t know. Some people thought her dad came and got her and he, like, wasn’t supposed to, I guess. Her parents are divorced, or separated or something, and involved in this custody fight.”
“But,” Brooke said, reading her daughter’s expression, “you don’t think that’s true?” She pulled into the driveway.
“No, pretty sure not. That’s what everyone thought at first. But it can’t be right. Marty Unger, he’s a junior in my algebra class and lives down the street from Alli? Anyway, he says Alli’s dad is back at the house, and he and the mom have been knocking door-to-door, looking for her. So I guess the dad taking her was just a rumor.” She threw a glance at her mother. “You know how that goes.”
“Yeah.” Brooke nodded. Gossip traveled faster than wildfire and, in high school, even more quickly, as if gasoline was poured onto the flames. “So what else did you hear?”
Marilee lifted a shoulder. “Just stupid stuff, like she hitchhiked out of town and joined a cult or something. Other people, though, they think worse.”
“Worse?”
“Like maybe she was kidnapped or murdered.”
Brooke’s blood turned to ice as she eased the Explorer into the garage. “But there’s no evidence of that.”
“How would I know?” Marilee asked. “But the cops were at the school. Questioning everybody. Especially Mrs. Cooper, the school counselor. I guess Alli was checking in with her a lot.”
“About what?”
“God, Mom, I don’t know,” Marilee snapped, suddenly angry. “Isn’t that, like, confidential or something?” She was already reaching for the door handle. “It’s just what I heard. Rumors. Why do you think I would know anything?”
“I’m just asking.”
“Well, you can quit asking,” Marilee said, climbing out of the car. “I already told you everything I know, so stop with the interrogation!” She let out an angry breath. “God, I shouldn’t have said anything!” She flung open the door and was out of the Ford in an instant.
Once again, just like that, she and her teenage daughter were at odds.
“Wow. That’s got to hurt,” Neal said. He was examining the cut on Brooke’s chin. “Maybe you need a stitch or two?”
“I’m fine,” she said. She was seated on the bathroom counter, back to the mirror, her husband frowning, his eyebrows pulled together as he surveyed the damage. He’d gotten home late, after Marilee and she had eaten a quick, silent dinner of salad and tuna melts. “And you got this jogging?”
“Stupid, I know. Just took a misstep on the curb, my ankle twisted, and I went down.” The lie came easily. Too easily. “It happens.”
“Never to you.”
“Marilee accused me of being too old to run. She practically called me ‘elderly’ or ‘ancient’ or something.”
He laughed. “I bet you loved that.”
“Mm.” But Neal was right. Brooke was sure-footed and so far had been lucky, always able to catch herself or escape injury. “It happens to everyone. Now move.”
As he took a step away from the counter, she hopped down, felt a sharp pain in her ankle, and winced slightly as she turned toward the mirror. “I might have to take a day or two off from the exercise routine.”
“I’m thinking weeks, but that’s up to you.” They’d already discussed her ankle, and the fact that she didn’t think she needed to seek medical attention. Neal rubbed his chin as he watched her. “Just be careful.”
“I will,” she said, meeting his eyes in the reflection before peeling the backing off a Band-Aid and applying it to her chin. The wound had stopped bleeding, but this was insurance, at least for the night, that she wouldn’t reopen it. The scrape on her cheek was minor, just a graze on the surface, and she didn’t have a lump on the back of her skull. She’d already probed it with her fingers, moving around her hair, a red-blond tangle, and using a hand mirror angled at the mirror over the sink to survey the damage.
Even her ankle wasn’t too bad, definitely not broken, and if it was sprained, not all that bad. Nothing a little ice wouldn’t help cure.
She’d lucked out.
This time.
