Now You See Her Page 0,22

upstairs window of the B&B next door.

It took her several seconds to realize that someone was staring back. A young woman, Marcy realized. A young woman about Devon’s height with the same long brown hair. “Devon?” Marcy whispered as the woman smiled and offered a self-conscious little wave. Suddenly a man appeared at her side, holding a squirming toddler. The toddler’s hands strained toward the woman, his fingers reaching for her neck as she welcomed him into her arms and smothered his face with kisses.

Not Devon, Marcy knew instantly. Devon had never been particularly fond of children. “I’m with Judith on that one,” she’d said more than once.

“You have to stop imagining every girl you see is Devon,” Marcy told herself, backing away from the window and retrieving her suitcase from the floor, then tossing it on the bed. Not every girl who was the same height as Devon—A pretty girl with long dark hair and high cheekbones, who maybe walked the way Devon walked and held her cigarette the same way, Peter had said—was her daughter. She had to stop thinking that way or she’d make herself crazy.

Too late, she thought as she unpacked her suitcase, hanging as many clothes as she could on the four hangers she found in the tiny armoire and stuffing the rest into the Salvation Army-style chest of drawers under the mirror. The bathroom was so small that when she opened the door, it hit the tub, and there was no medicine cabinet or counter for her toiletries, so she had to spread the various creams her sister had insisted she buy around the edge of the decidedly utilitarian white sink. Not that any of them did any good, she thought, unable to avoid the small mirror over the sink and staring at the fine lines that were gathering around her mouth and eyes like an unwelcome storm. “Who invited you to this party?” she wondered aloud, splashing some cold water on her face, then patting her face dry with the thin white towel hanging on a nearby hook.

Time for a little lift, she heard Judith say.

“No, thank you.” Marcy backed away from the mirror, promptly hitting the bathroom door and feeling the doorknob jam into the small of her back like a fist.

Judith had had her face “done” about six years ago. “Just a little pick-me-up,” she’d insisted. “So I won’t look so tired.”

“You wouldn’t look so tired if you’d stop exercising all the time.”

“I have to stay in shape.”

“You’re in great shape.”

“Only because I exercise. You really should come with me to spin class. It would do you a world of good. And it’ll do wonders for your sex life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my sex life.”

“Good for you. But you should come anyway. So should Devon. She’s looking a little soft around the edges.”

“What do you mean? Devon looks great.”

“She’s looking soft around the edges.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How’s she doing these days?”

“She’s doing great. What are you getting at?”

“You’re not letting her eat a lot of junk food, are you?”

“She’s a teenager, Judith. I really have very limited control over what she eats.”

“You know the importance of a proper diet.”

“There’s more to life than raw fish.”

“Nobody says there isn’t.”

“Just what are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Devon’s fine.”

“Of course she is.”

“Of course she is,” Marcy repeated now, returning to the bedroom and tucking her suitcase underneath the bed, the only available space she could find. Then she changed into jeans and a fresh blouse, grabbed her purse, took a deep breath, then another, and left the room.

SHE WENT DIRECTLY back to the pub where she’d first spotted Devon. “Grogan’s House,” she muttered aloud as she crossed over St. Patrick’s Bridge and turned left, relieved when the bright yellow sign with the bold black lettering came into view. The pub occupied the ground floor of a two-story white stucco building with a black slate roof. A couple of round, old-fashioned, ornamental lights hung amid a bunch of small, brightly colored flags that decorated the facade. Advertisements for Guinness and Beamish were etched into the glass of the large front windows. Marcy remembered none of these details from the previous afternoon. Was it possible she was mistaken about which pub she’d been in? There were so many in the area.

She approached the front door cautiously, glancing over her shoulder at the few people brave enough to be sitting on the outside patio. A second was all it took for Marcy to ascertain