The View from Alameda Island - Robyn Carr Page 0,60

Just as Lauren had oh so many years ago.

It was not yet six when Beth arrived. She took one look at Lauren and said, “Oh baby Jesus!” Then she pulled Lauren into her arms. “If Honey were alive, she’d kill him!”

“It looks worse than it is,” Lauren said.

“I doubt it,” Beth said. Then she hugged Cassie. “You came to your mother. You’re a good daughter.”

Beth examined Lauren’s face more closely. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m going to have to kill him and leave my sons motherless while I rot in prison!” She sighed and said, “I brought wine. Not enough, that’s for sure.”

“Actually, I happen to have wine, too,” Lauren said. “But you’re driving.”

“There are ways around that,” Beth said. “I’ll call Chip. Or Uber my way home.” Then she smiled. “Are you taking any drugs?” she asked Lauren.

“No, I’m fine. I’m pretty tired now, if you want the truth. It’s been quite a day. Lots of surprise visits. First Lacey. Then a priest I know. Then the guy who drove me home from the ER brought me a bagful of soft food. Then Cassie. Then Lacey again, with flowers from her father. As you can imagine, it’s emotionally exhausting...”

Beth and Cassie were frozen in place, speechless. Quiet enveloped them for a good minute, which seemed like forever. Lauren could read their minds. Priest? Guy? Flowers?

Beth cleared her throat. “You have that wine open yet?”

* * *

It was the best evening in forever. That made no sense at all and yet absolute sense. It was rare for Lauren to have this kind of evening with her sister and daughter and absolutely unheard of that her barriers were down and she was completely frank about her husband. She kept thinking, this is not Brad’s house. She could say whatever she wanted to say. As soon as the shock and horror passed, they seemed to relax. They all felt it. This is it; this nightmare will finally be over.

Having her sister and her daughter together in her house with not a single thought toward needing to get home or expecting her husband to come home and disrupt the gathering, this was perfect. They had a glass of wine and talked honestly about what had happened. Then Cassie called for Chinese takeout—egg drop soup and mild lo mein for Lauren, spicy shrimp and garlic pork and egg rolls for those without stitches in their lips.

* * *

Beau leaned back on his sofa, feet on the coffee table. After their hamburgers, Drew had gone out to meet some of his friends at a driving range, sharpening his skills to eventually whip Beau and Tim on the golf course. Drew had to be up by four for work but he was eighteen—he didn’t need much sleep. There was still plenty of daylight. Beau vaguely remembered having that edge of youth. He flipped through the channels, looking for something to watch with a ball in it. Anything would do.

He heard the sound of a key in the lock at the front door. Drew was back already? He’d only been gone about two hours. He sat up. But the door didn’t open. Then there came a pounding and he felt a sick feeling grow in his gut.

“Let me in!” Pamela shouted from the other side of the door.

He took a deep breath. He sighed. He lumbered up off the couch. He slowly opened the door. “It would be better if you called ahead,” he said. “Is there something you need?”

There was a grim set to her mouth but, oh, Pamela was so beautiful. She was constructed to be, of course. She wore her streaked, honey-colored hair long. She bought a chin years ago, for starters. Then boobs. Lipo. Tummy tuck. Botox. Her lips were a little puffier—collagen injections, he had learned. Her nails were a classy length and she had an awful lot of eyelashes. She was tanned and buff. Pamela worked very hard on that face and body.

Beau thought she did so because she had a troubled soul. He thought she’d been much prettier before adding and subtracting so much.

“I need my house back,” she said.

“Well, unfortunately, it’s not your house.”

“You always said it was our house and I lived in it for thirteen years, so move over, darling.”

He blocked the way. “It will be part of the community property, I understand that, even though it was my house for six years before we met and it’s still in my name. And I’m sorry, but since