Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(25)

Papa had smashed up his face. Papa should pay to fix it. Papa should pay for a lot of things.

There was plenty left over after the hospital bills. Enough to keep Jeremy from having to work for a couple of years, at least—though he figured when he got to where he was going, he’d find some sort of job to keep himself busy.

That was what normal people did, wasn’t it? And now, at last, he was going to be a normal person, living a normal life.

Jeremy took his time along the way. He spent an entire day winding along Virginia’s picturesque Skyline Drive, stopping at overlooks to take in the fall foliage. It was nice, but nothing compared with the scenery when at last he reached New England.

The leaves were at their peak in Groton on that dazzling Indian summer afternoon: a brilliant canopy against a royal blue backdrop that reminded him of a western sky.

But his home wasn’t out in California anymore, and it wasn’t in Texas. His home was with the Cavalons.

He’d known that ever since he’d first spotted Elsa on the news that day in the hospital. A dam had burst in his brain and his past gushed forth, flooding him with memories.

Suddenly, he knew he’d had another life, before Papa. He remembered Elsa; remembered Brett as well—but not as vividly. He wasn’t around as much.

No, it was Elsa who’d taken care of Jeremy; Elsa who always made him feel safe and loved.

The warm, cozy memories weren’t the only ones that came rushing back. There were others as well—gradually, a torrent of troubling memories he’d just as soon forget. He tried—but once they’d been unleashed, they floated around his brain like flotsam from a devastating wreck.

And I’m the survivor doomed to relive it, over and over again…



“Is this it? Are we there?” Renny asks Elsa from the backseat as Brett wedges the car into a tiny parallel space along the narrow brick sidewalk.

“Almost. We just have to go find the restaurant where we’re meeting Mr. Fantoni.”

“And then I can have ice cream.”

Elsa smiles faintly, remembering her earlier promise. “Yes, and then you can have ice cream.”

“Pink ice cream.”

“If they have it.”

“And can I watch a movie on Daddy’s iPad while you talk to your friend?”

“Daddy?” Elsa looks at Brett.

“Definitely.”

They don’t even discuss the decision to violate their own policy against using sweets and screens as bribes or rewards. In the grand scheme of things, anything they can do to keep Renny happily distracted—even if it means plugging her into headphones and plying her with sugar—is necessary in light of the situation.

The North End bustles with locals on their way to or from work, college students, school groups and tourists following the red-painted Freedom Trail through this ancient, historic part of town. Brett and Elsa navigate the narrow, winding sidewalks as swiftly as they can with Renny between them, holding both their hands and playing her favorite game.

“One, two, three, swing!” she shouts over and over, erupting with glee every time they simultaneously swing her into the air.

Elsa notices affectionate glances from passersby in a tour group led by a Paul Revere clone in period clothing. To them, she knows, she and Brett and Renny must appear to be just an ordinary family. No one would ever imagine that the parents are hanging on to the child for dear life.

They’re meeting Mike at the usual spot: an Italian café off Hanover Street. Elsa suspects he lives somewhere in the vintage neighborhood, but again, she never asked.

The café is quiet in the pre-dinner hour, occupied only by a couple of college students, a pair of elderly women in double-knit pantsuits, and Mike. He’s waiting in one of the red vinyl booths, sipping a cup of black coffee.

It’s been less than six months since she’s seen him, but Elsa is taken aback by the salt and pepper in the dark, wavy hair that brushes the collar of his Nike T-shirt.

Is Mike getting old? He was in his early thirties when she met him; a brash and hungry private eye who promised he’d do what the police wouldn’t—or couldn’t—to find Jeremy.

Closing in on fifty now, he’s still handsome, still has the muscular build of a much younger man, still exudes a roguish charm…

But those dark eyes of his have seen a lot, and it shows.

“Elsa…” He stands to hug her. He smells familiar, of cologne and coffee, and she’s swept by an unexpected wave of emotion. All those years, sitting here across from Mike, begging him to find her son…

And that’s what he did.

Elsa swallows hard.

“Good to see you again, Brett.”

“You too.” Clean-cut Brett shakes Mike’s hand, looking vaguely out of place here in his crisp white shirt, Brooks Brothers suit, and silk tie. “Renny, say hello to Mr. Fantoni.”

“Hello.”

“Don’t you look pretty today.”

“Yes,” Renny agrees demurely, hands buried in the pockets of her orange plaid shorts. “Do you know if they have pink ice cream here?”

Mike looks amused. “What flavor would that be? Bubble gum? Strawberry?”

“Um, it doesn’t really matter,” Renny tells him. “Just so long as it’s pink.”