Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(52)
She opens a cabinet and finds a juice glass. Baccarat, of course.
Behind her, Renny announces, “I don’t like it here.”
“Why not?”
“I like regular square rooms.”
Elsa can’t help but smile.
“I like home.”
Elsa’s smile promptly fades. “I know you do. But…”
But home is supposed to be a haven, and ours has been violated.
“This place is too fancy, right?” she asks Renny, who shrugs.
Elsa herself isn’t particularly fond of the elegant Louis XIV decor: velvet and damask upholstery and draperies, fringe and tassels galore, marble and gilded wood, scrollwork and marquetry…
Growing up in a showplace that rivaled the Palace of Versailles, Elsa used to dream of the kind of home that was comfortable and lived-in.
Now she has it, and she’ll take it any day over this—aging Sears appliances and all.
I like home, too, Renny. I know you wish we were there right now, and so do I.
“…and the girls really want to stay on the Upper West Side”—Marin toys with the braided piping on a throw pillow—“but I’d almost prefer to start over in a new neighborhood.”
Lauren frowns. “You mean the Upper East Side, don’t you?”
“Hmm?”
“You live on the Upper East Side, right?”
“Right.” Marin lets go of the pillow and picks up the mug of coffee she’s been nursing. It’s good coffee—Lauren ground fresh beans to make it—yet she’s found herself forcing it down like bitter medicine.
“You said Upper West.”
She blinks and looks up to see Lauren watching her, looking concerned.
“Did I? I meant to say Upper East. I guess I’m distracted.”
She guesses? The truth is, all afternoon, she’s been spacey, her mind a million miles away.
She shouldn’t have come here.
She keeps thinking about what happened yesterday, with the rat, and the text message…
Maybe she should just come right out and tell Lauren about it. Maybe Lauren will convince her that it was just a prank, or a fluke, or a mistake.
That was nothing, Mrs. Quinn. Stay tuned.
It doesn’t sound like a mistake.
But kids can be cruel, and she knows Caroline’s classmates have been giving her a hard time all year. There’s no reason to think there’s anything more to what happened than some stupid kids with too much time on their hands now that summer vacation is here.
She should go. She needs to get home, make sure the girls are okay.
Earlier, she called to check in on them, and of course, no one answered the home phone. Annie must have been on her cell, because it went straight to voice mail, and Caroline didn’t pick up hers. No surprise there.
Groggy as she was when Marin left this morning, Caroline still managed to express resentment at having to spend the day at home with Annie.
They’ve probably been making each other miserable.
Yes, Marin definitely has to get back there.
Before she can make a move, there’s a jangling of dog tags from Chauncey, curled at Lauren’s feet. Head cocked, he looks expectantly toward the foyer.
A split second later, the front door opens.
Lauren glances at her watch. “That must be Lucy.”
“Oh…I should get going. I don’t want to get stuck in rush hour traffic.”
Marin carefully sets her mug on a coaster and prepares to make a speedy exit, hoping Lauren doesn’t point out that the bulk of the traffic will be coming out of the city, not headed into it.
“Mom? Whose car is that out front?” a female voice calls from the foyer.
Lauren’s daughter arrives in the doorway a moment later, and it’s clear from the look on her face that she immediately recognizes Marin.
“Lucy…” Lauren seems apprehensive. “This is Mrs. Quinn. She’s…”
She’s the woman whose husband had you kidnapped and nearly killed, and—
And why, oh why, did Marin come here today? This was such a stupid idea. Poor Lucy. Poor Lauren.
Poor me.
“She’s a friend of mine,” Lauren concludes innocuously.
“Hi, Lucy.” Marin does her best to offer a friendly smile and holds her breath, unsure she can hold up if Lucy says something hurtful. Caroline certainly would, under the circumstances.
But Lucy smiles and holds out her hand to Marin. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Marin manages to say around the sudden lump in her throat, gratefully shaking Lucy’s hand.
“How’d your math final go?” Lauren asks.
“Oh, you know…”
“Mmm, actually, I don’t know, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“I would say that it went as well as could be expected,” Lucy replies, with all the confidence of a surgeon delivering dubious news.
Lauren points to the stairway. “Then get moving. Go on up and study for the physics final.”
“It’s not until Monday. I have all weekend to study.”
“Dad’s mother is coming, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” Clearly, Lucy isn’t thrilled by the prospect of meeting her grandmother for the first time. “Well, can’t I have, like, two seconds to decompress, Mom?”