A Stranger on the Beach(56)

“I’m sorry. I came home and fell asleep.”

“Seriously, Caroline? What’s with the excuses? Are you avoiding me?”

“I practically passed out in Hannah’s bed. Look, things are complicated here, with Jason. I’m depressed, I’m upset. And it doesn’t help to have you talking to people I don’t know about my personal problems. Don’t do that. Okay?”

“We need advice. This Aidan guy is nuts, and he’s dangerous.”

“I don’t want advice from some rando.”

“It’s my friend Jodi Avergun. She’s a lawyer, and she’s very smart. A criminal lawyer, not divorce like those other names I gave you. She used to be a prosecutor.”

“No. This is a sensitive situation, Lynn. I want to keep it quiet. If I need your help, I’ll ask. Do you understand? It’s my life.”

“Better to say it’s your funeral.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m serious. I’m worried about you. But if that’s how you want to play it—”

“It is. You don’t have my permission to speak to anyone about this. And if you do, I’ll know I can’t trust you, and I’ll stop confiding in you.”

“All right, fine. But promise you’ll tell me if you’re really in danger.”

“Of course. I’m not stupid.”

“That’s debatable.”

Nobody but Lynn could get away with talking to me like that. Of course, she’d been doing it since we were kids.

“When are you coming out here then?” she asked.

“I’m not coming. There’s too much going on in the city. Jason’s got some kind of … thing at work—”

“You should come. You should check on your house.”

“My house? Why?”

“Hurricane Oswald is why. Don’t you watch the weather? Category Four. They’re saying it’s gonna make landfall as far north as Delaware. Usually it hits a lot farther south, and it’s nothing by the time it gets to Long Island. We could get hit bad this time. I’d be worried about your beautiful house if I was you.”

“I’ve got enough problems without bothering about some storm.”

“Do you know what I went through, repairing damage on the condos from the last big one? Eighty thousand out of pocket and counting, and my insurance is saying they won’t pay. Board up your windows at least. An ounce of prevention is worth—”

“Okay, okay, I will. You promise you won’t tell anybody about Aidan.”

“I said I won’t.”

“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up, glad to be done with her. I loved Lynn, but she could be such a meddler.

The coffee had cleared away some of the cobwebs. It was around three o’clock. Aidan wouldn’t’ve left for work yet, and I should try to catch him. I couldn’t afford to put this off one more day. I would call his phone, get him to admit to what he’d done, and record the call. Then I’d have proof to bring to the police. Problem solved, right?

Nothing was ever that easy. My phone lacked the capability to record phone calls without installing a special app. I was the least technically inclined person on the planet, but I told myself I could figure this out. I spent half an hour reading reviews of the various recording apps. Most of them got terrible reviews, with the major complaint being that they actually failed to record calls. Just what I needed—to blow my one shot at getting Aidan to confess with some malfunctioning recording app. On top of that, it turned out that recording phone calls without the other party’s consent was illegal in many states. Great. I’d bring the recording of Aidan’s confession to the police, and wind up getting arrested for illegal wiretapping.

I tried downloading the best-rated app anyway. But it wouldn’t open on my phone. Typical. I threw up my hands.

Should I try meeting Aidan in person? I could set the meeting for a public place, where I’d feel safe. I’d confront him about his scary behavior, with my phone in my bag set to record.

No, too risky.

I gave up in frustration.

I wandered back into Hannah’s room, stopping to remake the bed. As I picked up Benji the stuffed pup, nostalgia hit me hard again. Suddenly the need to hear my daughter’s voice was overpowering.

I dialed Hannah’s number. It rang and rang. Right before it went to voicemail, she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s Mom. You sound out of breath. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’m … I’m with someone.”

“With who? Your roommate?”

“Um, no, Mom.”

She paused. And I understood. My stomach lurched.

“You’re with a boy?”

“Yeah, can I call you back?”

“Yes. But, soon, okay? Promise?”

“Sure, Mom,” she said, dismissively, and hung up.

I stared at my phone, feeling stung and surprised at this unexpected turn of events. Not that it should be unexpected. Hannah was eighteen years old and away at college. But somehow, dating had seemed like a remote contingency, something to worry about far off in the future. I could be forgiven for thinking that, since Hannah had never so much as gone to a dance in high school. She went stag to her prom, with a couple of girlfriends who were so not-into-it that they left after an hour and went to the movies. Despite Hannah’s lack of experience with the opposite sex—or maybe because of it—I’d insisted on having those awkward conversations before she left home. Hannah knew about STDs, birth control, staying safe at parties, though she’d blushed through the whole thing, and acted like I was torturing her. She was prepared for the practical aspects of dating. But did she know how to protect her heart?