Little Secrets(17)
She doesn’t say any of this to Castro. She keeps it together. The PI is just doing her job.
“You have about twenty-five hundred unused in your retainer,” Castro says. “I’m more than willing to keep going, but I think at this point, you might want to consider—”
“We’re not done.” The strength of Marin’s voice surprises them both. Her throat isn’t dry anymore. She sounds like herself again, decisive and commanding and a total “lady boss,” as Sadie would say. “We’re not even close to being done. I want you to keep looking.”
Their eyes lock. Castro’s face is expressionless, but Marin can picture her mind working, attempting to read her. But she doesn’t say anything, and with every passing second, the weight of what the PI said grows heavier.
“Vanessa,” Marin says, and her voice cracks on the last syllable. “Vanessa, please.”
She’s never used the private investigator’s first name before.
Castro glances at Marin’s ring again. If she isn’t married now, then she was married before. Marin senses it. She probably has kids. Marin senses that, too. Moms recognize other moms—it’s in the lines of their faces, their weariness, their protectiveness, their vulnerability. Marin’s tempted to give the PI her goddamned ring, if only she’ll stay on.
“I know you can’t promise results, and I’ve never expected you to. I just need you to promise you’ll keep doing your best.” Marin is in full boss mode now, speaking to the PI the way she might speak to one of her salon employees, someone who’s highly valued but perhaps requires a little motivation. “What about the affair? Who is this person sleeping with my husband? What is it she really wants? Derek isn’t a celebrity, but he’s in the media often enough. We both are. She has to know who we are, and what we’ve lost. I think she’s worth digging into.”
Marin leans forward. “I understand it’s not possible for you to work on this every minute of every day. I know you have other clients. But whenever you can, whenever you have a spare moment … I need to know that someone is always looking for my son. If you need more money, that’s not a problem.”
Marin’s voice starts to shake, and she’s back to being a mother again, not a boss lady, not a client. She hates that she can hear herself trembling, that she sounds like she’s losing control, that she’s begging. Which she is.
“But if you really feel that you’ve taken it as far as you can, I’ll have no choice but to find someone else and start over. Please don’t make me do that, Vanessa. Please.”
If Castro says no, that there are no more stones to turn, Marin doesn’t know if she’ll survive it. When the police said last year that they’d done everything they could, it was nearly as devastating as losing Sebastian in the first place.
She knows what the statistics say about missing children. She knows most of them are dead within hours of their disappearance. She knows. If Castro stops looking, Sebastian might as well be dead.
And if he’s dead, then Marin is, too.
“I’ll keep looking as long as you want me to, Marin.” It’s the first time Castro’s used her first name, too. Again, it’s like she’s read her mind, and Marin thanks god she found her. Vanessa Castro is the absolute right person for this, perhaps the only person. “I promise, okay? I won’t stop until you tell me to, and I promise you it will stay a priority. Don’t you worry about that. We will always be looking for him. I got you. I’m with you.”
“Thank you.” Marin’s body sags with relief. Her eyes sting with tears again. Still, they don’t fall.
She stands up on wobbly legs, and it takes her two tries to put her coat on. She knows she’ll cry when she gets to the car, and that’s fine, so long as she doesn’t cry here. She mentally says goodbye to the fish, which swishes its vibrant tail one last time before ducking behind a plastic leaf.
Castro walks her out of the office and back into the small, sparse waiting room. They shake hands. Her grip is firm. Her smile is kind. In any other situation, the two women might have been friends. She’s the exact kind of person Marin might have invited to the Entrepreneurial Women’s Banquet; Marin heads up the committee.
Castro hesitates, and it’s clear there’s one more thing she wants to say. Marin can either leave quickly, or she can allow the other woman to speak. She decides it would be rude to bolt, so she pauses in the doorway.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” the PI says.
Her words, while well meaning, piss Marin off. Why is she apologizing? Why do women do that? Castro didn’t tell her about some thing awful that she herself had done; she’s reporting back what she learned about her client’s husband and his mistress. She isn’t the one cheating on Marin. Derek is. With a twenty-four-year-old college girl.
And yet, Vanessa Castro is sorry. Maybe they’re just words and maybe they’re meant to be comforting, but goddamn it, Marin is so sick of other women being sorry for things that aren’t their fault. She’s sick of being sorry for things that aren’t her fault.
She doesn’t say any of this to Vanessa Castro. She can get up on that soapbox another day. Marin thanks the PI and leaves, and by the time she makes it down the stairs, she’s shaking. By the time she gets to her car, she is internally screaming.