The Lies I Told(87)

“Thank you. Who’re you thinking about in the wedding party?” Marisa asked.

“You, of course, the natural maid of honor. There’s Karen from the office; Robin, my college roommate; and Carol from the workout group.”

“Four is a good number. Who’s David choosing?”

“He has a brother.”

Her water glass stilled by her lips. “Have you met the brother?”

“Not yet, but we’re planning on meeting soon. Beyond him, I’m not sure. That’s the nature of a whirlwind engagement.”

“Have you set a date?”

“Next on my list of must dos. All the planning centers around it.”

“What about his mom and dad?”

“They’ve passed. It’s just David and Jeff.”

“Like you and me.”

“A small family can still be a strong unit.”

Marisa absently adjusted the spoon on her right to the outside of the knife. “David went to the same college as you, right?”

“He did. We didn’t know each other then.”

“That’s surprising that you wouldn’t have crossed paths at college.”

“It was a big school.”

“And his family is from California?”

“Yes. He and his brother, Jeff, grew up in Sacramento. Then after college David moved to New York, the world’s financial capital.”

“Why did he leave New York for Richmond?”

“Why not?”

Marisa grinned. “Sorry to be so nosy. I’m just trying to catch up. How old is he?”

“Two years older than me. He said he spent most of his college years in the library and was able to graduate a year early, at the top of his class, even after doing a year of mission work.”

“Nice.”

Marisa’s interest was a welcome relief. I’d worried that she’d have no interest in my marriage, but to my delight, this was a bonding moment. David, Marisa, and I were going to be a happy family.





49


MARISA

Sunday, March 20, 2022

6:00 p.m.

My early dinner with Brit had accomplished less than I’d hoped. All I’d really learned was that David had a brother named Jeff. Jeff. The name that again reached out from the Black Hole. I could hear Richards now: “Millions of Jeffs in the world.”

David would have been twenty-one when he could’ve crossed paths with Clare or me in November 2008. Clare’s photo suggested she’d seen him in town six weeks before she’d died. She wouldn’t have snapped such a close-up image of a random stranger.

David might have been from California, but he’d gone to college less than an hour’s drive from Richmond, and this alleged time in town had been over the fall and winter breaks. It was all doable. I had no idea who he’d stayed with, but the answer was there.

I dialed my phone. Jo-Jo picked up on the third ring. “M. What’s up?”

“I’m standing across from David’s house.”

“David. As in Brit’s David?”

“Yes. Do me a favor and call me in fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

“Case of what? Should I call Jack and have him come over there?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just call me in fifteen.”

“Not a second longer.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at the image Clare had taken of David. Richards had as much as told me, without saying it, he needed a DNA sample from David, and to have it tested before he could move forward. If it was a match to Clare’s baby, then Richards had reason to talk to David. Too many ifs . . .

I crossed the street to David’s townhome. As I climbed the steps, I ran my hand up the painted wooden railing. My fingertips brushed a section where the paint had chipped and someone had painted over it. I paused and looked at the railing. Carefully, I ran my hand back and forth over uneven wood, again trying to conjure any memory. Had I been here before?

I closed my eyes, coaxing any image or momentary flash from the shadows. But nothing presented itself to me. No memory whispered a lost truth.

Irritated by the nothingness, I climbed the remaining stairs to the front door. I rang the bell, adjusted my stance as I willed my shoulders to relax.

When the door opened to David, panic surged. It ran bone deep and went far beyond collecting a discarded cup or strand of hair. Suddenly, I was spooked and couldn’t give a logical reason why.

“Marisa?” Annoyance morphed into curiosity and then what felt like pleasure. “What’re you doing here?”

“I just had an early dinner with Brit. We were talking about the wedding.”

His head tipped a fraction, and his grin was pleasingly warm. “Girl talk.”

“Don’t let Brit hear you say ‘girl talk.’ She’d correct you and say ‘woman’s discussion.’”

He laughed. “Right. My very independent Brit.”

Hackles rose, but I smoothed them down. “I was hoping we could talk about the engagement pictures. I thought if we could put our minds together, we could brainstorm ideas. To surprise Brit, which is no easy feat. Is this a good time?”

“Right. That’s a great idea.” He nodded to the foyer behind him. “Come on in.”