The Night Before(5)

Don’t worry, Rosie. You’ll see in the morning.

I am going to get it right tonight.

Even if it kills me.





THREE


Rosie Ferro. Present Day. Friday, 5 a.m. Branston, CT.

Something is wrong.

Rosie felt it the moment her eyes opened to the dimly lit room. The body of a two-year-old was curled up beside her. Mason was a heat-seeking missile when he found his way into their bed. Joe was gone, his covers pulled down, likely in a fit of frustration as he made a hasty exit to the couch in the family room downstairs. Their bed wasn’t big enough for the three of them anymore, and neither of them had the energy to break Mason of the habit.

A night-light lit up the room enough to see his sweet, innocent face. White as snow with a mop of dark hair, like his father. A little man-child.

She pressed her cheek against his soft skin.

“Okay,” she said to herself in a whisper. “Everything’s okay.”

But she didn’t believe it.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. It was five a.m, which explained the throbbing in her head. They’d gone to bed later than usual. Mason had been restless and hard to put down. When it was done, after five stories and sitting by his bed while he dozed off, Rosie had washed down two Benadryl with a glass of wine. She knew her mind wouldn’t rest unless she hit it hard.

Joe hadn’t asked why. He already knew. She’d been on edge like this from the moment Laura had moved in. Rosie had driven the minivan into the city, helped her pack up her things like a mother bear rescuing her cub from the side of a cliff. And just like a mother bear, she hadn’t stopped hovering and worrying, and yet trying to remain inconspicuous so she didn’t make things worse. It was a task that had every nerve in her body ignited, ready to respond to whatever crisis unfolded next.

Joe had kissed her on the forehead as she lay in their bed, curled up in a ball, eyes staring at nothing. Her mind racing down rabbit holes of bad scenarios as she waited for the drugs and wine to kick in.

She’s fine, Joe had said. It’s just a date.

He’d gone back downstairs to watch whatever sports he could find and drink a beer. He seemed almost giddy as he left the room, having the television, and the entire downstairs for that matter, to himself for a change. Their house was small, and having Laura there had made it even smaller these past weeks.

Joe and Laura were always together somewhere—the kitchen or family room—their shared sense of sarcastic humor fueled by each other’s company. And Gabe—he’d been coming over more often, it seemed—and without Melissa (thankfully, because Rosie had not gotten used to her). Joe was a different person around Laura and Gabe. He was that strong, good-looking kid who ruled the world. Or Deer Hill Lane, at least. It was in his voice and in his smile. Unbridled confidence. She missed seeing him that way. But time only moved in one direction. They weren’t kids anymore.

Joe said he wasn’t worried about Laura, and Rosie was done fighting with him about the subject. He always had an answer, a comeback she couldn’t refute.

You don’t know her the way I do.

Really? I grew up with both of you.

But …

No buts … Is there one thing you know about Laura that I don’t?

There wasn’t—and yet hearing a story is not the same as living that story. Seeing it and feeling it and absorbing the intangible, indescribable things that settle into your gut somehow. Joe said he wasn’t worried that she was already out on a date, a date with a stranger from the Internet, just weeks after fleeing her entire life because of some guy who blew her off after she’d given him her heart, whatever that meant.

Fact: Laura had never mentioned this boyfriend until she showed up back home. How serious could it have been? And yet he caused her to take a break from her job—a coveted job that wouldn’t be waiting for her much longer.

It was undeniable that Laura had bad luck with men. For someone so smart, and Laura was that if nothing else, she kept making the same mistake over and over. What Joe couldn’t seem to grasp, the intangible thing he couldn’t feel, was the reason why. This latest breakup was just a symptom.

Or, perhaps, a warning.

Rosie pressed her lips against Mason’s warm cheek then slowly snuck out of the bed. She tiptoed across the floor, down the hall and then the stairs to the family room. She found her husband on the sofa, his big, burly body trying to hide beneath a small throw blanket to keep warm.

From there, she went to the bay window and looked out onto the street, and to the short driveway to the right where she normally parked her car.

She stood there for a moment, looking. Searching. Down the street to the right, then to the left. Her mind kicking into the next gear.

She walked back to the sofa and placed her hand on Joe’s arm until he stirred.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Five,” she answered.

“What’s happened? Mason…”

“No, he’s fine. Sleeping.”

Rosie lay down on the small space left on the sofa, curling her body into his. He opened his arms and pulled her close. The warmth of him, the feel of his physical strength, made her sigh.

“Then what?” he whispered.

“The car’s not back.”

“What car?”