Pretty Girls Dancing(95)

Her dad always had, too. But he was here now, seated across from that agent. Foster.

“Fingerprints? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. I had a Realtor show me the property on Fuller Road seven or eight years ago. I guess I was going through a phase when I thought living in the country would be peaceful. I looked at the property a couple of times, as I recall.”

“With your wife?”

“No, I don’t think Claire was ever with me. I came to my senses before I mentioned the possibility to her. It’s grossly overpriced.”

“That would explain your fingerprints in one of the bedrooms.”

“Really? They should be all over. We looked at the entire main floor, as I recall. With the number of people that have been through the house over the years, the place must be full of them.”

“It is.”

Her dad had once thought about buying the lake house? A sick pocket of dread opened in Janie’s stomach, although she couldn’t say why. She backed out of the room and turned to go upstairs again. Then saw her mom standing behind her in the doorway of the family room, still clad in her nightgown and robe, her expression frozen.

“Mom?” Tentatively, Janie started toward her.

But Claire walked by her. Started up the stairs. “I’m going to take a bath now.” Her voice was almost childlike. Her filmy white robe trailed behind her like a wispy wraith. A chill worked over Janie’s body as she watched her go.

Her mother was fading away before her eyes. And Janie wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do about it.





Claire Willard

November 18

9:44 a.m.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there. Oh, yes, she’d seen Janie downstairs. Had said something to her—what was it again?—before coming back upstairs. But she didn’t recall why she’d left the room to begin with. Everything seemed so foggy. There was a knot of tension between her eyes. She should take something for that. Had she already? Claire couldn’t remember that, either. But she knew there were new prescriptions, brand-new bottles lining the counter in the adjoined bath. Somehow Dr. Schultz’s compassion had kicked in again, now that they’d found . . .

She snatched up a pillow and buried her face in it, stifling the scream that threatened. There was one lodged inside her all the time now, an instant away from being ripped from her throat. Her baby, her baby, her baby . . . how would she ever bear it? Why would a parent want to?

There had always been that possibility. Getting less likely with each passing year, but still there. The chance that Kelsey would be returned. Damaged by her experience, whatever it might have been. But home safely where they could put all their effort into helping her mend emotionally. They’d heal together as a family. All the pieces inside of them that had grown brittle and broken with despair would be cured given enough time. Enough love.

And now even that distant hope had been snatched from them. Claire began to rock, tears dampening the pillow. Everyone had been wrong. Closure didn’t help you heal. It just stole away your last reason to live.

She knew from experience that the day would come when the well of tears would dry, become impossible to muster. It was around the same time that people would start putting on those determinedly cheerful expressions. Look, I’m moving on. Just follow my lead. I’ll show you how it’s done.

A hole had been drilled in her heart the day Kelsey disappeared. She’d drifted through seven years waiting for it to be filled again. Now it never would be. Claire knew she didn’t have another seven years left in her.

Last night, she’d lain awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. She’d thought David had been asleep. The words had burst forth, a brutally raw truth. “I want to be with her.”

“Claire.” The pain in her husband’s voice had registered. But she’d had no comfort to offer. “That’s unhealthy talk.”

It might be unhealthy. But it was utterly honest. She couldn’t do it again. This time the grief would surely suffocate her.

There was a tiny sound at the door. The knob turned. It was locked. She waited for David to call to her to open it. When no voice came, she knew it was Janie hovering out there, her expression stamped with worry.

What had her youngest daughter thought when she’d heard her father speaking to the agent downstairs? The shock of her husband’s lies was buried somewhere deep inside Claire, but she couldn’t really feel it on any level. Seven or eight years ago, they had not been in the market for a lake house. The idea was laughable. That was the time period when she and her husband had made a loan to her mother so she could avoid foreclosure. A loan that hadn’t been repaid, just as David had predicted. Things had been tight for a while, until he’d gotten a substantial raise at work. And then another. Just the idea of a home outside of town was ludicrous. David’s idea of country living was driving a golf cart around eighteen holes.

But Claire had no doubt that he’d been in the lake house. Likely more than once. Tiffany White had been the young Realtor in charge of it then. In her early twenties, the girl had babysat for them several times when they went away for the weekend. Pretty, lithe Tiffany, with the sparkling green eyes, husky laugh, and long, blonde hair. Odd, with her thinking so muddled that she could be so clear about this. David and Tiffany had had an affair.