The Bad Daughter(37)

Oh, God, she thought to herself now, recalling those words, the last words she’d spoken to the person who had once been her dearest friend. She pulled Melanie’s car into the driveway of her house, watching as Landon’s shadow disappeared from the upstairs window. She turned off the car’s engine and lowered her forehead to the steering wheel, her fingers grasping the amethyst ring dangling from the chain around her neck. She remained in that position for several minutes, feeling the hot air wrap itself around her and trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?” came Melanie’s voice from outside the car window.

Robin bit down on her lower lip as her hand dropped to her side. She hadn’t heard her sister approach. She removed the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car. “No, I’m not sick.”

“You weren’t praying, were you?” Melanie sounded horrified by the thought.

“No. I wasn’t praying.”

“Well, thank God for that.” Melanie chuckled at her own joke. “So—what’s with the glum face? I haven’t heard anything from the hospital, so I’m assuming our father is still with us.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“And Cassidy?”

“Seems to be okay.”

“So what’s the problem? You look like you could use a drink.”

“Why don’t we just take a little walk?”

“You want to walk? In this heat?” Melanie sounded even more horrified than she had before. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Around the block, maybe?”

“Around the block,” Melanie repeated. “Really?”

“It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to come.”

“No, I’ll go for a walk. I like to walk.” She motioned for Robin to lead the way. “After you.”

Robin headed down the driveway, stealing a glance at their father’s house next door. The police cars were no longer parked in the driveway, although the yellow tape remained. “I guess they finished going through everything.”

“Do we have to talk, too?” Melanie deadpanned.

There was no sidewalk, so the sisters walked along the shoulder of the road. The nearest house was almost half a mile away.

“I’ll probably regret this,” Melanie said after several long minutes, “but something is clearly bothering you. Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Did Tara ever mention running into someone we went to high school with when she was in San Francisco?”

Melanie shook her head. “Not that I remember.”

“Do you know anyone from Red Bluff who moved there?”

“Just our brother. Why? What are you getting at?”

It was Robin’s turn to shake her head. She had no desire to further arouse Melanie’s suspicions. To change the subject, she told her sister about her run-in with Dylan Campbell in the hospital parking lot.

“That piece of shit,” Melanie muttered. “Although I guess it’s not all that surprising for him to show up.” She kicked at a small pebble. “Bet all sorts of lowlifes come crawling out of the woodwork now, anticipating a big payday.”

“Speaking of lowlifes,” Robin said, “what do you know about Donny Warren?”

Melanie came to an abrupt halt. “Who?”

“Donny Warren. According to some gossip I overheard in town, he and Tara might have been having an affair.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Melanie said. “And I’d hardly call him a lowlife.” She resumed walking, quickly picking up her pace, so that Robin had to run to catch up.

“So, you know him?”

“I’ve met him a couple of times. Seemed like a pretty stand-up guy to me.”

“Do you think he and Tara…?”

“Absolutely not.” Melanie shook her head. “He wasn’t Tara’s type.”

“What was her type?”

Melanie kicked at another stone, the scuffing sound mimicking the one coming from her throat. “Not poor.”

A car drove by in the opposite direction, its occupants craning their necks in their direction. Both women instinctively turned aside.

“I’m going back,” Melanie announced as they drew within a few yards of her neighbor’s house. “It’s too hot. You can keep walking if you want.”

“No.” Robin wiped the perspiration from her neck and forehead as they crossed the street. “That’s enough torture for one day.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Robin went to bed that night at nine, though she lay awake listening to Landon’s rhythmic rocking until almost midnight, when the rocking suddenly stopped. It was replaced seconds later by the sounds of his heavy footsteps as he paced back and forth, back and forth, from one end of the room to the other. After ten minutes, the pacing ceased, and Robin waited anxiously for the rocking to resume, cursing herself for having thrown away the last of her Ativan. She needed to sleep. Unconsciousness was her only respite from a reality that was becoming ever more bizarre. While her dreams might be troubling and incoherent, her waking hours were even worse. Dreams generally vanished within minutes. Reality wasn’t so easy to dismiss. And her reality was that nothing about her life made sense anymore.