Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(101)

Kelly lowered her magazine, and then her sunglasses. She looked confused. Obviously she never read anything that didn’t include pictures of women wearing couture. “Oh?” she asked noncommittally.

“In the next few weeks, some news stories might be coming out concerning someone who worked at Sacred Trinity when Becca and Lucia were there,” I said, opening my bag and digging through it. “You might want to have Becca speak to a professional about how that makes her feel. Only if she wants to; I wouldn’t force her. This person is very good.” I finally managed to locate one of Dr. Jo’s business cards, and laid it on the table beside the lemonade pitcher. “I feel confident she can help. All of you.” I stared directly at Kelly. “She does family counseling, as well.”

Walters picked up the card. “Well, thank you, that’s very kind. But I hardly think—”

“It’s only a suggestion. Where is Becca, anyway? I have to go now, so I’d like to say good-bye to her on my way out.”

“Over by the pool,” Walters said, pointing in an offhanded way behind him as he studied Dr. Jo’s card. “Family counseling. Do you really think—”

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you. Call me about getting together for Pilates, Kelly. Honestly, I can’t wait! It sounds superduper fun.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to, Susan,” Kelly said acidly, and turned back to her magazine.

I found Becca around the corner, floating on a raft in a magnificent infinity pool that looked out across the Pacific.

Becca was completely oblivious to the gorgeous view, however, being deeply absorbed in something on her phone. She had on a red bikini and dark sunglasses, her long hair scooped into a ponytail that looked not unlike her stepmother’s. In fact, if I hadn’t been told to look for her by the pool, I would have walked right by her, she looked so un-Becca-like.

“I don’t believe it.” I plopped down onto a chaise longue. “Can it really be Becca Walters I see before me? I barely recognized you out of your uniform.”

She gave a start. She’d been so wrapped up in her phone she hadn’t noticed my approach.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said. “Ms. Simon! What are you doing here?”

Incredibly, she paddled over to the side of the pool, got out, and ran over to give me a shy, drippy hug.

I don’t know what came over me, but I hugged her back, just as I had Lucia the night before, though I didn’t hold Becca quite as tightly. And I didn’t cry this time.

I could see why Becca liked hanging out by her family’s amazing pool. The sound of the water trickling over the infinity edge into the catch basin was almost as relaxing as the pound of the surf on the beach a hundred yards away. There was a nice breeze. I peeled off my cardigan to feel the sunshine on my arms. A person could really escape their problems in a place like this.

Unless, of course, their problems haunted them no matter where they went.

“You look good,” I remarked to Becca as she pulled a pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt over her wet suit. “Did you do something to your hair?”

Becca reached instinctively for her hair, embarrassed. I saw that she was still wearing the horse pendant, but now it was outside her shirt, instead of hidden inside it.

“Um, yeah. Well, I washed it, and stuff. Some of the things you said to me the other day in the courtyard made sense, about living for Lucia by taking better care of myself.”

I tried to hide my surprise. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yeah. It’s hard, though.” She picked at the bandage on her arm. I noticed it was a new, waterproof bandage, not the one I’d put on her. “It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

“Well, sometimes you have to take it day by day. Maybe even minute by minute.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess that makes sense.”

Now that I could see so much more of her bare skin, I noticed that Becca’s arms and shins bore many faint white scratch marks, scars from previous attempts to punish herself.

But those would fade with time and—with enough love and support from her family and friends—eventually maybe even go away forever.

“I don’t know if this will help, Becca.” I figured I might as well get it over with. “But I came to tell you in person that I checked on Jimmy Delgado—that’s the full name of the man who hurt you and Lucia—and he’s dead. He committed suicide.”

Becca looked at me much as Lucia had done, without expression.

I felt encouraged to go on.

“There’ll probably be some stuff about it in the local papers, and maybe even on the local news, since it happened kind of recently.” Uh, like last night. “Later on, there might also be some stuff about Father Francisco getting arrested. But your name will never be connected to either of those stories, unless, of course, you want to come forward. But that’s totally up to you. I told your dad just now that you were very close with Lucia Martinez, closer than he knew. I’m sorry, Becca,” I added, since I sensed by her lowered eyebrows that this had upset her, “but I had to tell him. He loves you a lot, you know.”

I clutched the mattress of the lounge chair I was sitting on, waiting to gauge her reaction. It was a long time before she replied.

“Okay,” she said finally, reaching up to twist the horse pendant. “I’m glad, I guess.” She was gazing out across the pool, toward the Pacific.