All the Dark Places
Terri Parlato
For my husband and children with all my love.
Acknowledgments
I am so grateful for all the people who helped bring All the Dark Places to life. To my writers group members, Tacey Derenzy, R. H. Buffington and Sandra Erni, thank you for your hard work, insight, and encouragement. Your contributions to my story are boundless. I hope I have satisfied your calls for “more Rita.” And Sandra, thank you for the twenty-five plus years of writing, reading and laughter!
And to Charlotte Smallwood, thank you for your eagerness to read more. Readers like you push me to do my best every day and I hope that I live up to your expectations.
To my wonderful editor, John Scognamiglio, a huge thank-you for saying yes to my manuscript and your enthusiasm for this story. Your suggestions made my novel so much better than I could have hoped. And thank-you to all the amazing people at Kensington who did such great work on this book.
To my incredible agent, Marlene Stringer, thank you so much for taking a chance on me. Among a million other things, you deftly handle my anxiety when it rears its ugly head. I can’t thank you enough.
A heartfelt thank-you to my children, Brittany, Becca and Nick. You are amazing people, and I am so proud of you. You inspire me to always follow my dreams. And your support means the world to me. And lastly, thank you to my husband, Fred, for not batting an eyelash when I told you I wanted to quit my teaching job to write full-time. I never could have gotten to this place without your steadfast support and hard work to ensure that the household stayed afloat. I am forever grateful for you and our beautiful family.
CHAPTER 1
Molly
SOMETIMES I WANT TO CAPTURE A HAPPY MOMENT TO KEEP FOREVER. Not like a picture or a video, but a feeling. A feeling that I want to relive for the rest of my life. (Why is it that nightmares insist on the same treatment?) I shudder and move away from the dark hallway and into the light of the living room, where my husband stands in front of the blazing fireplace while he relates a funny story to our friends. They’ve gathered for his birthday celebration and laugh with honest mirth. Everyone loves Jay. No one more than me.
The first week in January isn’t a great time to have a birthday, but since we have no choice in the matter, I’ve done my best to make everything light and festive. Jay’s fortieth is going to be one to remember if I can help it. The Christmas tree still shimmers in the corner, and white candles glow across the mantel, setting the photos there alight. Jay and I smiling and posing, the pictures illustrating our happy three-year marriage.
There’s a sharp contrast between inside and out. Dark falls early in New England in the winter. It’s been as black as coal dust outside the windows for over an hour. Only the glow of a single streetlight across the road illuminates our snow-shrouded neighborhood. We’ve been in the house not quite a year, yet it feels like home. It’s an older place, almost historic, and the nooks and crannies and gleaming woodwork appealed to me right away. Inside, the house is bright, alive with friends and my perfect husband. I feel safe here.
The cake is a work of art and sits boxed in the fridge, hidden until the big moment. Jay didn’t want a huge bash, just our best friends, good wine, and food. It should be a wonderful night. Should being the operative word. I’m praying I don’t spoil it.
I stand at the granite counter, arrange the finger foods I’d ordered from our favorite café on the square. Everything looks delicious, if only I had an appetite. Instead, I pick up my wine, a rich Malbec we picked up on a trip to California last summer, and take a sip. Jay comes up behind me and wraps me in his arms, rests his chin on the top of my head. I love his touch, his strong arms that make me feel safe and grounded, the smell of his woodsy cologne. I sigh, and a tear escapes and runs down my cheek.
“Hey.” He turns me to face him and wipes it away with his thumb. “None of that, okay? We’ve got this.”
I nod, sniff. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He crushes me in his arms and skims his lips half on my mouth, half on my chin, a light reassuring kiss. “Everything’s going to be fine, Molly.”
At six-thirty, our friends started arriving, bringing winter air and a few stray snowflakes with them through the front door. There were hugs and kisses, presents, although I told everyone Jay didn’t want any.
Kim, my best friend since second grade, and her husband, Josh, an old friend of Jay’s, sit on the sofa. We introduced them shortly after Jay and I started dating. Kim is petite, dark-haired, with big brown eyes, a former cheerleader. She’s as extroverted as I am quiet, but we complement one another.
Cal, Jay’s hockey buddy, and his wife, Laken, a tall, beautiful blonde, sit in dining room chairs carried in to provide more seating. Laken owns a day spa in town, and at the door, she’d pressed a thick, cream-colored envelope into Jay’s hand. A massage gift certificate, no doubt. Laken and I’ve gotten to be good friends too.
And Elise and Scott. Dr. Elise Westmore is Jay’s partner in a family therapy practice, and they round out our group. The Westmores are older than we are, both in their early fifties. Jay met Elise in grad school, and they hit it off. He calls her the big sister he never had.
“Who wants what?” Jay asks, the Malbec bottle in his hand. Glasses are raised, and he pours, then slips behind the bar for a second bottle. “Cal, you want a beer instead? I just made a Trillium run.”