You Are Not Alone(31)

A shiny red ten-speed bike with a big bow on the seat leaned against the garage.

“Surprise!” my mom shouted.

I felt my eyes prickle—a dog would be my best friend and would always keep me company—but I recovered fast, biting my lower lip hard so my mom wouldn’t know.

“Can I ride it now?”

My mom looked at my dress. “How about we have dessert, then you change and go? It’ll still be light out.”

Barry hadn’t moved from the table when we returned. He was holding his can of Coors with his left hand. He’d lost the tip of that pinkie to a circular saw on one of his construction projects years ago, and the nail was missing. “Like your gift?”

Something in his tone held a warning. I nodded and slid into my seat, carefully arranging my napkin so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. I suspected the monthly child support my father paid to my mom was a pretty good-size amount, judging by what I’d overheard Barry say about it.

“I got a bike when I was a kid. But I paid for it myself. Earned the money on my paper route.”

“Barry,” my mother said softly. “Let’s have dessert.”

She put the first cupcake on his plate, then she served me and herself.

The icing was thick and gooey, with crunchy rainbow sprinkles on top. I licked some of it off, savoring the sweetness, because it was my favorite part.

At the exact instant I opened my mouth to take a big, greedy bite, Barry spoke up again. “If you’re gonna wear a dress like that, you need to lay off the cupcakes.”

I froze. Then I carefully put my cupcake back on my plate.

“Barry! That wasn’t nice!” My mom turned to me. “Sweetie, it’s your birthday. Eat as many as you want.”

Barry spread out his arms, as if he didn’t mean any harm. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. Guys don’t like girls who are bigger than them.”

I couldn’t stop the tears then. Even though I didn’t make a sound, my mom saw them rolling down my cheeks. She jumped up, her face flushed. I’d never heard her yell at my stepfather, but she let loose. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t talk to her that way!”

I slipped out of my chair. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. Barry didn’t even look at me; his apology was only to my mom. “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know what came over me. I just had a really rough week.”

I ran into the backyard and climbed aboard my bike. As I passed the dining room window, I saw Barry pulling my mom into his lap, nuzzling his face into her neck. She wasn’t smiling, but she was letting him do it.

I rode around aimlessly until it began to grow dark, then I pedaled home. I put my bike in the garage and quietly entered the house. Barry was watching TV in the living room, but my mom was waiting for me upstairs. She gave me a big hug and whispered, “Barry’s really sorry. And I left a cupcake on your desk with a glass of milk.”

I ate it, but it wasn’t nearly as good as that first sweet taste.



* * *



I’ve been so lost in the birthday memory that my feet are leading me, almost unconsciously, toward the Seventeenth Precinct.

As I pass a glass storefront, I notice my reflection. My shoulders are hunched, and my arms are crossed. I know what I’m doing; I’m trying to make myself smaller. That’s the legacy Barry left me with, even though after that birthday, he was careful to save his barbs for moments when it was just the two of us.

I stop and turn to look at myself face on. I uncross my arms, letting them hang freely at my sides. I straighten up and square my shoulders.

I reclaim the woman I was only a few minutes ago, when I sat with Cassandra and Jane.

Barry’s words are extinguished by the ones Jane uttered: Your arms are so toned! Do you have Michelle Obama’s trainer?

I reach the precinct and step inside, past the parallel wooden benches. This time the officer manning the entrance is a woman. She lifts her eyes to look at me but doesn’t speak, and I’m reminded again of what an intimidating place this is.

But I press on: “Hi, I’m here to see Detective Williams.”

“She isn’t in.”

I’m instantly deflated, but I recover and ask if I can leave her a note.

The officer nods and I find a pen and an old receipt in my tote bag. Please call me, I scribble. The necklace actually didn’t belong to Amanda.

I write down my cell phone number, just in case Williams no longer has it.

I’ve already got a plan in place in case the necklace is now in the hands of Amanda’s mother. I can research her. I can find out her phone number and address and explain what happened.

I won’t tell the Moore sisters about the lengths I went to to get it back. I’ll just deliver the good news.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



CASSANDRA & JANE


THE SISTERS ONLY LIE when absolutely necessary.

Making Shay feel better about herself was essential, which was why Cassandra invented the story about Jane’s heartbreak—Jane had ended the relationship with the handsome banker who grew too demanding of her time.

The only other fabrication they concocted concerned the true owner of the missing necklace. Jane’s was resting in her jewelry box.

Shay had seemed so eager to get it back for them. The sisters expected to hear from her quickly—especially since Valerie followed Shay when she departed Bella’s and observed her going to the Seventeenth Precinct police station, presumably to retrieve the necklace.