NINE

  

Saint Anthony’s was filling quickly. Allison arrived early, after the viewing but before the funeral Mass. She chose a spot on the end of a long wooden pew, toward the back of the church, and watched the mourners as they arrived. She didn’t recognize anyone until Shawn Fairweather entered the church. He walked behind a raven-haired woman and an older man. Although this man was heavier and shorter than Scott, he had Scott’s square jaw and bright, intelligent blue eyes. Shawn and his family sat a few rows in front of Allison, their gazes affixed to the front of the church.

Five minutes before the service was set to begin, Leah Fairweather made her way down the long aisle, accompanied by her sister, Heather. Behind the two women, an older couple—Leah’s parents?—walked slowly. An infant was cradled against the older woman’s chest.

Watching the baby, Allison felt her anger wane. The infant slept, perfectly-round cheeks moving ever so slightly while she sucked on two fat, rosy fingers. The picture of innocence. Her life was forever changed, though. She would never know her father. It all seemed so hopelessly senseless.

Allison joined the mourners in the rituals of the Catholic Mass, taking some comfort in the familiarity of the words and the hymns, and the priest’s voice, which was a soothing baritone. It all seemed so…normal.

At the end of the ceremony, after the priest performed the final benediction and the soloist sang “On Eagle’s Wings,” a great sob came from someone at the front of the church. Allison heard murmurings, then silence. A voice screamed, “Oh, God, how I hate you!”

It was Leah’s voice, and she belted out her rage in the same pitch and tone as she’d used to accuse Allison just days before. Only this time, she had an audience. Another hush fell over the mourners before Leah’s sister ushered her back up the aisle, toward the church’s vestibule. Leah stopped feet from Allison. She raised one arm and pointed in Allison’s direction. “You!”

Mortified, it took Allison a moment to realize Leah was pointing to Shawn and his family, not her.

Heather grabbed Leah’s arm and pulled her gently toward the double-wooden doors. But not before Allison heard the words that Leah uttered under her breath. “Monster,” she said. “You are a monster.”

  

After the service, some guests milled about in the church’s parking lot while others returned to their vehicles to follow the hearse to the cemetery. Allison watched as Leah and her family walked toward the waiting limousine. Leah seemed deflated and emotionless. Her sister held the baby now, and she cradled the little girl protectively, shielding her from onlookers as though she could also shield her from the pain that lie ahead.

Leah, who had been lingering behind her sister, increased her pace as she passed a small group of whispering mourners who’d congregated by the church’s fence. The change in her gait was subtle, but Allison saw Leah glance their way and, with shoulders hunched forward, hurry toward the security of her family. The group, made up of three men and a woman, watched the family pass with rapt but solemn expressions.

The woman glanced down at the last second just as one of the men—short, dark-haired and wiry—reached for Leah’s arm. Leah stopped. He held her forearm gently and said something into her ear. Leah nodded before moving on. After Leah passed, the woman in the group looked up and Allison got a good look at her face. She recognized her as Julie Fitzsimmons, one of Scott’s work colleagues from the LinkedIn profiles, and made a mental note to talk to her at some point.

The hearse drove off, the limo and a parade of mourners behind it. Allison turned around and found Shawn Fairweather next to her. He still looked ruffled by the display back in the church. The older man was with him.

“Son, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” said the older man.

“I would if I knew her name.” He smiled at Allison. “She is a friend—sorry, was a friend—of Uncle Scott.”

“Allison Campbell.” Allison held out her hand.

“Mark Fairweather,” the man said. “Scott’s brother.” He gave Allison a slow once-over, lingering a moment too long on her face. A flash of recognition crossed his features. He recovered quickly, though, and asked, “How did you know Scott?”

“We worked together a few years ago.”

“At Tenure Polk?”

Allison shook her head. “While he was at Mystic Toys.”

“Ah,” Mark said. He squinted as though he were trying to place her, but Allison got the feeling he knew quite well who she was. “Your name is familiar. Maybe I met you at one of Scott’s work functions?”

Allison was about to respond when the raven-haired woman joined them. She placed her hand firmly on Mark’s elbow. “We need to head to the cemetery,” she said. She was younger than Allison thought originally, maybe thirty, and although her features were too harsh to be pretty, she possessed a striking beauty born of strong features and a direct, confident gaze.

“This is Nina, my wife.”

Allison and Nina shook hands. Allison noticed precisely-manicured, slender fingers, a three-carat diamond ring and a very limp handshake.

Nina looked bored. She whispered something in her husband’s ear.

He smiled indulgently. “Soon, my love,” he said, patting her hand. “Allison was just telling us how she knew Scott. Weren’t you, Allison?”

“Scott and I were seeing each other at one time. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

Mark gave her a tight-lipped smile. Shawn looked away. Nina laughed.

“Is this the woman?” Nina asked her husband.

Mark nodded. “One of them, anyway.”

Nina smirked. “I didn’t recognize her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mark said. “She’s the one who got away.”

  

Allison drove from the church to Delvar’s luncheon with a stomach full of butterflies and a head full of questions. Around her, the crisp, fall air was blessedly dry and clear. Trees, their leaves a symphony of reds, golds and oranges, swayed in a gentle breeze. It was cool enough to be pleasant, but not cold enough to portend winter. A true autumn day, increasingly rare. But Allison was distracted. Her mind was on the Fairweather family. Leah’s word for Mark Fairweather, Monster, stayed with her, as had the little scene after the funeral. Mark Fairweather knew who Allison was before he’d actually met her. It was not her name he recognized, but her face. Could he have sent the pictures?

And what about Nina’s words: Is this the woman?

Is this what woman? If Shawn had recognized her initially, she would have known. It was just Mark. But how had he known of her? Scott…Scott must have told him. Perhaps Mark had even seen the pictures. Unthinkable, but a possibility she couldn’t ignore.

Allison merged on to the Pennsylvania Turnpike and headed toward Allentown and the Grand Bistro, the venue Delvar had chosen for today’s event. Allentown was close to her parents, so after the meeting, she would swing by and check on her family. Her mother, who had been struggling with Alzheimer’s for years, had been steadily declining. Her father, a loud and abusive man during Allison’s childhood, had devolved into an unruly child. Allison’s older sister Faye, their caretaker, had finally agreed to let Allison hire help. But Allison was afraid the ten hours a day of nursing care still wasn’t enough.

Stop dwelling, she thought to herself. Faye has things under control. And Jason would be home tonight. Even though he’d only been gone two days, Allison was looking forward to seeing him. Jason and Brutus. Her makeshift little family.

A large oak leaf fluttered across the roadway and landed on Allison’s windshield. She watched it shimmy across the glass before it fell away.