Chapter 3

Chrissy wrinkled her nose. "What a dump."

She said it under her breath, so neither the bustling waitresses nor the other customers could hear. But I could. I gave her a sharp look, which she ignored.

We were in what I thought was a cute little diner called Aunt May's. It felt friendly and familiar and had a respectable number of customers in it for a Monday morning. In fact, on the drive over, I had been amazed at how bright and cheery the town was—it was almost like I had expected to see dark, grimy, stains tainting the buildings, the streets, even the deep green grass. Instead, the sun shone down on clean, well-kept houses and cute stores complete with maintained lawns and pots of colorful flowers.

Chrissy clearly wasn't impressed by any of it.

She poked at her menu. "Do you think anything here is gluten-free?"

I sighed, flipping over my coffee cup. "You'll have to ask."

Chrissy made a face and stared darkly out the window.

Despite the inauspicious start, she seemed to be in a better mood. Well, maybe “better” wasn't quite the right word— “subdued” was probably more accurate. It was almost like our fight had drained vital energy from her, leaving a shell of her former self.

The waitress appeared, coffee pot in hand. "Are you two visiting for the summer?" she asked as she filled my cup. I shot her a grateful look. She looked familiar with her dark, straight hair cut in a chin-length bob and Asian features. Japanese maybe. But I couldn't really place her. Maybe I had run into her years ago, while visiting my aunt.

"No, we just moved here," I said, pulling my coffee toward me, doctoring it with cream and sugar.

The waitress raised her eyebrow at me. "Really? Where?"

"Charlie, I mean Charlotte Kingsley's house."

The waitress set the coffee pot down. "Becca? Is that you?"

Something inside me seemed to twist in on itself, hearing that name out loud. I'm not Becca, I wanted to say. Becca's gone. It's Rebecca now.

At the same time, I found my brain frantically searching for a wisp of something, anything, to give me a hint as to who this waitress was. "Uh …"

"It's Mia—Mia Moto. We used to hang out, remember?"

I blinked at her and suddenly, it was like the dam opened—memories crashed down into me. I sucked in my breath, feeling physically jolted by the impact. "Mia! Oh my God, I hardly recognized you!"

She laughed in delight and held out her arms. Somehow, I found myself on my feet, swept up in a giant bear hug—impressive, considering how tiny she was. She smelled spicy, like cinnamon and coffee.

"It's so great to see you," Mia said, when we finally separated. "I mean, after that night, we were all so worried, but the hospital wouldn't let any of us visit you."

"Yeah, well, my mom …" I fumbled around, not really sure what to say. The truth was, I hadn't wanted to see them. I had become hysterical again, when one of the nurses said I had visitors. And, until that very moment, I had never even considered how it must have looked from their point of view. They were my friends; they cared about me, and I had almost died. Of course they would want to see me. I felt sick with shame.

"I can't believe it's you," I said, changing the subject. "Who else is still here? Is …"

"Daphne's still here," Mia interjected. "In fact, she's still living in the same house, right by you. She moved in after her mom got sick to help her out. I know she'd love to see you."

"And I'd love to see her too," I said, jolted again by how much I really did miss hanging out with Mia and Daphne.

"And Daniel is still here, too." Mia continued. "He's engaged now."

A rush of conflicting feelings started swirling through me at the sound of his name, anger being the most prevalent. "I'm married," I said shortly, smiling at the last second to soften my tone.

Daniel. God, I had totally forgotten him, too. For good reason, considering he had not only stood me up, all those years ago, but he also had then ignored me completely .... like I didn’t even exist. Talk about painful. Snapping back to reality, I turned my attention back to Mia. "In fact, this is my stepdaughter, Chrissy."

Mia turned her 40-thousand-watt, infectious smile on Chrissy. "Great to meet you, Chrissy. Make sure you ask your stepmom where all the hot places are to hang out." Chrissy's lips twitched upward in a semblance of a smile, and her “nicetomeetyoutoo” almost sounded friendly.

I elbowed Mia. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Someone near the kitchen yelled Mia's name, but she waved him off. "We definitely need to catch up."

"Yes," I agreed, sliding back into my seat. "I'm really surprised you're here. I thought you would be long gone—California, right? Stanford? Law school?" I had vague memories of Mia going on and on about being the next Erin Brockovich. She had nearly memorized that movie, she had seen it so often.

Mia's smile slipped. "Well, yeah. It's complicated. After that night … you … Jessica …" her voice trailed off and she pulled out her order pad. "I better get your order."

Jessica.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I could hear Chrissy asking about gluten-free options, and not getting the answer she wanted, but it seemed like the conversation was taking place outside of the bubble I was trapped in, as I could barely hear anything but a warbling echo.

Jessica. How could I have forgotten about Jessica?

Mia, Daphne, Jessica, and me. We were the four amigos that summer. The four Musketeers. Hanging out at the beach, the mall, at my aunt's house (because she was by the far the coolest of all the adults we had to choose from).

Until that night, when Jessica disappeared ... and I ended up in the hospital, broken, mentally and physically.

I rubbed my eyes, the faint wisp of a headache brushing my temples like a soft kiss. I realized that while my memories from that summer were finally returning, that night was still a total blank. Actually, the entire day was a black hole. I didn't even remember taking the first drink, one of many that would put me in the hospital, having to get my stomach pumped, followed by a complete and utter nervous breakdown.

"Becca?" Mia asked, pen poised on her pad. "You okay?"

I reached for my coffee cup, glad to see my hands weren't shaking, and tried on a smile that felt way too small. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just still recovering from moving."

Mia didn't look like she completely believed me, but I could tell she needed to get back to work. I ordered the American breakfast—eggs, bacon, fried potatoes with onions and peppers, and rye toast—even though I was no longer hungry. I knew I had to eat. I had barely eaten anything the day before, and if I didn't start eating, I would probably trigger another headache. I figured chances were decent I’d get one anyway, but at least eating something would give me a fighting chance.

Along with the lack of gluten-free options, Chrissy also voiced her displeasure around the coffee choices, wanting a mocha, or latte, or something, made with some other type of milk than, well, milk from a cow, so she ended up with a Coke. I restrained myself from pointing out that soda was probably a lot less healthy choice than something with gluten or dairy in it. Ah, kids.

She blew the paper off the straw and plopped the straw in her soda, then pulled out her iPhone. "Who's Daniel?"

I didn't look at her as I added a little more sugar to my cup, and carefully stirred. "Just a guy I knew from back when I would visit during the summer."

"Hmmm," Chrissy said, lifting her head from her iPhone to narrow her eyes at me. "Sounded like more than that."

"Well, it wasn't," I snapped. Chrissy looked up at me in surprise, one eyebrow raised. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was the grown up.

"Sorry, I didn't sleep well last night. All your pacing kept me awake." Oh, great, Rebecca. Fabulous apology right there. Maybe I just should have just cut to the chase and said “Sorry, not sorry.” I tried smiling to soften my words and turn it into a joke.

But, Chrissy was frowning at me. "Pacing? What are you talking about? I slept like the dead."

I stared at her, that sense of “wrongness” I felt in the kitchen that morning rushing through me again. "But, I mean, I saw you …" my voice trailed off as images flashed through my mind.

The white nightgown disappearing into Chrissy's room.

Chrissy standing in the kitchen wearing her red and blue sleep outfit.

I rubbed my temples, the coffee turning into a sick, greasy lump in my stomach. Oh God, I hoped I wasn't going to throw up.

Chrissy was looking at me with something that resembled concern. Or maybe it was alarm. After all, I was the only adult she knew within 1,000 miles. "Are you okay, Rebecca?"

I reached for my water glass. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's an old house. Old houses make all sorts of noises. I'm sure that's what kept me awake."

Chrissy didn't look terribly convinced, but she went back to her iPhone. She was probably texting her friends about how I was losing it. Or worse … texting her father.

I drank some water to try and settle my stomach. I was being ridiculous. Old houses make all sorts of creaks and groans and can sound exactly like footsteps, which is what kept waking me up last night. And as for what I saw … well, clearly, I hadn't seen anything. Just a trick of the light, or the moon, or something. And with the pounding of my head, I really wasn't paying that close attention.

I just needed to get some food in my stomach. And hopefully, some decent sleep that night. Then I could forget about all the house nonsense. Stefan and I could laugh about it … assuming he finally got around to calling me back, that is.

Okay, I so didn't want to go down that road. Instead, I sat back in my seat, sipped my coffee, and watched Mia top off the cup of a cute guy who looked like a contractor, laughing at something he said. I still had trouble believing Mia was waiting tables at the diner. Of all of us, she was bound and determined to get out and never come back. I remembered how driven, how passionate she had been about all the injustices in the world, and how determined she had been to right them. She was going to be a lawyer and fight for everyone who couldn't help themselves. What had happened?

A couple of older, neatly-dressed women sitting at a table next to us were staring at me. They wore nearly identical pantsuits, except one was baby blue and the other canary yellow. Their half-eaten food sat in front of them. Taken aback at the open aggression in their eyes, I looked back at them, wondering if I should know them.

Were their stares really directed at me? Did I do something in my youth my traitorous memory had yet to reveal? Maybe they were actually looking at someone sitting behind me. I turned around to look, but no one was there. When I swiveled back, their identical gaze looked even more antagonistic.

I dropped my eyes, only half-seeing the paper placemat covered with local advertising, feeling a growing sense of unease in my belly. They didn't look familiar at all. Who were they? And why me?

"Why did the waitress call you Becca?" Chrissy asked, startling me. For once, I was glad she was there to distract me, even though part of me instantly wanted to scream at her to stop calling me that.

"It was my nickname," I said, willing those older women to get up and leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them lean toward each other, whispering, hostile eyes still watching me. I adjusted my head until I couldn't see them anymore.

Chrissy went back to her iPhone "It's cute. Better than Rebecca."

I ignored the twist of pain inside me and put my hand on my heart. "Wait. Did I just hear an almost compliment there?"

Chrissy rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying. I think I'll call you Becca."

"Don't," I said, before I could stop myself.

Chrissy looked surprised. And, if I didn't know her any better, a little hurt. "What, only people you like can call you Becca?"

Cripes. I could have smacked myself. Why on earth wasn't there a manual out there on how to be a stepmom to a daughter who is only fifteen years younger than you?

"That's not it," I said, stalling for time as I tried to put the feelings that had swamped over me into words. "It just … it just triggers bad memories. That's all." I cringed—I sounded so lame, even to myself.

Chrissy gave me a withering look as she furiously pounded on her iPhone. I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what … something to bridge the gap that yawned between us—but Mia's voice interrupted me. "Daniel! Look who's here! It's Becca!"

I closed my mouth and turned to look. A police officer was standing at the counter watching Mia fill up a to-go container with coffee. Could that be Daniel? I searched the room, but only saw only a handful of people finishing up their breakfast. It had to be him.

I looked back at the cop. Broad shoulders and dark blonde hair—Daniel. Mia glanced at me and winked. I made a face back at her.

He turned. He was older of course, but yes, it was most definitely Daniel. He wouldn't be considered traditionally handsome—not like Stefan with his almost pretty-boy looks. Daniel's face was too rugged, with sharp cheekbones and a crooked nose. But his lips were still full and soft, and his eyes were still the same dark blue. I found myself suddenly conscious of my appearance. I hadn't taken a shower in two days, and I was wearing an old, faded New York Giants tee shirt. I had scraped my unruly mass of reddish, blondish, brownish hair back into a messy ponytail in preparation for a full day of cleaning and organizing. But I quickly reminded myself that I was being silly. I was a married woman, sitting with my stepdaughter, and he was engaged.

Besides, he had made it more than clear years ago he wasn't the slightest bit interested in me.

"Becca," he said coming over, his face friendly, but not exactly smiling. "Welcome back to Redemption." It didn't sound much like a welcome.

“Thanks," I said, mostly because I couldn't think of anything better to say. Instinctively, I reached up to smooth out my hair, since as usual, a few curly tendrils had escaped and hung in my face. "Not much has changed."

He studied me, making me really wish I had taken an extra five minutes to jump in the shower and dig out a clean shirt. "Oh, plenty has changed."

"Like you being a cop?"

He shrugged slightly. "Pays the bills."

I half-smiled. "There's lots of ways to pay the bills. If I remember right, you always seemed more interested in breaking the law than upholding it."

"Like I said, things change." He lifted his to-go coffee cup and took a swallow, dark blue eyes never leaving mine. "I take it you're still painting then."

I dropped my gaze to his chest, feeling a dull ache overwhelm me—the same pain I felt when I heard the name Becca. "As you said, things change."

"Ah." I waited for him to ask more questions, but instead, he changed the subject. "So, how long are you staying?"

I shrugged. "Not sure. We've actually moved here."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "To Charlie's house? You aren't selling it?"

“Well, yes. Eventually. That’s the plan. But, at least for the foreseeable future, we’ll be living in it.” I sounded like an idiot. With some effort, I forced myself to stop talking. Why on earth did I share so much detail? How was this any of his business?

He looked like he was going to say something more but was interrupted by a loud snort. The two pant-suited women both scraped their chairs back as they stood up, glaring disgustedly at all of us before heading to the cash register.

"What's with them?" Chrissy asked. I had forgotten she was there.

I shrugged, before remembering my manners and introducing Chrissy to Daniel. I made a point of gesturing with my left hand to flash my wedding ring.

His head tipped in a slight nod before looking back at me. "Will you be around later today? I'd like to stop by and talk to you."

There was something in his expression that made me uneasy, but I purposefully kept my voice light. "What on earth for? I haven't even unpacked yet. Am I already in trouble?"

The ends of his lips turned up in a slight smile, but no hint of warmth touched the intense look in his eyes. "Should you be in trouble?”

I let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Why do cops always answer a question with a question?"

"Occupational hazard. I'll see you later." He dipped his chin in a slight nod before walking away. I noticed he didn't give me the slightest hint as to what he wanted to talk to me about. That sense of unease started to grow into a sense of foreboding.

"Well, for an old friend, he wasn't very friendly," Chrissy said.

I sipped my coffee. "That's for sure."

She smirked. "He was pretty cute, though. For an old guy, I mean."

Man, she did have a knack for making me feel ancient. But, unfortunately, even that didn't distract my mind from scrambling around like a rat in a cage, worrying about what he wanted to talk to me about.

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