Dying Breath. Wendy Corsi Staub

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СКАЧАТЬ glimpsing fleeting distress in her face, asks, “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing,” Tess shoots back. “What’s wrong with you?”

      Cam scowls. “Watch your tone, Tess.”

      With a scowl, Tess amends, “All I meant is, what are you doing out here?”

      “I figured I’d open the door for you when I saw Daddy pulling up.”

      Tess’s expression instantly softens. “Oh. Well, thanks.”

      Looking as though she wants to add something, she comes into the house. Cam knows better than to press her daughter.

      “He was in a hurry to leave tonight, huh?” Cam asks casually as she closes the door.

      “Yeah, I guess.” Tess heads immediately for the stairs.

      Cam slides the dead bolt and sets the alarm that had once seemed so necessary for a house this size “in the middle of nowhere,” as Cam once saw it.

      Back when Mike moved into senior management and they first considered moving out of Manhattan, her only suburban experience was her childhood apartment in Camden. There were bars on the windows, junkies on the streets, and sirens screamed all night.

      Yeah, and it took her all of five minutes to figure out that this upscale, well-insulated neighborhood couldn’t be farther from her roots—or closer to Mike’s, even though Connecticut is two states away and not on the list of places she was willing to live.

      High on a ridge west of Manhattan, Montclair won them over with spectacular skyline views, historic architecture, and a manageable commute. Though historically the town boomed early last century when Manhattan’s affluent built their mansions—and though it remains partially populated by celebrity types, the cultural elite, Wall Street and media royalty—there is, nonetheless, a small-town feel. It is, as the first realtor told Cam and Mike way back when, a great place to raise a family.

      So Montclair it was. With a built-in security system. Because you can’t be too careful…anywhere.

      Not when you’re a mother tormented by visions of real kids in real trouble.

      Cam looks up at her daughter heading up the steps. “Tess? You should pack, tonight or tomorrow morning. Okay?”

      “Yeah.”

      Not very convincing.

      “Don’t leave it for the last minute,” Cam calls, but her daughter is already down the hall, closing the door to her room.

      She sighs, remembering Tess’s little-girl days, when she was always delightful, always delighted.

      When was the last time she heard Tess laugh?

      Really laugh, not the staccato, sarcastic sound she frequently emits these days to express just how ridiculous she finds something—or someone, usually Cam.

      Well, can you blame her? She started a new school, turned fourteen, and her parents split up, all in a matter of months.

      Not exactly a glee-inducing combo.

      Only thing that can top that for Tess will be finding out her soon-to-be single mom is pregnant.

      Cam shakes her head and starts for the kitchen, thinking she needs a glass of—

      Milk. That’s all you get tonight.

      Or ever.

      Cam sighs, longing for wine, for her little girl, for Mike.

      For the life she used to have—or perhaps, for the life she never had at all.

      Okay, so it isn’t the first time over the years that Ike’s caught a glimpse of Brenda—only to have her either vanish into thin air or prove to be a figment of his imagination all along.

      He’s pretty sure he didn’t take a hit of acid earlier when Frankie offered—though, yeah, he remembers taking a hit or two off Jimmy’s joint before they went on. But it’s not like he’s stoned out of his mind, blind drunk, or—despite his age—going senile.

      Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

      Brooding, he twirls the cold, wet beer bottle back and forth between his palms.

      For all he knows, Brenda has been dead all these years, just like Ava.

      Somewhere in the back of Ike’s mind, beneath the weighted shroud of grief and loss, something stirs.

      No.

      More wishful thinking, and you know it.

      Or does he?

      Years ago, there was no DNA testing. Ava’s body—with all recognizable features obliterated in the fall—was identified based on the contents of the wallet in her pocket.

      No one ever questioned it, or the fact that there wasn’t a suicide note. Not even Ike. Not back then, anyway.

      But as the years passed, he began to wonder…

      Would his firstborn child, his beloved, beautiful Daddy’s girl, really have done that to him after all he had been through? Would Ava—after promising to be a stand-in mom to her little sister—have abandoned Cam as well? Was she that distraught over Brenda’s disappearance, or her grades, or a breakup, or any of the things the police said might have caused her to kill herself?

      Anything’s possible.

      And when Ike’s stone sober, he’s usually fairly convinced that it was her. When he’s messed up, though…he believes anything’s possible.

      Like some other girl diving to her death that day with Ava’s wallet in her pocket, and Ava still being alive somewhere.

      Like Brenda showing up in some bar looking for him…

      Or on the street in Philly, or in an Atlantic City dive casino, or at his granddaughter’s eighth-grade graduation, or any of the other places Ike’s glimpsed her—or so he thought—over the years.

      Brenda.

      As hard as it ever was to believe his wife had really chosen to walk away, it’s even harder to fully accept, even now, that she’s never coming back.

      Maybe that’s why he keeps looking for her, for both of them, Bren and Ava, more and more lately.

      Or maybe he’s seeing Brenda because she’s really there.

      Maybe she couldn’t stay away. Maybe she’s been watching him, and Cam, and even Tess, keeping tabs on them. Just waiting for the right moment to come back into their lives.

      Any time now, Bren, Ike silently tells her, wherever she is. Any time.

      “Need another beer, Ike?” Billy asks, and he shakes his head.

      The night is young. It’s time to move on.

      Ike СКАЧАТЬ