The Babysitter. Nancy Bush

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      Chapter Six

      Cooper dropped Marissa off at her mother’s house, the house he’d once shared with Laura before their split, the house less than a mile from his parents’, now his own.

      He watched as she walked up to the garage, hitching up her backpack as she pressed the numbers on the pin pad to open the door. She lifted a hand to him without turning around. He watched the door lumber upward with a few squeaks and groans—gonna have to check those springs, Haynes, make sure it’s still functioning right—then back down again before he reversed out of the drive.

      He and Laura had determined to keep their split as amicable as possible for Marissa’s sake, even though there had been huge fights between them toward the end of their three-year marriage. He’d married Laura for all the wrong reasons, chief among them that it was the time when all the guys he knew were taking that trip down the aisle and Laura was eager to take the same steps. There were other reasons, too . . . chief among them being he’d liked her looks. Then a buddy of his at work, a guy about ten years older than Cooper who’d also graduated from River Glen High, Howie Eversgard, had pointed out to him, “She kinda looks like that girl from the Thrift Shop.” This observation had come about a year into Cooper’s marriage. Howie’s father haunted Theo’s Thrift Shop, as many grandparents did, buying up the gently used discards from some of River Glen’s wealthier families, who gave away their belongings rather than sell them on craigslist or other similar sites.

      “The hell she does,” Cooper had growled, trying to cover up that he’d been knocked sideways a bit. But as soon as he’d heard it, he’d recognized its truth: Laura had a passing resemblance to Emma Whelan.

      Howie had been undeterred. “No, man. Check it out sometime. Go to the Thrift Shop for a look-see.”

      Though Cooper had attempted to shrug off Howie’s words, he’d gone to the Thrift Shop in his off hours to see the real Emma Whelan to compare. He’d learned Emma looked remarkably the same as in high school, though her face had lost its expressiveness. “Hi, Cooper,” she’d greeted him, as if there hadn’t been years in between since they’d seen each other. Her voice was flat, as smooth and uninflected as her mien, not a ripple in the water. It hurt his heart, as it had when it had happened.

      That trip to the shop had also made him hyperaware of his marriage, the chinks in the armor, the little rips in the fabric. Laura looked like Emma, but she wasn’t Emma as Emma had once been. Laura was careful and a little sensitive, where Emma had been self-confident. Laura wanted to be with him twenty-four seven, where Emma had always made it clear she liked him just fine, but maybe she had better things to do. Their relationship, such as it had been, in junior high and, briefly, in high school, hadn’t really gotten off the ground. All the guys had wanted Emma, and maybe he’d gotten a little closer than most, but it hadn’t been a real relationship. He could admit that now.

      Her aloofness was one of the reasons they’d all gone to scare her at her babysitting job the night of the Stillwell party.

      “I’m taking over for my sister,” Emma had said breezily when Tim Merchel, whose parents had bought him a cell phone, had called her on her home phone.

      “Ah, c’mon, Emma. Stillwell’s having a party.”

      “Have fun,” she’d told them, hanging up.

      She’d relented later, actually stopping by the party briefly before going on to her babysitting job. Race had asked her what took her so long to show up, but she’d refused to say before taking off. Her departure left Race in a bad mood and then . . . plans were made.

      They all knew she babysat for the Ryerson twins.

      Cooper shook the memories away as he drove back to the station. Whenever Marissa called and he was around, he tended to take off work for a few minutes to pick her up from school and drop her off. Laura expected her to walk home, though she lived over a mile from the school, but with iffy weather and a heavy backpack, Cooper kinda thought Marissa needed a little extra help sometimes. Which pissed Laura off.

      “She’s my daughter,” she told him crisply time and again, usually on a phone call after she’d worked up a head of steam.

      “She’s a fifteen-year-old girl with a backpack three times as heavy as it ought to be.”

      “She’s СКАЧАТЬ