say a word. He didn’t even take his backpack to go to school. He just left. Come home, baby, she thought over and over. I’m still here. I won’t leave you. Everything in her son’s room took on an unbridled poignancy. Laura smiled when she came across his cache of personal hygiene products on top of the cherry highboy. A bottle of body spray, a tube of acne medicine that he’d begged her to buy off a TV commercial, and a hair product called Bed Head. Her teenage son was growing up. He was still somewhat distant, but the signs were there. He was interested in girls. That was good. While her relationships with men had not gone the distance—her failed marriage to Alex was only one of four longtime relationships that had ended—she hoped that Parker would have better luck in that arena. His relationship with his father and stepmother had also improved. The cellular phone bill indicated a sharp increase in phone calls to his father’s. That was good, too. In putting away his neatly matched socks in a top drawer that was only organized when she did the arranging, she noticed a flash of red and white, a greeting card. Its red heart with an arrow indicated a valentine. She opened it and read the message:
Our love is forever. I will wait for you. Will you wait for me?
It was signed, somewhat cryptically, Me. Tears flowed freely as she thought of Alex and how they’d met on the stainless-steel dance floor at the Black Angus in Bremerton. He was young, handsome. Attentive. A naval officer with plans for the future that included getting a master’s degree in finance. The message on the card reminded her of their own love story. Alex was transferred to San Diego for a year. And, yes, she waited for him. When he returned to Bremerton the following year, he had a new tattoo on his chest and a diamond engagement ring for Laura’s finger. Underneath the first card, she found a second one. This one featured the image of two swans, their necks forming the shape of a heart. It was wrong to invade Parker’s space and his mom knew it. Yet she couldn’t help herself. Her son had been so unhappy, so wounded. Few mothers can resist the urge to learn more about the girl who had given her boy a reason to smile.
When one swan dies, so does the other. I can’t live without you.
The handwriting was a neat script, the same script as on the other. Teenagers. Everything is so dramatic, she thought, closing the drawer.
Before Alex’s murder, Laura considered Parker’s eighteenth birthday as a personal and financial game changer. The substantial child support that Alex had faithfully sent each month since their divorce would cease. It was far from a gravy train, but its derailment was going to be tough. She was unsure exactly what she would do to get by. It was true that she had investments and a decent nest egg, but the cash flow that came from Alex’s account to hers was the kind of money that made the difference between being comfortable and having strained finances. She could buy what she wanted. Eat out whenever she liked. She could even afford to have her car detailed once a month. All of that would be off the table when the support checks stopped. Alex wasn’t blameless in all of that, of course. And, though she loathed to admit it to herself, she’d once hoped that Alex would drop dead of a heart attack. He had a sizable life insurance policy and she was the beneficiary. She could have lived nicely on that. She could have avoided the embarrassment of giving up a big house, European vacations, and platinum tennis bracelets. But Alex didn’t drop dead before they were divorced. And there was clearly no stopping Tori. She popped into her husband’s life at a time when Laura and Alex were at odds, when the excitement of their marriage had faded into a world of obligation. She saw Tori as a schemer who used her considerable charms to snare a man who wanted that last gasp of youth that comes in one’s forties. A wife the same age was only a mirror to the passage of the days and months of his life. Laura hated Tori for coming into their lives. The blonde with the perfect body had wriggled her way into their affairs like a beautiful virus. She wanted what she saw—a husband with a bank account that would keep her in expensive clothes, a nice house, and a car that would be the envy of those who care about such things. Alex had other affairs during their marriage, but none lasted. None had morphed into anything other than sex and secrecy. Yet Tori would have none of that. She played to win. As Laura saw her, Tori was one of those women who knew that the power in their beauty was a commodity that was never to be given away without something in return.
“Don’t worry, Laura,” Tori had said over the phone, when Laura had called to discuss Parker’s declining grades.
“I don’t want to take your place.”
“Really? That seems to be exactly what you’ve done.”
“I mean with Parker. I don’t want to be his mother and I won’t even try. I want him to think of me as a friend.”
“He doesn’t need another mother, and to be frank, he doesn’t need a friend, either. He has plenty.”
“That’s good to know,” she said.
“He seems a little lonely. He shares so much with me that I just want to be helpful. It isn’t easy being a child of divorce. I want to be there for him.” Laura held her tongue, which was the only thing a decent person could do. Tori was Alex’s problem. Certainly she wanted to blast the bitch and say something about the fact that she had caused the divorce, but there was no point in that.
“Thanks for your concern,” she said before hanging up. She seethed a moment and went for a vodka tonic. Absolut vodka today, Brand X tomorrow. All of that had felt so foolish now. All of her worries about how she was going to survive after her son’s birthday were an embarrassment now. She’d never say a word to anyone what her hopes had been. No one would understand.
CHAPTER TEN
Port Orchard, Washington
The Landing at Port Orchard was the newest assisted-living residence for seniors “who need a little extra care” in the small city on Puget Sound. The first floor was beautifully if predictably appointed: leather couches, wingback chairs with brass nailhead detailing, and a gas fireplace that was perpetually on. The river rock–faced hearth was outfitted with a raffia-bound bundle of birch twigs and an old-fashioned popcorn popper, the kind that would be used over a campfire. Above the fireplace, illuminated by a trio of halogen lights, was a three-foot model of a red canoe. Most of the design—from the colors of the fabrics and walls to the nostalgic artifacts placed around the entire first floor—was in what the center’s director called “memory chic.” None of it was real, but all of it was designed to help residents and visitors recall a time when they could remember. When they didn’t need a schedule or a prompt to remind them what to do next. In reality, the ambiance of the Landing was that of a slightly overdone theme restaurant in which artifacts were used to suggest, rather than to recall, specific memories. Bettina Maguire had been at the Landing for more than three years, having survived a car accident on an icy road in northern Kitsap County that killed her husband and Kendall’s father, Ben. A retired high school shop teacher, Ben had been driving when a deer stepped out of the shadows; he did what he told his daughter and wife never to do: he swerved, his own advice of “hitting the animal will kill it, but hitting a tree will kill you” unheeded. Bettina’s brain had been damaged in the accident, as had her once indomitable spirit. She’d also taught school for decades, specializing in art. Before the accident, she often talked about the lovely mosaic that she helped the children create; it had been featured in the Seattle Times. Bettina’s depiction of Port Orchard’s history was told through the tiny shards of broken pottery, glassware, and one very upset student’s mother’s prized wedding platter. Kendall arrived at the Landing feeling tired from a sleepless night full of thoughts about a criminal case in which she had no stake. Tacoma PD can deal with the likes of Tori, she thought. She had parked her SUV and headed inside to sign in when her cell rang. She looked down at the display. The incoming call was from Adam Canfield. She pushed the button to send it immediately to voice mail, then she reached for one of the pens embellished with roses that were stuck in a flower pot on the reception desk.
“How’s my mom?” she asked Samantha, the young woman whose name tag suggested she was a “Landing hostess” and not a desk clerk.
“You know the way it is around here. Good days, bad days. Your mom’s having a bad one.” Samantha’s voice was chirpy and relentlessly upbeat.
“I’m sure.”
“One thing I’m sure about is that she will be so very happy to see you!” So very happy. Kendall made her way to Room 14, on the first floor of south side of the building. She passed by a group of old women moving puzzle pieces on a tabletop and smiled at the one who looked at her. The building’s three floors told the story of an occupant’s status. Those on the upper floors were, generally, in better health. Mobile. Put together. Cognizant. Those attributes dwindled closer to the first floor. Bettina Maguire had stayed on the second floor for only two months before they moved her to the first floor, close
