Erica had moved out in March, allowing his relationship with Serene to blossom. So far, they were keeping everything low-key for the kids. Sara, especially, did not take Erica's leaving well and blamed both him and Serene for the abrupt change in their family dynamic. With everyone home, it was hard to squeeze in discreet amorous visits.
Serene still could not remember how to drive, and ride-shares like Lyft and Uber were no longer a good option, hence his driving back and forth. Recently, Steve brought up the idea of teaching her how to drive. Serene still had her license as Dora Jones; all she needed were some lessons. Maybe she'd retained some of her muscle memory, he had mused.
Serene's memories were oddly patchy. She recalled certain aspects of her life while other parts were strangely blacked out. She could remember nothing of the two weeks prior to losing her memory, and she still couldn't remember talking to Darpan about Mara. She spoke of other memories in the third person, the ones that belonged to her when she was Dora. The family had begun virtual therapy with Serene's therapist. When Steve mentioned to Claudia the odd way Serene referred to herself, the therapist explained to him that Dora was not Serene. Although he understood that Serene suffered from dissociative identity disorder, he could never get over the small shocks that came with knowing this new part of her. Serene's memories as Serene were strongest from her teen years and childhood and remained vague or missing altogether past the age of sixteen.
The light of his phone flashed at him from the counter and he picked it up.
“Steve?” Carrie's voice blared out through the speaker. She sounded upset.
“Yeah. What's up?”
“They found Mara.” Carries' voice cracked and she gave a little sob. Steve's blood ran cold.
“Is she… alive?”
“No,” Carrie's voice whispered back at him. “I just got off the phone with Barbara. Gina called her, sobbing her eyes out. Christ!”
“What happened?”
“She fell off that point––you know that steep area on their land in Topanga?”
Steve closed his eyes, his stomach dropping at the thought. “Jesus.”
“I know.”
“Where are you?”
“Mom and Dad’s. Where else?”
After the shutdown, Carrie had moved in with their parents. Although she still got paid for her job as a flight attendant for American Airlines, she wasn't working.
Steve stopped by a few times at Enzo's when Mara had first gone missing, but the visits were awkward. The two had never really hit it off as friends.
“Barbara went over there,” Carrie said.
Barbara just barely got her driver's license in time, the week of the shutdown. She now drove the old red Mustang convertible. Steve had kept it garaged for her, fending off Tera, who had wanted to take possession of the vehicle.
“How was she discovered?” Steve asked of Mara.
“I don't know. I thought maybe we could pay our respects. In a socially distanced way,” Carrie added lamely.
“Yeah, of course. Let me just shuffle some things around. I'll be right over.”
Steve stood for a moment, thinking. Two months ago, Serene regained parts of her memory and confessed to him that she had seen Mara––or Julie––assault Taylor. Darpan continued to call sporadically and leave messages. With the prisons closed to visitors, their plan to see him was scrapped. And then there had been the fact that Mara was missing, her family in pain. Steve and Serene had discussed whether it was the best thing to bring up a dim memory slandering Mara's name, kicking her family while they were down.
Carrie was at Serene's when Steve pulled into the driveway. She answered the door. Serene, Jesse, Sara and Cuppa sat solemnly in the living room.
“Barbara just called,” Carrie said. “The family doesn't want anyone over right now.”
“Oh.” He took a seat, feeling a sense of relief. He hadn't been looking forward to stopping at the Morenos’ during such a tragic moment. A sensitive time for a family, which might be made excruciatingly awkward with the stilted way he and Enzo acted toward each other in the best of times.
Sara was resting her head against Cuppa, the woman's arm around her shoulder. A heavy silence blanketed the room, and then Cuppa rose up, smoothing down her dress just as Steve took a seat.
“Right,” she said. “I'll put on a pot of water.”
“It feels like the world's coming to an end,” Sara said in a small voice, and Jesse took her hand.
Steve leaned forward in his chair. “We're in unprecedented times, but we'll make it through, Sara.”
His daughter glanced at him sadly. “She must have been so scared when she fell, like Cedar.”
Serene placed her hands between her legs, her dark eyes big and haunted. “We can make cards for Mara's family,” she said quietly. “And later, when they're ready, we can bring our love.”
That afternoon, they cut, colored and pasted. Barbara came home a few hours later and filled them in on more details when Sara and Jesse were out of earshot. A neighbor who had a second home below the Morenos’ had recently come back to wait out the pandemic in Topanga. When the neighbor went out to his deck and looked over, he'd seen the fabric of Mara's shirt and then noticed what was left of her body wedged between brambles in the gulch below. Coyotes must have made off with pieces of her.
“Oh. God.” Cuppa exclaimed with horror, talking through her hand, plastered tightly over her mouth.
“The investigators told Enzo she either committed suicide or was the victim of foul play.”
“Why do they say that?” Steve asked.
“I don't know. Something about the way she fell.”
“Awful,” Cuppa exclaimed. “Just awful.”
Serene and Carrie sat amongst a pile of cut-up construction paper, twin expressions of shock playing out on their features.
“Oh. Mom,” Barbara said, “Enzo wanted me to give you this.” She handed Serene a blank letter-size envelope. It was sealed. Serene frowned and tore it open, pulling a single sheet of paper out. Her
