Page 48 of Our Little Secret

“Yes! Please. Thanks. This is such a nightmare!” And then she disconnected, probably to call some other person associated with the school or Allison Carelli. Like Joanna, Brooke couldn’t imagine the anxiety and pain Elyse and Tony were going through. The loss of a child—could anything be worse?

“No,” she said aloud and again scanned the area around the school, this time with renewed anxiety. Where was her daughter?

At last she spotted Marilee and her latest best friend, Tamara Paszek, walking out a side door.

Tammi was a petite girl with curly brown hair and dark eyes accentuated with thick eyeliner and mascara.

“Thank God,” she whispered.

Before the two girls reached the front of the building, they paused near a cluster of birch trees shivering in the wind. At the sound of a door banging shut, they turned in unison to look backward, toward the tennis courts. Within seconds a tall boy with curly black hair and even features loped up to them.

It was Nick Paszek, Tammi’s brother, in a maroon hoodie and black pants, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

An easy smile showed off white teeth against his olive skin, where a beard shadow was visible. At over six feet tall, he seemed more man than adolescent. Without a second’s hesitation, he grabbed Marilee by the shoulders, pulling her tight against him.

Inside her Explorer, Brooke froze, her gaze fastened to her daughter, who didn’t resist and didn’t seem surprised by his actions. As if it happened all the time. Not a big deal, Brooke told herself, but wondered what the two of them would do if alone, not in the middle of a flood of kids in the schoolyard in broad daylight.

Tammi was chatting away, then caught sight of another knot of girls and, waving, peeled away to join the cluster of friends, some of whom Brooke recognized but couldn’t name. That left Nick and Marilee alone as the tide of students flowed into cars, vans, buses, and trucks, the vehicles driving off, the noise of chattering voices quieting so that Brooke heard the clank of the chain against the flagpole as Old Glory rippled in the wind.

Brooke was about to honk but bit her lip as Nick bent down and gathered Marilee even closer to kiss her. Marilee tipped up her head, and as their lips met, kissed him back passionately. Yellowed leaves from the aspen swirled and pirouetted around them.

Oh no!

For a second Brooke was stunned.

Really? What did you expect? She’s not a little girl anymore. Dear God, she can wear your shoes. Do you remember what you were like at that age? All hormones and curiosity, excitement and urgency? Didn’t you tell your mother not to make you choose between her and Keith Turnquist when you were just a year or so older than your daughter is now? And that was around the time of your mom’s cancer diagnosis.

Thinking of her own high school years and of Keith, a lanky kid with sleepy eyes, a fast car and even faster hands, her stomach knotted.

That had turned out badly.

So badly.

But it could have been much worse.

Absently, she rubbed the scar on the side of her throat, a war wound compliments of Keith and his temper.

Theirs had been a short-lived, highly charged relationship.

She felt a wave of heat climb up the back of her neck when she thought of the physical abuse and the resulting assault charges, and how lucky she’d been to get out of the relationship.

Passion was hard to rein in.

Didn’t she know that?

In an instant she remembered a more distinct, recent scene, when she and Gideon were alone on the island, the wind swirling around them, the roar of the surf in their ears, the smell of the ocean salty and thick. They’d kissed on the beach and she’d felt the weight of his body as they tumbled into the sand in the dunes, so caught up in each other that they didn’t know another couple was walking through the beach grass until a big, black, loppy-eared dog ran past.

She recoiled at the awkward memory, hitting the horn by accident.

Across the school lawn Nick broke off the embrace. He looked up and spied Brooke’s car parked near the pickup lane. He said something and Marilee turned, her face red, her lips swollen, her eyes rounding. She said something more to Nick, then ran across the lawn toward Brooke’s SUV. Flinging open the door, she said, “God, Mom, why did you do that?”

“Do what? You knew I was picking you up.”

“You didn’t need to honk. It’s so . . . mortifying.” Clicking on her seat belt, she slithered low into her seat.

“But making out in the schoolyard isn’t?”

“Making out? We weren’t—”