MARY CLARK - Piece of My Heart

There’s another person upstairs , he thought. And it’s a lady.

Thursday, July 16

Day Two

Chapter 22

Laurie smiled as Alex tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and left a small kiss on her cheek. “Maybe we should get married right here on the beach while the sun rises, just like this,” she said.

It was the crack of dawn, only five-thirty in the morning, and they had the ocean view all to themselves. Timothy wouldn’t wake for another two hours, so Laurie and Alex had snuck off to the beach to enjoy a quiet moment together.

“I was the one who said I would marry you anytime and anyplace. Say the word and we’ll cancel the plans for Sunday.”

“We’re canceling them anyway, don’t you think?” She felt guilty for even thinking about their wedding while Johnny was missing, but at some point, they needed to notify the church and the guests and the restaurant and the florist and the band… and she was sure she was forgetting a few others. Even their small reception would take some work to erase.

“If we start making those phone calls, it’s going to crush Andrew and Marcy,” Alex said.

She remembered that first night after Greg was killed, lying in bed alone, realizing she would never sleep under the same roof with him again. If they called off the wedding now, it would be an admission that they didn’t believe Johnny would be coming back by Sunday, which might mean he was never coming home at all.

“You’re right. We’ve got to keep faith. With luck he’ll be found by the time Marcy and Andrew even wake up.”

“The rest of the world does continue to move, though,” he said. “Anthony texted me at four in the morning. I swear, the man works twenty-four hours a day. He says the contractor installed the master bathroom backsplash in the kitchen, and the kitchen backsplash in the bathroom. He says he thinks it works, but will tell the contractor to do it all over again if that’s what we want.”

Anthony was the interior designer overseeing the remodeling work on the Upper East Side apartment they had purchased two months earlier. In theory, it was in mint condition, “turn-key ready,” as the Realtors liked to say. But after Laurie was followed there and threatened by a gun-wielding assailant when she first viewed the property, they had joked that a few aesthetic changes might be justified to purge the apartment of any evil spirits.

“If Anthony says it’s fine, I’m sure it’s beyond beautiful. He’s a perfectionist.”

Anthony had come to them by way of an enthusiastic recommendation from Ramon, who had been friends with Anthony’s parents in the Philippines before they all came to the United States thirty years ago. Ramon had known Anthony since he was a baby, but these days, Anthony Abad San Juan was one of the most sought-after designers in the New York City area.

“Ramon hinted that Kara was a little uneasy about whether she should stay given how drastically the situation has changed,” Alex said. “She, Ashley, and that lifeguard are all completely distraught. They feel terrible. They were out all last night, walking the beaches and handing out fliers.”

“I know Marcy and Andrew don’t actually blame them for what happened, but I understand why Kara’s uncomfortable being here under the circumstances.” Even Laurie’s friend Charlotte was distraught and helpless about Johnny’s disappearance, offering to help however she could. But Kara and her friend felt personally responsible.

“So I was thinking that Ramon could rent a car to drive her back home today and then stay in the city to help with anything that comes up while we’re still here. He can take a look at the tile, too.”

“God knows he’ll use that kitchen more than either of us,” she said with a weak laugh. “And you know I trust Ramon implicitly.”

In another sign that the new apartment was meant to be their next home, they had been able to purchase a one-bedroom apartment two floors beneath them where Ramon would be able to live separately.

Alex suddenly pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. It felt good and safe.

When he loosened his embrace, she was surprised to see that he had tears forming in his eyes. She reached up and wiped them away. “Not exactly the way we thought we’d be celebrating your fortieth, is it, birthday boy?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, but all I’ve wanted for so long is to start a life with you. I kept dreading that your show or my court docket or something somewhere would blow up and get in the way of the wedding or the honeymoon, but now it’s poor little Johnny. Is it possible some cosmic force is plotting against us?”

“Are you kidding? What are the odds that the two of us were ever going to meet, let alone adore each other’s families or like the same food or finish each other’s sentences? Or fall absolutely head over heels in love where I can’t even imagine a tomorrow without you?”

His face broke out into a small grin that took her breath away. “Okay, you just managed to make this a happy birthday after all. The happiest, in fact.”

“Until the next one and all the ones after that.”

He kissed her, and for just one second, she stopped worrying about anything at all.

Chapter 23

Marcy could count on one hand, with four digits to spare, the number of times she had ever lied to Andrew.

It was on their fifth date, when the conversation ventured into past relationships. Had any of them gotten serious? Ever talk of marriage? Why hadn’t they worked out in the end? As far as Marcy was concerned, nothing in Andrew’s past could possibly matter. She knew on their very first date—a setup by a mutual friend—that she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. And when he proposed to her exactly one year later, he said he had felt the same way.

But nevertheless, they had that inevitable, awkward conversation the way people do. As it turned out, Andrew had dated a bit in college, but was never serious with anyone until law school. Her name was Christina. They stayed together through their judicial clerkships and had even talked about marriage, but then she accepted a job in London, and the long-distance relationship eventually played itself out. It all sounded very cordial.

Marcy, like Andrew, had also had only one serious prior romance: Brian Lassiter. They went to college together in Northern California and then took their dreams to Los Angeles, hers to be an actress, his to be a screenwriter. There was no ring because he couldn’t afford one, but they vowed to get married as soon as they both had their feet planted in their future professions. It happened for Marcy first. She wasn’t a star by any definition, but within a year, she had her Screen Actors Guild card, two national advertisements, and a recurring role in a network TV drama. Marcy would have been perfectly content to head to city hall, but Brian wanted to wait a little longer, until he sold his first screenplay. She agreed, because she supported him unconditionally.

A “little longer” turned out to be three more years, but the wait had paid off—at least for Brian’s screenplay. One week before the big splashy premiere of what would become one of the year’s top-grossing films, Brian broke the news. He loved her—he would always love her—but he was no longer in love with her. It was over, and Marcy was devastated. She couldn’t get out of bed, but she couldn’t sleep either. She couldn’t eat. And she certainly couldn’t act. For the first time in her young life, she was a complete and total mess.

But all of that was in the past by the time she was on her fifth date with Andrew and he was asking her, “So why didn’t it work out?”