The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Seventy-Two
Frankie
Despite imploring Ruston to take me to Luna immediately, the police interviewed me on the beach for forty minutes, so it seems like an eternity later when I reach the cottage, the last one at the end of the street, and I’m ready to ram the front door and burst through it to get to Luna. But as we pull up in the driveway, a well-dressed woman in her late forties comes out to meet us.
“That must be the social worker the police mentioned,” Ruston says, and I turn to him, wanting to thank this man for standing by me in a way I never expected.
He must see a look in my eyes because his smile is self-deprecating. “I know. I surprise myself sometimes. Who knew I can add hero to my CV?”
I smile for what feels like the first time in forever. “Thanks, Ruston. You’ve been amazing.”
“I try.” As the woman approaches the car, he says, “Go. Do you want me to stick around and take you back?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be here for a while. I’m not sure of protocol but the police may want to get the girls examined, then there’s the custody issues for Violette.” I grimace, hating how much that poor girl will go through now her mother will be locked up. “Best you head back.”
“Okay.” He slips something out of his back pocket and I see it’s my cell. “You left it in the car. Andre has called a hundred times so I texted him where we are and he left immediately.”
I can’t imagine what our first confrontation will be like but I’m too bone-deep exhausted to worry. All I care about now is Luna and Violette.
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks again.” I take the cell, a quick glance at the screen confirming Andre has called. A lot. I may hate him for sleeping with Saylor but he’s Luna’s father and he must be beside himself with worry too. “Does he know Luna’s been found?”
He nods. “Yeah. I texted him that too.”
“You are definitely one of the good guys,” I say, flashing him a last grateful smile as I get out of the car and walk toward the woman.
“That’s not your husband?” she asks, an eyebrow arched in surprise.
“No, a neighbor. My husband was with the police in Brooklyn when I hightailed it up here. He’s on his way.”
She’s obviously a woman used to assessing the unsaid and not asking unnecessary questions, because she nods and holds out her hand. “I’m Marisa, the social worker from the Gledhill Help Centre. The police call me when there are children involved in cases like this.”
I shake her hand, somewhat comforted by the firmness of her grip. “Thanks for being here. I’m desperate to see my daughter. Is she okay? How’s Violette?”
Her smile is reassuring. “Both girls are fast asleep. I think they’ve had quite the adventure but I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be nice for them to wake to a familiar face.”
I’m not sure how to broach the subject of what happens to Violette from here, but I settle for the direct approach. “Celeste Reagan, Violette’s mother, asked me to look after her daughter. She doesn’t want her to be placed in foster care. She’d rather Violette stay with my family and she’s willing to sign whatever documentation to support this.”
Marisa appears confounded for a moment. “This is highly unusual. Is she mentally capable to sign legal documents?”
“I think so. She was perfectly logical when we spoke, just… resentful and caught up in wrongs of the past.”
I leave out the part about Celeste talking to a dead Walter because I want to do what’s best for Violette.
“Okay then. I can call a private attorney we use and get the ball rolling—”
“Can I see Luna please?”
“Of course.” Marisa briefly rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, this is a good outcome. Not all parents are so lucky.”
I don’t want to contemplate for one second what could’ve happened to Luna if Celeste had been seriously unhinged or what those other unlucky parents have been through.
“Take me to her.” It comes out a soft plea. I can’t wait one second longer to see for myself Luna is okay.
The moment we set foot inside the cottage I want to run to the bedrooms and fling open doors until I find my girl. But I follow Marisa as sedately as possible as she heads down a short hallway, to a room with the door partially ajar.
She glances inside and, apparently satisfied, steps aside so I can look in.
When I see Luna curled up on her right side with her shoes poking out from beneath a blanket, I almost lose it. She looks so innocent, so peaceful, and the fact Celeste obviously carried her in from the car and took the time to cover her with a blanket, makes me want to do the best for her daughter despite what she put mine through.
When I glance across at Violette in the single bed opposite, I’m surprised to find her sleeping position mirroring Luna’s, like two halves of a whole, and my chest aches for what this poor child will have to endure.
Marisa touches my arm and points to a doorway I assume leads to a kitchen, and I nod and back away from the door. I follow her and when we reach the kitchen, I see a note propped up in the middle of it.
“Celeste left the girls a note in case they woke,” she says.
“Because she didn’t want them to be afraid,” I murmur, not wanting to like anything about that woman but grateful her maternal instincts were strong.
“Yes. Now, I have a lot of questions. Shall we start?”
By the time Andre arrives I’m exhausted after a lengthy chat with Marisa, who’s outlined a lot of the legalities regarding taking custody of Violette, and another interrogation by the police. I want to hate Andre but the moment I see his face, and the ravages stress has inflicted while worrying about Luna, I relent a little.
“Is she really okay?” he says, practically falling into my arms.
I stiffen, unwilling to embrace him, but knowing what I have to confess to him shortly means I’m not totally blameless.
I wrap my arms around him for a moment before pulling away. “She’s fine. Both girls are still sleeping. There was concern for a moment they’d been drugged but a doctor has been and reassures us they’re merely exhausted.”
“None of this makes sense.” He collapses onto a seat at the kitchen table, his head dropping into his hands. “Why did she do it?”
I’m preternaturally calm now the moment has come to reveal the truth.
“Because she thinks Luna is Violette’s sister.”
His head snaps up, confusion clouding the eyes I thought I’d gaze into forever. “Why on earth would she think that?”
“Because when you cheated on me the first time, I went to Walter for comfort and we had a one-night stand.”
His mouth drops open and he presses his palms to his ears like he can’t quite believe he’s heard right. When he does the math, he slumps forward, a beaten man.
“Is Luna mine?”
I consider torturing him for a second after all he’s put me through, but I need this ordeal to be over.
“Yes. I have a paternity test to prove it.”
Relief shimmers in his eyes before he blinks, and it’s replaced by shame. “I’m sorry.”
“For knocking up Saylor? You should be.” I snap my fingers. “But turns out, you only have a fifty-fifty chance of being the father, considering she has a loving husband who’s been cuckolded like me.”
Regret renders him pale. “I wouldn’t have paid her the money. I would’ve told you the truth.”
“Lucky me.”
“Frankie, I know I’ve mucked up, again. But we need to present a united front now for Luna’s sake—”
“Violette’s coming to live with us. And you’re right, for now the girls need stability after their ordeal. But beyond that, I don’t know.”
“About us, you mean?”
“About everything.”
“Frankie, I love you.”
It’s a plea from a desperate man trying to cling to something he ripped apart.
“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
It wasn’t for Walter and me. If I’d never left him, if I’d never gone back to him for that one night, he would still be alive. Grief crushes my chest in a vice and I want to bawl, but I’ll mourn in private later, remembering our good times, honoring a man who deserved so much more than he got. Sadly, my love for him wasn’t enough and ultimately, it got him killed.
Not that I could’ve anticipated the depths of Celeste’s jealousy and how far she’d go, but this guilt is something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.