Lost and Found in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #2)

12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

“ M aureen, I love it!” Mrs. Whittaker gushed. “That orange is the perfect shade! It pulls the room together.” The older woman was dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt, as summer had arrived.

Months after Maureen had done her initial consult, Mrs. Whittaker’s downstairs was finished. It was like a breath of fresh air. Gone were the dark paneling and the sculpted carpet. In their place were hardwood floors, a large area rug, white-painted woodwork, and navy walls. And throughout the living room were the orange accents: a tulip chair that complemented the new living room furniture. Throw cushions in crushed velvet.

Maureen stood in the middle of the room and smiled, satisfied.

Mrs. Whittaker sat down on her brand-new gray sofa, brushing her hand over the fabric of the seat cushion next to her. “I can’t believe this is the same room!” She stared, her head swiveling around to look at everything, her mouth agape. “You know, I think Mr. Whittaker would have approved too.” She hugged herself, a broad grin across her face. “I love it! I really love it.”

She got up from her new sofa and beckoned Maureen to follow her back to the kitchen, where her brand-new white laminate cabinets gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

She pulled a checkbook out of her purse. “Can I make you a sandwich? Or how about a cup of tea?”

Maureen laughed. “No, thank you.”

Her client rummaged through a drawer, finally pulling out a pen. She was halfway through writing on the old-style green check when she paused, pen in hand, and looked up at Maureen. “How’s Everett doing?”

This question blindsided Maureen. She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t known that her client was aware of her family’s problems. She stuttered, “He’s all right.”

If Mrs. Whittaker sensed Maureen’s discomfort, she didn’t let on, bending her head to finish writing out the check. “I was sorry to hear about his troubles. What a shame.” Her lips compressed into a grim smile, and she shook her head. “It just goes to show you that it could happen to anyone.”

She signed her name with a flourish and tore the check carefully from the book, handing it to Maureen. “Again, I can’t thank you enough,” she said.

With a shaky hand, Maureen tucked the check into a side pocket in her purse. With the mention of Everett, she was anxious to get out of there.

“Are you sure you won’t have a cup of tea?” Mrs. Whittaker asked.

Maureen shook her head. “I have an appointment,” she lied.

“Another time.”

“Yes, another time,” Maureen repeated.

Mrs. Whittaker walked her to the door and waved her off. As Maureen reached her car, the older woman called out behind her, “I’ll be praying for Everett!”

“Thank you.”

Maureen’s neck disappeared into her shoulders as she looked up and down the street to make sure no one else was present. The street appeared empty, but people could have their windows open.

She unlocked her car, slid in, buckled up, and drove away.

Far too many people in town knew of Everett’s overdose. Well-meaning people approached her all the time to ask after him and offer unsolicited advice. She understood the dynamics of a small town such as Lavender Bay, but she didn’t feel that her son was communal property. Or that it was anyone’s business.

It had been almost three months since his overdose, and they were tooling along. Ashley had graduated from high school, and they’d had a small party for her at the Annacotty Room. Lance had returned from his dorm and had gotten a job with a landscaping firm, working six days a week from dawn to dusk. He seemed to enjoy it, but she didn’t see that much of him.

And Everett was back to living at home. He was looking for a job but had had no luck. She understood why people were hesitant to hire him. The only job offer he’d received was from Angie, who said he could work part time in the kitchen, and she would train him herself. But Maureen had nixed that idea. She didn’t want any trouble between her and her sister .

She and Allan kept an eagle eye on Everett, looking for any tell-tale signs of a relapse. And they kept him busy. He had a once-a-week meeting with an outpatient counselor, and Allan insisted he attend Narcotics Anonymous meetings, which meant he was driving all over the place, sometimes outside Lavender Bay. But Maureen wondered if it was doing any good. He never spoke about the meetings, and she didn’t pry, although she wanted to ask questions: Did he contribute? Did he speak up? Did he get anything out of the meetings, or did he sit quietly like a bump on a log?

But their oldest son continued to reassure them that he was fine. Promised them he wasn’t taking drugs. And they had no choice but to believe him. To prove it to them, he was up early every day and did everything that was asked of him. When their cleaner, Amy, took a week off to go to Florida, Maureen tasked him with washing the floors and dusting and vacuuming. He did this without complaint. Allan kept him busy for another week moving the dental practice to a new office.

Things seemed to be going well, but Maureen continued to hold her breath. Allan had mentioned the previous evening about going away for a weekend, but she had been unenthused. She was afraid if they left, everything would fall apart. As of yet, she wasn’t totally convinced Everett would be able to stay clean. But she was hopeful.

Once home from her visit to Mrs. Whittaker, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Roger the cat appeared and wound his way around her legs, purring.

“It’s too early for dinner, Roger. You know that.” She sipped her coffee and reveled in the quiet of the house. Today was Tuesday, and Everett had driven all the way to Cheever for an NA meeting. Lance was working, and Ashley had gone to the beach with Emma, who was home from college for the summer.

Roger, upon seeing that no dinner was forthcoming, trounced off to the family room.

Maureen finished her coffee and decided she’d do some laundry. She needed to keep up on Lance’s work clothes: By the end of his workday, his clothes were stained with grass, mud, and sweat, and he went through a fresh T-shirt and pair of cargo shorts every day.

Balancing a laundry basket on her hip, she walked up the stairs and emptied the laundry hampers in hers and Allan’s bathroom and in the main bathroom. As she turned to head downstairs, she peeked into Everett’s room. The made bed was a good sign. She used to have to nag him to do it. His room was pretty clean: no used dishes piled on the floor, no dirty laundry thrown around the place. The drapes were open, and there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on the furniture.

Satisfied, she walked past his room but stopped dead in her tracks when she reached the top of the staircase. Backtracking, she stood in Everett’s doorway and looked around again. Narrowing her eyes, she thought, It’s almost too perfect.

God help her, she stepped inside his room and did something she’d never done before: she began to search it. She glanced at his bedside clock. His NA meeting was beginning in five minutes up in Cheever.

She started with the obvious, first the dresser drawers, rifling through each one and feeling around beneath piles of clothes for any drug contraband. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, but she would know it when she saw it.

After the dresser, she looked through every drawer in his desk, even checking behind it and feeling around beneath the center drawer for an envelope or a packet or anything.

Still with no success, she rummaged through his closet, taking the chair from his desk and going through everything on the top shelf. The longer she looked and found nothing, the better she began to feel. But guilt crept in; she had no business going through his personal things. She told herself it was for his own good. When she was finished going through every shoe in his closet, she got down on all fours, lifted the bedspread, and searched beneath it. It was clear.

Finished, she sat on his bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and bit her lip. She hated to think Everett was lying to them and using again, but her gut told her there was something to be found in this room. Suddenly exhausted, she lay back, putting her head on his pillow. She closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled loudly. She rolled on her side and put her hand beneath the pillow to pull it tighter to her.

That’s when she felt something. A plastic bag. Maureen shot up as if she’d been burnt, pulling out the package. It was a small baggie, and it was full of little white pills. She stared at it and burst into tears.