The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Trey spent most of the next day dealing with the fallout of Wes Mooney’s drunken rampage.

He spoke with the landlord, met with the chief of police. He did his best to reassure and advise Marlo and her family.

And when cleared, went back to the house to salvage what he could.

In under ten minutes, after wading through the destruction, he realized he’d easily fill the bed of his truck with what couldn’t be salvaged.

Looking at the kids’ room and the scatter of toys Wes had kicked, stomped on, heaved against the walls added a fresh and vicious punch to the gut.

Just stuff, as Owen had said, but here, especially in what had been a cheerful room with its bunk beds and bright blue walls, innocent stuff, little treasures of childhood.

Monster trucks crushed underfoot, a Spider-Man play set in pieces.

And the worst of the worst?

Wes had used his sons’ crayons to write on their bedroom wall.

Your mother’s a whore!

Because his mind continued to circle to what could have happened if those boys hadn’t been tucked away in a spare room at their grandparents’ home, he left their room for last.

He hauled out broken furniture, bagged broken dishes, glassware, lamps.

Systematically, he worked his way from the living room and kitchen back to the main bedroom.

While Marlo’s mother and sister had packed some of her clothes and essentials, clothes for the kids, some of their toys, what they’d left for later now joined the debris.

“Pissed on the bed, for fuck’s sake.”

As the rage rose up, Trey pushed it down and stripped the bed.

When he heard footsteps, he turned, then his fists unclenched when his mother stepped into the doorway.

“Mom. You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you should do this alone?” Dressed for physical labor in her oldest jeans and a sweatshirt, Corrine looked around the room. “It’s so sad, isn’t it, how a disease like alcoholism can destroy lives?”

“I’m not in the mood to give him much of a damn right now. Marlo’s terrified he’ll get out again and come after her and the kids. She can’t afford to come back here, financially or emotionally, plus she’s still recovering physically. She can’t deal with what he did here.”

“So you are.”

“She’s not just a client, Mom, she’s a friend.”

Despite the bite in his tone—maybe because of it—Corrine gave him a look of utter patience.

“I know that, Trey, just like I know you. I didn’t need your father to tell me you’re handling all this pro bono.”

“She’s got two kids to support, and she’s doing the right thing and getting them all counseling.”

“She’s doing the right thing, and so are you.” Once again, she looked around. “And you’ve made a good start here. I haven’t been in the house before. Is there a washer and dryer?”

“Yeah, back in the—Don’t touch those!” He snapped it out as she walked to the soiled bedding. “He—”

“Trey, I have a nose, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve washed sheets someone peed on. I’ll get these in the wash, then I’ll go through her clothes. I’d have a better eye for what’s ruined, what’s not, than you.”

She hauled up the bedding. “Tom and Loreen Arbot own this place, don’t they?”

No stopping her, Trey admitted. And realized her practicality cooled the worst of his temper.

Being mad solved nothing. Doing did.

“Yeah, I talked with them both. Insurance will cover the damage to the house. They’re upset, but not at Marlo. Worried about her, and they asked me to let her know they’re sorry this happened.”

“They’re good people. There are more good people than not, but most of the time, the nots make more noise.”

They were still at it when Owen came by to pitch in. Not long after, Marlo’s neighbors the Baileys did the same. At some point, Corrine huddled with Marcia Bailey.

“Here’s the plan,” Corrine announced. “I’ve spoken with Marlo—”

“You—Mom.”

“Not on any legal issue. I’m hardly a novice at this, Trey. Doyle Law Offices—Sadie is arranging—will ship the boxes of items Marlo needs and wants to her.”

Pausing, she sighed a little. “Basically nothing more than her clothes and some things for her boys.”

“Clean slate.” With a push broom, Owen cleared the floor in the small ell of a dining area. “Makes sense.”

“It does,” Corrine agreed. “And with that in mind, we have her permission to hold a yard sale for everything that we’ve salvaged and she no longer wants.”

At the thought of it, Trey pressed his hands to his eyes. “A yard sale?”

“That’s right, and you can stop looking for complications there, as Marcia, Lorna, and I, along with a few other ladies, will handle it. We’ll leave it to the rest of you to be the muscle, dispose of what’s beyond salvaging, and move what is salvageable outside on Saturday morning. Bright and early. Anything left, donated.”

She swiped her palms together. “Then done.”

“I still need to—”

Corrine pointed at her son. “Stop worrying about it tonight. What needs to be done will be. Now I’m going home to clean up and change because I’ve decided your father’s taking me out to dinner.”

She went to Trey, hugged him hard. “Walk away for tonight. Go see your girl.”

Owen waited while Trey secured the house.

“Your mom’s a born organizer. And she’s right. You should head up to the manor.”

“Can’t shake the mood, the pissed-off mood.”

“So a beer, a hot meal, and sex should take care of it. I’d come up for the first two, but I want to finish Yoda’s doghouse.”

“I’ll help with that.”

“Don’t need you. And didn’t Sonya say she had a story to tell you?”

“Yeah, right.” Annoyed on every level, Trey dragged his hand through his hair. “I forgot about that.”

“Well, it’s not like you had a few other things on your mind. Tell them I’ve invited myself up tomorrow.”

“All right.”

He did his best to cool the anger still simmering inside him. But he kept seeing the soiled sheets, the broken toys, the holes in the wall where Wes had punched his fist.

He told himself an evening with Sonya was just what he needed, and the least productive thing—what he felt more inclined toward—would be to brood at home trying to figure out what he could have done, might have done, should have done to prevent any of it.

So he picked up his dog and drove both of them to the manor.

A light rain with hints of wet snow blew in as he topped the hill. A reminder of April in Maine.

He told himself he’d shrugged off the worst of the last two days when he let himself and the delighted Mookie into the house.

While Yoda and Mookie greeted each other like long-separated brothers and the cat slunk in for some adoration, Trey walked back to the kitchen.

And God, she looked good. Her hair pulled back in a tail, those green eyes full of smiles for him.

He drew her in, held on.

And didn’t see the concerned look she sent Cleo over his shoulder.

“It’s fish and chips night at the manor.” Though she answered Sonya’s look, Cleo kept her voice cheerful. “Let me get you a beer.”

“Sounds good. Appreciate it.”

He let Sonya go, skimmed a hand down her hair. “Before I forget, I’m supposed to tell you Owen invited himself over tomorrow.”

“Oh, hot date tonight?”

He shot Cleo a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then took the beer she offered. “Yeah, with a doghouse for a certain Jedi Master. So, how about I feed the pets, and you tell me this story you’ve got? You said it’s a good one.”

Sonya took his hand to stop him. “After you sit down and tell me what’s wrong,”

“Nothing. Just some work stuff.”

“No, it’s not. You’re so angry, and more than just angry, so it’s more. It’s easy to hide that in a text like last night, though I don’t know why you would. We are in a relationship, aren’t we?”

“I’ll feed the rest of the crew,” Cleo announced, and got busy.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“If you being angry and upset doesn’t have anything to do with that, which also means me, what are we doing here?”

“Jesus, Sonya, give it a rest.”

She gave that due consideration for about two seconds. “I’m going to say no to that, even though you’re clearly ready to take out your pissed-off mood on me.”

“I should take my pissed-off mood back to my place.”

“That would be one choice.”

“I’m just going to step outside awhile,” Cleo began.

“Don’t. It’s snowing some.”

At Trey’s announcement, Sonya glanced toward the windows. “Well, that just adds to it. And you stay right where you are, Cleo, while Trey decides whether to treat me like some helpless female.”

“How am I—”

“By assuming you can take on all my problems, but I’m not capable of helping you with yours.”

“I’m not doing that. That’s bullshit.” And, he realized, they’d hear about it all anyway, so fighting about it equaled stupidity.

“Wes Mooney made bail yesterday, toward the end of the business day.”

“Wes… Isn’t that your client’s—that’s Marlo?—her ex-husband?”

“Right.” And because it was still in his hand, he took the first draw on his beer.

“After what he did?” Outrage vibrated in every word. “How did he get out on bail?”

“They set it high, out-of-reach high, but his parents mortgaged their house. It helped he didn’t fight custody of the kids, or Marlo moving out of state. So along with his lawyer slow-walking any plea deal, he made bail.

“He had restrictions,” Trey added, “travel, contacting Marlo. He agreed to attend AA, had a friend agree to give him a place to stay.”

Sonya gripped his free hand. “God, Trey, did he hurt her, the kids?”

“No. Her mother and sister had already packed up some of her stuff and taken her back with them. But he got drunk, punched his friend, stole his truck, and went to Marlo’s. She still has furniture, some clothes, things, toys—stuff she was going to have shipped or sold when she’s in better shape.”

He took another pull of beer before setting the bottle down with a snap.

“He broke in the door, busted windows, trashed furniture, smashed toys they hadn’t taken with them, ripped what clothes she left, or just heaved them around. Goddamn it, he pissed on her bed. He’s got both hands in casts now, breaking bones when he smashed his fists into walls.”

“Too drunk to feel the pain,” Sonya murmured.

“Yeah. And for what? For fucking what? If Marlo and the kids had been there—”

“But they weren’t.” Her tone might’ve sounded calmer than she felt, but Sonya cut him off. “They weren’t there because you helped get them away. You did everything you could as her lawyer to keep them safe. So they’re safe.”

“If he hadn’t been too drunk to think of it, he might’ve headed toward her family home.”

“Or come after you. You helped her get the divorce, then you helped her and the kids get away.”

“Too much of a coward. Sorry,” Cleo said quickly.

“Don’t be, because you’re right. She’s right, Trey. You wouldn’t be half as mad if he’d come after you, but it’s easier to go after a woman and a couple of kids than you. You’ve got every reason to be mad, but here’s the thing. Now I can be mad along with you.”

She looked at Cleo. “We can be mad along with you. What happens to him now?”

“His parents lose the bail money, and maybe their house. I can’t care about that. I get you want to do everything you can for your kids, but he’s a grown man, an alcoholic, a man who put his ex-wife in the hospital, who hurt his own kids—their grandkids.”

“So you’re pissed off there, too, because they didn’t do what was best for him, or for the mother of their grandchildren, or for their grandchildren. They didn’t do what was right.”

“And now they forfeit the bail, and he’s facing more charges. They’d have had the plea deal sewn up in a matter of days, but the parents pressured him and his legal counsel to push for bail first. Stupid. More than stupid—dangerous.”

As the hot edge of anger cooled, he finally sat. “With a guilty plea, his cooperation in giving Marlo full custody, not fighting her taking the kids out of state, they’d probably have knocked it down to fifteen. Now? He could do twice that.”

Trey shook his head. “Add the additional assault, stealing the truck, the B and E, the destruction of property, he will do twice that.”

“Are you actually sitting there asking yourself what you could’ve done to prevent this?”

Mookie came over, laid his head on Trey’s knee. Trey reached down to stroke. “Maybe. Yes. Some.”

“Did you, as her legal counsel, look out for the best interests of your client?”

“I did. I can know that and still wish I’d found some way, or anticipated his level of anger. Last night was bad. And today, going through her place, seeing the extent of the damage, the rage that fueled it, brought it all back.

“I could see where the son of a bitch hurled his own kids’ toys against the wall, or stomped on them.”

“I don’t feel sorry for him,” Sonya said carefully. “I can say while his addiction is at least part of the reason, it’s not an excuse. And I can say I imagine part of what fueled that rage is grief. He’s lost everything.”

“So he gets drunk and blames her. Anyway, we got most of the wreck cleaned up.”

“‘We’?”

“I was working on it when my mother showed up. I didn’t want her in there. And I know what you’d say to that, so don’t bother.”

“I’ll just think it then. Cleo and I will both think it.”

“And Pye,” Cleo added as she coated cod fillets, “since she’s also female.”

“I could use a slight break on those thoughts, as my mom, then Owen shows up, then the next-door neighbors. Anyway, it’s mostly dealt with. And my mom—Owen’s right, the born organizer—she’s gone down some list in her head. She’s got Sadie on shipping what we boxed up for Marlo and the kids, and has a group of women to run a yard sale on what we salvaged.”

“When?”

“She wants it Saturday, and I’m not even going to think about how they can get it all done by then. But she wants it done, so it will be.”

“I’ll text her. We can make up some flyers and signs.”

Trey put an arm around her waist, drew her over, pressed his face to her shoulder. “Thanks. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Then Clover played “Macho Man” and made him laugh.

“I think that’s a dig, but I’ll take it. It wasn’t the macho thing,” he began, then laughed again at the raised-eyebrow look he got from both women. “Maybe slightly. Not so macho I can’t admit you were right. Owen was right, too.”

“Owen?”

“He told me to get up here, have a beer, a hot meal, and sex, and I wouldn’t be so pissed.”

“Happy to help with the first two,” Cleo told him, and dropped a coated fillet in hot oil. “But I leave the third up to my good friend.”

“I can handle it.” She leaned down, kissed him. “But if you mean right now…”

“After the first two, and the story. I could use a good story.”

By the time they sat down to the meal, Sonya had nearly finished the tale.

“It was more than a dream,” she said again, “because at times I could hear her, like narration. And it was all so clear. I saw her life, or what she considered the best parts of her life up until the day after the wedding.”

“When they headed north, to the manor.”

“Yeah. And it was beautiful, and adventurous, and foolish, and profound all at the same time.

“She had joy. She had Charlie. When I woke up, I knew that. And that feeling’s stayed with me since. We FaceTimed my mom last night and told her. She cried, but the good kind.”

“We all cried, the good kind. You can see it all in her portrait,” Cleo added. “But this gives us more of her.”

“She’s meant something to me for a long time, and this,” Trey said, “adds more. But you didn’t walk?”

“At least not out of the room—I really don’t think I left my bedroom. I didn’t the night I saw her die.”

“The mirror shows up, I guess, when and where it wants to. Or needs to,” Cleo decided.

“And Dobbs?”

“She put up a little fuss when Bree was here yesterday. Otherwise?” Sonya shrugged. “She’s been pretty quiet. Cleo—slight pause—this is really good.”

“It is, right? More authentic with mushy peas, apparently, but I couldn’t bring myself to make anything that looked like mush.”

“We’ll thank you for that. I forgot Bree was coming.”

“You’ve been a little busy. And Bree’s another story. Some slams and bangs, especially when we went up to show her Cleo’s studio.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Loved the house, because who wouldn’t? Was a little bit freaked out by Dobbs, but she didn’t run for the hills.”

“And the best part?” Cleo stabbed a chip. “She’s agreed to be our Event Goddess.”

“Heard that. Which means what exactly?”

“We’re excited,” Sonya told him, “because she’s going to coordinate. The menu, the staff, the bars, what goes where. It’s a load off.”

“She can do it. It sounds like both of you’ve been pretty busy yourselves.”

“Gearing up. I give my presentation—with my invaluable assistant—in Boston in three weeks. Cleo’s sending off the final illustrations for her mermaid project in…”

“Next week. It should be next week.”

“Then we’re going to hit the nursery and hit it hard, start planting. Then The Event. But Boston first, and I wanted to ask if you could keep Yoda.”

“Sure. He can go to work with me and Mook for a couple days. We can stay here the night or nights you’re gone.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No.”

“Do you think Owen would keep Pye?”

He glanced at Cleo. “I don’t see why not. If Owen’s got a weakness, it’s animals.”

“He could stay here, too, if he wants.”

“Worried about me staying here alone?”

“No. Maybe. Yes, a little bit.”

Clover reassured Sonya with the Pretenders and “I’ll Stand by You.”

“It’s true. She will.” Reaching out, Sonya squeezed Trey’s hand. “Thanks in advance.”

“Not that far in advance. The last time you made excuses about showing me the presentation.”

“It wasn’t fully polished. And I just ordered the posters and displays.”

“I bet it’s polished now, and I saw the mock-up for the posters. So how about tonight?”

“As the assistant, I say yes. We both need the practice, Son, if we’re going to crush it. Which we are. Let’s practice with a receptive audience.”

“Fine. You’re right. No yawning if you’re bored.”

“You haven’t bored me yet.”

He was far from bored.

On the second floor of the library, he sat, a pair of dogs at his feet, a cat on his lap. Though the snow had turned to rain, a fire crackled.

As he watched her, listened to her, studied the visuals she presented, he realized this was who she’d been in Boston.

This smooth and professional woman who exuded both confidence and expertise was as much Sonya as the woman who worked at her desk in sweats. As the woman who’d made dinner for his family, the one who loved dogs and accepted hauntings as part of her life.

The woman who’d welcomed him into her life, and her bed, who’d embraced his community as her own.

The woman who walked through the mirror.

And all those parts of her pulled something in him no one ever had.

“This campaign highlights the rich history and traditions of Ryder Sports, and demonstrates that Ryder has always, will always value their loyal customer base while opening its doors to the needs and interests of the next generation.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to present my vision for a business rooted, as I am, in family and community. And you have my very best wishes on your grand opening in Portland.”

She blew out a breath, and her easy, professional smile lit into a grin. “Done! So?”

“I have this irresistible urge to pull up Ryder’s website and buy sports equipment.”

She laughed, took a little bow. “But seriously, did you notice any glitches, dead ends, wrong turns?”

“Maybe a hockey stick,” he considered. “I don’t play hockey, but I feel this sudden need to own a hockey stick. Sonya, I don’t know much about marketing, advertising, but I know smooth when I see it, and I just did. Smooth and smart. Playing up the history of the company, the family? Smart.”

He set the cat aside and rose.

“I—more or less—got what you were doing with the photos you had my mother take. But seeing how you’ve used them, put this all together? That’s a different level.

“And I really want that hockey stick.”

“Crushed it.” Cleo rubbed her hands together. “Told you.”

“It feels right. It may be my first major presentation for my own company, but it feels right. I don’t know what angles By Design’s going for, but it’ll be smart and slick and sleek.”

“Yours is smart,” Trey reminded her. “It’s not slick and sleek. Smooth is different from slick and sleek.”

“It is. Yes, it is. Nothing much more to do than see if Ryder prefers slick and sleek or smooth.”

“I said it before and don’t mind saying it again. Crushed it. Now I’m going to make some tea and head up to play with a new idea of my own.”

“Want to share?” Sonya asked her.

“Not yet. But I can make tea for three if you want.”

“Tea on a cool, rainy night sounds good.” Sonya took Trey’s hand. “We’ll all go down. I need to put this presentation aside so I don’t obsess.”

After they brewed tea, Cleo took hers, and Pye, upstairs.

“Is she making herself scarce because of me? I don’t want that.”

Sonya shook her head as they started to take their tea to the parlor with the idea of starting a fire. “If that was it, she’d have said she was just going up. If she said she has an idea to play with, she has one.”

As they approached the music room, music—slow and dreamy—flowed out.

“That doesn’t sound like Clover’s style.” Sonya stopped at the doorway. “It’s a record. It’s the Victrola playing a record! That’s new. And here I am finding that really charming.”

“I’d say that’s old—as far as the music goes. Ah, ‘Body and Soul.’ I’ve heard my grandparents do this one.”

As charmed as she, Trey took her hand, drew her inside the room. Then setting his tea and hers aside, took her in his arms.

Swayed into a dance.

And here and now, he thought as they held close, matched steps, while the old music played, and the rain fell, it felt perfect.