Now You See Her

SIXTEEN


MARCY WAS HALFWAY DOWN the main staircase of the Doyle Cork Inn when Vic’s voice stopped her. She froze, looking back to see him standing at the top of the stairs, her pink cotton bathrobe draped carelessly across his shoulders and tied haphazardly around his waist, his legs and feet bare. He’d been sleeping so soundly, she hadn’t wanted to disturb him. Or at least that’s what she’d told herself as she was rushing to get dressed.

“Marcy, what’s happening?”

“I have to go.” Why hadn’t she woken him up? she wondered now. Why hadn’t she told him where she was going? Surely she owed him that much.

“Where? It’s not even seven thirty.” He looked around, as if despite his serious state of undress, he was considering coming after her.

“We might have found Devon,” she said again, hurrying down the remaining stairs toward the front door.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Was that the reason she hadn’t told Vic where she was going? Because she didn’t want him to see her with Liam? Or was it because she didn’t want Liam to see her with Vic?

Sadie Doyle suddenly appeared in the small foyer, a bright green apron completely covering the front of her blue, flower-print dress, a large wooden spoon in her hand. “Good morning, Mrs. Taggart. Lovely day out there this morning. Will you be joining us for breakfast?” Her glance drifted toward the stairs, her face registering both surprise and amusement at the sight of a half-naked Vic Sorvino. “Oh. Hello.”

“Give me a minute to get dressed,” Vic urged Marcy, ignoring Sadie Doyle’s salacious gaze. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. Please. I don’t know if there’s room.”

“You understand that there’s an extra charge for overnight guests,” Sadie Doyle said to Marcy, her eyes remaining firmly on Vic.

“Fine. Whatever.” Marcy’s hand was already reaching for the door.

“Marcy, wait.”

“I can’t,” Marcy said. “I’ll call you later.” Then she opened the door and rushed out onto the street.

“Marcy …,” she heard him call after her.

The street was already congested with heavy morning traffic. She didn’t even know what kind of car Liam drove, Marcy realized, peering into the front window of each passing automobile. “Where are you, Liam?” she cried, looking up and down the busy street. Damn it, where was everybody going so early?

She checked her watch. Not quite twenty minutes had passed since Liam’s surprise phone call. In that time she’d washed, brushed her teeth, pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray sweater, and tucked her uncombed hair into a jeweled clip at the back. Stubborn tresses were now pushing against the clasp, rebelling against their confinement. Several maverick curls had already wormed their way to freedom, shooting off in a number of different directions, like a fireworks display. There’d been no time for makeup, just a hastily applied streak of lipstick as she was tiptoeing from the room.

What difference did any of that make? Marcy told herself. They’d found Devon. She was less than an hour away from seeing her daughter again.

She wondered again why she hadn’t told Vic about Liam’s phone call and where she was going. What had stopped her? She’d felt so safe, so comfortable, so secure in his arms. Her breath had come freely and without pain for the first time in months, maybe years. Despite everything that had happened, despite everything experience had taught her, she’d actually found herself starting to relax her guard.

And wasn’t that when disaster always struck?

Maybe that was why she hadn’t told him.

“Come on, Liam,” she muttered now. Every minute counted. A minute could mean the difference between finding her daughter and losing her again. They couldn’t afford to waste any time.

I could call him, Marcy thought, reaching into her purse for her cell phone, then deciding against it. She was overreacting. She had to calm down. If there was a problem, Liam would phone.

In the months after Devon’s supposed drowning, Marcy had often dreamed her daughter had phoned and asked to meet her somewhere—at Starbucks in the Spadina Village, beside the Carole Tanenbaum vintage jewelry collection at Holt’s, at the ferryboat entrance to the Toronto Island. And always something kept coming up that stopped them from reuniting. Marcy would wake up day after day in a pool of frustrated tears. Eventually Peter stopped asking what her dreams were about. He soon gave up trying to comfort her altogether.

And he had tried, Marcy realized, pacing back and forth in front of the Doyle Cork Inn. At least for a little while. Until her pain had proved too much for him to bear. Until her grief had threatened to overwhelm them both.

And then he’d run.

Like I’m doing now, she thought, hearing a door open behind her and turning to see Vic, now fully dressed, step outside onto the inn’s front landing, his blue eyes searching out hers, his kind face full of questions. “Marcy,” he said, and she felt herself swaying toward him.

A series of loud, staccato honks filled the air as a small black car suddenly pulled to a stop beside her, its passenger door opening, a hand beckoning her inside. A handsome face with sleepy green eyes suddenly filled her frame of vision. “Get in,” Liam said, taking off before she was fully seated, before she’d even had time to close the door.

Marcy turned back for a final glance in Vic’s direction. What he must think of me, she thought, immediately chasing such thoughts from her mind. She had other more important things to think about now than Vic’s hurt feelings. There would be plenty of time for explanations and amends after she was reunited with her daughter.

Devon, she thought, watching as Vic grew smaller, less distinct with each passing block. They’d found Devon.

How would Devon react when she found herself face-to-face with her mother? Would she fall into her arms or run screaming in the opposite direction?

“Sorry I’m late,” Liam was saying, pulling Marcy from the future back into the here and now. “The traffic’s been fierce. My God, that’s some shiner you’ve got.”

Marcy’s hand immediately shot to her face.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not too much anymore. I put ice on it.” She pulled the seat belt around her and snapped it into place, then stole another quick glance behind her. Vic was no longer standing on the doorstep of the Doyle Cork Inn.

“I brought coffee,” Liam said, handing Marcy a large paper cup as she settled back into her seat and tried to make herself comfortable. “Double cream, double sugar, which is the way I like it. Is that all right? I wasn’t sure how you took it.”

“Sounds great,” she said, her hand shaking as she removed the dome-shaped lid from the cup and raised the steaming hot coffee to her lips.

“You nervous?” Liam asked.

Marcy nodded.

“Don’t be. We should be in Youghal in about half an hour, depending on how long it takes to get out of the city. So take a deep breath, try to relax, and drink up.”

Marcy did as instructed, inhaling deeply before taking a long swallow. The sugar immediately glommed onto her tongue.

“Too sweet?”

“It’s fine,” Marcy said, grimacing.

Liam laughed. “You’re not a very good liar, are you?”

“Apparently not,” she said, shuddering, and he laughed again.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know. And you don’t have to drink coffee you don’t like. In fact, you don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

He’s so young, Marcy thought. “It’s really not so bad,” she said.

“And you really are a very bad liar.”

“Okay. This is possibly the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life. How can you stand it so sweet? It’s like glue.”

“See? That was much better, wasn’t it?”

“You’re right. You should never lie. It takes up way too much energy.” She took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Why do people lie anyway?”

Liam regarded her quizzically. “You’re sure you want to have this discussion so early in the morning?”

“Why not? It doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere very fast.” She glanced out the windshield at the cars piling up in front of them. Try to relax, she told herself in Liam’s voice. They’d be in the village of Youghal soon enough. And after that she’d be with Devon. “I guess sometimes it’s just easier to lie than to tell the truth,” she said, answering her own question.

“Tell it or face it?” he asked.

She smiled in recognition of the subtle distinction. “Both.”

“Is the truth really that difficult to deal with?”

“It can be.”

“So you’re saying that we use lies as a means of protection?”

“Sometimes.”

“Protection or delusion?”

“Both,” she said, as she’d said earlier. “Sometimes it’s nicer to be lied to.”

“Do you think we lie more to others or to ourselves?” he asked.

“I have no idea.” Marcy shook her head. “You’re right—it’s too early in the morning to be having this conversation.”

“I think you lied about liking the coffee because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings,” Liam said.

Marcy nodded. It was true. She’d spent her life being afraid of people’s feelings.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he told her.

“I don’t?”

“No. Don’t have any feelings.”

Marcy laughed, the tension of the morning finally starting to dissipate. She tried not to stare at the pronounced curl of his eyelashes while noting that the black of his tousled hair was a perfect match for the black of his V-neck sweater. She wondered if this was accidental or deliberate. “I had no idea you were such a student of human nature.”

“I’m a bartender,” he said. “Same thing.”

Marcy smiled, the smile stretching into her sore cheek, causing her to wince and bring her hand to her face.

“Cheek still hurts?”

“Just when I smile.”

“It hurts when you’re happy?” he asked, rephrasing her answer.

Yes, Marcy thought, although she said nothing. That’s it exactly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get down to the station yesterday,” Liam apologized. “I wanted to, but Mr. Grogan was pretty upset about what happened, so I thought it best that I stay and help get things cleaned up. Then word got around about the fight and naturally we got real busy, so then it was impossible to get away.…”

“You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“I would have come if I could.”

“Believe me, you’ve done more than enough.”

“Were you able to get any sleep last night?” he asked.

“A bit.” Marcy felt an involuntary stirring between her legs.

“I see he found you,” Liam said, as if he’d felt it, too.

“What? Who?”

“That guy who’s been asking about you. Vic something-or-other. He stopped by Grogan’s again yesterday, asking more questions. Kelly told him about the altercation before I could stop her.”

“Yes. He found me.” Marcy swiveled around in her seat, stared out the rear window at the wall of cars and taxis behind them. Was Vic in one of them? she wondered. Was he following them?

“Stayed the night, did he?”

Marcy hesitated.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he added.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

A mischievous smile curled through Liam’s lips. “Thought we were through lyin’ to each other.”

Marcy sighed. “Okay, it’s exactly what you think.”

He laughed. “Well, good for you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why not? He’s a nice-looking man, rich, obviously madly in love with you.”

“What? No. That’s ridiculous. We barely know each other. We just met last week. On a bus, for God’s sake.”

“Nothin’ wrong with buses,” Liam said. “I once had a fabulous affair with a woman I met on a bus.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “I was just sittin’ there, mindin’ me own business, when this very attractive older woman gets on, takes the seat directly across from me, starts giving me the once-over. I ignored her at first. But then I realized I was just being rude, so I smiled. Just tryin’ to be polite, you understand.”

“I think I’m getting the picture,” Marcy said, relieved the focus had shifted to him.

“And she smiled back. And next thing you know she’s getting up out of her seat and coming over to sit next to me. And pretty soon we’re talking and joking around, and her hand is on my knee and she’s inviting me over to her house for a bite to eat, which suits me just fine since I’ve already missed my stop and I’m starvin’. And the whole thing just took off from there. Lasted almost a year.”

“Why did it end?”

“Her husband gave her an ultimatum.”

“She was married?”

“With six kids. You look shocked.”

“I’m shocked that anyone with six children would have time for an affair,” Marcy said. I’m shocked that anyone would have six children, she thought.

“People tend to make time for things that are important to them.” He turned onto South Main Street, continuing east at a snail’s pace through the flat of the city. “You never cheated on your husband?”

“No. Never.”

“But he cheated on you.”

“Yes.”

“Not very smart, was he?”

Marcy smiled appreciatively.

“Anyway, I don’t think he’s the man for you.”

“Well, clearly he didn’t either.”

“No, I don’t mean your husband,” Liam clarified. “I mean this other guy. Vic. I don’t think he’s right for you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling I have.”

“I thought you said you don’t have feelings.”

He laughed. “I have them. I just don’t keep ’em.”

It was Marcy’s turn to laugh.

“I like it when you laugh,” Liam said.

“So do I.”

“You’re really very beautiful, you know. Although …”

“Although?”

One hand left the wheel to reach behind her head and undo the clasp in her hair. “There. That’s much better. Shake your head.”

“What?”

“Shake your head. Let the curls loose.”

“You’re crazy.” Marcy protested, but she did as she was told.

“Doesn’t that feel much better?”

Marcy had to admit that it did, despite the renewed throbbing of her cheek from all the shaking of her head. “How do you know he’s rich?” she asked.

“What?”

“You said that Vic was rich. How do you know that?”

Liam shrugged. “Well, when he came by the pub looking for you, he said he was staying at the Hayfield Manor Hotel, and you pretty much have to sell the farm to stay at that place. Did you tell him where you were goin’ this morning?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.”

Marcy stared at him without speaking. Enlighten me, her eyes said.

“I don’t think you fully trust him.”

“What?” Was he right? Was that the real reason she hadn’t told him?

“You want to know what else I think?” Liam asked.

“What?”

“I think I’m jealous.”

He laughed and Marcy laughed with him.

“I’m serious,” he said, the laughter coming to an abrupt halt. “I’m jealous.”

“Why would you be jealous?”

“Because it should have been me last night,” he said simply.

Marcy said nothing, although her heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst from her chest.

“He really doesn’t mean anything to you?” Liam asked.

Marcy shook her head, turning away from him to observe the slowly passing scenery in a concerted effort to calm down. Would they never get out of this damn city?

“We should be on the coast road in a few more minutes,” Liam said, as if reading her mind. “Why don’t you try to catch a bit of sleep before we get there?”

“I am kind of tired,” Marcy admitted, her head spinning.

“Lean back, close your eyes, think pleasant thoughts,” he instructed her, and for the second time that morning, Marcy did as she was told, leaning back against the black leather seat and allowing her eyes to shut.

Almost immediately she saw Devon walking toward her, her long, thin arms extended. In the next instant, she was caught in her daughter’s surprisingly strong embrace, Devon’s smooth skin a soothing balm against her sore cheek. “Mommy,” her daughter whispered lovingly in her ear, the word a soft caress.

My baby.

“Marcy.”

“Hmm?”

“Marcy,” Liam said again as Devon evaporated in her arms. “Marcy, wake up.”

Marcy opened her eyes to see Liam’s smiling face looming above hers. It took her a second to realize the car had stopped and they were no longer moving.

“We’re here,” Liam said.