“Always.” I nod.
“What’s the story with your dad? I don’t remember ever hearing about him—or where he was,” Rory asks gently, his tone careful, patient.
I can guess that he’s asking because, since Mom died, I have no one. Only Amelia. No father to seek comfort from. Even as I inch toward thirty, being parentless feels lonely. Like I’m lost—without a partner or family of my own.
I chew on my answer. “I never found out,” I admit, realizing for the first time since Mom died that I mayneverfind out. “My mom only ever said that he decided he didn’t want kids.” I smirk, more wry than bitter.
“Wow. She gave it to you straight.” He exhales, pauses. But the temporary silence is comfortable. “Did you ever wonder anyway?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, furrowing my brows. “But I figure, if he cared to be around, he would be. Until then… it’s none of my business.” I swallow. “My mom was better than any dad I could’ve had.”
“Agreed. Alice was the shit.” Rory nods with a grin, chewing his crust. “Well,” he breathes, tilting his head toward the theater, “you ready to blanket your sorrows with a movie about more death?”
“When you put it like that…” I laugh, shaking my head.
Still a bit peckish after the pizza, we contemplate concessions in the ticket line.
“Popcorn. Red Vines. And something chocolate… like Sno-Caps,” I suggest.
Rory raises an eyebrow playfully. “I will let your weird Sno-Caps request slide, as long as you’ll also try arealchocolate candy. Like Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites.”
“Oh, okay,” I laugh into him.
I’m suddenly pulled from the moment when I hear my name.
“Imogen?”
I’m surprised to see Mom’s old friend emerging from the theater doors. Dressed in a sleek black coat, her hair neatly pinned up, she envelops me in a hug.
“Hi, Rachel,” I breathe.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says in her mousy pitch, holding my face in both of her hands. I whip my eyes at Rory, and he doesn’t say anything. I assume he doesn’t know her.
And then she spews all the same bullshit platitudes I’ve been hearing all week, about being sorry and feeling terrible. I thank her, though my mind is elsewhere.
“And hey,” she continues, “I’m glad I ran into you. You know… I saw your mom that night. I called her when I saw her going down to the water.”
“Wait. You saw her?” I ask, my expression hardening. It’s not entirely surprising, given that her house sits diagonally across the lake—down on the shoreline. She can see our dock from her house.
“Yeah,” Rachel says, her eyes wide, moving with us as the line moves forward. “She was jogging down the steps like she was in a hurry. I was worried she was going out on the lake in that storm. But I figured her boyfriend would talk her out of it.”
My neck cranes back instinctively, face scrunching. “What boyfriend?”
“Didn’t she have one? There was a man with her that night.”
I glance at Rory again and his face stiffens. He scans the small crowd around us.
“Um,” I start, trying to gather my thoughts. “She never mentioned anyone… So, no. Did you get a good look at him? Who was he?”
I knew nothing of Mom’s evening the night she died. I spoke to her that afternoon, though she hadn’t mentioned anything peculiar. Certainly didn’t mention dating anyone. Even with Amelia and me having grown distant, I’m sure she would have told me if there had been a new man in Mom’s life.
Rachel hesitates, searching for the words. “It was so dark out there. My house isn’t close enough to see details. But I got the impression he was a man. He was right with her.” Noticing my tension, she softens. “I guess I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
And she doesn’t have to say anything else because I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing. If someone was out on the water with Mom that night… did they have something to do with her death? Do they know something we don’t?
14
IMOGEN
