Page 44 of The Getaway

At Suzy’s feet, Hazel’s whole body racked with sobs. She really didn’t think Mommy was going to be doing anybody any good right now. Both kids stared at Marley with big brown eyes. It was clear to Suzy that they weren’t going to move.

Then, Marley stood up straight, and her entire expression changed. It was full of mischief. “If you kids come with us right now, you can have ice cream for lunch!” she singsonged.

“Marley!” Suzy blurted, shocked.

The kids looked at each other, and then Benjamin detached himself from his sister’s arms and launched his little body at Marley, while Olivia crawled across the mattress and into Tini’s waiting arms.

The women rushed out, followed by the twins, who scurried right off together, taking Wintour with them. Tini slammed the door. Marley put Benjamin down, and he immediately went to Hazel. “Mommy? Are you okay?”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

Suzy and Marley locked eyes. “I’ll go get the kids that ice cream,” Suzy said. “Why don’t you take care of Hazel?”

Marley nodded. “Mommy just needs a little rest, Ben. You go with Aunt Suzy and Tini, okay?”

It took a moment to detach Ben from Hazel, but they managed it, and together they got the three kids downstairs. Sean was waiting for them on the second floor.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Tree came through the window,” Suzy explained. “We’re going to need to find someplace else for the kids to crash.” She glanced past them. “Where’s Marshall?”

“He tried Josh again and didn’t get an answer, so he went outside to see if his car is here,” Sean explained.

“He thinks he drove off? In this weather?” Suzy asked, still holding the baby in one hand and Ben’s hand in the other.

“He could have left last night, before it got too bad,” Sean explained, his words heavy with meaning. “No one has seen him since the fight.”

He could have fled the scene, Suzy thought. She was ashamed of the hope that blossomed in her chest. Josh was her friend. He was Juliet’s husband. But he was maybe also possibly an abusive spouse. And if Josh was guilty, if he was responsible for Lincoln’s death, that meant Sean would be off the hook.

21

Gemma

“Girls! Stay downstairs,” Gemma ordered as she followed the rest of the group up the steps when the crash happened. They, of course, ignored her. Gemma didn’t understand how she’d birthed two children who were so drawn to drama, but she’d long since learned that there was no changing them. In another era, Vienna would have been an incredible investigative journalist. Gemma’s own little Lois Lane. And Florence might have been an engaging on-camera reporter. Instead they were producing clickbait, hawking lip plumpers, and figuring out how to make eye-catching logos on CapCut.

Oh well. She supposed she could have had two kids with zero ambition doing drugs and playing video games in a basement somewhere.

Telling herself they’d be fine with the other adults, Gemma veered off when the rest of them went up to the third floor. She noticed Suzy did the same, but she didn’t have time to think about or care why. After the Cole / Peeping Tom incident, Grant had moved all their things to two of the guest bedrooms, and she had something she had to take care of while everyone else was distracted. The conversation downstairs had solidified it for her. As much as she’d begged and manipulated and hoped to get them all invited to this place at this time, she now regretted it with every fiber of her being. She’d thought that Lincoln was Grant’s only hope at getting back to where he used to be—at reviving his career. But this—this was a total disaster.

At least there was one thing she could fix. Or, more accurately, cover up.

She slipped inside the room she and Grant would be sharing and closed the door. It was so dark thanks to the clouds outside she had to flick the lights on to get her bearings in the new space. There was a king-size bed against the far wall, two cozy-looking chairs near the window, which would be great for reading, and a flat-screen TV across from the bed, hung over a huge dresser. All the furniture was beachy modern—white slatted wood, pastel fabrics, silver frames. Grant had placed their suitcases in front of the dresser, but her work bag wasn’t there. Gemma went to the closet, which was down a short hall that led to the bathroom. She yanked open the closet door and paused.

Her smaller bag—the one full of books and notebooks, paper and pens, was open on the floor of the closet. Why would it be open? She was sure she had left it zipped up tight. She flipped on the closet light and dropped to her knees to dig through it.

Her heart slammed against her rib cage.

“Mom?” Florence said from the doorway.

Gemma whirled, still on her knees, hand to her chest.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry.” Florence hugged that annoying yippy dog to her chest.

“Was somebody in here?” Gemma asked, pulling out the advanced reader copies of the books she was supposed to be working on and tossing them on the floor.

“Like who?” Florence’s tone was incredulous. Like who would ever be remotely interested in entering her parents’ room?