Epilogue
It hadn’t taken more than a week for everyone to fall back into a comfortable rhythm.
Vero woke up early with the kids and drove them to school.
I handled all the groceries and errands on my way to pick them up.
We took turns cooking dinner and getting them ready for bed, and Nick made everyone pancakes on the mornings when he spent the night at my house.
On Friday and Saturday night, Vero stayed with Javi at his apartment over Ramón’s garage.
And on Sunday, we all piled into the minivan and drove to the detention center to visit Mrs. Haggerty. Even Cam and Arnold came along.
We were one big, dysfunctional, happy family, and it was the first time in months everything had felt like it was finally going right.
There were no bodies in my car or my house, and there were no warrants for either of us.
Vero’s past had been dealt with, the Russian mob was out of our lives, my ex-husband and I were successfully co-parenting, Mrs. Haggerty and I were on amicable ground, and it had been several days since Stacey had posted anything on her social-media accounts.
By the following Monday, there was only one issue yet to be resolved.
Vero and I sat at my kitchen table, sharing a carton of rocky road ice cream after lunch.
Javi and Nick were both at work, and the kids were down for their nap.
It was the first time in a long while that Vero and I had a few minutes to relax by ourselves.
She opened a bag of chips and dipped one in her ice cream.
“You know Nick’s going to give it to you eventually,” she commented out of the blue.
I suspected I knew what she was talking about, but I asked the question anyway. “Give me what?”
“Whatever was in that jewelry box.”
“Sometimes a shower curtain is just a shower curtain,” I reminded her. “For all I know, it could be Mickey Mouse earrings or a Mother’s Day pin.”
Vero smirked around a chip. “Don’t play ignorant with me. You know exactly what it is.”
“I’m not in any hurry for a proposal. Getting engaged is a big commitment.
There’s no sense in rushing it.” A crease appeared between Vero’s eyes, as if I’d touched a sore spot.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with an impromptu ceremony in a casino chapel,” I said, nudging her with my foot.
“But it isn’t only me that Nick would be proposing to, it’s all of us, you and the kids, too.
If he’s going to handcuff himself to this family, I want him to be sure. ”
“You can’t seriously be scared he’ll change his mind.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“Well, don’t be. That man is so deep in love with you, it would take a garage full of shovels to dig him out.”
In my heart, I knew Vero was right. Nick was already committed.
The proof was all there. He hadn’t shopped for whatever was in that box before I went to Maryland.
Or even after he saw the pregnancy tests I’d bought.
He’d bought it somewhere in the sweet spot between: after Zach had stolen his car keys and he’d had to juggle the kids at work, after he’d already spent days cooking meals for them, cleaning up their messes, and sleeping in my bed even when I wasn’t there.
That all had to mean something, right? If he was having second thoughts about a future with me, he would have had them then, in the middle of all that chaos.
Vero twisted sideways in her seat. “Aren’t you the least bit curious, Finn? Even I’m dying to know how big it is!”
“We could have Stacey start a poll.”
“I’m serious! Tell me the truth.”
“My curiosity is killing me,” I confessed.
“I knew it!”
“Shhhh … you’re going to wake the kids.”
She pulled the carton toward her and impatiently took the spoon we were supposed to be sharing. “I could do some recon for you. You distract Nick with your feminine wiles, and I’ll sneak into his apartment and have a look around.”
“I’m not aiding and abetting a B and E so you can go snooping in a detective’s apartment.
You just got your charges dropped. Can we please just enjoy this new normal for a while?
” I wasn’t ready for any more surprises.
Experience (and my gut) told me this peace couldn’t last, but I was determined to live in denial a little while longer.
At least until the ice cream was gone.
“Fine, I’ll be patient,” Vero harrumphed, scraping the bottom of the carton. “But whatever’s in that box had better be worth it.”
“Size isn’t important.”
“Speak for yourself. If Javi ever gets down on one knee, I’m not settling for anything under a carat.
You and I have earned at least that much.
I’m proud of us, by the way. We took matters into our own hands and found the missing money.
We got out of that whole mess in Maryland, and neither of us got accused of murdering anybody.
Now you and Nick have an easy path ahead of you.
When he pops the question, you can relax and finally settle down. ”
I laughed wryly at that.
“Stop being such a worrywart! You’re not pregnant,” she said, as if the very notion were preposterous.
“I’m late.”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress, and our periods are probably all screwy because we’re living under the same roof again. You know, that whole red-tent thing that happens when our cycles sync up. Either that or it’s the change. You are pretty old, you know.”
“I’m only thirty-one. I’m not menopausal.”
“You’ll be thirty-two in a month. That’s definitely peri.
I’m just saying,” she said as I glared at her sideways, “you have nothing to worry about. A late period is like a missing shower curtain. You can’t assume there’s a body involved.
You need to gather all the evidence before you go jumping to conclusions.
Besides, I have a sixth sense about these things.
I knew my Aunt Esme was pregnant before she was even late.
And I correctly guessed the sex of at least three celebrity babies.
If my best friend was pregnant, I would definitely know. ”
“But what if—?”
Vero dropped her spoon into the carton. “Would you just take the damn test already? It’s not a calculus exam. All you have to do is pee on a stick. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”
“This is different.”
“You’re right. It is different. Because you’re crazy about him.
And he’s crazy about you, Finlay. And all this worrying is making me crazy, too.
Which is why I’m taking you upstairs right now to put you out of your misery.
” Vero shoved aside her empty ice cream carton and towed me with her to the bathroom.
She retrieved the twin-pack of pregnancy tests from the cabinet and peeled off the cellophane.
“I only need one,” I pointed out when she opened both the boxes and dumped the contents on the counter.
“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go through it alone?” she said, parroting my own words back to me. “We’re doing this together, just like everything else.”
“Give me that,” I said, taking the test she held out to me. We split up to pee on our respective sticks, then regrouped at the kitchen table to wait. We set our tests on their empty boxes in front of us.
“How long?” I asked, squinting at the tiny window at the end of my test stick.
“Three minutes,” she said, setting the timer on her phone. “Don’t look. A watched pot never boils.” She pushed me back in my seat and handed me a potato chip.
I shook my head, too nervous to eat it. I dropped my head into my hands, feeling nauseated as I listened to Vero crunch into it herself.
She rubbed a few soothing circles on my back, the way she did for the kids when they needed comforting.
“Would it really be so bad if the test was positive? You love each other. You both have stable careers. And you have me! Delia and Zach would be great older siblings,” she added, “and Nick would be an amazing dad. And since you are, in fact, a hopeless fashion nightmare, you already have plenty of elastic-waisted pants.”
That pulled a reluctant laugh out of me.
She put her hand on mine and gave it a squeeze, her eyes warm and her smile comforting. “It could be really great, you know?”
I smiled. “I know.” The same thoughts had entered my mind as well, more and more often since we’d come home.
I’d find myself leaning against a doorframe, watching Nick with the kids, my heart swelling when he played board games with Delia or napped on the sofa with Zach curled under his arm.
I’d caught myself smiling as I listened to Delia dote on her baby dolls.
Had become wistful putting Zach’s changing table in storage and folding up the tiny clothes he had outgrown.
I’d paused to watch other mothers push their strollers down the streets of our neighborhood.
More than once, I had put a hand to my belly, wondering if it would be so bad if things I sometimes secretly wished for happened a little out of order this time.
Our lives were always out of order. But there was also joy in some of that chaos. Maybe a few more surprises wouldn’t be so bad.
“Time’s up,” Vero said as her phone buzzed.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, bracing myself for all the ways our lives could suddenly change.
Vero passed me my test stick. I reached for her hand, holding it tightly as I opened my eyes and looked down at the results. An exhale of pure relief burst out of me. “I’m not pregnant.”
“See?” Vero said, wrapping me in a hug. “I told you, all that worrying was for nothing! I’m never wrong about these things.
This calls for a celebration. It’s five o’clock somewhere, and you haven’t had a drink for weeks, Miss I Gave It Up for Lent.
I’ll crack some champagne,” she said, rising from the table to fetch some glasses and a bottle.
I set my test down on the table next to Vero’s. “Hey,” I reminded her, “you forgot to look at yours.”
“Don’t need to. I only peed on that thing for moral support.”
“You were the one who said we’re doing this together,” I teased her, pushing her test toward her. “If I went through it, so should you.”
She set the champagne flutes down and picked up her test. She grinned confidently down at it and read her results.
Her grin began to crumble. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no! This can’t be right!”
I launched out of my seat and looked over her shoulder. The two blue lines on her test strip were faint, but they were definitely there. I reminded her to breathe as her eyes grew wide with shock.
“Don’t panic! Everything is going to be fine,” I assured her, rubbing circles on her back.
“I’m going to be sick,” she cried, launching herself toward the sink. She bent over it, her knuckles white where they gripped the counter. She started breathing hard enough to pass a Lamaze class.
I grabbed her ponytail and held it back as she frantically splashed water on her face. “I’ll go to the pharmacy and pick up another test,” I promised. “Maybe we made a mistake.”
“It was a pregnancy test; not the MCAT! I peed on the damn stick, Finlay! How can it be a mistake? Are my ankles swelling? Oh god! I think my ankles are swelling!”
“Your ankles aren’t swelling! You have at least twenty weeks before you need to worry about that.”
Vero started hyperventilating again.
“Come sit down,” I said, taking her gently by the arm and guiding her back to the table. Vero put a hand to the small of her back. She waddled to her chair as if she was carrying the Goodyear Blimp. “Whatever comes next, we’re going to face it together. Just like we always have. Okay?”
Vero nodded through her Lamaze breaths as she eased into her chair. I took a napkin from the holder and wiped the water from her face.
A flash of movement caught my attention through the kitchen window.
A Loudoun County police cruiser was rolling slowly toward my house.
My excitement was replaced with unease as the police car eased to the curb, pulling up alongside a group of moms who were pushing strollers toward the park.
The women stopped, exchanging curious glances as two uniformed officers got out of the car and approached them, carrying stacks of paper.
“What’s wrong?” Vero asked me.
I moved to the window to get a better look.
The officers handed each of my neighbors a flyer.
The women’s polite smiles turned down as they read them.
They nodded solemnly at the officers, holding their toddlers and strollers closer to their bodies while the officers got back into their car and drove away.
“What’s going on?” Vero got up and came to the window, clutching her test strip, as if she had sensed the same thing I had.
Something was wrong. These women were afraid.
“Stay here. I’ll go find out,” I said, leaving the house.
Vero was right behind me when I reached the sidewalk where the moms were still huddled.
“Is everything all right?” I asked them. “I saw the police car.”
The women looked up at us, startled. One of them shook her head as she handed me her flyer. The word MISSING was printed across the top beside the police department’s logo. My stomach dropped when I saw the face in the photo.
“It’s been more than forty-eight hours and there’s been no sign of her,” the woman said. “Stacey Pickens is missing, and it’s definitely foul play.”