“Hey! I got Jacob’s passport photo done before work yesterday. Wait till you see the photo. So cute.”
Janie had never had a passport. Yet Jacob, at just two years old, had a passport that allowed him to leave the country at barely a moment’s notice.
“I can’t wait to see it,” said Rachel. She would not tell Rob about the video. He was far too busy with his own important, jet-setting life to worry about an investigation into his sister’s murder.
There was a pause. Rob wasn’t stupid.
“We haven’t forgotten about Friday,” he said. “I know this time of year is always hard for you. Actually, speaking of Friday . . .”
He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. Was this in fact the whole point of the phone call?
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “What about Friday?”
“Lauren tried to talk to you about it the other night. It’s her idea. Well, it’s not. It’s not at all. It’s my idea. It’s just something she said that made me think it might . . . So, anyway, I know you always go to the park. To that park. I know you normally go on your own. But I wondered if maybe I could go too. With Lauren and Jacob, if that’s all right.”
“I don’t need—”
“I know you don’t need us there,” interrupted Rob. He sounded unusually terse. “But I’d like to be there this time. For Janie. To show her that . . .”
Rachel heard his voice crack.
He cleared his throat and spoke again, in a deeper voice.
“And then afterward, there’s that nice café near the station. Lauren said it’s open on Good Friday. We could have breakfast afterward.” He coughed and said hastily, “Or just coffee at least.”
Rachel imagined Lauren standing in the park, looking solemn and stylish. She’d wear a cream trench coat, pulled in tight at the waist, and her hair would be in a shiny, low ponytail that didn’t swing too jauntily, and her lipstick would be a neutral color, not too bright, and she’d say and do all the right things at all the right times, and somehow turn “marking the anniversary of my husband’s sister’s murder” into another perfectly managed event on her social calendar.
“I think I’d really prefer . . .” she began, but then she thought of the way Rob’s voice had cracked. It was all orchestrated by Lauren, of course, but maybe it was something that Rob needed. Maybe he needed it more than Rachel needed to be alone.
“All right,” she said. “That’s fine with me. I normally get there very early, around six a.m., but Jacob is up at the crack of dawn these days, isn’t he?”
“Yes! He is! So. We’ll be there. Thank you. It means—”
“I’ve actually got a really full plate today, so if you don’t mind . . .” They’d taken up the phone for long enough. Rodney might be about to call any minute. She didn’t want him to leave a voice-mail message. She wanted to hear it firsthand.
“’Bye, Mum,” said Rob sadly.
TWENTY-FIVE
Cecilia’s home was beautiful, welcoming and light-filled, with big glass windows that looked out on a perfectly tended backyard and swimming pool. The walls were hung with sweet, funny family photos and framed children’s drawings. Everything was shining and tidy, but not in an overly formal, forbidding way. The sofas looked comfy and squishy; there were bookshelves crammed with books and interesting-looking knickknacks. There was evidence of Cecilia’s daughters everywhere: sports equipment, a cello, a pair of ballet slippers, but everything was in its absolutely correct place. It was like the house was up for sale and it was being marketed by the real estate agent as the “ideal family home.”