As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (3 page)

She chuckled. “You’re right, now that I think about it, but when you’re older and have been married for over half your life, you’ll understand. I want your father to still, well,
want
me.”

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to broach the subject of my parents’ sex life.

“I think I’ve let myself go a little in these past years, and now, menopause is exacerbating it. I can barely squeeze into my fat jeans anymore. Which is why I’m going shopping sometime this week with Julia. Just to find some flattering pieces to wear until I get this weight off. And I’m determined to get it off. My birthday and anniversary are just around the corner.”

“Shopping with Julia?” I had the sudden image of my father’s reaction if my mother were to come home wearing a zebra-print jumpsuit.
 

“I stopped at the shop earlier this week for one of her amaretto and cola cupcakes, and when I mentioned needing to go shopping, she offered to go with me.”

“With Julia,” I repeated. I adored the woman, but I didn’t know how she pulled off most of what she wore.

“Well, you hate shopping, and Sydney buys designer labels. I’d never pay what they ask simply for a fancy name on the tag.”

My friends adored my mother, and she treated them as if they were her own. But my mother had always worn classic pantsuits or dress suits in neutrals and pastels. I had a hard time envisioning her shopping with Julia.

“Afterward, we’re going to treat ourselves to an afternoon at the salon and spa. You’re more than welcome to join us, if you’re in town. Sydney, as well. I’m thinking about doing something different with my hair.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to get Ju’s advice on your hair.”

My mother arched an elegant brow. “You don’t think I could pull of a nice, bold magenta or a pretty violet?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. I was thinking maybe chartreuse.”

She chuckled and kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry for waking you.” She halted in the doorway. “And give me a little credit, sweetheart. No one looks good in chartreuse.”
 

I woke the next morning to a corgi butt in my face, a second stout little body draped over my chest, and the third tucked into the bend of my knees.

“Okay, all for one, get packing.”

Athos grumbled when I lifted him off my chest, and Aramis gave me a disgruntled look when I disturbed his roost as I crawled from bed. All three then resumed their snuffling snores. I shook my head in amusement as I rifled through the dresser and pulled out a faded pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

My old bedroom looked much the same as it had when I’d left for college. My bed was still a confection of white lace and ruffles, the walls remained the buttery yellow my father had painted them one summer twenty years ago, an old teddy bear resided in the window seat, and prints of narrow European cobblestone streets decorated the room. The shelves now held the overflow of books from my father’s office since I’d boxed up my novels and taken them with me when I moved away. My desk had been taken out to make room for my mother’s treadmill.
 

The area rug beside my bed had been replaced, but the hardwood floors held the familiar chill of winter as I padded into the hall. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, washed my face, and then made my way downstairs.

“Morning, sweetheart,” my mother said as I entered the kitchen.

“Morning.” I kissed her cheek and my father’s baldpate since his face was buried in the Saturday paper. “Those waffles smell delicious.”

“I made plenty, but put as many as you think you’ll eat on your plate before your brother arrives. You know he’ll scarf down anything that hasn’t been claimed.”

A horn sounded outside, and I glanced through the window to see my brother’s battered Jeep pull up behind my Volkswagen in the driveway. “Oh, there he is,” I said. “Quick, will you put two on my plate?”

Her laughter followed me as I hurried to the front door, shoved my bare feet into my father’s boots, and stepped out into the cold morning. “Hey, runt!” I clomped down the stairs.

“Hi, squirt,” my brother said as he climbed from his vehicle.

At twenty-one, Darcy was seven years my junior. We shared our mother’s coloring—wavy strawberry-blond hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. Darcy had surpassed me in height by the time he was thirteen, though, and now stood head and shoulders above me. No bulk had ever caught up with his growth spurt, and he was as gangly as a newborn giraffe. With the demanding coursework of his final year in college dictating his schedule, it had been almost a month since I’d seen him.

I hugged him tightly. “How have you—” I froze as I inhaled against the breast pocket of his jacket and pushed back to peer up into his face. “Why do you smell like pot, Darcy?”

He shrugged and glanced away, a scowl darkening his features. “You’re not my mother.”

“No, I’m not, but she wouldn’t be happy with you either.”

There had been a sullenness taking over his mood the last few times I’d seen him, and it came over him now. “It’s no big deal.”

“Last time I checked, it was something your school didn’t look kindly on. You don’t want to jeopardize finishing your degree next spring.”

“Get off my back, Finch.”

I touched his tense arm. “I’m not trying to bully you. Mom told me how hard the courses are this year and how busy you’ve been. I’m just worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m not a baby.”

“You’re still my little brother.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “Leave your jacket in the car. Mom and Dad have been around enough college students to recognize the smell. Then come on inside. She made waffles for breakfast. I bet I can still build a better waffle fort than you and Dad.”

Later that night, after I’d arrived back at my apartment and was repacking my bag for my flight the next day, my phone rang. I answered to find my brother on the other end of the line.

“Hey, what are you up to?”
 

“Nothing, nothing.”
 

Several moments of silence stretched between us, and I stopped folding a sweater. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really.” His reluctant tone belied the words. “I hate to ask you this, Finch, but could you float me a loan?”

I sat down on the couch. “How much do you need?”

“I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Fifteen . . .” I blinked. “Are you in trouble, Darcy?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“What does a college student need with fifteen hundred dollars?”

“You know what? Forget it.” His tone was belligerent, and it took me aback as much as his request had. “I thought I could count on you.”

“You
can
count on me, but I’d like an explanation before I consider giving you that kind of money.” I went into the kitchen to look at the calendar hanging on the wall. “I’m leaving in the morning for a two-day Ottawa-Québec City work trip. Why don’t we get together for lunch or dinner on Tuesday and we can talk?”
 

There was no response on the other end of the line.
 

“Darcy? Did you hang up on me?”

“No, I didn’t. I’ll call you Monday night.” He ended the call, and I stared at my phone.
 

I jumped when it started ringing again, but this time it was Jeremy. I dragged my hands through my hair and with a sigh let the call go to voicemail. It beeped soon after with a message, and I listened to Jeremy’s well-modulated voice ask when would be a good time to come over and pick up the few things he’d left at my place. He sounded as polite and considerate as ever, and I found myself irritated anew at his seeming apathy.

I attempted to call Sydney, but her phone was turned off. I knew Julia would already be in bed since her days at the bakery started at four in the morning. I didn’t want to wake her up, so I finished packing my small rollerboard suitcase and went to bed, only to spend the night tossing and turning restlessly.
 

Chapter Two

“How are you today, Gayle?” I hurried to the counter, unwrapping my scarf and rooting through the pocket of my long, black coat for my badge.

“Tired.” Gayle covered a jaw-cracking yawn. Dark smudges marked the skin beneath her eyes.

“The twins?”

She retrieved some papers from the printer and handed them to me. “Here’s your prelim. And yes. They’re teething and have runny noses.”

“The poor darlings,” I said as she stifled another yawn. “You and Zach as well.” I glanced through the papers and then tapped them into a neat stack. “You have my number. If you ever need another pair of helping hands, call.”

“You’re an angel. How’s Jeremy? Not flying together this month?”

I looked back down at the preliminary report to avoid her gaze. “He’s fine. And no, we didn’t bid the same line this month. Light flight. Only six passengers.”

“My brother-in-law and nephew are flying with you today. Daniel and Timothy. I told them they’d better be on their best behavior.”

I smiled. Family members of the airline employees were able to fly for free, and they made some of the best—or worst—passengers. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

“They’re going on vacation. I can’t think of why anyone would want to go to Canada this time of year anyway. Have you seen the weather reports and the snow they’ve been getting already?”

“Perhaps you should suggest to Mr. Beecher that we add more tropical climes to our routes. I get tired of packing thermal underwear.” It was an ongoing joke between Sydney’s dad and me.

Gayle laughed. “Have a good trip.”

“Give those babies of yours a kiss from me. And that handsome man, too.” I showed my badge to the guard. “I’ll be ready to board in a few minutes.”

The guard punched in the code and opened the door, allowing me onto the tarmac.
 

The Saab 340 that waited across the pavement had been painted with the dark green emblem and markings of Sylvan Air. While in New York City, I had worked flights on the large Boeing aircrafts, and though I’d enjoyed my work with the big-name commercial airline, I loved the thirty-seat turboprop before me.

I climbed the airstairs, stowed my luggage, and performed the required safety check of the emergency equipment and the interior of the plane.

“I thought I saw your name on the pairing.” The booming voice startled me as I ducked out of the lavatory after checking the smoke detector.
 

“Edgar!” I beamed.
 

Edgar Smith was short, built like a tank, and my favorite pilot to fly with. He’d been flying for over forty years, having started in the military, and he always treated me as if I were one of his granddaughters.
 

“How are you?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. Vera was just saying the other night how you should come over for dinner again. It’s been a while.”

“She’s sweet. How’s her hip?”

“It’s been slow to heal after the surgery, but she’s well. Bossy as ever.”

“You know you need a firm hand,” I said, and he guffawed. “What’s the flight time today?”