Page 54 of The Gallagher Place
Marlowe was never close enough with girls at her own school who might have swapped tales of their first times. In college, it was more of the same. Marlowe hung out with a studious group of coeds who were serious about academics.
Marlowe had envied the girls who spoke about sex so easily, who turned to their friends while brushing their teeth and said,So, he tried this one thing in bed last night …
She had never been that girl. But she had confided in the people she trusted most. When Marlowe lost her virginity her junior year to her first boyfriend, Nick (who didn’t know she was a virgin), she told only her roommate, Paige. The two shared most meals together, and by junior year, Marlowe had warmed enough to open up about everything. She even told Paige about Nora one late night over a bottle of wine.
Marlowe finished her latte, the last lukewarm gulp heavy in her stomach. The crucial details Nora had withheld from Marlowe were beginning to pile up. In all her years mourning Nora, in all the time Marlowe had spent agonizing over what had happened, she’d rarely askedwhy. The answer always seemed obvious. People hurtteenage girls. People raped teenage girls. People took girls and locked them up and threw away the key.
For the first time, Marlowe wasn’t sure that was it. Evidentially, Brierley didn’t think it was that straightforward. Ariel and Ben didn’t seem to think so either.
And yet, of all the secrets Nora had been keeping, Marlowe still didn’t know which was the one that had put her life in danger.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Constance and the baby will be here soon,” Glory announced when Marlowe returned home. “Stephanie and the girls, too,” she added, placing a stack of plates on the kitchen counter. “Pizza for dinner.”
“Not Nate?” Marlowe asked.
“He’s staying in Hartford to work.”
For a split second, Marlowe felt the familiar sting of paranoia. She was certain Nate was avoiding her. Keeping something closely guarded. She pushed the thought aside. He didn’t know what she’d been up to: building old Gallagher family trees, flipping through weathered journals, confronting Nora’s ex-boyfriend. She took a steadying breath and retreated to the basement to calm herself and refocus on what was factual.
The notes sprawled across the table. She stared at them, willing the pieces to connect. Jittery from too much espresso, she took a quick nip from the gin underneath her desk.
Nothing about Sean’s comments suggested that Nora had been pining for Nate. He said Nora had been obsessed with the entire Fisher clan. Marlowe considered her part of the family. If Pete Gallagher had been watching, he might have seen Nora as a Fisher too. Targeting her would be an attack on the family that had takeneverything from him. A family can’t endure such hardship and remain in the same place. He would have known that.
Frank was right to call Harmon evil for threatening Kat and Dolly. If he had such violent inclinations, perhaps he got them from his father. Marlowe thought back to the fascination she’d had with epigenetics when she was considering a graduate degree in anthropology. The way the brain undergoes constant evolution due to trauma, and how that trauma could be passed down.
The threats Harmon had made, which her family had downplayed, suddenly felt more sinister. Why had they kept the specifics hidden from her? If Stephanie had received an email about someone threatening her daughters, she wouldn’t have dismissed it. And if she had retaliated, wouldn’t she have been justified?
Retaliation would have been out of the question for Constance, whose diminutive stature made her meek and doe-like. Stephanie, on the other hand, had broken every record in her college’s lacrosse program. Nate had dragged them to his girlfriend’s games, beaming with pride. Marlowe had a flash of Stephanie the college girl, with her long ponytail, calf muscles tensing as she sprinted over the grass, arms flexing as she yanked her lacrosse stick back and then hurled it forward.
And Harmon, while broad-shouldered, was no athlete. Marlowe wagered that beneath his hunting jacket, he had a perfectly average physique. He wouldn’t have been able to outrun Stephanie. And if Stephanie had come at him with enough momentum, if she’d picked up a big enough rock …
A door slammed upstairs, pulling Marlowe to the present. High voices and rapid footsteps of the children rose and fell. It sounded like chaos, but it meant they were safe.
Still, the unease clung to her. The theories were just that— stories made up in the absence of truth. No one was giving heranswers. At least Sean had, but she couldn’t shake his cold gaze, looking at her as though she needed to be checked into a mental hospital. She yanked off her sweater and threw it on the floor in frustration.
Half an hour later, after a few gulps of gin, Marlowe made her way upstairs. Constance had arrived, and the kids clustered around the table, comparing their letters to Santa. Marlowe ruffled Kat’s hair and lifted Frankie from his high chair, savoring the baby’s warm weight as he nestled against her shoulder. Stephanie and Constance rose from their seats to greet Marlowe.
“Henry and your parents went to pick up the pizza,” Constance said. “I’m going to start on a salad.”
Stephanie sat down, and Marlowe took a seat across from her. There were so many things she wanted to ask her, but she aimed for lightness.
“How’s work?”
“Busy,” Stephanie replied, her attention on Kat’s carefully folded letter. “But she’s been my real project lately. Third grade’s keeping us both on our toes.”
“You’ve always been good at juggling it all.”
“Well, you do what you can.” Stephanie’s gaze lifted briefly, her expression unreadable.
“Sometimes it’s hard to keep everything in the air.” Marlowe feared her evasions were apparent to Stephanie now, but she didn’t miss a beat.
“You learn, though. Eventually,” Stephanie said. Her lips curved into her trademark thin and mildly derisive smile.
A delicate pause lingered between them, provoking Marlowe to respond with a pointed comment about what Stephanie might have learned about her husband’s past, but the front door burst open before she could.
“Did you see the news?” Henry’s voice boomed from behind the pizza boxes. He set them down and pulled out his phone.
