Read Online Tell Me You're Sorry by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online

Montclair. How could Marlene not have met her? “I don’t understand. . . .”
    Marlene glanced out the window. Stephanie followed her gaze. They had a view of the parking lot and beyond that, the railroad tracks, the leafless trees, and the Hudson. It was gray and bleak outside.
    â€œI’m pretty sure I was persona non grata with Halle and my son for a while,” she sighed. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear he’d latched on to some woman—a stranger practically—so soon after Rebecca. I told him so.”
    â€œWell, that makes two of us,” Stephanie said. “So I guess we were both on the outs with them.”
    Scott’s mother nodded. She was still gazing out the window. “A couple of weeks ago, I had a long talk on the phone with Scott, and we patched things up. He invited me over for Thanksgiving. But on Tuesday, he called and canceled. Apparently, Halle was extremely nervous about meeting me and cooking dinner for the family. It was all too much for her. What could I say? I told him it was no problem. My neighbors—Tom and Liz, a very nice young couple—they’d invited me to their Thanksgiving potluck. So at least I had a backup plan.”
    Stephanie squinted at her. “That’s awfully strange. I mean, okay, she was nervous, I get it. But to disinvite your new mother-in-law to Thanksgiving dinner when you haven’t even met her yet? That’s matrimonial suicide. Who does that?”
    â€œHalle, I guess.” Marlene looked at her and let out a pitiful laugh. “I decided not to make a federal case out of it. Scott put her on the phone, and she was really very sweet and apologetic. I could tell she was nervous, too. She asked if we could all go out to eat somewhere in Croton on Sunday. ‘Nothing fancy,’ she kept saying. I told her that would be lovely.”
    Marlene took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “I spoke with her again, briefly, on Thanksgiving morning. All Halle said was, ‘See you on Sunday,’ and something about how she was looking forward to it. The sad thing is I never really got to see what my son’s wife looked like. The photo of her and Scott that CC e-mailed me wasn’t very good. Halle had her face turned to one side.” Marlene glanced down at the tabletop and shrugged. “All I’m left with now is what I saw of her in the morgue. I don’t know why the police insisted on showing her to me. I didn’t know her.”
    The detectives had told Stephanie this morning that Halle’s father had flown in from Manassas, Virginia, on Friday afternoon. He’d identified his daughter from a birthmark on her right shoulder and a scar on her knee. Her dental records had been faxed from Washington, D.C., for a more positive identification. Apparently, there were still enough teeth left in Halle’s head for that.
    â€œI must have gotten the same photo you did,” Stephanie said. “I’m not sure I . . .” She trailed off as she noticed Scott’s lawyer friend, Bradley Reece, stepping inside the restaurant.
    Years ago, Scott and Rebecca had tried to fix her up with him, but the chemistry just wasn’t there. She’d seen him again—along with his wife—at Rebecca’s funeral. They had two kids. Tall and thin, Bradley was 42. With his wavy brown hair and thick, black glasses, he was handsome in an aging-preppie way. He wore a jacket over a crewneck sweater and khakis, and had a laptop case hanging from a strap on his shoulder.
    Stephanie waved to him. His face lit up and he smiled at her—but only briefly. As she watched him make his way to their booth, Stephanie had a feeling his somber look went beyond the sad occasion. This meeting had been his idea.
    Brad leaned down and kissed Mrs. Hamner on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Marlene,” he whispered. “I still can’t believe it . . .”
    â€œThank you, Brad,” she