Now You See Her Read Free

in her standard uniform of black yoga pants and matching tank top, because she’d either just finished working out or was just about to start. Judith spent at least half the day exercising—a thirty-minute swim first thing in the morning, followed by an hour or two of spin classes, then an hour and a half of “hot yoga” in the afternoon. Occasionally, if time allowed and she was in the mood, she’d throw in an additional Pilates class, “for my core,” she insisted, although her stomach was already as hard and flat as steel. Possibly she was munching on a piece of raw carrot, Marcy thought; her sister’s diet consisted solely of sushi, raw vegetables, and the occasional spoonful of peanut butter. Judith was on husband number five. She’d had her tubes tied when she was eighteen, having decided when she and Marcy were still children never to have any of her own. “You really want to take that chance?” she’d asked.
    “Something’s not right,” she said now. “I’m coming over.”
    “You can’t.” Marcy allowed her gaze to drift toward the pub’s large front window.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not there.”
    “Where are you?”
    A long pause. “Ireland.”
    “What?”
    “I’m in Ireland,” Marcy repeated, knowing full well Judith had heard her the first time and holding the phone away from her ear in preparation for Judith’s shriek.
    “Please tell me you’re joking.”
    “I’m not joking.”
    “Is someone with you?”
    “I’m fine, Judith.” Marcy saw a shadow fall across the front window. The shadow stopped and waved at the bartender. The bartender acknowledged the shadow’s wave with a sly smile.
    “You aren’t fine. You’re off your rocker. I demand you come home instantly.”
    “I can’t do that.” The shadow stepped into a cone of light, then turned and disappeared. “Oh, my God.” Marcy gasped, jumping to her feet.
    “What is it?” Vic and Judith asked simultaneously.
    “What’s going on?” her sister added.
    “My God, it’s Devon!” Marcy said, slamming her hip into a nearby table as she raced for the door.
    “What?”
    “I just saw her. She’s here.”
    “Marcy, calm down. You’re talking crazy.”
    “I’m not crazy.” Marcy pushed open the pub’s heavy front door, tears stinging her eyes as her head swiveled up and down the tourist-clogged street. A light drizzle had started to fall. “Devon!” she called out, running east along the river Lee. “Where are you? Come back. Please come back.”
    “Marcy, please,” Judith urged in Marcy’s ear. “It’s not Devon. You know it’s not her.”
    “I know what I saw.” Marcy stopped at St. Patrick’s Bridge, debating whether or not to cross it. “I’m telling you. She’s here. I saw her.”
    “No, you didn’t,” Judith said gently. “Devon is dead, Marcy.”
    “You’re wrong. She’s here.”
    “Your daughter is dead,” Judith repeated, tears clinging to each word.
    “Go to hell,” Marcy cried. Then she tossed the phone into the river and crossed over the bridge.

TWO
    W ITHIN MINUTES, SHE WAS lost in the labyrinth of lane-ways that twisted around the river Lee. Normally Marcy would have found the narrow streets with their collection of small specialty shops engaging, the Old World asserting its presence in the middle of the bustling new city, but their charm quickly gave way to frustration.
    “Devon!” Marcy cried, her eyes pushing through the ubiquitous crowds, straining to see over the tops of black umbrellas that were sprouting up everywhere around her. Two teenage boys walked aimlessly in front of her, laughing and punching at each others’ arms, in the way of teenage boys everywhere, seemingly oblivious to the raindrops grazing the tops of their shoulders.
    One of the boys turned around at the sound of her voice, hisgaze flitting absently in her direction for several seconds before he returned his attention to his friends. Marcy was neither surprised nor offended by his lack